Lydia H. Sigourney (1791–1865)

DEATH found strange beauty on that cherub brow,

And dash’d it out. There was a tint of rose

On cheek and lip;—he touch’d the veins with ice,

And the rose faded.—Forth from those blue eyes

There spoke a wishful tenderness,—a doubt

Whether to grieve or sleep, which Innocence

Alone can wear. With ruthless haste he bound

The silken fringes of their curtaining lids

For ever. There had been a murmuring sound

With which the babe would claim its mother’s ear,

Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set

His seal of silence. But there beam’d a smile

So fix’d and holy from that marble brow,—

Death gazed and left it there;—he dared not steal

The signet-ring of heaven.