The Poetry Corner

Only A Box.

By William McKendree Carleton

[From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.] [Only A Box.] Only a box, secure and strong, Rough, and wooden, and six feet long, Lying here in the drizzling rain, Waiting to take the up-bound train. Only its owner, just inside, Cold, and livid, and glassy-eyed; Little to him if the train be late! Nothing has he to do but wait. Only an open grave, somewhere, Heady to close when he gets there; Turfs and grasses and flowerets sweet, Ready to press him 'neath their feet. Only a band of friends at home, Waiting to see the traveller come; Naught he will tell of distant lands; He cannot even press their hands. He has no stories weird and bright, He has no gifts for a child's delight; He did not come with anything; He had not even himself to bring. Yet they will softly him await, And he will move about in state; They will give him, when he appears, Love, and pity, and tender tears. Only a box, secure and strong, Rough and wooden, and six feet long; Angels guide that soulless breast Into a long and peaceful rest!