The dress, the hat, the belt, the coat, the shoes—
And then returns them to their places. O,
For tears! for sweet, sweet tears! They will not come.
There in the corner stands the instrument
On which her husband loved at eve to play;
Yes, at that very hour—that twilight hour,
How often would the viol’s tones be heard
To mingle with her voice in sacred song!
She thither goes, and takes her boy’s low chair,
And sits beside it. See! she lays her head