Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/63

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
A SICK-BED.
57
Nor watch that none shall tread,
 With noisy footstep, nigh;
Nor listen by my bed,
 To hear my faintest sigh,

And feign a look of cheer,
 And words of comfort speak,
Yet turn to hide the tear
 That gathers on thy cheek.

Beside me, where I rest,
 Thy loving hands will sot
The flowers that please me best:
 Moss-rose and violet.

Then to the sleep I crave
 Resign me, till I see
The face of Him who gave
 His life for thee and me.

Yet, with the setting sun,
 Come, now and then, at eve,

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.