This is the fifth poem in a series of six.
Read the first poem here, the second here,
the third here,  the fourth here, and the sixth here.

V.
The Darkened House.

One year ago, this dreary night,
This house, that, in my way,
Checks the swift pulses of delight,
Was cordial glad, and gay.

The household angels tended there
Their ivy-cinctured bower,
And by the hardier plant grew fair
A lovely lily-flower.

The skies rained sunshine on its head,
It throve in summer air:
“How straight and sound!” the father said;
The mother said, “How fair!”

One little year is gathering up
Its glories to depart;
The skies have left one marble drop
Within the lily’s heart.

For growth and bloom no more avails
The Seasons’ changing breath;
With sudden constancy it feels
The sculpture-touch of Death

But from its breast let golden rays,
Immortal, break and rise,
Linking the sorrow-clouded days
With dawning Paradise.

We want to hear what you think about this article. Submit a letter to the editor or write to letters@theatlantic.com.