Poems (Waldenburg)/Winged Sorrow

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"A WINGED SORROW."
E. D. PALMER, SCULPTOR.
Not with glad wings that riseOutstretching toward the skies  This wingéd angel flies.
Her low wings seem to broodIn stern, relentless mood  And 'neath her ebon hood—
From painéd brows the eyesShadow forth mysteries  Of human miseries.
Her symbol doth she wearA solitary tear  She knoweth all must bear!
Her piteous mouth would prayThat she might cease her sway  And wipe the tear away.
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Thus doth she ever bendTo us less foe than friend  And when shall come the end
The shade will disappearThe pall, the woe, the tear,  New garments shall she wear.
An angel crowned elate!For sorrow's earthly fate  Ceaseth at Heaven's gate!

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