1688

The Hills ***** their Purple Heads
The Rivers lean to see
Yet Man has not of all the Throng
A Curiosity.

1016

The Hills in Purple syllables
The Day’s Adventures tell
To little Groups of Continents
Just going Home from School.

481

The Himmaleh was known to stoop
Unto the Daisy low—
Transported with Compassion
That such a Doll should grow
Where Tent by Tent—Her Universe
Hung out its Flags of Snow—

955

The Hollows round His eager Eyes
Were Pages where to read
Pathetic Histories—although
Himself had not complained.
Biography to All who passed
Of Unobtrusive Pain
Except for the italic Face
Endured, unhelped—unknown.

1648

The immortality she gave
We borrowed at her Grave—
For just one Plaudit famishing,
The Might of Human love—

1248

The incidents of love
Are more than its Events—
Investment’s best Expositor
Is the minute Per Cents—

1309

The Infinite a sudden Guest
Has been assumed to be—
But how can that stupendous come
Which never went away?

1425

The inundation of the Spring
Enlarges every soul—
It sweeps the tenement away
But leaves the Water whole—

In which the soul at first estranged—
Seeks faintly for its shore
But acclimated—pines no more
For that Peninsula—

1471

Their Barricade against the Sky
The martial Trees withdraw
And with a Flag at every turn
Their Armies are no more.

What Russet Halts in Nature’s March
They indicate or cause
An inference of Mexico
Effaces the Surmise—

Recurrent to the After Mind
That Massacre of Air—
The Wound that was not Wound nor Scar
But Holidays of War

1611

Their dappled importunity
Disparage or dismiss—
The Obloquies of Etiquette
Are obsolete to Bliss—

696

Their Height in Heaven comforts not—
Their Glory—nought to me—
’Twas best imperfect—as it was—
I’m finite—I can’t see—

The House of Supposition—
The Glimmering Frontier that
Skirts the Acres of Perhaps—
To Me—shows insecure—

The Wealth I had—contented me—
If ’twas a meaner size—
Then I had counted it until
It pleased my narrow Eyes—

Better than larger values—
That show however true—
This timid life of Evidence
Keeps pleading—”I don’t know.”

1635

The Jay his Castanet has struck
Put on your **** for Winter
The Tippet that ignores his voice
Is impudent to nature

Of Swarthy Days he is the close
His Lotus is a chestnut
The Cricket drops a sable line
No more from yours at present

1744

The joy that has no stem no core,
Nor seed that we can sow,
Is edible to longing.
But ablative to show.

By fundamental palates
Those products are preferred
Impregnable to transit
And patented by pod.

699

The Judge is like the Owl—
I’ve heard my Father tell—
And Owls do build in Oaks—
So here’s an Amber Sill—

That slanted in my Path—
When going to the Barn—
And if it serve You for a House—
Itself is not in vain—

About the price—’tis small—
I only ask a Tune
At Midnight—Let the Owl select
His favorite Refrain.

330

The Juggler’s Hat her Country is—
The Mountain Gorse—the Bee’s!

941

The Lady feeds Her little Bird
At rarer intervals—
The little Bird would not dissent
But meekly recognize

The Gulf between the Hand and Her
And crumbless and afar
And fainting, on Her yellow Knee
Fall softly, and adore—

233

The Lamp burns sure—within—
Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil—
It matters not the busy Wick—
At her phosphoric toil!

The Slave—forgets—to fill—
The Lamp—burns golden—on—
Unconscious that the oil is out—
As that the Slave—is gone.

1114

The largest Fire ever known
Occurs each Afternoon—
Discovered is without surprise
Proceeds without concern—
Consumes and no report to men
An Occidental Town,
Rebuilt another morning
To be burned down again.

1592

The Lassitudes of Contemplation
Beget a force
They are the spirit’s still vacation
That him refresh—
The Dreams consolidate in action—
What mettle fair

1100

The last Night that She lived
It was a Common Night
Except the Dying—this to Us
Made Nature different

We noticed smallest things—
Things overlooked before
By this great light upon our Minds
Italicized—as ’twere.

As We went out and in
Between Her final Room
And Rooms where Those to be alive
Tomorrow were, a Blame

That Others could exist
While She must finish quite
A Jealousy for Her arose
So nearly infinite—

We waited while She passed—
It was a narrow time—
Too jostled were Our Souls to speak
At length the notice came.

