Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/784

 653. The Death-bed

We watch'd her breathing thro' the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seem'd to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied— We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed—she had Another morn than ours.

654. The Bridge of Sighs

One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death!

Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly Young, and so fair!