Reeves Brook

HO! Stranger, consider and give answer!—

Whether a lonely bed in a sun-struck veldt

With the eagles crying above you,

And a soft-nosed bullet spreading and grinding

Beneath a bloodless puncture,

And the winds singing in the brilliant-blue:

Or a damned respectable passing at Clapham—

Rival undertakers with black-edged Gothic-lettered

Cards waiting on your unwashed doorstep.

(Mary Ann is resting from the shock of grief!)

“Very reverent, Madam,” say they, “with three carriages,

Black horses and plumes” (to say nothing of a brass-bound

Coffin!); “cheap and very respectable.” (Damned respectable!)

Such is the passing of most men.

Better, say I, the sand, and the sound of the eagles crying!