1184

The Days that we can spare
Are those a Function die
Or Friend or Nature—stranded then
In our Economy

Our Estimates a Scheme—
Our Ultimates a Sham—
We let go all of Time without
Arithmetic of him—

356

The Day that I was crowned
Was like the other Days—
Until the Coronation came—
And then—’twas Otherwise—

As Carbon in the Coal
And Carbon in the Gem
Are One—and yet the former
Were dull for Diadem—

I rose, and all was plain—
But when the Day declined
Myself and It, in Majesty
Were equally—adorned—

The Grace that I—was chose—
To Me—surpassed the Crown
That was the Witness for the Grace—
’Twas even that ’twas Mine—

716

The Day undressed—Herself—
Her Garter—was of Gold—
Her Petticoat—of Purple plain—
Her Dimities—as old

Exactly—as the World—
And yet the newest Star—
Enrolled upon the Hemisphere
Be wrinkled—much as Her—

Too near to God—to pray—
Too near to Heaven—to fear—
The Lady of the Occident
Retired without a care—

Her Candle so expire
The flickering be seen
On Ball of Mast in Bosporus—
And Dome—and Window Pane—

988

The Definition of Beauty is
That Definition is none—
Of Heaven, easing Analysis,
Since Heaven and He are one.

1479

The Devil—had he fidelity
Would be the best friend—
Because he has ability—
But Devils cannot mend—
Perfidy is the virtue
That would but he resign
The Devil—without question
Were thoroughly divine

305

The difference between Despair
And Fear—is like the One
Between the instant of a Wreck
And when the Wreck has been—

The Mind is smooth—no Motion—
Contented as the Eye
Upon the Forehead of a Bust—
That knows—it cannot see—

1742

The distance that the dead have gone
Does not at first appear—
Their coming back seems possible
For many an ardent year.

And then, that we have followed them,
We more than half suspect,
So intimate have we become
With their dear retrospect.

1645

The Ditch is dear to the Drunken man
For is it not his Bed—
His Advocate—his Edifice?
How safe his fallen Head
In her disheveled Sanctity—
Above him is the sky—
Oblivion bending over him
And Honor leagues away.

294

The Doomed—regard the Sunrise
With different Delight—
Because—when next it burns abroad
They doubt to witness it—

The Man—to die—tomorrow—
Harks for the Meadow Bird—
Because its Music stirs the Axe
That clamors for his head—

Joyful—to whom the Sunrise
Precedes Enamored—Day—
Joyful—for whom the Meadow Bird
Has ought but Elegy!

284

The Drop, that wrestles in the Sea—
Forgets her own locality—
As I—toward Thee—

She knows herself an incense small—
Yet small—she sighs—if All—is All—
How larger—be?

The Ocean—smiles—at her Conceit—
But she, forgetting Amphitrite—
Pleads—”Me”?

992

The Dust behind I strove to join
Unto the Disk before—
But Sequence ravelled out of Sound
Like ***** upon a Floor—

1137

The duties of the Wind are few,
To cast the ships, at Sea,
Establish March, the Floods escort,
And usher Liberty.

The pleasures of the Wind are broad,
To dwell Extent among,
Remain, or wander,
Speculate, or Forests entertain.

The kinsmen of the Wind are Peaks
Azof—the Equinox,
Also with Bird and Asteroid
A bowing *******.

The limitations of the Wind
Do he exist, or die,
Too wise he seems for Wakelessness,
However, know not i.

1026

The Dying need but little, Dear,
A Glass of Water’s all,
A Flower’s unobtrusive Face
To punctuate the Wall,

A Fan, perhaps, a Friend’s Regret
And Certainty that one
No color in the Rainbow
Perceive, when you are gone.

1775

The earth has many keys,
Where melody is not
Is the unknown peninsula.
Beauty is nature’s fact.

1608

The ecstasy to guess
Were a receipted bliss
If grace could talk.

1686

The event was directly behind Him
Yet He did not guess
Fitted itself to Himself like a Robe
Relished His ignorance.
Motioned itself to drill
Loaded and Levelled
And let His Flesh
Centuries from His soul.

336

The face I carry with me—last—
When I go out of Time—
To take my Rank—by—in the West—
That face—will just be thine—

I’ll hand it to the Angel—
That—Sir—was my Degree—
In Kingdoms—you have heard the Raised—
Refer to—possibly.

He’ll take it—scan it—step aside—
Return—with such a crown
As Gabriel—never capered at—
And beg me put it on—

And then—he’ll turn me round and round—
To an admiring sky—
As one that bore her Master’s name—
Sufficient Royalty!

1490

The Face in evanescence lain
Is more distinct than ours—
And ours surrendered for its sake
As Capsules are for Flower’s—
Or is it the confiding sheen
Dissenting to enamor us
Of Detriment divine?

1141

The Face we choose to miss—
Be it but for a Day
As absent as a Hundred Years,
When it has rode away.

