I think their happy smile is heard,—
‘He giveth his belovèd, sleep.’
For me, my heart that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,
That sees through tears the mummers leap, 45
Would now its wearied vision close,
Would childlike on his love repose,
Who giveth his belovèd, sleep.
And friends, dear friends, when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me, 50