James Whitcomb Riley: The Rival
I so loved once, when Death came by I hid Away my face, And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid To make my hiding-place.
The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and I turned me then To calm my love — kiss down her shielding hand And comfort her again.
And lo! she answered not: and she did sit All fixedly, With her fair face and the sweet smile of it, In love with Death, not me.