Fold the little waxen hands <br />Lightly. Let your warmest tears <br />Speak regrets, but never fears,-- <br />Heaven understands! <br />Let the sad heart, o'er the tomb, <br />Lift again and burst in bloom <br />Fragrant with a prayer as sweet <br />As the lily at your feet. <br /> <br />Bend and kiss the folded eyes-- <br />They are only feigning sleep <br />While their truant glances peep <br />Into Paradise. <br />See, the face, though cold and white, <br />Holds a hint of some delight <br />E'en with Death, whose finger-tips <br />Rest upon the frozen lips. <br /> <br />When, within the years to come, <br />Vanished echoes live once more-- <br />Pattering footsteps on the floor, <br />And the sounds of home,-- <br />Let your arms in fancy fold <br />Little Harlie as of old-- <br />As of old and as he waits <br />At the City's golden gates.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/harlie/
