She Stood In The Open Door, She Blessed Them Faint And Low: "I Must Go," She Said, "Must Go Away From The Light Of The Sun, Away From You, Every One; Must See Your Eyes No More,-- Your Eyes, That Love Me So. "I Should Not Shudder Thus, Nor Weep, Nor Be Afraid. Nor Cling To You So Dismayed, Could I Only Pierce With Ray Eyes Where The Dark, Dark Shadow Lies; Where Something Hideous Is Hiding, Perhaps," She Said. Then Slowly She Went From Them, Went Down The Staircase Grim, With Trembling Heart And Limb; Her Footfalls Echoed In The Silence Vast And Dead, Like The Notes Of A Requiem, Not Sung, But Uttered. For A Little Way And A Black She Groped As Grope The Blind, Then A Sudden Radiance Shined, And A Vision Her Eyelids Burned; All Joyfully She Turned, For A Moment Turned She Back, And Smiled At Those Behind. There In The Shadows Drear An Angel Sat Serene, Of Grave And Tender Mien, With Whitest Roses Crowned; A Scythe Lay On The Ground, As Reaping-Time Were Near,-- A Burnished Scythe And A Keen. She Did Not Start Or Pale As The Angel Rose And Laid His Hand On Hers, Nor Said A Word, Hut Beckoned On; For A Glorious Meaning Shone On The Lips That Told No Tale, And She Followed Him, Unafraid. Her Friends Wept For A Space; Then One Said: "Be Content; Surely Some Good Is Meant For Her, Our Beautiful,-- Some Glorious Good And Full. Did You Not See Her Face, Her Dear Smile, As She Went?"