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Glee! The great storm is over! |
Four have recovered the land; |
Forty gone down together |
Into the boiling sand. |
Ring, for the scant salvation! |
Toll, for the bonnie souls, -- |
Neighbor and friend and bridegroom, |
Spinning upon the shoals! |
How they will tell the shipwreck |
When winter shakes the door, |
Till the children ask, "But the forty? |
Did they come back no more?" |
Then a silence suffuses the story, |
And a softness the teller's eye; |
And the children no further question, |
And only the waves reply. |
If I can stop one heart from breaking, |
I shall not live in vain; |
If I can ease one life the aching, |
Or cool one pain, |
Or help one fainting robin |
Unto his nest again, |
I shall not live in vain. |
ALMOST! |
Within my reach! |
I could have touched! |
I might have chanced that way! |
Soft sauntered through the village, |
Sauntered as soft away! |
So unsuspected violets |
Within the fields lie low, |
Too late for striving fingers |
That passed, an hour ago. |
A wounded deer leaps highest, |
I've heard the hunter tell; |
'T is but the ecstasy of death, |
And then the brake is still. |
The smitten rock that gushes, |
The trampled steel that springs; |
A cheek is always redder |
Just where the hectic stings! |
Mirth is the mail of anguish, |
In which it cautions arm, |
Lest anybody spy the blood |
And "You're hurt" exclaim! |
The heart asks pleasure first, |
And then, excuse from pain; |
And then, those little anodynes |
That deaden suffering; |
And then, to go to sleep; |
And then, if it should be |
The will of its Inquisitor, |
The liberty to die. |
IN A LIBRARY. |
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