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.