Very Death

There are worse deaths than Death, for
Love may die,
And Hope, and Joy, and holy Innocency,
With Faith ; yea, all we have leaned upon may fly.
May fail, may change ; no longer beautiful,
A very spirit fade to dark and dull.
Withering toward dissolution ; firm-knit mind
Weltering in confusion, we may find
The large brain narrow, the warm heart unkind ;
And there may come an hour when we shall bow
Our heads for him, whom we have mourned till now,
Thanking the Powers that they resumed his breath,
While he was yet a child, unknowing Death,
The very death ; ourselves, who are left alone,
Praying that we may die, and turn to stone.