Mirrors of Life And Death Christina Rossetti
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The mystery of Life, the mystery
Of Death, I see
Darkly as in a glass;
Their shadows pass,
And talk with me.
As the flush of a Morning Sky,
As a Morning Sky colorless--
Each yields its measure of light
To a wet world or a dry;
Each fares through day to night
With equal pace,
And then each one
Is done.
As the Sun with glory and grace
In his face,
Benignantly hot,
Graciously radiant and keen,
Ready to rise and to run,--
Not without spot,
Not even the Sun.
As the Moon
On the wax, on the wane,
With night for her noon;
Vanishing soon,
To appear again.
Of Death, I see
Darkly as in a glass;
Their shadows pass,
And talk with me.
As the flush of a Morning Sky,
As a Morning Sky colorless--
Each yields its measure of light
To a wet world or a dry;
Each fares through day to night
With equal pace,
And then each one
Is done.
As the Sun with glory and grace
In his face,
Benignantly hot,
Graciously radiant and keen,
Ready to rise and to run,--
Not without spot,
Not even the Sun.
As the Moon
On the wax, on the wane,
With night for her noon;
Vanishing soon,
To appear again.
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