I am cold, though it happened a yaofago.
From the white man's house, and the black man's hut I carried the little body on?
's arms
The forest trow did around us shut
trees
And silence through the leaves did run? They asked no questions as I went:
They stood
-Th e tiLL', HLIL1 too high, for astonishment; They could see God rise on His throne.
My little body, kerchiefed fast, I bore it on through the forest . . on: And, when I felt it was tired at last, I scooped a hole beneath the moon? Through the forest-tops the angels far With a white fine finger from every star,
and mock
Did point ^ at what was done.
[First printed version, from The Liberty Bell for 1848]
xx. Even in that single glance I had Of my child's face,?I tell you all,? I saw a look that made me mad,?
The master's look, that used to fall On my soul like this lash, or worse,? Therefore, to save it from my curse,
I twisted it round in my shawl.
XXI. And he moaned and trembled from foot to head,? He shivered from head to foot,? Till, after a time, he lay, instead,
Too suddenly still and mute; And I felt, beside, a creeping cold,? I dared to lift up just a fold,
As in lifting a leaf of the mango fruit.
XXII. But MY fruit! ha, ha!?there had been (I laugh to think on't at this hour!) Your fine white angels,?who have seen God's secret nearest to His power,? And gathered my fruit to make them wine,
.
POEMS IN PROCESS / A17
And sucked the soul of that child of mine, As the humming-bird sucks the soul of the flower.
XXIII. Ha, ha! for the trick of the angels white! They freed the white child's spirit so; I said not a word, but day and night
I carried the body to and fro; And it lay on my heart like a stone?as chill; The sun may shine out as much as he will,?
I am cold, though it happened a month ago.
XXIV. From the white man's house and the black man's hut I carried the little body on; The forest's arms did around us shut,
And silence through the trees did run! They asked no questions as I went,? They stood too high for astonishment,?
They could see God rise on his throne.
xxv. My little body, kerchiefed fast, I bore it on through the forest?on? And when I felt it was tired at last,
I scooped a hole beneath the moon. Through the forest-tops the angels far, With a white fine finger in every star
Did point and mock at what was done.
[From Poems, 1850]
XXI. Why, in that single glance I had Of my child's face, .. . I tell you all, I saw a look that made me mad!
The master's look, that used to fall On my soul like his lash .. . or worse! And so, to save it from my curse,
I twisted it round in my shawl.
XXII. And he moaned and trembled from foot to head, He shivered from head to foot; Till after a time, he lay instead
Too suddenly still and mute. I felt, beside, a stiffening cold: I dared to lift up just a fold,
As in lifting a leaf of the mango-fruit.
.
A1 8 / POEMS IN PROCESS
XXIII. But my fruit . . . ha, ha!?there, had been (I laugh to think on't at this hour!) Your fine white angels (who have seen
