By Her White Bed.

    By her white bed I muse a little space:
    She fell asleep - not very long ago, -
    And yet the grass was here and not the snow -
    The leaf, the bud, the blossom, and - her face! -
    Midsummer's heaven above us, and the grace
    Of Lovers own day, from dawn to afterglow;
    The fireflies' glimmering, and the sweet and low
    Plaint of the whip-poor-wills, and every place
    In thicker twilight for the roses' scent.
    Then night. - She slept - in such tranquility,
    I walk atiptoe still, nor dare to weep,
    Feeling, in all this hush, she rests content -
    That though God stood to wake her for me, she
    Would mutely plead: "Nay, Lord!    Let him so sleep."