Chide not; let me breathe a little,
For I shall not mourn him long;
Though the life—cord was so brittle,
The love—cord was very strong.
I would wake a little space
Till I find a sleeping—place.
 
You can go,—I shall not weep;
You can go unto your rest.
My heart—ache is all too deep,
And too sore my throbbing breast.
Can sobs be, or angry tears,
Where are neither hopes nor fears?
 
Though with you I am alone
And must be so everywhere,
I will make no useless moan,—
None shall say ‘She could not bear:’
While life lasts I will be strong,—
But I shall not struggle long.
 
Listen, listen! Everywhere
A low voice is calling me,
And a step is on the stair,
And one comes ye do not see,
Listen, listen! Evermore
A dim hand knocks at the door.
 
Hear me; he is come again,—
My own dearest is come back.
Bring him in from the cold rain;
Bring wine, and let nothing lack.
Thou and I will rest together,
Love, until the sunny weather.
 
I will shelter thee from harm,—
Hide thee from all heaviness.
Come to me, and keep thee warm
By my side in quietness.
I will lull thee to thy sleep
With sweet songs:—we will not weep.
 
Who hath talked of weeping?—Yet
There is something at my heart,
Gnawing, I would fain forget,
And an aching and a smart.
—Ah! my mother, 'tis in vain,
For he is not come again.

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