Fear.

“It is not Death I fear so much”—
But the last passing by
Of sight and sound and scent and touch;
Of earth and sun and sky.
Of all the quiet and glowing things
That bring me such delight—
To pass me by on sable wings,
Into the silent night.
Beauty that sears the soul, yet heals—
Gorse to a river's brim.
The loveliness of light that steals
Over the mountain's rim.
Dawn on the earth, and mellow noon.
Eve on the singing folds.
The last light in a radiant swoon
Athwart a bed of marigolds.
“It is not Death I fear so much”—
But that I have to part
With sight and sound and scent and touch—
These things that hold my heart.
This loveliness of earthly things
Of limpid shade and laughing light—
To pass me by on sable wings,
Into the silent night.

—E. Mary Gurney.

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