Classic Poem

What difference, what difference,
Which way the body goes;
Whether 't is burned by Indian suns,
Or chilled by Arctic snows?

The soul remains forevermore
Shut in that one small room,
As close immured within those walls
As dead men in the tomb.

It could not leave that wretched spot
To follow if it willed,—
Condemned, unhappy ghost, to haunt
The place where it was killed.

It calls the shuddering body back,
Wherever it may be,
To come there, to that dreadful place,
And bear it company.

“Come back, thou coward body, come!”
It clamors to the heart.
“Come here and die, where I was killed,
Thy lord, and better part!”