| |
| LET her lie upon your heart while she faints, | |
| Where she slept such a short time ago; | |
| O! she’s young to be crowned with the saints— | |
| Hold her fast, mother, do not let her go! | |
| |
| The roses are not dead on her cheeks, | 5 |
| There is but a passing chill in their bloom; | |
| It will melt when she smiles, when she speaks— | |
| Hush! was not that her voice in the room? | |
| |
| She is looking like a babe as she lies | |
| With her ringlets swept aside and apart— | 10 |
| Ah, mother, keep the tears in your eyes, | |
| If they fall upon her face she may start. | |
| |
| Did some one break her heart with a word, | |
| Having grasped at it first as a prize? | |
| Did it flutter from his hand, like a bird | 15 |
| Which goes a little way, and then dies? | |
| |
| He remembers the joy of her face, | |
| The love in her smile, and the light, | |
| When, shrinking, she met his embrace— | |
| Bring him here, let him look at her to-night! | 20 |
| |
| O! first came the wonder and the doubt, | |
| And the pale hope fading day by day, | |
| So wistfully she wandered about, | |
| Like a lost child asking its way; | |
| |
| And then came the silence and despair, | 25 |
| And the sighing after wings like a dove, | |
| And the proud heart bleeding into prayer, | |
| But hiding all its wounds from your love. | |
| |
| It is over and the tale is all told, | |
| And the white lamb lies dead in the frost; | 30 |
| You may cover up its limbs from the cold, | |
| But you cannot find a life that is lost. | |
| |
| We were thinking that she moved, but her cheek | |
| Was but stirred by the breast where she lay | |
| Heaving a moment, while we speak, | 35 |
| With the quiet sobs forcing their way. | |
| |
| Let them come, poor mother, let them come; | |
| You must turn when your tears are all done | |
| To a blank in the sweet talk at home, | |
| And a name on a little grey stone. | 40 |
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