An Epic of Women, and Other Poems by Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy - HTML preview

DEATH.

I CLOSE my eyes and see the inward things:

The strange averted spectre of my soul

Is sitting undivulged, angelic, whole,

Beside the dim internal flood that brings

Mysterious thought or dreams or murmurings,

From the immense Unknown: beneath him roll

The urging formless waves beyond control

And darkened by the vague foreshadowings

As heretofore; yea, for He hath not stirred.

Too weak was that my life, too poor each word

To lure my soul from all it waiteth for:

—I am with God who holds His purpose still

And maketh and remaketh evermore;

I am with God and waiting for His will.