J1100

The last Night that She livedIt was a Common NightExcept the Dying - this to UsMade Nature different

We noticed smallest things -Things overlooked beforeBy this great light upon our MindsItalicized - as ‘twere.

As We went out and inBetween Her final RoomAnd Rooms where Those to be aliveTomorrow were, a Blame

That Others could existWhile She must finish quiteA Jealously for Her aroseSo nearly infinite -

We waited while She passed -It was a narrow time -Too jostled were Our Souls to speakAt length the notice came.

She mentioned, and forgot -Then lightly as a ReedBent to the Water, struggled scarce -Consented, and was dead -

And We - We placed the Hair -And drew the Head erect -And then an awful leisure wasBelief to regulate -

c. 1866                    1890

As well as writing poems that investigate the mystery of death from the inside (280, 465), Dickinson also wrote many poems describing death from the outside, focussing on the emotional state of the bereaved. This is one of the most moving and authentically realized of her poems on this all-too-human subject.