The mortal part of half my little all;
And though I know her soul is bright above,
Still earth is desolate without her love.
She drooped from day to day—within my arms
I cradled her dear form, so slight, so fair,
And gazed with doating love upon her charms,
While my big tears were glistening in her hair,
Till o’er her upturned eyes the fringed-lid fell,
And soft she said—I know she said—“Farewell!”
She died without a moan, without a sigh;