The sun threw down a radiant spot
       &nbsp On the face in the winding-sheet -
The face it had lit when a babe’s in its cot;
And the sun knew not, and the face knew not
       &nbsp That soon they would no more meet.

Now that the grave has shut its door,
       &nbsp And lets not in one ray,
Do they wonder that they meet no more -
That face and its beaming visitor -
       &nbsp That met so many a day?