On the Death of Anne Brontë

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THERE 's little joy in life for me,
 And little terror in the grave;
I 've lived the parting hour to see
 Of one I would have died to save.

Calmly to watch the failing breath,
 Wishing each sigh might be the last;
Longing to see the shade of death
 O'er those belovèd features cast.

The cloud, the stillness that must part
 The darling of my life from me;
And then to thank God from my heart,
 To thank Him well and fervently;

Although I knew that we had lost
 The hope and glory of our life;
And now, benighted, tempest-tossed,
 Must bear alone the weary strife.

© Octavio Paz