 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
447
DEATH IS DEAD
And did you know our old friend Death is dead?Ah me! he died last night; my ghost was there,
And all his phantom-friends from everywhere
Were sorrowfully grouped about his bed.
“I die; God help the living now!” he said
With such a ghastly pathos, I declare
The tears oozed from the blind eyes of the air
And spattered on his face in gouts of red.
And then he smiled—the dear old bony smile
That glittered on us in that crazy whim
When first our daring feet leapt the defile
Of life and ran so eagerly to him:
And so he smiled upon us, even while
The kind old sockets grew forever dim.
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |