Some Hurt Thing

I came to you quietly when you were lying     In perfect midnight sleep.     Your dark soft hair was all about your pillow,     So black upon the white.     I could not see your face except the lovely     Curve of the pale cheek;     Your head was bent as though your stirless slumber     Was sea-like heavy and deep.     The wind came gently in at the wide window,     Shaking the candle-light     And shadows on the wall; and there was silence,     Or sound but far and weak.     By the bedside your daytime toys were gathered:     The bright bell-ringing wheel,     Dolls clad in violent yellow and vermilion,     Strings of gay-coloured beads....     But you were far and far from these beside you,     Entranced with other joys     In fresh fields, among other children running:     Your voice, I knew, must peal     Purely among their high unearthly voices     Over green daisied meads,     While I stood watching your scarce-heaving slumber     Beside your human toys----     And heard, faint from the woods all through the night,     The cry of some hurt thing that moaned for light.