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VIGIL.
JOY is dead, but Love doth sit,
Faithful mourner, by his bed ;
Tender grass she cherisheth,
Weedeth out the poppies red.
They may sleep whose dreams are sweet,
Love doth watch by quiet feet :
Fall softly, rain, fall softly.
Joy was young, but Love so old,
He grew weary over soon ;
She doth wait the evening light,
He lay down and died at noon.
Quickly was Joy's sojourn past ;
Love was first and shall be last :
Fall softly, rain, fall softly.