1408

The Fact that Earth is Heaven—
Whether Heaven is Heaven or not
If not an Affidavit
Of that specific Spot
Not only must confirm us
That it is not for us
But that it would affront us
To dwell in such a place—

1423

The fairest Home I ever knew
Was founded in an Hour
By Parties also that I knew
A spider and a Flower—
A manse of mechlin and of Floes—

1581

The farthest Thunder that I heard
Was nearer than the Sky
And rumbles still, though torrid Noons
Have lain their missiles by—
The Lightning that preceded it
Struck no one but myself—
But I would not exchange the Bolt
For all the rest of Life—
Indebtedness to Oxygen
The Happy may repay,
But not the obligation
To Electricity—
It founds the Homes and decks the Days
And every clamor bright
Is but the gleam concomitant
Of that waylaying Light—
The Thought is quiet as a Flake—
A Crash without a Sound,
How Life’s reverberation
Its Explanation found—

1480

The fascinating chill that music leaves
Is Earth’s corroboration
Of Ecstasy’s impediment—
’Tis Rapture’s germination
In timid and tumultuous soil
A fine—estranging creature—
To something upper wooing us
But not to our Creator—

7

The feet of people walking home
With gayer sandals go—
The Crocus— til she rises
The Vassal of the snow—
The lips at Hallelujah
Long years of practise bore
Til bye and bye these Bargemen
Walked singing on the shore.

Pearls are the Diver’s farthings
Extorted from the Sea—
Pinions— the Seraph’s wagon
Pedestrian once— as we—
Night is the morning’s Canvas
Larceny— legacy—
Death, but our rapt attention
To Immortality.

My figures fail to tell me
How far the Village lies—
Whose peasants are the Angels—
Whose Cantons dot the skies—
My Classics veil their faces—
My faith that Dark adores—
Which from its solemn abbeys
Such ressurection pours.

1000

The Fingers of the Light
Tapped soft upon the Town
With “I am great and cannot wait
So therefore let me in.”

“You’re soon,” the Town replied,
“My Faces are asleep—
But swear, and I will let you by,
You will not wake them up.”

The easy Guest complied
But once within the Town
The transport of His Countenance
Awakened Maid and Man

The Neighbor in the Pool
Upon His Hip elate
Made loud obeisance and the Gnat
Held up His Cup for Light.

410

The first Day’s Night had come—
And grateful that a thing
So terrible—had been endured—
I told my Soul to sing—

She said her Strings were snapt—
Her Bow—to Atoms blown—
And so to mend her—gave me work
Until another Morn—

And then—a Day as huge
As Yesterdays in pairs,
Unrolled its horror in my face—
Until it blocked my eyes—

My Brain—begun to laugh—
I mumbled—like a fool—
And tho’ ’tis Years ago—that Day—
My Brain keeps giggling—still.

And Something’s odd—within—
That person that I was—
And this One—do not feel the same—
Could it be Madness—this?

902

The first Day that I was a Life
I recollect it—How still—
That last Day that I was a Life
I recollect it—as well—

’Twas stiller—though the first
Was still—
“Twas empty—but the first
Was full—

This—was my finallest Occasion—
But then
My tenderer Experiment
Toward Men—

“Which choose I”?
That—I cannot say—
“Which choose They”?
Question Memory!

1006

The first We knew of Him was Death—
The second—was—Renown—
Except the first had justified
The second had not been.

1361

The Flake the Wind exasperate
More eloquently lie
Than if escorted to its Down
By Arm of Chivalry.

206

The Flower must not blame the Bee—
That seeketh his felicity
Too often at her door—

But teach the Footman from Vevay—
Mistress is “not at home”—to say—
To people—any more!

1136

The Frost of Death was on the Pane—
“Secure your Flower” said he.
Like Sailors fighting with a Leak
We fought Mortality.

Our passive Flower we held to Sea—
To Mountain—To the Sun—
Yet even on his Scarlet shelf
To crawl the Frost begun—

We pried him back
Ourselves we wedged
Himself and her between,
Yet easy as the narrow Snake
He forked his way along

Till all her helpless beauty bent
And then our wrath begun—
We hunted him to his Ravine
We chased him to his Den—

We hated Death and hated Life
And nowhere was to go—
Than Sea and continent there is
A larger—it is Woe—

1202

The Frost was never seen—
If met, too rapid passed,
Or in too unsubstantial Team—
The Flowers notice first

A Stranger hovering round
A Symptom of alarm
In Villages remotely set
But search effaces him

Till some retrieveless Night
Our Vigilance at waste
The Garden gets the only shot
That never could be traced.

Unproved is much we know—
Unknown the worst we fear—
Of Strangers is the Earth the Inn
Of Secrets is the Air—

To analyze perhaps
A Philip would prefer
But Labor vaster than myself
I find it to infer.

