William Winter (1836–1917)

HE knelt beside her pillow, in the dead watch of the night,

And he heard her gentle breathing, but her face was still and white,

And on her poor, wan cheek a tear told how the heart can weep,

And he said, ‘My love was weary—God bless her! she ’s asleep.’

He knelt beside her gravestone in the shuddering autumn night,

And he heard the dry grass rustle, and his face was thin and white,

And through his heart the tremor ran of grief that cannot weep,

And he said, ‘My love was weary—God bless her! she ’s asleep.’