| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 645. In Death |
| | | By Mary Emily Bradley |
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| HOW still the room is! But a while ago | |
| The sound of sobbing voices vexed my ears, | |
| And on my face there fell a rain of tears— | |
| I scarce knew why or whence, but now I know. | |
| For this sweet speaking silence, this surcease | 5 |
| Of the dumb, desperate struggle after breath, | |
| This painless consciousness of perfect peace, | |
| Which fills the place of anguish—it is Death! | |
| What folly to have feared it! Not the best | |
| Of all we knew of life can equal this, | 10 |
| Blending in one the sense of utter rest, | |
| The vivid certainty of boundless bliss! | |
| O Death, the loveliness that is in thee, | |
| Could the world know, the world would cease to be. | |
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