Over her bosom crossed her hands;
"Come away," they said, "God understands."
With bowed heads they left the room,
Still shuddering at its silent gloom;
And naught, save silence, lingered there
Around the corpse of May-Bell Clare.
But I loved her far too well to dread
The silent, stately, beautiful dead.
I cautiously opened the chamber door
And was alone with my dead once more.
I kissed her lips, I kissed her cheek,
But 'twas in vain, she could not speak.
I called her names, she loved, awhile,
But she was dead and could not smile.
And not one passionate whisper of love
Could call her back from her home above.
"Cold lips," I murmured, "breast without breath,
Is there no voice, no language in death?"
Dull to ear and still to the sense,
Yet to the soul of love intense!