I Came To You Quietly When You Were Lying In Perfect Midnight Sleep. Your Dark Soft Hair Was All About Your Pillow, So Black Upon The White. I Could Not See Your Face Except The Lovely Curve Of The Pale Cheek; Your Head Was Bent As Though Your Stirless Slumber Was Sea-Like Heavy And Deep. The Wind Came Gently In At The Wide Window, Shaking The Candle-Light And Shadows On The Wall; And There Was Silence, Or Sound But Far And Weak. By The Bedside Your Daytime Toys Were Gathered: The Bright Bell-Ringing Wheel, Dolls Clad In Violent Yellow And Vermilion, Strings Of Gay-Coloured Beads.... But You Were Far And Far From These Beside You, Entranced With Other Joys In Fresh Fields, Among Other Children Running: Your Voice, I Knew, Must Peal Purely Among Their High Unearthly Voices Over Green Daisied Meads, While I Stood Watching Your Scarce-Heaving Slumber Beside Your Human Toys---- And Heard, Faint From The Woods All Through The Night, The Cry Of Some Hurt Thing That Moaned For Light.