Edwin Arnold

Wishing

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.