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Hush! for a white rose is sleeping,
Sweet, with dew on her breast;
Tender-eyed stars their watch keeping,
Whisper "God loveth her best--
So, let her rest!"


Softly the Shadow enfoldeth
Earth, with her vigil begun,
As on her bosom she holdeth
Every slumbering one,
Whose Day is done!


Softly! a white soul is going
Purely to Heaven confessed;
Her own heart-story unknowing,
Young with Life's meaning unguessed,
So, that is best!


Hers not the strife and the fever,
Hers not the weary brain;
Dreams cannot thrill her and leave her
To waken from bliss that is vain,
To passionate pain!


So, while the white rose is sleeping,
Sweet, with the dew on her breast,
Fold these pale hands without weeping,
Thus, to their infinite rest.
Lo, this is best!