She will not smile; She will not stir; I marvel while I look on - TopicsExpress

She will not smile; She will not stir; I marvel while I look on her. The lips are chilly And will not speak; The ghost of a lily In either cheek. Her hair--ah me! Her hair--her hair! How helplessly My hands go there! But my caresses Meet not hers, O golden tresses That thread my tears! I kiss the eyes On either lid, Where her love lies Forever hid. I cease my weeping And smile and say: I will be sleeping Thus, some day! Poet: James Whitcomb Riley

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