519

Twas warm — at first — like Us —

Until there crept upon

A Chill — like frost upon — a Glass —

Till all the scene — be gone.

The Forehead copied Stone —

The Fingers grew too cold

To ache — and like a Skater’s Brook —

The busy eyes — congealed —

It straightened — that was all —

It crowded Cold to Cold —

It multiplied indifference —

As Pride were all it could —

And even when with Cords —

‘Twas lowered, like a Weight —

It made no Signal, nor demurred,

But dropped like Adamant.

â—„