On Anne Allen

The wind blew keenly from the Western sea,

And drove the dead leaves slanting from the tree--  Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith--Heaping them up before her Father's

When I saw her whom I shall see no more--  We cannot bribe thee,

Death.

She went abroad the falling leaves among,

She saw the merry season fade, and sung--  Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--Freely she wandered in the leafless wood,

And said that all was fresh, and fair, and good--  She knew thee not,

O Death.

She bound her shining hair across her brow,

She went into the garden fading now;  Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--And if one sighed to think that it was sere,

She smiled to think that it would bloom next year!  She feared thee not,

O Death.

Blooming she came back to the cheerful

With all the fairer flowers yet in bloom--  Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--A fragrant knot for each of us she tied,

And placed the fairest at her Father's side--  She cannot charm thee,

Death.

Her pleasant smile spread sunshine upon all;

We heard her sweet clear laughter in the Hall--  Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--We heard her sometimes after evening prayer,

As she went singing softly up the stair--  No voice can charm thee,

Death.

Where is the pleasant smile, the laughter kind,

That made sweet music of the winter wind?  Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--Idly they gaze upon her empty place,

Her kiss hath faded from her Father's face--  She is with thee,

O Death.