Poemsby Emily Dickinson

XLVIII

 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.