That night, she dreamt that he had died, As they were sleeping, side by side: And she awakened in affright, To think of him, so cold and white: And, when she turned her eyes to him, The tears of dream had made them dim; And, for a while, she could not see That he was sleeping quietly. But, as she saw him lying there, The moonlight on his curly hair, With happy face and even breath, Although she thought no more of death; And it was very good to rest Her trembling hand on his calm breast, And feel the warm and breathing life; And know that she was still his wife; Yet, in his bosom’s easy stir, She felt a something trouble her; And wept again, she knew not why; And thought it would be good to die-- To sink into the deep, sweet rest, Her hand upon his quiet breast. She slept: and when she woke again, A bird was at the window-pane, A wild-eyed bird, with wings of white That fluttered in the cold moonlight, As though for very fear of night; And flapped the pane, as if afraid: Yet, not a sound the white wings made. Her eyes met those beseeching eyes; And then she felt she needs must rise, To let the poor, wild creature in To find the rest it sought to win. She rose; and set the casement wide; And caught the murmur of the tide; And saw, afar, the mounded graves About the church beside the waves: The huddled headstones gleaming white And ghostly in the cold moonlight. The bird flew straightway to the bed; And hovered o’er the husband’s head, And circled thrice above his head, Three times above his dreaming head: And, as she watched it, flying round She wondered that it made no sound; And, while she wondered, it was gone: And cold and white, the moonlight shone Upon her husband, sleeping there; And turned to silver his gold hair; And paled like death his ruddy face. Then, creeping back into her place, She lay beside him in the bed: But, if she closed her eyes, with dread She saw that wild bird’s eyes that burned Through her shut eyelids, though she turned Her blessings over in her heart, That peace might come: and with a start, If she but drowsed, or dreamt of rest, She felt that wild beak in her breast. So, wearying for the time to rise, She watched, till dawn was in the skies.