O mother, open the window wide <br />And let the daylight in; <br />The hills grow darker to my sight <br />And thoughts begin to swim. <br /> <br />And mother dear, take my young son, <br />(Since I was born of thee) <br />And care for all his little ways <br />And nurse him on thy knee. <br /> <br />And mother, wash my pale pale hands <br />And then bind up my feet; <br />My body may no longer rest <br />Out of its winding sheet. <br /> <br />And mother dear, take a sapling twig <br />And green grass newly mown, <br />And lay them on my empty bed <br />That my sorrow be not known. <br /> <br />And mother, find three berries red <br />And pluck them from the stalk, <br />And burn them at the first cockcrow <br />That my spirit may not walk. <br /> <br />And mother dear, break a willow wand, <br />And if the sap be even, <br />Then save it for sweet Robert’s sake <br />And he’ll know my soul’s in heaven. <br /> <br />And mother, when the big tears fall, <br />(And fall, God knows, they may) <br />Tell him I died of my great love <br />And my dying heart was gay. <br /> <br />And mother dear, when the sun has set <br />And the pale kirk grass waves, <br />Then carry me through the dim twilight <br />And hide me among the graves.<br /><br />Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-last/
