There'S Been A Death In The Opposite House As Lately As To-Day. I Know It By The Numb Look Such Houses Have Alway. The Neighbors Rustle In And Out, The Doctor Drives Away. A Window Opens Like A Pod, Abrupt, Mechanically; Somebody Flings A Mattress Out, -- The Children Hurry By; They Wonder If It Died On That, -- I Used To When A Boy. The Minister Goes Stiffly In As If The House Were His, And He Owned All The Mourners Now, And Little Boys Besides; And Then The Milliner, And The Man Of The Appalling Trade, To Take The Measure Of The House. There'll Be That Dark Parade Of Tassels And Of Coaches Soon; It's Easy As A Sign, -- The Intuition Of The News In Just A Country Town.