WHEN SHE WENT ON
How white and calm and still she lay!The little child-like hands at rest,Folded so lightly on her breast—It seemed some solemn wonder-play!The waxen lids pressed down her eyes,Blue, wistful eyes that could not seeHow still beside her tenderlyWe kept our useless ministries.One smoothed the pillow at her head,With hands that trembled overmuch;And drew the sheet with lingering touch,And closed the books that she had read.The little room still seemed to holdAll of her warm, bright, living self;The empty slippers on the shelfStill kept her foot’s slim mold.O restless feet that could not waitOur slower footsteps, blundering, fond;Turn back to us when soon or lateWe seek you in the Land Beyond.