Classic Poem

She was wakened in the night
By the crying of a child;
And, with bosom beating wild,
Quickly rose, and struck a light.

Then she stood a moment still,
Listening for that cry again;
When a tapping at the pane
Drew her to the window-sill.

Pressed against the streaming glass,
She could see a little face;
And she knew her baby, Grace,
Could not rest beneath the grass—

In her new cot could not rest,
Happed in dark and chilly mould;
And had wakened, scared and cold,
Hungry for her mother's breast

Yet she found no baby there,
When she raised the window-sash—
Only on her breast the lash
Of cold rain and cruel air.