I cannot rest, I cannot rest <br /> In straight and shiny wood, <br />My woven hands upon my breast-- <br /> The dead are all so good! <br /> <br />The earth is cool across their eyes; <br /> They lie there quietly. <br />But I am neither old nor wise; <br /> They do not welcome me. <br /> <br />Where never I walked alone before, <br /> I wander in the weeds; <br />And people scream and bar the door, <br /> And rattle at their beads. <br /> <br />We cannot rest, we never rest <br /> Within a narrow bed <br />Who still must love the living best-- <br /> Who hate the pompous dead!<br /><br />Dorothy Parker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-white-lady/
