Yet Shall She Live On Poem by Robert Harrison

Nay, I speak no ill of thee my brother
'tis against all that I desire to do to thee.
Would that I fain gladly above another
all of the good thou hast desired for me.

Thou art my friend, a kindlier soul hast
not my arms embraced in brotherly love.
My sister thou hast given thy love to last,
in death thy lips kiss hers gently as a dove.

Thus in life ye were both so dearly bound,
secure in thy love. Lo, not even her death
bearing that which cries a pleasing sound,
is she lost; for she lives in the babes breath.

So let us stay our weeping till we are alone,
when we may bare our grief in our solitude.
My dearest sister, if I could but only atone,
thus have thee hold thy child with gratitude.

'Tis not to be, 'tis not to be for thou art gone,
thus we who are left shall mourn thy going.
No longer will we hear thee, but one, thy son
shall hear thee in doves call and rivers flowing.