For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed,
Awake alike to duty and the dead;
She would have grieved, had friends presum’d to spare
The least assistance - ’twas her proper care.
Here will she come, and on the grave will sit,
Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit;
But if observer pass, will take her round,
And careless seem, for she would not be found;
Then go again, and thus her hour employ,
While visions please her, and while woes destroy.