There Is No Death
Death Is a mood of Ufe. It Is no whlm By whleh llfe' Ulvermocks abroken heart. DeaĆ¼i Isllfe'srettcence. Slillauuibleto Hltn, ThuLuslied volee, happy, epeaketh on apart. There Is uo vacant ohalr. To love is still To lwve. Nearer to raemory tlian to eye. And deareryet to angulsli tbiiu to comfort, will We hold him by our love tliat caiinot die. For whlle it doth not, thus he cannot. Try ! Who can put out the motlon or theunllef The old ways of being uoble all wlin him lalil by Because we love, he is. Then trnht nwliile.
Article
Subjects
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps
Poetry
Ann Arbor Courier
Old News