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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=384646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Little White Hearse</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=384646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Somebody’s baby was buried to-day –<br> The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back, <br>And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay<br>As I paused on the sidewalk while it crossed on its way, <br> And a shadow seemed drawn o’er the sun’s golden track.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=384646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Somebody’s baby was laid out to rest, <br> White as a snowdrop, and fair to behold, <br>And the soft little hands were crossed over the breast, <br>And those hands and the lips and the eyelids were pressed<br> With kisses as hot as the eyelids were cold.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=384646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Somebody saw it go out of her sight, <br> Under the coffin lid – out through the door; <br>Somebody finds only darkness and blight<br>All through the glory of summer-sun light; <br> Somebody’s baby will waken no more.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=384646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Somebody’s sorrow is making me weep: <br> I know not her name, but I echo her cry, <br>For the dearly bought baby she longed so to keep, <br>The baby that rode to its long-lasting sleep<br> In the little white hearse that went rumbling by.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=384646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I know not her name, but her sorrow I know; <br> While I paused on the crossing I lived it once more, <br>And back to my heart surged that river of woe<br>That but in the breast of a mother can flow; <br> For the little white hearse has been, too, at my door.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</a></strong></div>

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