When late one night, when all had gone to rest,
Her spirit stood before me—near my bed—
She came from heaven to tell me she was blest.
As some fond dove unto her own mate sings,
So sang she unto me, in my unrest—
Who lay beneath the shadow of her wings—
Of heaven, wherein she told me she was blest.
My spirit had been longing here for years
To know if that dear creature was at rest;
When, just as my poor heart lost all its tears,