noon
T is but folly to mourn , though fortune disdain thee , Though never so darkly thy sun may have set ; ' T is wisdom to gaze at the bright star before thee , And shout , as you gaze , `` There 's hope for me yet . '' IT can not be that thou art dead ; that now I watch beside thy grave , and with my tears Nourish the flowers that blossom over thee ; I can not think that thou art dead and gone ; That naught remains to me of what thou wert , Save that which lieth here , -- dust unto dust . When the bright sun arises , and its rays Pass noiseless through my chamber , then methinks That thou art with me still ; that I can see Thy flowing hair ; and thy bright glancing eye Beams on me with a look none other can . And when at noon life 's busy tumult makes My senses reel , and I almost despair , Thou comest to me and I 'm cheered again ; Thine own bright smile illuminates my way , And one by one the gathered clouds depart , Till not a shadow lies upon my path . Night , with its long and sombre shadows , treads Upon the steps that morn and noon have trod ; And , as our children gather round my knee , And lisp those evening prayers thy lips have taught , I can not but believe that thou art near . But when they speak of `` mother , '' when they say '' ' T is a long time since she hath left our side , '' And when they ask , in their soft infant tones , When they again shall meet thee , -- then I feel A sudden sadness o'er my spirit come : And when sleep holds them in its silken bands I wander here , to this fair spot they call Thy grave -LRB- as though this feeble earth could hold Thee in its cold embrace -RRB- , and weep and sigh ; Yet , trusting , look above to yon bright sphere , And feel thou art not dead , but living there . It is not thou that fills this spot of earth , It is not thou o'er whom these branches wave , These blooming roses only mark the spot Where but remaineth that thou couldst not wear Amid immortal scenes .