1350

Luck is not chance—
It’s Toil—
Fortune’s expensive smile
Is earned—
The Father of the Mine
Is that old-fashioned Coin
We spurned—

188

Make me a picture of the sun—
So I can hang it in my room—
And make believe I’m getting warm
When others call it “Day”!

Draw me a Robin—on a stem—
So I am hearing him, I’ll dream,
And when the Orchards stop their tune—
Put my pretense—away—

Say if it’s really—warm at noon—
Whether it’s Buttercups—that “skim”—
Or Butterflies—that “bloom”?
Then—skip—the frost—upon the lea—
And skip the Russet—on the tree—
Let’s play those—never come!

164

Mama never forgets her birds,
Though in another tree—
She looks down just as often
And just as tenderly
As when her little mortal nest
With cunning care she wove—
If either of her “sparrows fall,”
She “notices,” above.

276

Many a phrase has the English language—
I have heard but one—
Low as the laughter of the Cricket,
Loud, as the Thunder’s Tongue—

Murmuring, like old Caspian Choirs,
When the Tide’s a’ lull—
Saying itself in new infection—
Like a Whippoorwill—

Breaking in bright Orthography
On my simple sleep—
Thundering its Prospective—
Till I stir, and weep—

Not for the Sorrow, done me—
But the push of Joy—
Say it again, Saxton!
Hush—Only to me!

123

Many cross the Rhine
In this cup of mine.
Sip old Frankfort air
From my brown Cigar.

1404

March is the Month of Expectation.
The things we do not know—
The Persons of prognostication
Are coming now—
We try to show becoming firmness—
But pompous Joy
Betrays us, as his first Betrothal
Betrays a Boy.

268

Me, change! Me, alter!
Then I will, when on the Everlasting Hill
A Smaller Purple grows—
At sunset, or a lesser glow
Flickers upon Cordillera—
At Day’s superior close!

431

Me—come! My dazzled face
In such a shining place!
Me—hear! My foreign Ear
The sounds of Welcome—there!

The Saints forget
Our bashful feet—

My Holiday, shall be
That They—remember me—
My Paradise—the fame
That They—pronounce my name—

1548

Meeting by Accident,
We hovered by design—
As often as a Century
An error so divine
Is ratified by Destiny,
But Destiny is old
And economical of Bliss
As Midas is of Gold—

642

Me from Myself—to banish—
Had I Art—
Impregnable my Fortress
Unto All Heart—

But since Myself—assault Me—
How have I peace
Except by subjugating
Consciousness?

And since We’re mutual Monarch
How this be
Except by Abdication—
Me—of Me?

537

Me prove it now—Whoever doubt
Me stop to prove it—now—
Make haste—the Scruple! Death be scant
For Opportunity—

The River reaches to my feet—
As yet—My Heart be dry—
Oh Lover—Life could not convince—
Might Death—enable Thee—

The River reaches to My Breast—
Still—still—My Hands above
Proclaim with their remaining Might—
Dost recognize the Love?

The River reaches to my Mouth—
Remember—when the Sea
Swept by my searching eyes—the last—
Themselves were quick—with Thee!

962

Midsummer, was it, when They died—
A full, and perfect time—
The Summer closed upon itself
In Consummated Bloom—

The Corn, her furthest kernel filled
Before the coming Flail—
When These—leaned unto Perfectness—
Through Haze of Burial—

528

Mine—by the Right of the White Election!
Mine—by the Royal Seal!
Mine—by the Sign in the Scarlet prison—
Bars—cannot conceal!

Mine—here—in Vision—and in Veto!
Mine—by the Grave’s Repeal—
Tilted—Confirmed—
Delirious Charter!
Mine—long as Ages steal!

1509

Mine Enemy is growing old—
I have at last Revenge—
The Palate of the Hate departs—
If any would avenge

Let him be quick—the Viand flits—
It is a faded Meat—
Anger as soon as fed is dead—
’Tis starving makes it fat—

422

More Life—went out—when He went
Than Ordinary Breath—
Lit with a finer Phosphor—
Requiring in the Quench—

A Power of Renowned Cold,
The Climate of the Grave
A Temperature just adequate
So Anthracite, to live—

For some—an Ampler Zero—
A Frost more needle keen
Is necessary, to reduce
The Ethiop within.

Others—extinguish easier—
A Gnat’s minutest Fan
Sufficient to obliterate
A Tract of Citizen—

Whose Peat lift—amply vivid—
Ignores the solemn News
That Popocatapel exists—
Or Etna’s Scarlets, Choose—

1503

More than the Grave is closed to me—
The Grave and that Eternity
To which the Grave adheres—
I cling to nowhere till I fall—
The Crash of nothing, yet of all—
How similar appears—

1577

Morning is due to all—
To some—the Night—
To an imperial few—
The Auroral light.

197

Morning—is the place for Dew—
Corn—is made at Noon—
After dinner light—for flowers—
Dukes—for Setting Sun!

