by Dorothy Parker

Oh, let it be a night of lyric rain

And singing breezes, when my bell is tolled.

I have so loved the rain that I would hold

Last in my ears its friendly, dim refraln.

I shall lie cool and quiet, who have lain

Fevered, and watched the book of day unfold.

Death will not see me flinch; the heart is bold

That pain has made incapable of pain.

Kinder the busy worms than ever love;

It will be peace to lie there, empty-eyed,

My bed made secret by the leveling showers,

My breast replenishing the weeds above.

And you will say of me, "Then has she died?

Perhaps I should have sent a spray of flowers."