Elizabeth Margaret Chandler,
Poetical Works — Death
“ Yet seldom is our bliss unmix'd with some alloy.It should be so—there is enough of bliss, To make the hours of life glide swiftly on, Yet sadness dims the brightest cup—and this Recalls the heart from trusting what must soon Forever vanish from our grasp, when we Are call'd from things of time to dread eternity. ”
