Shapes of Clay

by Ambrose Bierce

JUDGMENT

JUDGMENT.

I drew aside the Future's veil
And saw upon his bier
The poet Whitman. Loud the wail
And damp the falling tear.

"He's dead--he is no more!" one cried,
With sobs of sorrow crammed;
"No more? He's this much more," replied
Another: "he is damned!"

1885.