Enough Rope/The White Lady
The White Lady
I CANNOT rest, I cannot rest
In strait and shiny wood,
My woven hands upon my breast—
The dead are all so good!
In strait and shiny wood,
My woven hands upon my breast—
The dead are all so good!
The earth is cool across their eyes;
They lie there quietly.
But I am neither old nor wise,
They do not welcome me.
They lie there quietly.
But I am neither old nor wise,
They do not welcome me.
Where never I walked alone before
I wander in the weeds;
And people scream and bar the door,
And rattle at their beads.
I wander in the weeds;
And people scream and bar the door,
And rattle at their beads.
We cannot rest, we never rest
Within a narrow bed
Who still must love the living best—
Who hate the drowsy dead!
Within a narrow bed
Who still must love the living best—
Who hate the drowsy dead!