Numbered her husband with the dead
And traced for her a widow’s doom.
One sunbeam there, one ray of joy
On that low cottage shed its light,
A fair-haired child, an idiot boy
Was to her heart like stars to night.
I’ve seen a vine, a fragile vine,
When strong support had failed,
Around a weaker cling and twine,
Till drooping both in dust they trailed.