Not a day passes， not a minute or second without an

    accouchement，

    Not a day passes， not a minute or second without a corpse¹.

    The dull nights go over and the dull days also，

    The soreness of lying so much in bed goes over，

    The physician after long putting off gives the silent and

    terrible look for an answer，

    The children come hurried and weeping， and the brothers

    and sisters are sent for，

    Medicines stand unused on the shelf， （the camphor-smell has

    long pervaded² the rooms，）

    The faithful hand of the living does not desert the hand of the

    dying，

    The twitching³ lips press lightly on the forehead of the dying，

    The breath ceases and the pulse of the heart ceases，

    The corpse stretches on the bed and the living look upon it，

    It is palpable as the living are palpable.

    The living look upon the corpse with their eyesight，

    But without eyesight lingers a different living and looks

    curiously⁴ on the corpse.