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 through 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 though I am cold.
אחרי מות / כריסטינה רוזטי
הוּסְטוּ הַוִּילָאוֹת וְהָרִצְפָּה חֻטְּאָה
גִּזְרֵי קָנִים, פְּרָחִים וְרוֹזְמָרִין,
צֵל תִּלְתָּנִים זוֹחֵל עַל הַסָּרִיג
שֶׁל יְצוּעִי עָלָיו אֲנִי שְׂרוּעָה.
הִיא יְשֵׁנָה, מִלְמֵל הוּא כְּיוֹדֵעַ