May I Not Weep With You
Let me come in where you sit weeping—aye,
by James Whitcomb Riley
Let me, who have not any child to die,
Weep with you for the little one whose love
I have known nothing of.
The little arms that slowly, slowly loosed
Then- pressure round your neck—the hands you vised
To kiss—such arms—such hands—I never knew,
May I not weep with you?
Fain would I be of service—say something
Between the tears, that would be comforting,
But Oh! so sadder than yourself am I,
Who have not any child to die!