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Leah.

Free at last from the gloom that clouded
  Life and love in thy sinking day;
Thy brow is veil'd, thy fair limbs shrouded,
  Clay is married again to clay.

Free at last from the curse of beauty,
  Free at last from the weeds that grow
Round the buds on the path of duty,
  When genius walks; 'tis better so—

Better so, when the world grows dreary;
  Better so, when young hopes have fled;
Better so, when the heart grows weary—
  Better living among the dead.

Living among the dead—I've said it—
  Some may rot, and yet some shall rise
Out of the grave; then who shall dread it?
  'Tis but the soulless clod that dies.

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Strangers smoothèd thy raven tresses
  Over thy marble brow, my girl;
Closed thy lips with no fond caresses,
  Closed them over the rows of pearl.

Strangers seal'd up those orbs whose flashes
  Kindled often a quenchless spark;
Seal'd them under their long dark lashes,
  Cover'd thy face—and then all was dark.

"Earth to earth!" and the clay was scatter'd,
  Scatter'd over thy peaceful breast;
"Dust to dust!" and it little matter'd—
  Only a woman had gone to rest.

What knew they of the passions tameless?
  They but planted another clod;
"Let her sleep, though she was not blameless,
  Give her soul to her Father—God.

"He is merciful, good and gracious;
  He can raise up the weak and low;
In the halls of His mansions spacious
  Scarlet sins are made white as snow."

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Softly spoken the words, and kindly—
  Freezing natures that have not known
Scorching rays can but measure blindly
  Any heat that is not their own.

Night steals on, and the leaflets tremble
  Up on the boughs of tall dark trees;
Night steals on, and the ghosts assemble
  Out on the skirts of sighing seas.

Night steals on, and the shadows hover
  Round the couch of the dying day;
Night steals on, and my song is over,
  All its music has died away—

Died away on the waves that sever
  Past from present, and shore from shore;
Melting into the great "for ever"—
  Gone to her who has gone before.