1255

Longing is like the Seed
That wrestles in the Ground,
Believing if it intercede
It shall at length be found.

The Hour, and the Clime—
Each Circumstance unknown,
What Constancy must be achieved
Before it see the Sun!

465

I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air—
Between the Heaves of Storm—

The Eyes around—had wrung them dry—
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset—when the King
Be witnessed—in the Room—

I willed my Keepsakes—Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable—and then it was
There interposed a Fly—

With Blue—uncertain stumbling Buzz—
Between the light—and me—
And then the Windows failed—and then
I could not see to see—

1026

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.