A LEAVE-TAKING.

She will not smile;

She will not stir;

I marvel while

I look on her.

The lips are chilly

And will not speak;

The ghost of a lily

In either cheek.

Her hair — ah me!

Her hair — her hair!

How helplessly

My hands go there!

But my caresses

Meet not hers,

O golden tresses

That thread my tears!

I kiss the eyes

On either lid,

Where her love lies

Forever hid.

I cease my weeping

And smile and say:

I will be sleeping

Thus, some day!