Apple iTunes

Our Idol

The Bunker Hill Aurora and Boston Mirror

Charlestown, Massachusetts

December 18, 1858

Close the door lightly,
Bridle the breath,
Our little earth-angel
Is talking with death;
Gently he woos her,
She wishes to stay,
His arms about her -
He bears her away.

Music comes floating
Down from the dome;
Angels are chanting
The sweet welcome home;
Come, stricken weeper,
Come to the bed,
Gaze on the sleeper -
Our idol is dead!

Smooth out the ringlets,
Close the blue eye -
No wonder such beauty
Was claimed in the sky;
Cross the hands gently
O'er the white breast,
So like a wild spirit
Strayed down from the blest;
Bear her out softly,
This idol of ours,
Let her grave slumbers
Be 'mid the sweet flowers.

Back to Poetry from Old Newspapers

Back to the Victorian Scrapbook

Back to the Family Album

Back to the Front Page
 

 We appreciate it when you link to this website!
Please help spread the word about TheOldenTimes.com and tell a friend about us!

Copyright 2000-2010 by  TheOldenTimes.com - Historic Newspapers Online - Always FREE!  All rights reserved.