Smile no more, nor weep.

[WE TOO SHALL SLEEP]

Not, not for thee,

Beloved child, the burning grasp of life

Shall bruise the tender soul. The noise, and strife,

And clamour of midday thou shall not see;

But wrapt for ever in thy quiet grave,

Too little to have known the earthly lot,

Time's clashing hosts above thine innocent head,

Wave upon wave,