After Death

Christina Rossetti
    The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept 
      And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may 
      Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, 
    Where thro' the lattice ivy-shadows crept. 
    He leaned above me, thinking that I slept 
      And could not hear him; but I heard him say: 
      "Poor child, poor child:" and as he turned away 
    Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. 
    He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold 
      That hid my face, or take my hand in his, 
        Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: 
        He did not love me living; but once dead 
      He pitied me; and very sweet it is 
    To know he still is warm tho' I am cold.