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How well I knew the light before! |
I could not see it now. |
'T is dying, I am doing; but |
I'm not afraid to know. |
XXVI. |
Two swimmers wrestled on the spar |
Until the morning sun, |
When one turned smiling to the land. |
O God, the other one! |
The stray ships passing spied a face |
Upon the waters borne, |
With eyes in death still begging raised, |
And hands beseeching thrown. |
XXVII. |
THE CHARIOT. |
Because I could not stop for Death, |
He kindly stopped for me; |
The carriage held but just ourselves |
And Immortality. |
We slowly drove, he knew no haste, |
And I had put away |
My labor, and my leisure too, |
For his civility. |
We passed the school where children played, |
Their lessons scarcely done; |
We passed the fields of gazing grain, |
We passed the setting sun. |
We paused before a house that seemed |
A swelling of the ground; |
The roof was scarcely visible, |
The cornice but a mound. |
Since then 't is centuries; but each |
Feels shorter than the day |
I first surmised the horses' heads |
Were toward eternity. |
XXVIII. |
She went as quiet as the dew |
From a familiar flower. |
Not like the dew did she return |
At the accustomed hour! |
She dropt as softly as a star |
From out my summer's eve; |
Less skilful than Leverrier |
It's sorer to believe! |
XXIX. |
RESURGAM. |
At last to be identified! |
At last, the lamps upon thy side, |
The rest of life to see! |
Past midnight, past the morning star! |
Past sunrise! Ah! what leagues there are |
Between our feet and day! |
XXX. |
Except to heaven, she is nought; |
Except for angels, lone; |
Except to some wide-wandering bee, |
A flower superfluous blown; |
Except for winds, provincial; |
Except by butterflies, |
Unnoticed as a single dew |
That on the acre lies. |