Last night they lit your glass with wine
And brought for you the sweet soul-cake,
And blessed the room with candle-shine
For the grave journey you would make.
They told me not to stir between
The midnight strokes of one and two,
And I should see you come again
To view the scene that once you knew.
"Good night," they said, and journeyed on.
I turned the key, and - turning - smiled,
And in the quiet house alone
I slept serenely as a child.
Innocent was that sleep, and free,
And when the first of morning shone
I had no need to gaze and see
If crumb, or bead of wine, had gone.
My heart was easy as this bloom
Of waters rising by the bay.
I did not watch where you might come,
For you had never been away.
For you have never been away.