"Feel not after my clasping hand:
I am but a shadow, come from the meadow,
Where many lie, but no tree can stand.

"We are trees that have shed their leaves:
Our heads lie low there, but no tears flow there;
Only I grieve for my wife who grieves.

"I could rest if you would not moan
Hour after hour; I have no power
To shut my ears as I lie alone.

"I could rest if you would not cry,
But there's no sleeping while you sit weeping--
Watching, weeping so bitterly."--

"Woe's me! Woe's me! For this I have heard.
Oh night of sorrow--oh, black to-morrow!
Is it thus that you keep your word?

"Oh, you who used so to shelter me,
Warm from the least wind--why, now the east wind
Is warmer than you, whom I quake to see.

"Oh, my husband of flesh and blood,
For whom my mother I left, and brother,
And all I had, accounting it good,

"What do you do there, under the ground,