THE WHITE VIGIL.

Last night I dreamed I saw you lying dead,

And by your sheeted form stood all alone:

Frail as a flow'r you lay upon your bed,

And on your still face, through the casement, shone

The moon, as lingering to kiss you there

Fall'n asleep, white violets in your hair.

Oh, sick to weeping was my soul, and sad

To breaking was my heart that would not break;

And for my soul's great grief no tear I had,

No lamentation for my heart's deep ache;

Yet all I bore seemed more than I could bear

Beside you dead, white violets in your hair.

A white rose, blooming at your window-bar,

And glimmering in it, like a fire-fly caught

Upon the thorns, the light of one white star,

Looked on with me; as if they felt and thought

As did my heart,— “How beautiful and fair

And young she lies, white violets in her hair!”

And so we watched beside you, sad and still,

The star, the rose, and I. The moon had past,

Like a pale traveler, behind the hill

With all her echoed radiance. At last

The darkness came to hide my tears and share

My watch by you, white violets in your hair.