It’s such a little thing to weep –
So short a thing to sigh –
And yet — by Trades — the size of these
We men and women die!
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Tags: die, little, men, short, sigh, size, thing, trades, weep, women
To learn the Transport by the Pain
As Blind Men learn the sun!
To die of thirst — suspecting
That Brooks in Meadows run!
To stay the homesick — homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore –
Haunted by native lands, the while –
And blue — beloved air!
This is the Sovereign Anguish!
This — the signal woe!
These are the patient “Laureates”
Whose voices — trained — below –
Ascend in ceaseless Carol –
Inaudible, indeed,
To us — the duller scholars
Of the Mysterious Bard!
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If this is “fading”
Oh let me immediately “fade”!
If this is “dying”
Bury me, in such a shroud of red!
If this is “sleep,”
On such a night
How proud to shut the eye!
Good Evening, gentle Fellow men!
Peacock presumes to die!
Tags: bury, die, dying, evening, eye, fade, fading, night, peacock, proud, red, shroud, shut, sleep
Nobody knows this little Rose –
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it –
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey –
On its breast to lie –
Only a Bird will wonder –
Only a Breeze will sigh –
Ah Little Rose — how easy
For such as thee to die!
‘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.
Tags: christmas, die, thanksgiving, thought, year
A toad can die of light!
Death is the common right
Of toads and men, –
Of earl and midge
The privilege.
Why swagger then?
The gnat’s supremacy
Is large as thine.
We thirst at first, — ‘t is Nature’s act;
And later, when we die,
A little water supplicate
Of fingers going by.
It intimates the finer want,
Whose adequate supply
Is that great water in the west
Termed immortality.
There’s been a death in the opposite house
As lately as to-day.
I know it by the numb look
Such houses have alway.
The neighbors rustle in and out,
The doctor drives away.
A window opens like a pod,
Abrupt, mechanically;
Somebody flings a mattress out, –
The children hurry by;
They wonder if It died on that, –
I used to when a boy.
The minister goes stiffly in
As if the house were his,
And he owned all the mourners now,
And little boys besides;
And then the milliner, and the man
Of the appalling trade,
To take the measure of the house.
There’ll be that dark parade
Of tassels and of coaches soon;
It’s easy as a sign, –
The intuition of the news
In just a country town.
Keeping Up with Emily
