XVIII. Pompless no life can pass away; The lowliest career To the same pageant wends its way As that exalted here. How cordial is the mystery! The hospitable pall A "this way" beckons spaciously, -- A miracle for all! XIX. I noticed people disappeared, When but a little child, -- Supposed they visited remote, Or settled regions wild. Now know I they both visited And settled regions wild, But did because they died, -- a fact Withheld the little child! XX. FOLLOWING. I had no cause to be awake, My best was gone to sleep, And morn a new politeness took, And failed to wake them up, But called the others clear, And passed their curtains by. Sweet morning, when I over-sleep, Knock, recollect, for me! I looked at sunrise once, And then I looked at them, And wishfulness in me arose For circumstance the same. 'T was such an ample peace, It could not hold a sigh, -- 'T was Sabbath with the bells divorced, 'T was sunset all the day. So choosing but a gown And taking but a prayer, The only raiment I should need, I struggled, and was there. XXI. If anybody's friend be dead, It 's sharpest of the theme The thinking how they walked alive, At such and such a time. Their costume, of a Sunday, Some manner of the hair, -- A prank nobody knew but them, Lost, in the sepulchre. How warm they were on such a day: You almost feel the date, So short way off it seems; and now, They 're centuries from that. How pleased they were at what you said; You try to touch the smile, And dip your fingers in the frost: When was it, can you tell, You asked the company to tea, Acquaintance, just a few, And chatted close with this grand thing That don't remember you? Past bows and invitations, Past interview, and vow, Past what ourselves can estimate, -- That makes the quick of woe! XXII. THE JOURNEY. Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being's road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe, Our feet reluctant led. Before were cities, but between, The forest of the dead. Retreat was out of hope, -- Behind, a sealed route, Eternity's white flag before, And God at every gate. XXIII. A COUNTRY BURIAL. Ample make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair. Be its mattress straight, Be its pillow round; Let no sunrise' yellow noise Interrupt this ground. XXIV. GOING. On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care If such a little figure Slipped quiet from its chair, So quiet, oh, how quiet! That nobody might know But that the little figure Rocked softer, to and fro? On such a dawn, or such a dawn, Would anybody sigh That such a little figure Too sound asleep did lie For chanticleer to wake it, -- Or stirring house below, Or giddy bird in orchard, Or early task to do?