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James Whitcomb Riley - The Rival
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I so loved once, when Death came by I hid
  Away my face,
  And all my sweetheart`s tresses she undid
  To make my hiding-place.

  The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and
  I turned me then
  To calm my love--kiss down her shielding hand
  And comfort her again.

  And lo! she answered not: And she did sit
  All fixedly,
  With her fair face and the sweet smile of it,
  In love with Death, not me.
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