[Editor: This poem by Agnes Neale was published in Shadows and Sunbeams (1890).]
With the Angels.
My darling! my beautiful darling!
So full of the glory of life —
So full of the splendor and sweetness
With which the strong sunshine is rife.
You are lovely, my beautiful darling,
Than roses more dainty and sweet;
Your eyes are as blue as the violets
That blossom in crowds at my feet.
And over your head is a glory,
A halo of rippling gold —
A mesh to entangle the sunbeams,
And their dazzling brightness to hold.
Your cheek is as red as a rosebud,
Your lips as ripe cherries are sweet;
You are lovely, my beautiful darling,
From the crown of your head to your feet.
Did you come from the angels, my darling?
Did you come from the angels to me?
Did they spread their white pinions and bear you,
My treasure and darling to be?
O open your sweet lips and tell me,
O tell me the things you have seen
In the beautiful land that you came from,
The home where you always have been.
They have given me one of their number
To cherish, and care for, and love.
My babe is a blossom of beauty
From the garden of beauty above.
* * * * * *
My darling! my beautiful darling!
Oh! why are you lying so still?
So still that my heart stops its beating;
My fingers are stiffened and chill.
You are lovely as moonlight, my darling,
But your cheek as a snowdrop is white;
Your lips are all faded and hueless —
You are silent, my darling, to-night.
My baby! my beautiful baby!
Have you gone to the angels from me?
I thought you would stay with me always,
My darling and treasure to be.
They only had lent you, my darling,
And now they have borne you away,
Away on their broad shining pinions,
To the beautiful realms of the day.
My darling! my beautiful darling!
Lie still, like a white rose at rest;
I shall pillow your bright golden ringlets
No more on my warm-loving breast.
If the angels had given you, darling,
They could not have called you again;
And so I take hope in my sorrow,
And comfort is blended with pain.
I will lay the fair casket that held you
Away ’neath the sweet grassy sod —
My darling is gone with the angels,
My baby is gone back to God.
Source:
Agnes Neale, Shadows and Sunbeams, Adelaide: Burden & Bonython, 1890, pages 66-68
Editor’s notes:
’neath = beneath
pinion = a bird’s wing; in more specific usage, the outer section of a bird’s wing; in broader usage, “pinions” refers to the wings of a bird (“pinion” may also refer specifically to a feather, especially a flight feather, or a quill)
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