Sunday Poetry - Helen Hunt Jackson

Helen Hunt Jackson began writing in her 30s after a series of personal tragedies & published her work unsigned. She was a friend of Emily Dickinson & Harriet Beecher Stowe & wrote a novel, Ramona, protesting against the Government's treatment of Native Americans. It has never been out of print. Elaine Showalter, in A Jury of her Peers, describes how Jackson was so famous by the time of her death that her husband had to move her grave to a private cemetery to deter sightseers.
Is Jackson still well-known in the US because I'd barely heard of her? Oh dear, another fascinating writer to learn more about...

Danger

With what a childish and short-sighted sense
Fear seeks for safety; reckons up the days
Of danger and escape, the hours and ways
Of death; it breathless flies the pestilence;
It walls itself in towers of defence;
By land, by sea, against the storm it lays
Down barriers; then, comforted, it says:
"This spot, this hour is safe." Oh, vain pretence!
Man born of man knows nothing when he goes;
The winds blow where they list, and will disclose
To no man which brings safety, which brings risk.
The mighty are brought low by many a thing
Too small to name. Beneath the daisy's disk
Lies hid the pebble for the fatal sling.