Acquiescent

Let there be weeping that she weeps no more,

And sorrow, as her sorrow grows less deep.

The moon no longer troubles her at night-

Let there be sadness at so sound a sleep.

The dull hours still her and she makes no cry,

Bowing before them her smooth-covered head.

Let there be sadness that she feels no pain-

Weep, that she is not dead.