My Sister's Sleep
She fell asleep on Christmas Eve. Upon her eyes' most patient calms The lids were shut; her uplaid arms Covered her bosom, I believe.
Our mother, who had leaned all day Over the bed from chime to chime, Then raised herself for the first time, And as she sat her down, did pray.
Her little work-table was spread With work to finish. For the glare Made by her candle, she had care To work some distance from the bed.
Without, there was a good moon up, Which left its shadows far within; The depth of light that it was in Seemed hollow like an altar-cup.
Through the small room, with subtle sound Of flame, by vents the fireshine drove And reddened. In its dim alcove The mirror shed a clearness round.
I had been sitting up some nights, And my tir'd mind felt weak and blank; Like a sharp strengthening wine, it drank The stillness and the broken lights.
Silence was speaking at my side With an exceedingly clear voice: I knew the calm as of a choice Made in God for me, to abide.
I said, “Full knowledge does not grieve: This which upon my spirit dwells Perhaps would have been sorrow else: But I am glad 'tis Christmas Eve.”
Twelve struck. That sound, which all the years Hear in each hour, crept off; and then The ruffled silence spread again, Like water that a pebble stirs.
Our mother rose from where she sat. Her needles, as she laid them down, Met lightly, and her silken gown Settled: no other noise than that.
“Glory unto the Newly Born!” So, as said angels, she did say; Because we were in Christmas-day, Though it would still be long till dawn.
She stood a moment with her hands Kept in each other, praying much; A moment that the soul may touch But the heart only understands.
Almost unwittingly, my mind Repeated her words after her; Perhaps tho' my lips did not stir; It was scarce thought, or cause assign'd.
Just then in the room over us There was a pushing back of chairs, As some who had sat unawares So late, now heard the hour, and rose.
Anxious, with softly stepping haste, Our mother went where Margaret lay, Fearing the sounds o'erhead—should they Have broken her long-watched for rest!
She stooped an instant, calm, and turned; But suddenly turned back again; And all her features seemed in pain With woe, and her eyes gazed and yearned.
For my part, I but hid my face, And held my breath, and spake no word: There was none spoken; but I heard The silence for a little space.
My mother bowed herself and wept. And both my arms fell, and I said: “God knows I knew that she was dead.” And there, all white, my sister slept.
Then kneeling, upon Christmas morn A little after twelve o'clock We said, ere the first quarter struck, “Christ's blessing on the newly born!”