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锘縓XI. |
THE FIRST LESSON. |
Not in this world to see his face |
Sounds long, until I read the place |
Where this is said to be |
But just the primer to a life |
Unopened, rare, upon the shelf, |
Clasped yet to him and me. |
And yet, my primer suits me so |
I would not choose a book to know |
Than that, be sweeter wise; |
Might some one else so learned be, |
And leave me just my A B C, |
Himself could have the skies. |
XXII. |
The bustle in a house |
The morning after death |
Is solemnest of industries |
Enacted upon earth, -- |
The sweeping up the heart, |
And putting love away |
We shall not want to use again |
Until eternity. |
XXIII. |
I reason, earth is short, |
And anguish absolute, |
And many hurt; |
But what of that? |
I reason, we could die: |
The best vitality |
Cannot excel decay; |
But what of that? |
I reason that in heaven |
Somehow, it will be even, |
Some new equation given; |
But what of that? |
XXIV. |
Afraid? Of whom am I afraid? |
Not death; for who is he? |
The porter of my father's lodge |
As much abasheth me. |
Of life? 'T were odd I fear a thing |
That comprehendeth me |
In one or more existences |
At Deity's decree. |
Of resurrection? Is the east |
Afraid to trust the morn |
With her fastidious forehead? |
As soon impeach my crown! |
XXV. |
DYING. |
The sun kept setting, setting still; |
No hue of afternoon |
Upon the village I perceived, -- |
From house to house 't was noon. |
The dusk kept dropping, dropping still; |
No dew upon the grass, |
But only on my forehead stopped, |
And wandered in my face. |
My feet kept drowsing, drowsing still, |
My fingers were awake; |
Yet why so little sound myself |
Unto my seeming make? |
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