Last night they laid me in my winding sheet,
Set burning tapers at my feet and head,
Decked me with wan white blossoms faint and sweet,
And told each other softly, “She is dead.”
Ay, dumb and dead! Enshrouded, cold and stark
I lay where waned the tawny tapers dim,
Pulseless and pale; yet thro’ the dreadful dark
I lived in thoughts of him.
The morning came. One who had loved me bent
Above my face with tears and bated breath;
Laid on my heart the roses he had sent —
And I — was glad of death!