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.
