Verse > Anthologies > Andrew Macphail, ed. > The Book of Sorrow
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Andrew Macphail, comp.  The Book of Sorrow.  1916.
 
XVII. Bereavement
From ‘To J. S.’
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892)
 
WORDS weaker than your grief would make
    Grief more. ’Twere better I should cease;
Although myself could almost take
    The place of him that sleeps in peace.
 
Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace:        5
    Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,
While the stars burn, the moons increase,
    And the great ages onward roll.
 
Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet.
    Nothing comes to thee new or strange.        10
Sleep full of rest from head to feet;
    Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.
 
 
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