Page:Twilight Hours (1868).djvu/319

 OY is dead, but Love doth sit, Faithful mourner, by his bed ; Tender grass she cherisheth, Weedeth out the poppies red. They may sleep whose dreams are sweet, Love doth watch by quiet feet : Fall softly, rain, fall softly. Joy was young, but Love so old, He grew weary over soon ; She doth wait the evening light, He lay down and died at noon. Quickly was Joy's sojourn past ; Love was first and shall be last : Fall softly, rain, fall softly.