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Posthumous Coquetry Let there be laid, when I am dead, Ere `neath the coffin-lid I lie, Upon my cheek a little red, A little black about the eye. For I in my close bier would fain, As on the night his vows were made, Rose-red eternally remain, With kohl beneath my blue eye laid. Wind me no shroud of linen down My body to my feet, but fold The white folds of my muslin gown With thirteen flounces as of old. This shall go with me where I go: I wore it when I won his heart; His first look hallowed it, and so, For him, I laid the gown apart. No immortelles, no broidered grace Of tears upon my cushions be; Lay me on my pillow’s lace, My hair across it like a sea. That pillow, those mad nights of old, Has seen our slumbering brows unite, And `neath the gondola’s black fold Has counted kisses infinite. Between my hands of ivory, Together set for prayer and rest, Place then the opal rosary The holy Pope at Rome has blest. I will lie down then on that bed And sleep the sleep that shall not cease; His mouth upon my mouth has said Pater and Ave for my peace.