My wellspring of beauty she had been,
a bud, its petalled glow ne'er to be seen.
Blossom, its fragrance the world denied,
shall tranquil in stellar meadows abide.
Blush of her cheek death's slumber belies,
cold, in eternal chrysalis she lies.
"Here, 'mong men, your wings ne'er did unfold,
thro' the ether glide blithesome on wings bold."
A voice, its music so seldom heard,
shall chant His glory, sweet as a songbird.
Lips, oft rendered mute, uttered soul's scars,
anon shall she speak of her dreams to stars.
Little feet, afeared of earthly paths,
shall joyful traverse empyrean swaths,
child, of mother's warm embrace bereft,
shall in celestial arms be loving blest.
Her fledgling heart, so tender bereaved,
shall His light ease, ne'er more to be aggrieved,
her spirit seldom solacing knew,
Seraphim's song shall its radiance renew.
Her flame, quenched ere it could brilliant blaze,
henceforth shall the Infinite ceaseless praise.
"Hallowed Silence your spirit restore,
in Heaven's Gardens shall you bloom e'er more."
© 2014 Lily's Verse
Image: Une Petite Fille
Artist: William-Adolphe Bouguereau