TT was not death, for I stood up,
- And all the dead lie down ;
It was not night, for all the bells Put out their tongues, for noon.
It was not frost, for on my flesh I felt siroccos crawl, Nor fire, for just my marble feet Could keep a chancel cool.
And yet it tasted like them all ; The figures I have seen Set orderly, for burial, Reminded me of mine,
As if my life were shaven
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key
And 't was like midnight, some,