“Dumb to the ear and still to the sense,
But to heart and to soul distinct,—intense?
“See, now,—I listen with soul, not ear—
What was the secret of dying, Dear?
“Was it the infinite wonder of all,
That you ever could let life’s flower fall?
“Or was it a greater marvel to feel
The perfect calm o’er the agony steal?
“Was the miracle greatest to find how deep,
Beyond all dreams, sank downward that sleep?
“Did life roll backward its record, Dear,
And show, as they say it does, past things clear?
“And was it the innermost heart of the bliss
To find out so what a wisdom love is?
“Oh, perfect Dead! oh, Dead most dear,
I hold the breath of my soul to hear;
“I listen—as deep as to horrible hell,
As high as to heaven!—and you do not tell!
“There must be pleasures in dying, Sweet,
To make you so placid from head to feet!