Apparently with no surprise

To any happy flower,

The frost beheads it at its play

In accidental power.

The blond assassin passes on,



Death is a dialogue between

The spirit and the dust.

"Dissolve," says Death.  The Spirit, "Sir,

I have another trust."

Death doubts it, argues...


Death is like the insect

Menacing the tree,

Competent to kill it,

But decoyed may be.

Bait it with the balsam,

Seek it with the saw,

Baffle, if it cost you

Everything you are.


Death is potential to that Man

Who dies — and to his friend —

Beyond that — unconspicuous

To Anyone but God —

Of these Two — God remembers

The longest — for the friend —

Is integral — and therefore...


Death is the supple Suitor

That wins at last —

It is a stealthy Wooing

Conducted first

By pallid innuendoes

And dim approach

But brave at last with Bugles

And a bisected Coach



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...


1 PASTOR, thou art from us taken

      In the glory of thy years,

  As the oak, by tempests shaken,

      Falls ere time its verdure sears.

2 Pale and cold we see thee lying

      In God's temple, once so...


Death sets a Thing significant

The Eye had hurried by

Except a perished Creature

Entreat us tenderly

To ponder little Workmanships

In Crayon, or in Wool,

With "This was last Her fingers did" —


Death warrants are supposed to be

An enginery of equity

A merciful mistake

A pencil in an Idol's Hand

A Devotee has oft consigned

To Crucifix or Block


Death's Waylaying not the sharpest

Of the thefts of Time —

There Marauds a sorer Robber,

Silence — is his name —

No Assault, nor any Menace

Doth betoken him.

But from Life's consummate Cluster —