Death (Sonnet)

     Why mourn the perished glories of the past?
       Why wrong with murmurs Death's paternal care?
    Sire of immortal Beauty, from his vast
      Embrace with Infinite Life, spring all things fair 
    And good and wonderful: Ye are not cost, 
      Like wailing orphans, on the desert bare, 
      To cry and perish. Life comes everywhere
With Mother-love, and strong Death garners fast 
   His bounty for her board; for all which live 
His tireless hands the harvest sow and reap, 
  He feeds alone those lily breasts which give 
New strength to all on Life’s white arms that leap;
  Fear not, sweet babes, in his thick mantle furled, 
  Now lulled asleep, to wake in a new splendor-world.