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Poem by Menella Bute Smedley

* * *

WIND me a summer crown, she said,
  And set it on my brows;
For I must go, while I am young,
  Home to my Fathers house.

And make me ready for the day,
  And let me not be stayd;
I would not linger on the way
  As if I was afraid.

O, will the golden courts of heaven,
  When I have paced them oer,
Be lovely as the lily walks
  Which I must see no more?
And will the seraph hymns and harps,
  When they have filld my ear,
Be tender as my mothers voice,
  Which I must never hear?
And shall I lie where sunsets drift,
  Or where the stars are born,
Or where the living tints are mixt
  To paint the clouds of morn?

Your mothers tones shall reach you still,
  Even sweeter than they were;
And the false love that broke your heart
  Shall be forgotten there:

And not a star or flower is born
  The beauty of that shore;
There is a face which you shall see
  And wish for nothing more.

Menella Bute Smedley

Menella Bute Smedley's other poems:
  1. What Hearest Thou?
  2. Waiting for the Tide
  3. To a Little Girl
  4. The Lay of King James I in his Captivity
  5. Odin's Sacrifice

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