THE END OF ALL.
'In that unpitying Winter's night,
When my own wife—my Mary—died,
I, by my fire's declining light,
Sat comfortless, and silent sighed,
While burst unchecked grief's bitter tide,
As I, methought, when she was gone,
Not hours, but years, like this must bide,
And wake, and weep, and watch alone.
'All earthly hope had passed away,