To James Y. Simpson

Oh teeming heart, that, for this once, in vain Big with our good, didst undeliver'd die, Had some god got thee with a progeny O'er-great, that, born, might even dispute the reign Of Death, as Death had seen the realms of Pain Won by thine elder brood? We marvell'd why, So seeming-careless of his sovereignty, He spared and spared thee: doth this day explain The Fabian greed that grudged a needless blow? Knowing too well what deity possest Thee, did the dead-eyed strategist foreknow How the huge god must choke the mortal breast? The mortal breast, deep under clod and sod, Out of the half-saved world drag down the abortive god?