Rosalind's Scroll

Rosalinds Scroll

I LEFT thee last, a child at heart,

A woman scarce in years:

I come to thee, a solemn corpse

Which neither feels nor fears.

I have no breath to use in sighs;

They laid the dead-weights on mine eyes

To seal them safe from tears.

Look on me with thine own calm look:

I meet it calm as thou.

No look of thine can change this smile,

Or break thy sinful vow:

I tell thee that my poor scornd heart

Is of thine earth--thine earth--a part:

It cannot vex thee now.

I have prayd for thee with bursting sob

When passions course was free;

I have prayd for thee with silent lips

In the anguish none could see;

They whisperd oft, She sleepeth soft--

But I only prayd for thee.

Go to! I pray for thee no more:

The corpses tongue is still;

Its folded fingers point to heaven,

But point there stiff and chill:

No farther wrong, no farther woe

Hath licence from the sin below

Its tranquil heart to thrill.

I charge thee, by the livings prayer,

And the deads silentness,

To wring from out thy soul a cry

Which God shall hear and bless!

Lest Heavens own palm droop in my hand,

And pale among the saints I stand,

A saint companionless.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning