The Poetry Corner

Marguerite

By Kate Seymour Maclean

Marguerite,--oh Marguerite! Thy sleep is sound, and still and sweet, Framed in the pale gold of thy hair, Thy face is like an angel's fair, Marguerite,--oh Marguerite! Tender curves of cheek and lips-- Sweet eyes hid in long eclipse-- Pale robes flowing to thy feet-- Folded hands that lightly meet,-- Marguerite,--oh Marguerite! Sleep'st thou still?--the world awakes,-- Still the echo swells and breaks,-- Over field, and wood, and street Easter anthems throb and beat,-- Marguerite,--oh Marguerite! Christ the Lord is risen again,-- Hear'st thou not the glad refrain,-- Have those gentle lips no breath, Smiling in the trance of death?-- Marguerite,--oh Marguerite! In the grave from whence He rose, Lay thee to thy long repose,-- Sweet with myrrh and spices,--sweet With the footprints of His feet,-- Marguerite,--oh Marguerite! Where His sacred head hath lain, Thine may rest, secure from pain. While the circling years go round, Without motion,--without sound,-- Marguerite,--oh Marguerite!