I cannot weep for Willy, nor can I weep for the rest;
Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with the best.
The first child that ever I bore was dead before he was born:
Shadow and shine is life, little Annie, flower and thorn.
I had not wept, little Annie, not since I had been a wife;
But I wept like a child, that day; for the babe had fought for his life.
His dear little face was troubled, as if with anger or pain;
I looked at the still little body,—his trouble had all been in vain.
For Willy I cannot weep; I shall see him another morn;
But I wept like a child for the child that was dead before he was born.