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.

Ambrose Bierce

Index to poems in the collection by Ambrose Bierce