Dying Is A Wild Night And A

These Are The Days When Birds Come Back, A Very Few, A Bird Or Two, To Take A Backward Look.

I'll Tell You How The Sun Rose, A Ribbon At A Time. The Steeples Swam In Amethyst, The News Like Squirrels Ran. The Hills Untied Their Bonnets, The Bobolinks Begun. Then I Said Softly To Myself, "that Must Have Been The Sun!

Afraid? Of Whom Am I Afraid? Not Death. For Who Is He?

This Is The Hour Of Lead- Remembered, If Outlived, As Freezing Persons, Recollect The Snow- First-chill-then Stupor- Then The Letting Go---

We Dream — It Is Good We Are Dreaming — It Would Hurt Us — Were We Awake — But Since It Is Playing — Kill Us, And We Are Playing — Shriek — What Harm? Men Die — Externally — It Is A Truth — Of Blood — But We — Are Dying In Drama — And Drama — Is Never Dead — Cautious — We Jar Each Other — And Either — Open The Eyes — Lest The Phantasm — Prove The Mistake — And The Livid Surprise Cool Us To Shafts Of Granite — With Just An Age — And Name — And Perhaps A Phrase In Egyptian — It's Prudenter — To Dream —