Poemsby Emily Dickinson



There's been a death in the opposite house
  As lately as to-day.
I know it by the numb look
  Such houses have alway.
The neighbors rustle in and out,
  The doctor drives away.
A window opens like a pod,
  Abrupt, mechanically;
Somebody flings a mattress out, —
  The children hurry by;
They wonder if It died on that, —
  I used to when a boy.
The minister goes stiffly in
  As if the house were his,
And he owned all the mourners now,
  And little boys besides;
And then the milliner, and the man
  Of the appalling trade,
To take the measure of the house.
  There'll be that dark parade
Of tassels and of coaches soon;
  It's easy as a sign, —
The intuition of the news
  In just a country town.