The White Lady
I cannot rest, I cannot rest
In straight 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.
Where never I walked alone before,
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 pompous dead!
Dorothy Parker's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (The White Lady by Dorothy Parker )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
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William Ernest Henley
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