He Did Not Know
He did not know that he was dead:
He walked along the crowded street,
Smiled, tipped his hat, nodded his head
To friends he chanced to meet,—
And yet they passed him quietly by
With an unknowing, level stare;
They met him with an abstract eye
As if he were the air.
“Some sorry thing has come to pass,”
The Dead Man thought … he hurried home
And found his wife before the glass
Dallying with a comb. . . .
He found his wife all dressed in black;
He kissed her mouth … he stroked her head.
“Men act so strange since I've come back
From over there,” he said.
She said no word … she only smiled;
But now he heard her speak his name,
And saw her study, grief-beguiled,
His picture in a frame. . . . .
Then he remembered that black night
And the great shell-burst wide and red. . . .
The sudden plunging into light—
And knew that he was dead!
He walked along the crowded street,
Smiled, tipped his hat, nodded his head
To friends he chanced to meet,—
And yet they passed him quietly by
With an unknowing, level stare;
They met him with an abstract eye
As if he were the air.
“Some sorry thing has come to pass,”
The Dead Man thought … he hurried home
And found his wife before the glass
Dallying with a comb. . . .
He found his wife all dressed in black;
He kissed her mouth … he stroked her head.
“Men act so strange since I've come back
From over there,” he said.
She said no word … she only smiled;
But now he heard her speak his name,
And saw her study, grief-beguiled,
His picture in a frame. . . . .
Then he remembered that black night
And the great shell-burst wide and red. . . .
The sudden plunging into light—
And knew that he was dead!
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