Oh Tell Me Not Of Heavenly Halls by Celia Thaxter

OH tell me not of heavenly halls,
Of streets of pearl and gates of gold,
Where angel unto angel calls
'Mid splendors of the sky untold;


My homesick heart would backward turn
To find this dear, familiar earth,
To watch its sacred hearth-fires burn,
To catch its songs of joy or mirth.


I'd lean from out the heavenly choir To hear once more the red cock crow,
What time the morning's rosy fire
O'er hill and field began to glow.


To hear the ripple of the rain,
The summer waves at ocean's brim,
To hear the sparrow sing again
I'd quit the wide-eyed cherubim!


I care not what heaven's glories are;
Content am I. More joy it brings
To watch the dandelion's star
Than mystic Saturn's golden rings.


And yet -- and yet, O dearest one!
My comfort from life's earliest breath --
To follow thee where thou art gone
Through those dim, awful gates of Death,


To find thee, feel thy smile again,
To have eternity's long day
To tell my grateful love, -- why, then,
Both heaven and earth might pass away!


Celia Thaxter [1835 – 1894]