The Single Hound

XX. The Last Night That She Lived


The last night that she lived,
It was a common night,
Except the dying; oh, and also
The ghosts—those were different.

We noticed smallest things,—
Things overlooked before,
Like moving pepper mills
And shaking, rattling doors.

That she could have existed
While others were finished quite,
Jealous ghosts against her arose
So nearly infinite.

We waited while she passed;
It was a narrow time;
Too jostled were our souls to speak,
Beset by howls and chimes.

She mentioned something;
Then lightly as a reed
Bent to the water, shivered scarce,
Consented, and was dead.

Ghosts gone, we placed the hair,
And drew the head erect;
And then an awful leisure was,
Her confession to recollect!


Her final, less sensational draft.

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