Each that we lose takes part of us;
A crescent still abides,
Which like the moon, some turbid night,
Is summoned by the tides.
-
-
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 —... -
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.