HER GOING.

She stood in the open door,

She blessed them faint and low:

“I must go,” she said, “must go

Away from the light of the sun,

Away from you, every one;

Must see your eyes no more,—

Your eyes, that love me so.

“I should not shudder thus,

Nor weep, nor be afraid.

Nor cling to you so dismayed,

Could I only pierce with ray eyes

Where the dark, dark shadow lies;

Where something hideous

Is hiding, perhaps,” she said.

Then slowly she went from them,

Went down the staircase grim,

With trembling heart and limb;

Her footfalls echoed

In the silence vast and dead,

Like the notes of a requiem,

Not sung, but uttered.

For a little way and a black

She groped as grope the blind,

Then a sudden radiance shined,

And a vision her eyelids burned;

All joyfully she turned,

For a moment turned she back,

And smiled at those behind.

There in the shadows drear

An angel sat serene,

Of grave and tender mien,

With whitest roses crowned;

A scythe lay on the ground,

As reaping-time were near,—

A burnished scythe and a keen.

She did not start or pale

As the angel rose and laid

His hand on hers, nor said

A word, hut beckoned on;

For a glorious meaning shone

On the lips that told no tale,

And she followed him, unafraid.

Her friends wept for a space;

Then one said: “Be content;

Surely some good is meant

For her, our Beautiful,—

Some glorious good and full.

Did you not see her face,

Her dear smile, as she went?”