[THE LITTLE SLEEPER.]
There is mourning in the cottage as the twilight shadows fall,
For a little rose-wood coffin has been brought into the hall,
And a little pallid sleeper,
In a slumber colder, deeper
Than the days of life could give her, in its narrow borders lies,
With the sweet and changeful lustre ever faded from her eyes.
Since the morning of her coming, but a score of suns had set,
And the strangeness of the dawning of her life is with her yet;
And the dainty lips asunder