The Last Night That She Lived, By Emily Dickinson

    The last night that she lived,
    It was a common night,
    Except the dying; this to us
    Made nature different.

    We noticed smallest things, —
    Things overlooked before,
    By this great light upon our minds
    Italicized, as ‘t were.

    That others could exist
    While she must finish quite,
    A jealousy for her arose
    So nearly infinite.

    We waited while she passed;
    It was a narrow time,
    Too jostled were our souls to speak,
    At length the notice came.

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

    And we, we placed the hair,
    And drew the head erect;
    And then an awful leisure was,
    Our faith to regulate.