V.
Then in the depth of our despair,
A vision found me lying there.
She and I were cowering
Before the swoop of Death's dark wing,
That, sweeping him to nothingness,
Plunged our souls in the abyss,
Stone-eyed to stare upon the gloom,
Frantic to challenge the deaf tomb,
Beating upon its iron door
For him who shall return no more!
Death echoing from his awful vault
In ghastly mockery of our assault!
Wanderers ever, wanting only one,
Calling upon the name of our lost little son!
But I dreamt that she and I
Were gazing very mournfully
On the organ, as we deemed
Disused and broken. Then it seemed
That his dear nurse, who loved him well,
And cherished more than I can tell,
Came unaware, and on her breast
She bore him whom we laid to rest,
Our darling, glorious, health-rosed,
Whose dark, dewy eyes reposed
On some far-off enrapturing vision
