The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept <br />And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may <br />Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, <br />Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. <br />He leaned above me, thinking that I slept <br />And could not hear him; but I heard him say: <br />'Poor child, poor child:' and as he turned away <br />Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. <br />He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold <br />That hid my face, or take my hand in his, <br />Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: <br />He did not love me living; but once dead <br />He pitied me; and very sweet it is <br />To know he still is warm though I am cold.<br /><br />Christina Georgina Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/after-death-10/
