The Poetical Works of Jonathan E. Hoag/An Elegy to a Young Lady

by Jonathan E. Hoag

An Elegy to a Young Lady

What may'st thou be, O dark, mysterious Death,
  That thy cold touch a youthful life should blast;
That leaf and bud and tender, fragrant flower
  Should fall beneath thy frosted breath at last?

Affections twine round those we cherish dear,
  Nor cease, though raven locks be touched with gray.
Through fleeting years the journey may seem long;
  But evening shades proclaim the close of day.

In silent night we steal beside her couch;
  A mother's whispering voice we seem to hear;
"My child, a mother's hand shall lead the way;
  Though waves may toss the bark, the Pilot's near."

This day we come, our hearts o'erbrimmed with grief;
  We touch the bier beneath the form we love.
From wreath and bloom sweet streams of incense rise,
  And waft our thoughts to her in realms above.

1918