Poem by Lucretia Maria Davidson

Death

(Written in her sixteenth year.)

The destroyer cometh; his footstep is light,
He marketh the threshold of sorrow at night;
He steals like a thief o'er the fond one's repose,
And chills the warm tide from the heart as it flows.

His throne is the tomb, and a pestilent breath
Walks forth on the night-wind, the herald of death!
His couch is the bier, and the dark weeds of woe
Are the curtains which shroud joy's deadliest foe.

1. The Wee Flower of the Heather
2. On the Death of the Beautiful Mrs.--
3. To a Friend, Whom I Had Not Seen Since My Childhood
4. Cupid’s Bower
5. On an Æolian Harp

Madison Cawein Death ("THROUGH some strange sense of sight or touch")

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