Angelina W. Grimke, "To Clarissa Scott Delany" (1927)
She has not found herself a hard pillow
And a long hard bed,
A chilling cypress, a wan willow
For her gay young head...
These are for the dead.
2
Does the violet-lidded twilight die
And the piercing dawn
And the white clear moon and the night- blue sky. . .
When they are gone?
3
Does the shimmering note
In the shy, shy throat
Of the swaying bird?
4
O, does children's laughter
Live not after
It is heard?
5
Does the dear, dear shine upon dear, dear things,
In the eyes, on the hair,
On waters, on wings .
Live no more anywhere?
6
Does the tang of the sea, the breath of frail flowers,
Of fern crushed, of clover,
Of grasses at dark, of the earth after showers
Not linger, not hover?
7
Does the beryl in tarns, the soft orchid in haze,
The primrose through tree-tops, the unclouded jade
Of the north sky, all earth's flamings and russets and grays
Simply smudge out and fade?
8
And all loveliness, all sweetness, all grace,
All the gay questing, all wonder, all dreaming,
They that cup beauty that veiled opaled vase,
Are they only the soul of a seeming?
9
O, hasn't she found just a little, thin door
And passed through and closed it between?
O, aren't those her light feet upon that light floor,
... That her laughter? . . . O, doesn't she lean
As we do to listen? . . . O, doesn't it mean
She is only unseen, unseen?