In the Glad Month of May
In the glad month of May,
When morning was breaking,
She rose from her body
And vanished away.
From a tree cloaked in gray
A shrill bird kept calling,
"Come quick. God is waiting.
He cannot delay."
We had no heart to pray,
But, seeing her glory,
Said, "Go, little sister;
God needs you to-day."
Very stilly she lay:
The bird had ceased calling —
We let in the morning
And kissed her dear clay.
~~
Coningsby Dawson (1883-1959)
from A Vision of Florence, and other poems, 1916
[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]
Coningsby Dawson biography
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