Death and Mourning

'Tis not that Dying hurts us so

335

'Tis not that Dying hurts us so'
Tis Living-hurts us more-
But Dying-is a different way-
A Kind behind the Door-

The Southern Custom-of the Bird-
That ere the Frosts are due-
Accepts a better LatitudeWe-
are the Birds-that stay.

The Shrivers round Farmers' doors-
For whose reluctant Crumb-
We stipulate-till pitying Snows
Persuade our Feathers Home.

'Tis good-the looking back on Grief

660

'Tis good-the looking back on Grief-
To re-endure a Day-
We thought the Mighty Funeral-
Of All Conceived Joy-

To recollect how Busy Grass
Did meddle-one by one-
Till all the Grief with Summer-waved
And none could see the stone.

And though the Woe you have Today
Be larger-As the Sea
Exceeds its Unremembered DropThey're
Water-equally-

Till Death—is narrow Loving

907

Till Death—is narrow Loving—
The scantest Heart extant
Will hold you till your privilege
Of Finiteness—be spent—

But He whose loss procures you
Such Destitution that
Your Life too abject for itself
Thenceforward imitate—

Until—Resemblance perfect—
Yourself, for His pursuit
Delight of Nature—abdicate—
Exhibit Love—somewhat—

Those who have been in the Grave the longest

922

Those who have been in the Grave the longest-
Those who begin Today-
Equally perish from our Practise-
Death is the other way-

Foot of the Bold did least attempt itIt-
is the White Exploit-
Once to achieve, annuls the power
Once to communicate-

This heart that broke so long

145

This heart that broke so long-
These feet that never flagged-
This faith that watched for star in vain,
Give gently to the dead-

Hound cannot overtake the Hare
That fluttered panting, here-
Nor any schoolboy rob the nest
Tenderness builded there.

This Consciousness that is aware

822

This Consciousness that is aware
Of Neighbors and the Sun
Will be the one aware of Death
And that itself alone

Is traversing the interval
Experience between
And most profound experiment
Appointed unto Men-

How adequate unto itself
Its properties shall be
Itself unto itself and none
Shall make discovery.

Adventure most unto itself
The Soul condemned to be-
Attended by a single Hound
Its own identity.

They dropped like flakes

They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,
Like petals from a rose,
When suddenly across the lune
A wind with fingers goes.

They perished in the seamless grass,-No
eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
Can summon every face

There's something quieter than sleep

45

There's something quieter than sleep
Within this inner room!
It wears a sprig upon its breast-
And will not tell its name.


Some touch it, and some kiss it-
Some chafe its idle hand-
It has a simple gravity
I do not understand!


I would not weep if I were they-
How rude in one to sob!
Might scare the quiet fairy
Back to her native wood!


While simple-hearted neighbors
Chat of the "Early dead"We-
prone to periphrasis
Remark that Birds have fled!

There's a certain Slant of light (258)

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes--


Heavenly Hurt, it gives us--
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are--


None may teach it--Any-'
Tis the Seal Despair--
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air--


When it comes, the Landscape listens-Shadows--
hold their breath--
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death--

The Whole of it came not at once

762

The Whole of it came not at once'
Twas Murder by degrees-
A Thrust-and then for Life a chance-
The Bliss to cauterize-

The Cat reprieves the Mouse
She eases from her teeth
Just long enough for Hope to tease-
Then mashes it to death


'Tis Life's award-to die-
Contenteder if once-
Than dying half-then rallying
For consciouser Eclipse-

The Sun kept setting—setting—still

692

The Sun kept setting—setting—still
No Hue of Afternoon—
Upon the Village I perceived
From House to House 'twas Noon—


The Dusk kept dropping—dropping—still
No Dew upon the Grass—
But only on my Forehead stopped—
And wandered in my Face—


My Feet kept drowsing—drowsing—still
My fingers were awake—
Yet why so little sound—Myself
Unto my Seeming—make?


How well I knew the Light before—
I could see it now—
'Tis Dying—I am doing—but
I'm not afraid to know—

The Months have ends—the Years—a knot

423

The Months have ends—the Years—a knot—
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery—


The Earth lays back these tired lives
In her mysterious Drawers—
Too tenderly, that any doubt
An ultimate Repose—


The manner of the Children—
Who weary of the Day—
Themself—the noisy Plaything
They cannot put away—

The last Night that She lived

1100

The last Night that She lived
It was a Common Night
Except the Dying-this to Us
Made Nature different

We noticed smallest things-
Things overlooked before
By this great light upon our Minds
Italicized-as 'twere.

