Grieve not so, dear mother (the just grown daughter speaks through her sobs;
The little sisters huddle around, speechless and dismayed).
See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better.
Alas, poor boy, he will never be better (nor, may be, needs to be better, that brave and simple soul).
While they stand at home at the door he is dead already, 30
The only son is dead.
But the mother needs to be better;
She, with thin form, presently drest in black;
By day her meals untouched—then at night fitfully sleeping, often waking,
In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep longing, 35