For there it lies so tranquil, so beloved,

All that it hath of Life with us is living;

So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved,

And all unconscious of the joy 't is giving;

All it hath felt, inflicted, passed, and proved,

Hushed into depths beyond the watcher's diving:

There lies the thing we love with all its errors

And all its charms, like Death without its terrors.