The moonlight touched the sombre waters white. br Beneath the bridge 'twas darker. Was she cold? br She shivered. Her poor shawl was worn and old, br And she was desolate, and it was night. br The slow canal crept onward; to her sight br It seemed to beckon, and the lapping told br Of rest and quiet sleep: how sweet to fold br The hands from toil and close the eyes from light, br And so shut out all memory, and go br There where men sleep, and dreams, perhaps, are not. br O never any dreams, she murmured; so, br Longing for sleep, the sleep that comes with death, br She fell, she felt the water, and forgot br All, save the drowning agony of breath.