300

“Morning”—means “Milking”—to the Farmer—
Dawn—to the Teneriffe—
Dice—to the Maid—
Morning means just Risk—to the Lover—
Just revelation—to the Beloved—

Epicures—date a Breakfast—by it—
Brides—an Apocalypse—
Worlds—a Flood—
Faint-going Lives—Their Lapse from Sighing—
Faith—The Experiment of Our Lord

1610

Morning that comes but once,
Considers coming twice—
Two Dawns upon a single Morn,
Make Life a sudden price.

27

Morns like these—we parted—
Noons like these—she rose—
Fluttering first—then firmer
To her fair repose.

Never did she lisp it—
It was not for me—
She—was mute from transport—
I—from agony—

Till—the evening nearing
One the curtains drew—
Quick! A Sharper rustling!
And this linnet flew!

760

Most she touched me by her muteness—
Most she won me by the way
She presented her small figure—
Plea itself—for Charity—

Were a Crumb my whole possession—
Were there famine in the land—
Were it my resource from starving—
Could I such a plea withstand—

Not upon her knee to thank me
Sank this Beggar from the Sky—
But the Crumb partook—departed—
And returned On High—

I supposed—when sudden
Such a Praise began
’Twas as Space sat singing
To herself—and men—

’Twas the Winged Beggar—
Afterward I learned
To her Benefactor
Making Gratitude

435

Much Madness is divinest Sense—
To a discerning Eye—
Much Sense—the starkest Madness—
’Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail—
Assent—and you are sane—
Demur—you’re straightway dangerous—
And handled with a Chain—

157

Musicians wrestle everywhere—
All day—among the crowded air
I hear the silver strife—
And—walking—long before the morn—
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that “New Life”!

If is not Bird—it has no nest—
Nor “Band”—in brass and scarlet—drest—
Nor Tamborin—nor Man—
It is not Hymn from pulpit read—
The “Morning Stars” the Treble led
On Time’s first Afternoon!

Some—say—it is “the Spheres”—at play!
Some say that bright Majority
Of vanished Dames—and Men!
Some—think it service in the place
Where we—with late—celestial face—
Please God—shall Ascertain!

571

Must be a Woe—
A loss or so—
To bend the eye
Best Beauty’s way—

But—once aslant
It notes Delight
As difficult
As Stalactite

A Common Bliss
Were had for less—
The price—is
Even as the Grace—

Our lord—thought no
Extravagance
To pay—a Cross—

151

Mute thy Coronation—
Meek my Vive le roi,
Fold a tiny courtier
In thine Ermine, Sir,
There to rest revering
Till the pageant by,
I can murmur broken,
Master, It was I—

932

My best Acquaintances are those
With Whom I spoke no Word—
The Stars that stated come to Town
Esteemed Me never rude
Although to their Celestial Call
I failed to make reply—
My constant—reverential Face
Sufficient Courtesy.

1099

My Cocoon tightens—Colors tease—
I’m feeling for the Air—
A dim capacity for Wings
Demeans the Dress I wear—

A power of Butterfly must be—
The Aptitude to fly
Meadows of Majesty implies
And easy Sweeps of Sky—

So I must baffle at the Hint
And cipher at the Sign
And make much blunder, if at least
I take the clue divine—

1511

My country need not change her gown,
Her triple suit as sweet
As when ’twas cut at Lexington,
And first pronounced “a fit.”

Great Britain disapproves, “the stars”;
Disparagement discreet,—
There’s something in their attitude
That taunts her bayonet.

202

My Eye is fuller than my vase—
Her Cargo—is of Dew—
And still—my Heart—my Eye outweighs—
East India—for you!

766

My Faith is larger than the Hills—
So when the Hills decay—
My Faith must take the Purple Wheel
To show the Sun the way—

’Tis first He steps upon the Vane—
And then—upon the Hill—
And then abroad the World He go
To do His Golden Will—

And if His Yellow feet should miss—
The Bird would not arise—
The Flowers would slumber on their Stems—
No Bells have Paradise—

How dare I, therefore, stint a faith
On which so vast depends—
Lest Firmament should fail for me—
The Rivet in the Bands

574

My first well Day—since many ill—
I asked to go abroad,
And take the Sunshine in my hands,
And see the things in Pod—

A ‘blossom just when I went in
To take my Chance with pain—
Uncertain if myself, or He,
Should prove the strongest One.

The Summer deepened, while we strove—
She put some flowers away—
And Redder cheeked Ones—in their stead—
A fond—illusive way—

To cheat Herself, it seemed she tried—
As if before a child
To fade—Tomorrow—Rainbows held
The Sepulchre, could hide.

She dealt a fashion to the Nut—
She tied the Hoods to Seeds—
She dropped bright scraps of Tint, about—
And left Brazilian Threads

On every shoulder that she met—
Then both her Hands of Haze
Put up—to hide her parting Grace
From our unfitted eyes.

My loss, by sickness—Was it Loss?
Or that Ethereal Gain
One earns by measuring the Grave—
Then—measuring the Sun—

118

My friend attacks my friend!
Oh Battle picturesque!
Then I turn Soldier too,
And he turns Satirist!
How martial is this place!
Had I a mighty gun
I think I’d shoot the human race
And then to glory run!

