The Dying need but little, Dear,
A Glass of Water's all,
A Flower's unobtrusive Face
To punctuate the Wall,
A Fan, perhaps, a Friend's Regret
And Certainty that one
No color in the Rainbow
Perceive, when you are gone.
-
-
The grave my little cottage is,
Where "Keeping house" for thee
I make my parlor orderly
And lay the marble tea.
For two divided, briefly,
A cycle, it may be,
Till everlasting life unite
In strong society. -
The Lady feeds Her little Bird
At rarer intervals —
The little Bird would not dissent
But meekly recognize
The Gulf between the Hand and Her
And crumbless and afar
And fainting, on Her yellow Knee
Fall softly, and adore — -
They have a little Odor — that to me
Is metre — nay — 'tis melody —
And spiciest at fading — indicate —
A Habit — of a Laureate — -
To die — takes just a little while —
They say it doesn't hurt —
It's only fainter — by degrees —
And then — it's out of sight —
A darker Ribbon — for a Day —
A Crape upon the Hat —
And then the pretty sunshine comes —
And helps us to forget —
The absent — mystic —...Too little way the House must lie
From every Human Heart
That holds in undisputed Lease
A white inhabitant —
Too narrow is the Right between —
Too imminent the chance —
Each Consciousness must emigrate
And lose its neighbor once —Up Life's Hill with my little Bundle
If I prove it steep —
If a Discouragement withhold me —
If my newest step
Older feel than the Hope that prompted —
Spotless be from blame
Heart that proposed as Heart that accepted
Homelessness, for Home —Whose are the little beds, I asked
Which in the valleys lie?
Some shook their heads, and others smiled —
And no one made reply.
Perhaps they did not hear, I said,
I will inquire again —
Whose are the beds — the tiny beds
So thick upon the plain?
'Tis Daisy, in the...