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Poem by Edwin Arnold
A bed sorrow-circled, And a pale dying daughter there, With lustreless eye And tresses of tangled hair. With forehead that freezes The kiss on her mother's lip, And wandering fingers That feel not her father's grip. With cheek faintly smiling To be ending such agony, And quick-panting bosom Where the spirit is mad to be free. But the mother is 'wishing,' And her bosom must keep its breath; For an own mother's love Is stronger than strength of death. There cometh a whisper And a look from a languishing eye Lovingly praying 'Dear mother! oh let me die!' She loosens the link Of her arms from her daughter's breast, And the weary spirit Is away to its glorious rest.
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