When my beloved sleeping lies
I cannot look at him for tears,
Such mournful peace is on his eyes.
A look of lonely death he wears,
And graven very calm and deep
Lie all the sorrows of old years.
He is so passionless in sleep,
With all his strength relaxed to rest;
I cannot see him and not weep.
For weakness life has not confessed
And shadowed scars of old mistakes,
I take his head upon my breast,
And hold my dearest till he wakes.