Death's Game

Death can but play one game with me—

If I live here alone;

He cannot strike me a foul blow

Through a belovèd one.

To-day he takes my neighbour’s wife,

And leaves a little child

To lie upon his breast and cry

Like the Night-wind, so wild.

And every hour its voice is heard—

Tell me where is she gone!

Death cannot play that game with me—

If I live here alone.