By clocks 't was morning, and for night The bells at distance called; But epoch had no basis here, For period exhaled. XXXVIII. A throe upon the features A hurry in the breath, An ecstasy of parting Denominated "Death," -- An anguish at the mention, Which, when to patience grown, I 've known permission given To rejoin its own. XXXIX. SAVED! Of tribulation these are they Denoted by the white; The spangled gowns, a lesser rank Of victors designate. All these did conquer; but the ones Who overcame most times Wear nothing commoner than snow, No ornament but palms. Surrender is a sort unknown On this superior soil; Defeat, an outgrown anguish, Remembered as the mile Our panting ankle barely gained When night devoured the road; But we stood whispering in the house, And all we said was "Saved"! XL. I think just how my shape will rise When I shall be forgiven, Till hair and eyes and timid head Are out of sight, in heaven. I think just how my lips will weigh With shapeless, quivering prayer That you, so late, consider me, The sparrow of your care. I mind me that of anguish sent, Some drifts were moved away Before my simple bosom broke, -- And why not this, if they? And so, until delirious borne I con that thing, -- "forgiven," -- Till with long fright and longer trust I drop my heart, unshriven! XLI. THE FORGOTTEN GRAVE. After a hundred years Nobody knows the place, -- Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged, Strangers strolled and spelled At the lone orthography Of the elder dead. Winds of summer fields Recollect the way, -- Instinct picking up the key Dropped by memory. XLII. Lay this laurel on the one Too intrinsic for renown. Laurel! veil your deathless tree, -- Him you chasten, that is he!