In the hushed dwelling, where the plaintive ray
Of one poor candle's light on roof and floor
Weaves in its flickerings fantastic store
Of shadowing, a little head doth lie
Upon its snowy pillow while the play
Of rhythmic breathing calmly stirring o'er
The couch mysterious and pure and more
As with a wavelet—sets its depths a-sway.

There watching at her side, I gently feel
Her light breath stir and move against my own
That pauses with the awesome thoughts that steal
Across me,—stricken to my very soul
With the vague dread of life that I have known;
I yearn to be her shield, her cloak, her stole.