Come to me, angel of the weary hearted!
  Since they my loved ones, breathed upon by thee,
Unto thy realms unreal have departed,
  I too may rest—even I: ah! haste to me.

I dare not bid thy darker, colder brother
  With his more welcome offering appear,
For those sweet lips at morn will murmur, “Mother,”
  And who shall soothe them if I...