The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley :: :: University of Virginia Library

By her white bed I muse a little space:
She fell asleep—not very long ago,—
And yet the grass was here and not the snow—
The leaf, the bud, the blossom, and—her face!—
Midsummer's heaven above us, and the grace
Of Love's own day, from dawn to afterglow;
The fireflies' glimmering, and the sweet and low
Plaint of the whippoorwills, and every place
In thicker twilight for the roses' scent.
Then night.—She slept—in such tranquillity,
I walk atiptoe still, nor dare to weep,
Feeling, in all this hush, she rests content—
That though God stood to wake her for me, she
Would mutely plead: “Nay, Lord! Let him so sleep.”