There’s been a death in the opposite house As lately as today. I know it by the numb look Such houses have alway.
The neighbours rustle in and out, The doctor drives away. A window opens like a pod, Abrupt, mechanically;
Somebody flings a mattress out, – The children hurry by; They wonder if It died on that, – I used to when a boy.
The minister goes stiffly in As if the house were his, And he owned all the mourners now, And little boys besides;
And then the milliner, and the man Of the appalling trade, To take the measure of the house. There’ll be that dark parade
Of tassels and of coaches soon;
It’s easy as a sign, –
The intuition of the news
In just a country town.