Classic Poem

They pass, and smile, and nod the head,
They do not guess that I am dead.
Dear friends, I died a year ago,
Only I never told you so.
I dine, and never does my host
Suspect he entertains a ghost,
Who, when her body dies, will be
No stranger in eternity.
If I but wore a plaited shroud,
And could not breathe, or speak aloud,
And lay with lilies at my head,
Then they would come and whisper, “Dead.”
But you, dear friends, my secret know:
I really died a year ago.