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THE NIGHT OUR DARLING DIED, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I'm thinking of an evening, a weary time ago
Last Line: In the hours of weary watching, that night our darling died.
Alternate Author Name(s): Van Deth, Gerrit, Mrs.
Subject(s): Angels; Death - Children; Grief; Heaven; Death - Babies; Sorrow; Sadness; Paradise


I'M thinking of an evening, a weary time ago,
When the bitter winds of sorrow about our hearth did blow,—
When a shadow settled darkly where sunshine erst did bide,—
Of the mystery of life and death, the night our darling died.

'T was a night in drear November; the spirits of the breeze
Were holding rout and revel amid the leafless trees;
They tapped, with shivering fingers, at our pleasant fireside,
But we heeded not their presence the night our darling died.

She was but a child, a wee one. Six happy summers shed
Their meed of golden beauty upon her little head;
Six years of bliss unclouded in melody did glide,
Ere God sent down the angels the night our darling died.

We watched the fitful brightness, the mournful look of pain,
And hope would light in flashes, or sadly sink again;
We saw the death-mists gather our star of life to hide,
Yet the fount of tears was frozen, the night our darling died.

She moaned a word of sweetness, a little word of love,
And a smile shone for a moment, reflected from above;
Then the waiting ones enclasped her in their downy pinions wide,
And away, away they bore her, our darling and our pride.

There was rustling of bright pinions, there were seraph murmurs sweet,
And the shadowed room was holy with the tread of angel-feet;
It had been the gate of heaven to a spirit purified:
But we knew not, and we cared not, the night our darling died.

We could only touch the forehead, so ivory-veined and chill;
We could only part the ringlets in childish beauty still;
We could only fold the white hands on the strangely silent breast;
We could only see the mortal,—the soul had gone to rest.

There are times when two worlds, meeting, clasp with a golden band,
And the mourner standeth closest to the radiant Better-land:
And, though we thought not of it, bright Heaven was at our side
In the hours of weary watching, that night our darling died.





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