The Dead Lover

Time is so long when a man is dead!
Some one sews; and the room is made
Very clean; and the light is shed
Soft through the window-shade.

Yesterday I thought: “I know
Just how the bells will sound, and how
The friends will talk, and the sermon go,
And the hearse-horse bow and bow!”

This is to-day; and I have no thing
To think of— nothing whatever to do
But to hear the throb of the pulse of a wing
That wants to fly back to you.