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Show BEREAVED By James Whitcomb Riley. Let me come in where you sit weeping, ay, 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 Their pressure round your neck; the hands you used To kiss. Such arms such hands I never know. May I not weep with you? (Pain would I bo of service say something, Between the tears, that would bo comforting, But ah! so sadder than yourselves am I, Who have no child io die. |