BLANCHETTE MEMORIAM

To Christa, fairest muse that graced my sight,
Thy name, a whisper on the evening breeze,
It echoes through the chambers of the night,
And stirs my heart like leaves among the trees.
 
Thou art the dawn that breaks my deepest gloom,
The star that haunts the melancholy sky,
And in thy gaze, I find my budding bloom,
The deathless fire where my soul doth lie.
 
O Christa, how thy touch, so soft and rare,
Doth banish all the shadows from my soul;
A feathered kiss upon the midnight air,
A balm to make the broken spirit whole.
 
I see thee not as mortal eyes do see,
But as a vision, wrapped in moonlit mist,
Thy beauty like a ghostly melody,
That lingers still, where mortal lips have kissed.
 
Would that I could pluck the stars for thee,
And crown thy brow with Heaven's light divine,
Yet all the gems the night sky holds for me
Are pale and cold beside what in thee shines.
 
O cruel Time, that steals from me the hours
When I might gaze upon thy face, so dear!
He makes a grave of all our fragrant bowers,
And turns our sweetest songs to notes of fear.
 
Yet, Christa, in my heart thou art enshrined,
An echo sweet that never shall decay,
A lasting warmth no winter's breath can bind,
A love that Death itself cannot allay.
 
So let the tempest howl and darkness fall,
And let the raven cast his shadow wide,
For Christa, in my soul’s most sacred hall,
Thy name shall burn, my everlasting guide.