As We went out and in
Between Her final Room
And Rooms where Those to be alive
Tomorrow were, a Blame

That Others could exist
While She must finish quite
A Jealousy for Her arose
So nearly infinite-

We waited while She passed-
It was a narrow time-
Too jostled were Our Souls to speak
At length the notice came.

She mentioned, and forgot-
Then lightly as a Reed
Bent to the Water, struggled scarce-
Consented, and was dead-

And We-We placed the Hair-
And drew the Head erect-
And then an awful leisure was
Belief to regulate-

The face I carry with me—last

336

The face I carry with me—last—
When I go out of Time—
To take my Rank—by—in the West—
That face—will just be thine—


I'll hand it to the Angel—
That—Sir—was my Degree—
In Kingdoms—you have heard the Raised—
Refer to—possibly.


He'll take it—scan it—step aside—
Return—with such a crown
As Gabriel—never capered at—
And beg me put it on—


And then—he'll turn me round and round—
To an admiring sky—
As one that bore her Master's name—
Sufficient Royalty!

The Doomed—regard the Sunrise

294

The Doomed—regard the Sunrise
With different Delight—
Because—when next it burns abroad
They doubt to witness it—

The Man—to die—tomorrow—
Harks for the Meadow Bird—
Because its Music stirs the Axe
That clamors for his head—

Joyful—to whom the Sunrise
Precedes Enamored—Day—
Joyful—for whom the Meadow Bird
Has ought but Elegy!

The bustle in a house

The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth,-


The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.

The Chemical conviction

954

The Chemical conviction
That Nought be lost
Enable in Disaster
My fractured Trust-

The Faces of the Atoms
If I shall see
How more the Finished Creatures
Departed me!

That after Horror—that 'twas us

286

That after Horror—that 'twas us—
That passed the mouldering Pier—
Just as the Granite Crumb let go—
Our Savior, by a Hair—


A second more, had dropped too deep
For Fisherman to plumb—
The very profile of the Thought
Puts Recollection numb—


The possibility—to pass
Without a Moment's Bell—
Into Conjecture's presence—
Is like a Face of Steel—
That suddenly looks into ours
With a metallic grin—
The Cordiality of Death—
Who drills his Welcome in—

Sweet, to have had them lost

901

Sweet, to have had them lost
For news that they be saved-
The nearer they departed Us
The nearer they, restored,

Shall stand to Our Right Hand-
Most precious and the Dead-
Next precious
Those that rose to go-
Then thought of Us, and stayed.

T was just this time last year I died.

'T was just this time last year I died.
I know I heard the corn,

When I was carried by the farms,-It
had the tassels on.

I thought how yellow it would look
When Richard went to mill;

And then I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.

I thought just how red apples wedged
The stubble's joints between;

And carts went stooping round the fields
To take the pumpkins in.

I wondered which would miss me least,
And when Thanksgiving came,

If father'd multiply the plates
To make an even sum.

And if my stocking hung too high,
Would it blur the Christmas glee,

That not a Santa Claus could reach
The altitude of me?

But this sort grieved myself, and so
I thought how it would be

When just this time, some perfect year,
Themselves should come to me.

Suspense—is Hostiler than Death

705

Suspense—is Hostiler than Death—
Death—tho'soever Broad,
Is Just Death, and cannot increase—
Suspense—does not conclude—


But perishes—to live anew—
But just anew to die—
Annihilation—plated fresh
With Immortality—

Sweet-safe-Houses


457

Sweet-safe-HousesGlad-
gay-Houses-
Sealed so stately tight-
Lids of Steel-on Lids of Marble-
Locking Bare feet out-

Brooks of Plush-in Banks of Satin
Not so softly fall
As the laughter-and the whisper-
From their People Pearl-

No Bald Death-affront their Parlors-
No Bold Sickness come
To deface their Stately TreasuresAnguish-
and the Tomb-

Hum by-in Muffled Coaches-
Lest they-wonder WhyAny-
for the Press of SmilingInterrupt-
to die-

Some, too fragile for winter winds

141

Some, too fragile for winter winds
The thoughtful grave encloses-
Tenderly tucking them in from frost
Before their feet are cold.


Never the treasures in her nest
The cautious grave exposes,
Building where schoolboy dare not look,
And sportsman is not bold.


This covert have all the children
Early aged, and often cold,
Sparrow, unnoticed by the Father-
Lambs for whom time had not a fold.

So proud she was to die

So proud she was to die
It made us all ashamed
That what we cherished, so unknown
To her desire seemed.

So satisfied to go
Where none of us should be,
Immediately, that anguish stooped
Almost to jealousy.