When I am dying, lean over me tenderly, softly,
Stoop, as the yellow roses droop in the wind from the South.
So I may, when I wake, if there be an Awakening,
Keep, what lulled me to sleep, the touch of your lips on my mouth.
Till I Wake
Laurence Hope (adela Florence Cory Nicolson)
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Poem topics: sleep, wind, mouth, touch, yellow, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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