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
With her fair face and the sweet smile of it,
In love with Death, not me.