Let me come in where you sit weepingaye,
Let me, who have not any child to die,
Weep with you for the little one whose love
I have known nothing of.
The little arms that slowly, slowly loosed
Then- pressure round your neckthe hands you vised
To kisssuch armssuch handsI never knew,
May I not weep with you?
Fain would I be of servicesay something
Between the tears, that would be comforting,
But Oh! so sadder than yourself am I,
Who have not any child to die!