The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, Where thro' the lattice icy-shadows crept, He leaned above me, thinking that I slept And could not hear him; but I heard him say: "Poor child, poor child": and as he turned away Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold That hid my face, or take my hand in his, Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: He did not love me living; but once dead He pitied me; and very sweet it is To know he still is warm tho' I am cold. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FOOL'S ADVENTURE by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE WESTERN MORNING by WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG THEIR WEDDING JOURNEY - 1834 by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER DAWN by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT A HYMN FOR EASTER DAY by JOHN BYROM SENEX'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS YOUTHFUL IDOL by THOMAS CAMPBELL |