672

The Future—never spoke—
Nor will He—like the Dumb—
Reveal by sign—a syllable
Of His Profound To Come—

But when the News be ripe—
Presents it—in the Act—
Forestalling Preparation—
Escape—or Substitute—

Indifference to Him—
The Dower—as the Doom—
His Office—but to execute
Fate’s—Telegram—to Him—

1424

The Gentian has a parched Corolla—
Like azure dried
’Tis Nature’s buoyant juices
Beatified—
Without a vaunt or sheen
As casual as Rain
And as benign—

When most is part—it comes—
Nor isolate it seems
Its Bond its Friend—
To fill its Fringed career
And aid an aged Year
Abundant end—

Its lot—were it forgot—
This Truth endear—
Fidelity is gain
Creation is o’er—

18

The Gentian weaves her fringes—
The Maple’s loom is red—
My departing blossoms
     Obviate parade.

A brief, but patient illness—
An hour to prepare,
And one below this morning
Is where the angels are—
It was a short procession,
The Bobolink was there—
An aged Bee addressed us—
And then we knelt in prayer—
We trust that she was willing—
We ask that we may be.
Summer—Sister—Seraph!
Let us go with thee!

In the name of the Bee—
And of the Butterfly—
And of the Breeze—Amen!

1687

The gleam of an heroic Act
Such strange illumination
The Possible’s slow fuse is lit
By the Imagination.

1603

The going from a world we know
  To one a wonder still
Is like the child’s adversity
  Whose vista is a hill,
Behind the hill is sorcery
  And everything unknown,
But will the secret compensate
  For climbing it alone?

849

The good Will of a Flower
The Man who would possess
Must first present
Certificate
Of minted Holiness.

707

The Grace—Myself—might not obtain—
Confer upon My flower—
Refracted but a Countenance—
For I—inhabit Her—

333

The Grass so little has to do—
A Sphere of simple Green—
With only Butterflies to brood
And Bees to entertain—

And stir all day to pretty Tunes
The Breezes fetch along—
And hold the Sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything—

And thread the Dews, all night, like Pearls—
And make itself so fine
A Duchess were too common
For such a noticing—

And even when it dies—to pass
In Odors so divine—
Like Lowly spices, lain to sleep—
Or Spikenards, perishing—

And then, in Sovereign Barns to dwell—
And dream the Days away,
The Grass so little has to do
I wish I were a Hay—

1743

The grave my little cottage is,
Where “Keeping house” for thee
I make my parlor orderly
And lay the marble tea.

For two divided, briefly,
A cycle, it may be,
Till everlasting life unite
In strong society.

15

The Guest is gold and crimson—
An Opal guest and gray—
Of Ermine is his doublet—
His Capuchin gay—

He reaches town at nightfall—
He stops at every door—
Who looks for him at morning
I pray him too—explore
The Lark’s pure territory—
Or the Lapwing’s shore!

772

The hallowing of Pain
Like hallowing of Heaven,
Obtains at a corporeal cost—
The Summit is not given

To Him who strives severe
At middle of the Hill—
But He who has achieved the Top—
All—is the price of All—

1280

The harm of Years is on him—
The infamy of Time—
Depose him like a Fashion
And give Dominion room.


Forget his Morning Forces—
The Glory of Decay
Is a minuter Pageant
Than least Vitality.

1440

The healed Heart shows its shallow scar
With confidential moan—
Not mended by Mortality
Are Fabrics truly torn—
To go its convalescent way
So shameless is to see
More genuine were Perfidy
Than such Fidelity.

536

The Heart asks Pleasure—first—
And then—Excuse from Pain—
And then—those little Anodyness
That deaden suffering—

And then—to go to sleep—
And then—if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor
The privilege to die—

1567

The Heart has many Doors—
I can but knock—
For any sweet “Come in”
Impelled to hark—
Not saddened by repulse,
Repast to me
That somewhere, there exists,
Supremacy—

928

The Heart has narrow Banks
It measures like the Sea
In mighty—unremitting Bass
And Blue Monotony

Till Hurricane bisect
And as itself discerns
Its sufficient Area
The Heart convulsive learns

That Calm is but a Wall
Of unattempted Gauze
An instant’s Push demolishes
A Questioning—dissolves.

1354

The Heart is the Capital of the Mind—
The Mind is a single State—
The Heart and the Mind together make
A single Continent—

One—is the Population—
Numerous enough—
This ecstatic Nation
Seek—it is Yourself.

694

The Heaven vests for Each
In that small Deity
It craved the grace to worship
Some bashful Summer’s Day—

Half shrinking from the Glory
It importuned to see
Till these faint Tabernacles drop
In full Eternity—

How imminent the Venture—
As one should sue a Star—
For His mean sake to leave the Row
And entertain Despair—

A Clemency so common—
We almost cease to fear—
Enabling the minutest—
And furthest—to adore—