CCXLIII On the Same
Child of a day, thou knowest not
The tears that overflow thine urn,
The gushing eyes that read thy lot;
Nor, if thou knewest, could’st return!
And why the wish! the pure and blest 5
Watch like thy mother o’er thy sleep:
O peaceful night! O envied rest!
Thou wilt not ever see her weep.
Walter Savage Landor.