Poems (Waldenburg)/Winged Sorrow

"A WINGED SORROW."
E. D. PALMER, SCULPTOR.

Not with glad wings that rise
Outstretching toward the skies
  This wingéd angel flies.

Her low wings seem to brood
In stern, relentless mood
  And 'neath her ebon hood—

From painéd brows the eyes
Shadow forth mysteries
  Of human miseries.

Her symbol doth she wear
A solitary tear
  She knoweth all must bear!

Her piteous mouth would pray
That she might cease her sway
  And wipe the tear away.

Thus doth she ever bend
To us less foe than friend
  And when shall come the end

The shade will disappear
The pall, the woe, the tear,
  New garments shall she wear.

An angel crowned elate!
For sorrow's earthly fate
  Ceaseth at Heaven's gate!