Of tassels and of coaches soon;
  It’s easy as a sign, —­
The intuition of the news
  In just a country town.

XLIX.

We never know we go, —­ when we are going
  We jest and shut the door;
Fate following behind us bolts it,
  And we accost no more.

L.

The soul’s storm.

It struck me every day
  The lightning was as new
As if the cloud that instant slit
  And let the fire through.

It burned me in the night,
  It blistered in my dream;
It sickened fresh upon my sight
  With every morning’s beam.

I thought that storm was brief, —­
  The maddest, quickest by;
But Nature lost the date of this,
  And left it in the sky.

LI.

Water is taught by thirst;
Land, by the oceans passed;
  Transport, by throe;
Peace, by its battles told;
Love, by memorial mould;
  Birds, by the snow.

LII.

Thirst.

We thirst at first, —­ ’t is Nature’s act;
  And later, when we die,
A little water supplicate
  Of fingers going by.

It intimates the finer want,
  Whose adequate supply
Is that great water in the west
  Termed immortality.

LIII.

A clock stopped —­ not the mantel’s;
  Geneva’s farthest skill
Can’t put the puppet bowing
  That just now dangled still.

An awe came on the trinket! 
  The figures hunched with pain,
Then quivered out of decimals
  Into degreeless noon.

It will not stir for doctors,
  This pendulum of snow;
The shopman importunes it,
  While cool, concernless No

Nods from the gilded pointers,
  Nods from the seconds slim,
Decades of arrogance between
  The dial life and him.

LIV.

Charlotte BRONTE’S grave.

All overgrown by cunning moss,
  All interspersed with weed,
The little cage of ‘Currer Bell,’
  In quiet Haworth laid.

This bird, observing others,
  When frosts too sharp became,
Retire to other latitudes,
  Quietly did the same,

But differed in returning;
  Since Yorkshire hills are green,
Yet not in all the nests I meet
  Can nightingale be seen.

Gathered from many wanderings,
  Gethsemane can tell
Through what transporting anguish
  She reached the asphodel!

Soft fall the sounds of Eden
  Upon her puzzled ear;
Oh, what an afternoon for heaven,
  When ‘Bronte’ entered there!

LV.