Another Way

I lay in silence, dead. A woman came     And laid a rose upon my breast, and said, “May God be merciful.” She spoke my name,     And added, “It is strange to think him dead. “He loved me well enough, but ’t was his way     To speak it lightly.” Then, beneath her breath: “Besides”—I knew what further she would say,     But then a footfall broke my dream of death. To-day the words are mine. I lay the rose     Upon her breast, and speak her name, and deem It strange indeed that she is dead. God knows     I had more pleasure in the other dream.