| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XVI. Crossed Hands and Closed Eyes
Asleep | | By William Winter (1836–1917) |
| | | HE knelt beside her pillow, in the dead watch of the night, | |
| And he heard her gentle breathing, but her face was still and white, | |
| And on her poor, wan cheek a tear told how the heart can weep, | |
| And he said, ‘My love was weary—God bless her! she ’s asleep.’ | |
| He knelt beside her gravestone in the shuddering autumn night, | 5 |
| And he heard the dry grass rustle, and his face was thin and white, | |
| And through his heart the tremor ran of grief that cannot weep, | |
| And he said, ‘My love was weary—God bless her! she ’s asleep.’ | | | | |
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