And the shiner, perch and bream
Through the shadowed waters gleam
’Gainst the current heading.
White as snow, thy winding sheet
Shelters thee from head to feet,
Save thy pale face only;
Thy face is turned toward the skies,
The lids lie meekly o’er thine eyes,
And the low-voiced pine-tree sighs
O’er thy bed so lonely.