by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop
A shadowed form before the light,
A gleaming face against the night,
Clutched hands across a halo bright
Of blowing hair,—her fixed sight
Stares down where moving black, below,
The river's deathly waves in murmurous silence flow.
The moon falls fainting on the sky,
The dark woods bow their heads in sorrow,
The earth sends up a misty sigh:
A soul defies the morrow!
Last updated February 16, 2023