James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
August 15Lillian Adelaide Neilson
By Clement Scott (18411904)
W
Wrapped in the mantle of her mother earth?
No tear, no voice, no prayer, or any sighing,
Gives back her face made beautiful by birth.
Whose nature quickened at the touch of art;
Now that the struggle’s over, God will send her
Mercy and peace to soothe her troubled heart.
Of scorn when all is buried in the grave?
Some pity near her memory will linger:
Upon life’s stormy sea she tossed—a wave!
Her work was done; “Oh take me home,” she sighs;
Whisper it low, she sleeps not, “she is resting,”—
So fell the curtain, and she closed her eyes.
Where all remains of what was once so fair.
Yes! she is dead, but still perhaps she knows us
Who say “Implora pace!” for our prayer.
As Juliet coaxed to happiness her nurse;
But I, who knew the goodness that was in her,
Place humbly on her grave—this leaf of verse.