Death and Mourning

If anybody's friend be dead

509

If anybody's friend be dead
It's sharpest of the theme
The thinking how they walked alive-
At such and such a time-

Their costume, of a Sunday,
Some manner of the Hair-
A prank nobody knew but them
Lost, in the Sepulchre-

How warm, they were, on such a day,
You almost feel the date-
So short way off it seems-
And now-they're Centuries from that-

How pleased they were, at what you said-
You try to touch the smile
And dip your fingers in the frost-
When was it-Can you tell-

You asked the Company to teaAcquaintance-
just a few-
And chatted close with this Grand Thing
That don't remember you-

Past Bows, and Invitations-
Past Interview, and Vow-
Past what Ourself can estimateThat-
makes the Quick of Woe!

I never felt at Home—Below

413

I never felt at Home—Below—-
And in the Handsome Skies
I shall not feel at Home—I know—
I don't like Paradise—


Because it's Sunday—all the time—
And Recess—never comes—
And Eden'll be so lonesome
Bright Wednesday Afternoons—


If God could make a visit—
Or ever took a Nap—
So not to see us—but they say
Himself—a Telescope


Perennial beholds us—
Myself would run away
From Him—and Holy Ghost—and All—
But there's the "Judgement Day"!

I ment to find her when I came;

I meant to find her when I came;
Death had the same design;
But the success was his, it seems,
And the discomfit mine.

I meant to tell her how I longed
For just this single time;
But Death had told her so the first,
And she had hearkened him.

To wander now is my abode;
To rest,--to rest would be
A privilege of hurricane
To memory and me.

I like a look of Agony

241

I like a look of Agony,
Because I know it's true-
Men do not sham Convulsion,
Nor simulate, a Throe-

The Eyes glaze once-and that is Death-
Impossible to feign
The Beads upon the Forehead
By homely Anguish strung.

I heard a fly buzz when I died;

I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.


The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.


I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me I
Could make assignable,--and then
There interposed a fly,


With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see.

I got so I could take his name

293

I got so I could take his nameWithout-
Tremendous gain-
That Stop-sensation-on my Soul-
And Thunder-in the Room-

I got so I could walk across
That Angle in the floor,
Where he turned so, and I turned-how-
And all our Sinew tore-

I got so I could stir the Box-
In which his letters grew
Without that forcing, in my breath-
As Staples-driven through-

Could dimly recollect a Grace-
I think, they call it "God"-
Renowned to ease Extremity-
When Formula, had failed-

And shape my HandsPetition's
way,
Tho' ignorant of a word
That Ordination-utters-

My Business, with the Cloud,
If any Power behind it, be,
Not subject to Despair-
It care, in some remoter way,
For so minute affair
As Misery-
Itself, too vast, for interrupting-more-

I dreaded that first Robin, so

348

I dreaded that first Robin, so,
But He is mastered, now,
I'm accustomed to Him grown,
He hurts a little, though-


I thought If I could only live
Till that first Shout got by-
Not all Pianos in the Woods
Had power to mangle me-


I dared not meet the Daffodils-
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own-


I wished the Grass would hurrySo-
when 'twas time to seeHe'd
be too tall, the tallest one
Could stretch-to look at me-


I could not bear the Bees should come,
I wished they'd stay away
In those dim countries where they go,
What word had they, for me?


They're here, though; not a creature failed-
No Blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me-
The Queen of Calvary-


Each one salutes me, as he goes,
And I, my childish Plumes,
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment
Of their unthinking Drums-

I cried at Pity—not at Pain

588

I cried at Pity—not at Pain—
I heard a Woman say
"Poor Child"—and something in her voice
Convicted me—of me—


So long I fainted, to myself
It seemed the common way,
And Health, and Laughter, Curious things—
To look at, like a Toy—


To sometimes hear "Rich people" buy
And see the Parcel rolled—
And carried, I supposed—to Heaven,
For children, made of Gold—


But not to touch, or wish for,
Or think of, with a sigh—
And so and so—had been to me,
Had God willed differently.


I wish I knew that Woman's name—
So when she comes this way,
To hold my life, and hold my ears
For fear I hear her say


She's "sorry I am dead"—again—
Just when the Grave and I—
Have sobbed ourselves almost to sleep,
Our only Lullaby—

I cannot live with You (No. 640)

I cannot live with You--
It would be Life--
And Life is over there--
Behind the Shelf

The Sexton keeps the Key to--
Putting up
Our Life--His Porcelain--
Like a Cup--

Discarded of the Housewife-Quaint--
or Broke--
A newer Sevres pleases--
Old Ones crack--

I could not die--with You--
For One must wait
To shut the Other's Gaze down-You--
could not--

And I--could I stand by
And see You--freeze--
Without my Right of Frost-Death's
privilege?

Nor could I rise--with You--
Because Your Face
Would put out Jesus'--
That New Grace

Glow plain--and foreign
On my homesick Eye--
Except that You than He
Shone closer by-


They'd judge Us--How--
For You--served Heaven--You know,
Or sought to--
I could not--

Because You saturated Sight--
And I had no more Eyes
For sordid excellence
As Paradise

And were You lost, I would be--
Though My Name
Rang loudest
On the Heavenly fame--

And were You--saved--
And I--condemned to be


Where You were not--
That self--were Hell to Me--

So We must meet apart--
You there--I--here--
With just the Door ajar
That Oceans are--and Prayer--
And that White Sustenance--
Despair--

I bring an unaccustomed wine

132

I bring an unaccustomed wine
To lips long parching
Next to mine,
And summon them to drink;


Crackling with fever, they Essay,
I turn my brimming eyes away,
And come next hour to look.


