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The Dead Lover
By James Whitcomb Riley
Time is so long when a man is dead!
Some one sews; and the room is made
Very clean; and the light is shed
Soft through the window-shade.
Yesterday I thought: "I know
Just how the bells will sound, and how
The friends will talk, and the sermon go,
And the hearse-horse bow and bow!"
This is to-day; and I have no thing
To think of - nothing whatever to do
But to hear the throb of the pulse of a wing
That wants to fly back to you.
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