Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/50

 A WHISPER FROM THE GRAVE.

My life points with a radiant hand, Along a golden ray of sun That lights some distant promised land, A fair way for my feet to run: My Death stands heavily in gloom, And digs a soft bed in the tomb Where I may sleep when all is done.

The flowers take hold upon my feet; Fair fingers beckon me along; I find Life's promises so sweet Each thought within me turns to song: But Death stands digging for me—lest Some day I need a little rest, And come to think the way too long.