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THOMAS HOOD 661 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.
��662 The Bridge of Sighs
E more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death '
��o
��Take her up tenderly Lift her with care;
Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
�� �
