Sorrow! Hast thou seen Sorrow asleep,
When thick sighs break the wholeness of her mouth,
And one tear trembles in her upward eye,
Part clammy on the dark threads of her lash,
Part yet within her dream? One moony night
I found her so, a pale, cold babe, and beauteous,
In slumber, as Consumption, just before
She’s christened Death. I pressed her in my arms,
And took upon my lip the hurrying tear
Off her warm neck.

[Kelsall, 1851]