What did the lodgers think? Well, I replied In grief's set phrase, but 'the first floor,' I fancy, frowned at first, as though indeed Landladies' sisters had no right to die And taint the air for nervous lodger folk; Then smoothed his brow out into decency, And said, 'how sad!' and presently inquired The day of burial, ending with the hope His lunch would not be late like yesterday. The maiden-lady living near the roof Quoted Isaiah may be, or perhaps Job-- How the Lord gives, and likewise takes away, And how exceeding blessed is the Lord!-- For she has pious features; while downstairs Two 'medicals'--both 'decent' lads enough-- Hearkened the story out like gentlemen, And said the right thing--almost looked it too! Though all the while within them laughed a sea Of student mirth, which for full half an hour They stifled well, but then could hold no more, As soon their mad piano testified: While in the kitchen dinner was toward With hiss and bubble from the cooking stove, And now a laugh from John ran up the stairs, And a voice called aloud--of boiling pans. 'So soon,' reflected I, 'the waters of life Close o'er the sunken head!' Reflected _I_, Not that in truth I was more pitiful To the poor dead than those about me were, Nay, but a trick of thinking much on Life And Death i' the piece giveth each little strand More deep significance--love for the whole Must make us tender for the parts, methinks, As in some souls the equal law holds true, Sorrow for one makes sorrow for the world. A fallen leaf or a dead flower indeed Has made me just as sad, or some poor bee Dead in the early summer--what's the odds? Death was at '48,' and yet what sign? Who seemed to know? who could have known that called? For not a blind was lower than its wont-- 'The lodgers would not like them down,' you know-- And in all rooms, save one, the boisterous life Blazed like the fires within the several grates-- Save one where lay the poor dead silent thing, A closest chill as who hath sat at night With love beside the ingle knows the ashes In the morning. Death was at '48,' Yet Life and Love and Sunlight were there too. I ate and slept, and morning came at length And brought my Lady's letter to my bed: Thrice read and thirty kisses, came a thought, As the sweet morning laughed about the room Of the poor face downstairs, the sunshine there Playing about it like a wakeful child Whose weary mother sleepeth in the dawn, Pressing soft fingers round about the eyes To make them open, then with laughing shout Making a gambol all her body's length Ah me! poor eyes that never open more! And mine as blithe to meet the morning's glance As thirsty lips to close on thirsty lips! Poor limbs no sun could ever warm again! And mine so eager for the coming day! TIME FLIES