Delayed till she had ceased to know—

Delayed till she had ceased to know—
Delayed till in its vest of snow
Her loving bosom lay—
An hour behind the fleeting breath—
Later by just an hour than Death—
Oh lagging Yesterday!

Could she have guessed that it would be—
Could but a crier of the joy
Have climbed the distant hill—
Had not the bliss so slow a pace
Who knows but this surrendered face
Were undefeated still?

Oh if there may departing be
Any forgot by Victory
In her imperial round—
Show them this meek apparreled thing
That could not stop to be a king—
Doubtful if it be crowned!

Emily Dickinson

Death of Cordelia (devoted daughter of King Lear)

Too Late! She had ceased to hear—
Too late! Her loving bosom lay
In its white gown—
An hour behind her last breath—
Just one hour later than Death—
Oh tardy Yesterday!

If she could have guessed that it would be—
If only a messenger of the joy
Have climbed the distant hill—
If the joy had not so slow pace
Who denies this resigned face
Were not defeated still?

Oh if there may be departing
Any forgot by Victory
In her royal review—
Show them this humble clothed man
Who could be a king—
Doubtful if he deserves the crown!