Poems (Eckley)/Mina

by Sophia May Eckley

MINA.

INA sits on the door-step weeping,
 She twines a wreath of May,
But she flings the myrtle from her,
 And a wither'd rose away.

Mina wore the rose this morning,
 In her bosom warm it died—
Too warm it was to keep it, and
 Its sweet life could not bide.

The sea moans low in the distance,
 The moaning, restless sea,
Its salt breezes chill the flowers
 That close on hill and lea;

The summer twilight hast'ning, drops
 Her mantle on the deep,
And the stars' golden barks drift on,
 And steadfast vigil keep.

But the wreath of May is finished,
 And Mina she is gone,
She has left the lowly door-step—
 By the sea she stands alone.

But mark, she has dipped the garland
 In the bosom of the deep,
The parting wave has drenched it,
 The salt tears o'er it weep.

The sea o'er the garland closes,
 The moaning restless sea,
And the flowers of love have perished—
 Culled only yesterday.

But silver chimes from another land,
 Tell of a brighter shore,
Where storms of life are lulled to rest
 For Mina evermore.