• Let me come in where you sit weeping,—ay,
    Let me, who have not any child to die,
    Weep with you for the little one whose love
            I have known nothing of.

    The little arms that slowly, slowly loosed
    Their pressure round your neck; the hands you used
    To kiss.—Such arms—such hands I never knew.
            May I not weep with you?

    ...
  • Bereaved of all, I went abroad —

    No less bereaved was I

    Upon a New Peninsula —

    The Grave preceded me —


    Obtained my Lodgings, ere myself —

    And when I sought my Bed —

    The Grave it was reposed upon

    The Pillow for my Head —


    I waked to find it first awake —

    I...