|
by Thomas Hood |
| 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. |
| But when the morn came dim and sad |
| And chill with early showers, |
| Her quiet eyelids closed―she had |
| Another morn than ours. |
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