The hands still hug the tardy glass-
The lips I would have cooled, alas-
Are so superfluous Cold-


I would as soon attempt to warm
The bosoms where the frost has lain
Ages beneath the mould-


Some other thirsty there may be
To whom this would have pointed me
Had it remained to speak-


And so I always bear the cup
If, haply, mine may be the drop
Some pilgrim thirst to slake-


If, haply, any say to me
"Unto the little, unto me,"
When I at last awake.

I am alive—I guess

470

I am alive—I guess—
The Branches on my Hand
Are full of Morning Glory—
And at my finger's end—


The Carmine—tingles warm—
And if I hold a Glass
Across my Mouth—it blurs it—
Physician's—proof of Breath—


I am alive—because
I am not in a Room—
The Parlor—Commonly—it is—
So Visitors may come—


And lean—and view it sidewise—
And add "How cold—it grew"—
And "Was it conscious—when it stepped
In Immortality?"


I am alive—because
I do not own a House—
Entitled to myself—precise—
And fitting no one else—


And marked my Girlhood's name—
So Visitors may know
Which Door is mine—and not

How many times these low feet staggered

187

How many times these low feet staggered-
Only the soldered mouth can tellTry-
can you stir the awful rivetTry-
can you lift the hasps of steel!

Stroke the cool forehead-hot so oftenLift-
if you care-the listless hair-
Handle the adamantine fingers
Never a thimble-more-shall wear-

Buzz the dull flies-on the chamber windowBrave-
shines the sun through the freckled paneFearless-
the cobweb swings from the ceiling-
Indolent Housewife-in Daisies-lain!

How fortunate the Grave

897

How fortunate the Grave-
All Prizes to obtain-
Successful certain, if at last,
First Suitor not in vain.

He told a homely tale

763

He told a homely tale
And spotted it with tears-
Upon his infant face was set
The Cicatrice of years-

All crumpled was the cheek
No other kiss had known
Than flake of snow, divided with
The Redbreast of the Barn-

If Mother-in the Grave-
Or Father-on the Sea-
Or Father in the Firmament-
Or Brethren, had he-

If Commonwealth below,
Or Commonwealth above
Have missed a Barefoot CitizenI've
ransomed it-alive-

First Robin

I dreaded that first robin so,
But he is mastered now,
And I'm accustomed to him grown,--
He hurts a little, though.


I thought if I could only live
Till that first shout got by,
Not all pianos in the woods
Had power to mangle me.


I dared not meet the daffodils,
For fear their yellow gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own.


I wished the grass would hurry,
So when 't was time to see,
He'd be too tall, the tallest one
Could stretch to look at me.


I could not bear the bees should come,
I wished they'd stay away
In those dim countries where they go:
What word had they for me?


They're here, though; not a creature failed,
No blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me,
The Queen of Calvary.


Each one salutes me as he goes,
And I my childish plumes
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment
Of their unthinking drums.

Dropped into the Ether Acre

665

Dropped into the Ether Acre-
Wearing the Sod Gown-
Bonnet of Everlasting LacesBrooch-
frozen on-

Horses of Blonde-and Coach of Silver-
Baggage a strapped Pearl-
Journey of Down-and Whip of Diamond-
Riding to meet the Earl-

Dying (I heard a fly buzz when I died)

I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.
The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.
I willed my keepsakes, signed away

What portion of me I
Could make assignable, -- and then
There interposed a fly,


With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see.

Death is a Dialogue between

976

Death is a Dialogue between
The Spirit and the Dust.
"Dissolve" says Death-The Spirit "Sir
I have another Trust"-

Death doubts it-Argues from the Ground-
The Spirit turns away
Just laying off for evidence
An Overcoat of Clay.

Death Leaves Us homesick, Who Behind

Death leaves Us homesick, who behind,
Except that it is gone
Are ignorant of its Concern
As if it were not born.


Through all their former Places, we
Like Individuals go
Who something lost, the seeking for
Is all that's left them, now—

Crumbling is not an instant's Act

997

Crumbling is not an instant's Act
A fundamental pause
Dilapidation's processes
Are organized Decays.

'Tis first a Cobweb on the Soul
A Cuticle of Dust
A Borer in the Axis
An Elemental Rust-

Ruin is formal-Devil's work
Consecutive and slow-
Fail in an instant, no man did
Slipping-is Crash's law.

Color—Caste—Denomination


970

Color—Caste—Denomination—
These—are Time's Affair—
Death's diviner Classifying
Does not know they are—


As in sleep—All Hue forgotten—
Tenets—put behind—
Death's large—Democratic fingers
Rub away the Brand—


If Circassian—He is careless—
If He put away
Chrysalis of Blonde—or Umber—
Equal Butterfly—


They emerge from His Obscuring—
What Death—knows so well—
Our minuter intuitions—
Deem unplausible—

Bereaved of all, I went abroad

784

Bereaved of all, I went abroad-
No less bereaved was I
Upon a New Peninsula-
The Grave preceded me-

Obtained my Lodgings, ere myself-
And when I sought my Bed-
The Grave it was reposed upon
The Pillow for my Head-

I waked to find it first awake-
I rose-It followed me-
I tried to drop it in the Crowd-
To lose it in the Sea-

In Cups of artificial Drowse
To steep its shape away-
The Grave-was finished-but the Spade
Remained in Memory-

As plan for Noon and plan for Night

960

As plan for Noon and plan for Night
So differ Life and Death
In positive Prospective-
The Foot upon the Earth


At Distance, and Achievement, strains,
The Foot upon the Grave
Makes effort at conclusion
Assisted faint of Love.

As by the dead we love to sit

88

As by the dead we love to sit,
Become so wondrous dear-
As for the lost we grapple
Tho' all the rest are here-

In broken mathematics
We estimate our prize
Vast-in its fading ration
To our penurious eyes!