"Have they come again, too ?" "Yes, they are here," she said, as we approached two little mounds, covered over with the dark-green myrtle and its purple flowers.
"What is here ?" "Child, here are the little ones you asked for." Oh! those little myrtle-covered graves, how wonderingly I gazed upon them.
There was no thought of death mingled with my meditation; there was, of quiet and repose, but not of death.

I had seen no sickness, no suffering, and I only wondered why those fair children had laid down under the myrtle.
I fancied them with the fringed eyelids drooping over the cheeks, and the velvet hue still there.

How much did I know of death?
As little as of life! Time passed with me, and I saw the sorrows of others.

Sometimes I thought of the myrtle-covered graves, and the children that slept beneath.

Oh! how quiet they must be, they utter no cry, they shed no tears.
Time passed, and an angel slept in my bosom, close to my heart.