Against the grating and looked in.
A gleam, like moonlight, through a square
Of opening—I knew not where—
Shone on her coffin resting there.
And on its oval silver-plate
I read her name and age and date,
And smiled, soft-thinking on my hate.
There was no insect sound to chirr;
No wind to make a little stir:
I stood and looked and thought on her.