THE FUNERAL - That short, potential stir

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That short, potential stir
That each can make but once,
That bustle so illustrious
'T is almost consequence,

Is the eclat of death.
Oh, thou unknown renown
That not a beggar would accept,
Had he the power to spurn!

More poems by Emily Dickinson

I gave myself to him, / And took himself for pay.

I know some lonely houses off the road / A robber 'd like the look of, --

To know just how he suffered would be dear; / To know if any human eyes were near

I many times thought peace had come, / When peace was far away;