Lay her down among the daisies,
With the fringes of her eyes,
Softer than their silver petals,
Closed for blissful reveries.
Fold her little hands in whiteness
As in prayer on her breast;
Fear not for their folded lightness
On the heart unmoving pressed,
For that heart of angel brightness,
Tired so early, lies at rest.
Tired so early!—when the dawning
Glimmered white-winged through the room,
And the skies were half awaking,
Half in fading starlit gloom,
From the heaven of the starlight
Came the angels of the dawn;
And the morning winds were sighing,
And the curtains eastward drawn,
And her sleeping face looked brighter,
And a whispering sob said—‘Gone!’
All the daisies were unfolding
In the fields, where never more
Shall the rapture of her child-life
Run in shout and laughter o’er.
Tired so early!—she has gathered
All her gladness in swift space,
She has sung her song and ended,
Childlike turning pleading face
Back to home when joys are weary—
Toward the one familiar place.
Lay her low among the daisies:
Angels knew her more than we;
They have led her home from wandering,
Tired with earthly revelry.
And above her daisied pillow
Let her simple tale be told:
Here the Lover of the lilies
Bade a little blossom fold;
He that wakes the flowers shall wake her,
White as snow, with heart of gold.