Elizabeth J. Coatsworth

From “Vermilion Seals”

NAY, bury her in her cloak; she was not one

To prison in a coffin. At her head,

When you have strewn the earth with forest leaves,

Pile apricots and peaches, apples red,

Plums, oranges and grapes in one sweet heap—

There where shall hover breathless-humming bees,

And birds that taste, then sit and preen their wings.

And at the foot, I ask that you leave these—

Her slippers. Then some shepherdess may try

In vain to put them on; or little fay,

Knotting her long green hair, steal near to glance.

So may she know that I forget to-day,

And think of her as when she used to dance.