I read a sympathy card many years ago dealing with the death of a child. The poem was about a rose growing over a garden wall . I have no idea who the author was or any more about the poem. Anyone have a clue.
The Rose Beyond the Wall
Near a shady wall a rose once grew,
Budded and blossomed in God's free light,
Watered and fed by the morning dew,
Shedding it's sweetness day and night.
As it grew and blossomed fair and tall,
Slowly rising to loftier height,
It came to a crevice in the wall
Through which there shone a beam of light.
Onward it crept with added strength
With never a thought of fear or pride,
It followed the light through the crevice's length
And unfolded itself on the other side.
The light, the dew, the broadening view
Were found the same as they were before,
And it lost itself in beauties new,
Breathing it's fragrance more and more.
Shall claim of death cause us to grieve
And make our courage faint and fall?
Nay! Let us faith and hope receive--
The rose still grows beyond the wall,
Scattering fragrance far and wide
Just as it did in days of yore,
Just as it did on the other side,
Just as it will forevermore.
~ A. L. Frink ~
this was a famous poem in the 80s, from a Hallmark card,
but in it there was a remark that it is from "the writings of A L Frink"
may I add 2 more ?
not in regard to a child, but anyway ...
I wished there were a place for gracious dying,
A high place with a distant view.
Where we could gather for a celebration of life
and death and friendship, old and new.
I'd like a place where there would be good music,
Good food and wine - and laughter, games and fun-
And quiet talk with friends and good discussion
Of what will happen when this life is done.
Dirge without music
Edna St. Vincent Millay
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, for time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and the laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, - but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, -
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes then all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly, they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
I've not met the Helen Ansley one before, and I think it's great. Thanks for posting it Ilza. It seems to sum up the aims of the hospice movement - I wonder if either one inspired the other.
Helen Green Ansley ( 1900-1995) is the author of
Life's finishing school, what now? :
a ninety-year-old's view of life and living a good life /
what next? : dying a good death
she wrote the following poem through the process
of losing your husband and living alone
( I like the other poem better, but I am posting this
one anyway, for there is little of her work online ):
Part I ( her husband was dying )
We're not afraid of death but why must dying
Be so drawn out, so hard for those who care?
Why do you all insist we keep on trying
To live, when life is almost more than we can bear?
Why can't you help us go with smiling faces
Feeling that what we want is for the best
And knowing well that were you in our places
You would be longing too for peace and rest?
We've had our share of happiness and sorrow
We've had a good life and our work is done
Why must we face tomorrow--and tomorrow
When all the things we've known and loved are gone?
Part II ( a month before her husband died )
Why not conceive of death as Re-Creation
A time of pain and joy--as at the time of birth?
Why not arrange a Deathday celebration
For our new life beyond this life on Earth?
Part III ( a month after he died when she was visiting some old friends )
While my husband was dying I thought about Death
And what could be done about it.
Does it have to be so slow and painful and sad?
Is it really so bad? I doubt it.
I've also been thinking a lot about Life
And how, on this earth, to renew it;
And I know that this time in this place with these new friends
Is the very best way I could do it!
Part IV ( when she decided to move closer to her grandchildren )
The music of the spheres is ringing in my ears
The wisdom of the wise is spread before my eyes
The vigor of the land is right here in my hand
The thoughts of all mankind are deep within my mind
A place within the whole is calling to my soul.
Postscript ( 2 and a half years after part IV )
As the cells in my body renew
And my purpose in life I review
I find, growing older,
I’m now growing bolder
And increasingly hard to subdue.
They are fascinating - thanks so much for posting them, Ilza. There's this wonderful sense of her spirit sharpening and lightening as she goes through the process of coming to terms with death and loss and life. Somehow, I find them really encouraging, and I know so many people of all ages facing the same problem and asking the same questions. You've made my day!
Thank you so much The Rose Beyond the wall was the poem I was looking for. Thanks to everyone for your help.
You're amazing! Just how many poems DO you know?