Her head I try to pillow on a stone,
But it will hang one side, as if the breath
Of famine gaunt into the corpse had blown,
And blighted in the nerves the rigid strength of death.
“Hand me that stone, child.” In his ’tis placed,
Down-channeling his cheeks are tears like rain,
The stone within his handkerchief is cased,
And then I pillow on it Jillen’s head again.
“Untie the nightcap string,” “unloose that lace.”
“Take out that pin.” There, now, she’s nicely—rise,