Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/45

 MARGARET.

on this narrow bed, Drop the flowers, but do not tread; All that earth knew how to keep Of Margaret is fast asleep. Underneath the sod it lies, With death's darkness in those eyes That were wont to show at dawn, Blue depths where our light was born; For the radiant spirit flown, Still our hearts unceasing moan— For the radiant inmate dear, That for one elysian year Tarried on the earth, to see If it might fit dwelling be For a guest as pure as she,— Then affrighted (woe the day!) On swift wings, she fled away To that country lying far, Where the other angels are— Fled! and left us nothing, save To protect this little grave, Which we keep, for love of her, Ever unprofaned and fair. Softly on her sacred bed Scatter flowers, but do not tread. W. E. Hunter.