I LIE here very still; and he draws nigh To stand beside me, and to look his last On her who far beyond his ken has passed, Yet rests here, 'neath his touch, so tranquilly; From the shut lips there comes no least, low Sigh; No eyelash quivers, and white Death holds fast, In long embrace by longing dreams forecast, The life that had known Life's satiety. I laughed and loved and wept, and now I sleep; And that were best of all, if no dreams come To mar this quietude of slumber, deep And still as some deep night when winds are dumb; But he, my mourner, wherefore should he keep Intrusive vigil round my silent home? |