The Passing of a Heart

James Whitcomb Riley

1883

O touch me with your hands --
For pity's sake!

My brow throbs ever on with such an ache
As only your cool touch may take away;
And so, I pray
You, touch me with your hands!

Touch -- touch me with your hands. --
Smooth back the hair
You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair
That I did dream its gold would wear alway,
And lo, to-day --
O touch me with your hands!

Just touch me with your hands,
And let them press
My weary eyelids with the old caress,
And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way,
That Death may say:
He touched her with his hands.

BY HER WHITE BED.

By her white bed I muse a little space:
She fell asleep -- not very long ago, --
And yet the grass was here and not the snow --
The leaf, the bud, the blossom, and -- her face! --
Midsummer's heaven above us, and the grace
Of Lovers own day, from dawn to afterglow;
The fireflies' glimmering, and the sweet and low
Plaint of the whip-poor-wills, and every place
In thicker twilight for the roses' scent.

Then _night_. -- She slept -- in such tranquility,
I walk atiptoe still, nor _dare_ to weep,
Feeling, in all this hush, she rests content --
That though God stood to wake her for me, she
Would mutely plead: "Nay, Lord! Let _him_ so sleep. "

End of title

Links

External resources

bookshop

Wikipedia

Project Gutenberg

Goodreads

Google Books