By her white bed I muse a little space: <br />She fell asleep--not very long ago,-- <br />And yet the grass was here and not the snow-- <br />The leaf, the bud, the blossom, and--her face!-- <br />Midsummer's heaven above us, and the grace <br />Of Lovers own day, from dawn to afterglow; <br />The fireflies' glimmering, and the sweet and low <br />Plaint of the whip-poor-wills, and every place <br />In thicker twilight for the roses' scent. <br />Then _night_.--She slept--in such tranquility, <br />I walk atiptoe still, nor _dare_ to weep, <br />Feeling, in all this hush, she rests content-- <br />That though God stood to wake her for me, she <br />Would mutely plead: 'Nay, Lord! Let _him_ so sleep.'<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/by-her-white-bed/
