I look'd at the still little body--his trouble had all
been in vain.
For Willy I cannot weep, I shall see him another
morn:
But I wept like a child for the child that was dead
before he was born.

XVIII.
But he cheer'd me, my good man, for he seldom said me
nay:
Kind, like a man, was he; like a man, too, would have
his way:
Never jealous--not he: we had many a happy
year;
And he died, and I could not weep--my own time
seem'd so near.

XIX.
But I wish'd it had been God's will that I, too, then
could have died:
I began to be tired a little, and fain had slept at his
side.
And that was ten years back, or more, if I don't
forget:
But as to the children, Annie, they're all about me
yet.

XX.
Pattering over the boards, my Annie who left me at
two,