Part 16

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.

XIII.

THE FUNERAL.

That short, potential stir That each can make but once, That bustle so illustrious 'T is almost consequence,

Is the eclat of death. Oh, thou unknown renown That not a beggar would accept, Had he the power to spurn!

XIV.

I went to thank her, But she slept; Her bed a funnelled stone, With nosegays at the head and foot, That travellers had thrown,

Who went to thank her; But she slept. 'T was short to cross the sea To look upon her like, alive, But turning back 't was slow.

XV.

I've seen a dying eye Run round and round a room In search of something, as it seemed, Then cloudier become; And then, obscure with fog, And then be soldered down, Without disclosing what it be, 'T were blessed to have seen.

XVI.

REFUGE.

The clouds their backs together laid, The north begun to push, The forests galloped till they fell, The lightning skipped like mice; The thunder crumbled like a stuff -- How good to be safe in tombs, Where nature's temper cannot reach, Nor vengeance ever comes!

XVII.

I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God, Nor visited in heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot As if the chart were given.

XVIII.

PLAYMATES.

God permits industrious angels Afternoons to play. I met one, -- forgot my school-mates, All, for him, straightway.

God calls home the angels promptly At the setting sun; I missed mine. How dreary marbles, After playing Crown!

XIX.

To know just how he suffered would be dear; To know if any human eyes were near To whom he could intrust his wavering gaze, Until it settled firm on Paradise.

To know if he was patient, part content, Was dying as he thought, or different; Was it a pleasant day to die, And did the sunshine face his way?

What was his furthest mind, of home, or God, Or what the distant say At news that he ceased human nature On such a day?

And wishes, had he any? Just his sigh, accented, Had been legible to me. And was he confident until Ill fluttered out in everlasting well?

And if he spoke, what name was best, What first, What one broke off with At the drowsiest?

Was he afraid, or tranquil? Might he know How conscious consciousness could grow, Till love that was, and love too blest to be, Meet -- and the junction be Eternity?