For hardly dared I turn my head
Lest its wet eyes should view that bed.
'But, Harriet,' said my mother mild,
'Look at your sister and my child
One moment, ere her form be hid
For ever 'neath its coffin lid!'
I heard the appeal, and answered too;
For down I bent to bid adieu.
But, as I looked, forgot affright
In mild and magical delight.