592 <br /> <br />What care the Dead, for Chanticleer— <br />What care the Dead for Day? <br />'Tis late your Sunrise vex their face— <br />And Purple Ribaldry—of Morning <br /> <br />Pour as blank on them <br />As on the Tier of Wall <br />The Mason builded, yesterday, <br />And equally as cool— <br /> <br />What care the Dead for Summer? <br />The Solstice had no Sun <br />Could waste the Snow before their Gate— <br />And knew One Bird a Tune— <br /> <br />Could thrill their Mortised Ear <br />Of all the Birds that be— <br />This One—beloved of Mankind <br />Henceforward cherished be— <br /> <br />What care the Dead for Winter? <br />Themselves as easy freeze— <br />June Noon—as January Night— <br />As soon the South—her Breeze <br /> <br />Of Sycamore—or Cinnamon— <br />Deposit in a Stone <br />And put a Stone to keep it Warm— <br />Give Spices—unto Men—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-care-the-dead-for-chanticleer/