92

My friend must be a Bird—
Because it flies!
Mortal, my friend must be,
Because it dies!
Barbs has it, like a Bee!
Ah, curious friend!
Thou puzzlest me!

484

My Garden—like the Beach—
Denotes there be—a Sea—
That’s Summer—
Such as These—the Pearls
She fetches—such as Me

1178

My God—He sees thee—
Shine thy best—
Fling up thy ***** of Gold
Till every Cubit play with thee
And every Crescent hold—
Elate the Acre at his feet—
Upon his Atom swim—
Oh Sun—but just a Second’s right
In thy long Race with him!

1237

My Heart ran so to thee
It would not wait for me
And I affronted grew
And drew away

For whatsoe’er my pace
He first achieve they Face
How general a Grace
Allotted two—

Not in malignity
Mentioned I this to thee—
Had he obliquity
Soonest to share
But for the Greed of him—
Boasting my Premium—
Basking in Bethleem
Ere I be there—

1027

My Heart upon a little Plate
Her Palate to delight
A Berry or a Bun, would be,
Might it an Apricot!

1732

My life closed twice before its close—
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me

So huge, so hopeless to conceive
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

754

My Life had stood—a Loaded Gun—
In Corners—till a Day
The Owner passed—identified—
And carried Me away—

And now We roam in Sovereign Woods—
And now We hunt the Doe—
And every time I speak for Him—
The Mountains straight reply—

And do I smile, such cordial light
Upon the Valley glow—
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let its pleasure through—

And when at Night—Our good Day done—
I guard My Master’s Head—
’Tis better than the Eider-Duck’s
Deep Pillow—to have shared—

To foe of His—I’m deadly foe—
None stir the second time—
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye—
Or an emphatic Thumb—

Though I than He—may longer live
He longer must—than I—
For I have but the power to ****,
Without—the power to die—

1403

My Maker—let me be
Enamored most of thee—
But nearer this
I more should miss—

95

My nosegays are for Captives—
Dim—expectant eyes,
Fingers denied the plucking,
Patient till Paradise.

To such, if they should whisper
Of morning and the moor,
They bear no other errand,
And I, no other prayer.

564

My period had come for Prayer—
No other Art—would do—
My Tactics missed a rudiment—
Creator—Was it you?

God grows above—so those who pray
Horizons—must ascend—
And so I stepped upon the North
To see this Curious Friend—

His House was not—no sign had He—
By Chimney—nor by Door
Could I infer his Residence—
Vast Prairies of Air

Unbroken by a Settler—
Were all that I could see—
Infinitude—Had’st Thou no Face
That I might look on Thee?

The Silence condescended—
Creation stopped—for Me—
But awed beyond my errand—
I worshipped—did not “pray”—

639

My Portion is Defeat—today—
A paler luck than Victory—
Less Paeans—fewer Bells—
The Drums don’t follow Me—with tunes—
Defeat—a somewhat slower—means—
More Arduous than *****—

’Tis populous with Bone and stain—
And Men too straight to stoop again—,
And Piles of solid Moan—
And Chips of Blank—in Boyish Eyes—
And scraps of Prayer—
And Death’s surprise,
Stamped visible—in Stone—

There’s somewhat prouder, over there—
The Trumpets tell it to the Air—
How different Victory
To Him who has it—and the One
Who to have had it, would have been
Contender—to die—

343

My Reward for Being, was This.
My premium—My Bliss—
An Admiralty, less—
A Sceptre—penniless—
And Realms—just Dross—

When Thrones accost my Hands—
With “Me, Miss, Me”—
I’ll unroll Thee—
Dominions dowerless—beside this Grace—
Election—Vote—
The Ballots of Eternity, will show just that.

162

My River runs to thee—
Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me?
My River wait reply—
Oh Sea—look graciously—
I’ll fetch thee Brooks
From spotted nooks—
Say—Sea—Take Me!

1019

My Season’s furthest Flower—
I tenderer commend
Because I found Her Kinsmanless,
A Grace without a Friend.

1089

Myself can read the Telegrams
A Letter chief to me
The Stock’s advance and Retrograde
And what the Markets say

The Weather—how the Rains
In Counties have begun.
’Tis News as null as nothing,
But sweeter so—than none.

488

Myself was formed—a Carpenter—
An unpretending time
My Plane—and I, together wrought
Before a Builder came—

To measure our attainments—
Had we the Art of Boards
Sufficiently developed—He’d hire us
At Halves—

My Tools took Human—Faces—
The Bench, where we had toiled—
Against the Man—persuaded—
We—Temples build—I said—

753

My Soul—accused me—And I quailed—
As Tongue of Diamond had reviled
All else accused me—and I smiled—
My Soul—that Morning—was My friend—

Her favor—is the best Disdain
Toward Artifice of Time—or Men—
But Her Disdain—’twere lighter bear
A finger of Enamelled Fire—