What Is Dying Poem by Angelica Maxfield

I am standing on the shore. A ship sails and spreads her white sails to the morning bbreeze and starts for the ocean. She is an object of beauty and I stand watching her til at least she fades on the horizon and someone at my side says, 'She is gone.' 'Gone where? ' Goen from my sight, that is all.' She is just as large in the masts, hull and spares as she was I saw her, and just able to bear her load of living freight to its destination. The diminished size and total loss of sight is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says, 'She is gone, ' there are others who are watching her coming and other voices take up a glad shout, 'There she comes.' And that is dying