Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried.

To the solemn graves, near a lonely cemetery, my heart like a muffled drum is beating funeral marches.

Tourists hurried past them on the pedestrian-only street like chickens scampering to the feeder, cars scurrying through a tollgate, Niagara River rushing into the falls.

We were really locked, ... Two or three people on each side had said 'I'm not budging. I've heard all the evidence. I'm not moving an inch.

That's a first line many have heard, whether or not they've read the book.

Thou art not dead! Thou art the whole Of life that quickens in the sod.