ASLEEP.

    AN hour before, she spoke of things
    That memory to the dying brings,
             And kiss'd me all the while;
    Then, after some sweet parting words,
    She seem'd among her flowers and birds,
             Until she fell asleep.

    'Twas summer then, 'tis autumn now,
    The crimson leaves fall off the bough,
             And strew the gravel sweep.
    I wander down the garden-walk,
    And muse on all the happy talk
             We had beneath the limes;
    And, resting on the garden-seat,
   Her old Newfoundland at my feet,
             I think of other times:

    Of golden eves, when she and I
    Sat watching here the flushing sky,
             The sunset and the sea;
    Or heard the children in the lanes,
    Following home the harvest wains,
             And shouting in their glee.

    But when the daylight dies away,
    And ships grow dusky in the bay,
             These recollections cease;
And in the stillness of the night,
Bright thoughts that end in dreams as bright,
             Communicate their peace.

    I wake and see the morning star,
    And hear the breakers on the bar,
              The voices on the shore;
    And then, with tears, I long to be
    Across a dim unsounded sea,
               With her for evermore