She mentioned, and forgot—
Then lightly as a Reed
Bent to the Water, struggled scarce—
Consented, and was dead—

And We—We placed the Hair—
And drew the Head *****—
And then an awful leisure was
Belief to regulate—

1353

The last of Summer is Delight—
Deterred by Retrospect.
’Tis Ecstasy’s revealed Review—
Enchantment’s Syndicate.

To meet it—nameless as it is—
Without celestial Mail—
Audacious as without a Knock
To walk within the Veil.

987

The Leaves like Women interchange
Exclusive Confidence—
Somewhat of nods and somewhat
Portentous inference.

The Parties in both cases
Enjoining secrecy—
Inviolable compact
To notoriety.

1535

The Life that tied too tight escapes
Will ever after run
With a prudential look behind
And spectres of the Rein—
The Horse that scents the living Grass
And sees the Pastures smile
Will be retaken with a shot
If he is caught at all—

1162

The Life we have is very great.
The Life that we shall see
Surpasses it, we know, because
It is Infinity.
But when all Space has been beheld
And all Dominion shown
The smallest Human Heart’s extent
Reduces it to none.

1173

The Lightning is a yellow Fork
From Tables in the sky
By inadvertent fingers dropt
The awful Cutlery

Of mansions never quite disclosed
And never quite concealed
The Apparatus of the Dark
To ignorance revealed.

630

The Lightning playeth—all the while—
But when He singeth—then—
Ourselves are conscious He exist—
And we approach Him—stern—

With Insulators—and a Glove—
Whose short—sepulchral Bass
Alarms us—tho’ His Yellow feet
May pass—and counterpass—

Upon the Ropes—above our Head—
Continual—with the News—
Nor We so much as check our speech—
Nor stop to cross Ourselves—

1241

The Lilac is an ancient shrub
But ancienter than that
The Firmamental Lilac
Upon the Hill tonight—
The Sun subsiding on his Course
Bequeaths this final Plant
To Contemplation—not to Touch—
The Flower of Occident.
Of one Corolla is the West—
The Calyx is the Earth—
The Capsules burnished Seeds the Stars
The Scientist of Faith
His research has but just begun—
Above his synthesis
The Flora unimpeachable
To Time’s Analysis—
“Eye hath not seen” may possibly
Be current with the Blind
But let not Revelation
By theses be detained—

777

The Loneliness One dare not sound—
And would as soon surmise
As in its Grave go plumbing
To ascertain the size—

The Loneliness whose worst alarm
Is lest itself should see—
And perish from before itself
For just a scrutiny—

The Horror not to be surveyed—
But skirted in the Dark—
With Consciousness suspended—
And Being under Lock—

I fear me this—is Loneliness—
The Maker of the soul
Its Caverns and its Corridors
Illuminate—or seal—

262

The lonesome for they know not What—
The Eastern Exiles—be—
Who strayed beyond the Amber line
Some madder Holiday—

And ever since—the purple Moat
They strive to climb—in vain—
As Birds—that tumble from the clouds
Do fumble at the strain—

The Blessed Ether—taught them—
Some Transatlantic Morn—
When Heaven—was too common—to miss—
Too sure—to dote upon!

1769

The longest day that God appoints
Will finish with the sun.
Anguish can travel to its stake,
And then it must return.

1359

The long sigh of the Frog
Upon a Summer’s Day
Enacts intoxication
Upon the Revery—
But his receding Swell
Substantiates a Peace
That makes the Ear inordinate
For corporal release—

1689

The look of thee, what is it like
Hast thou a hand or Foot
Or Mansion of Identity
And what is thy Pursuit?

Thy fellows are they realms or Themes
Hast thou Delight or Fear
Or Longing—and is that for us
Or values more severe?

Let change transfuse all other Traits
Enact all other Blame
But deign this least certificate—
That thou shalt be the same.

673

The Love a Life can show Below
Is but a filament, I know,
Of that diviner thing
That faints upon the face of Noon—
And smites the Tinder in the Sun—
And hinders Gabriel’s Wing—

’Tis this—in Music—hints and sways—
And far abroad on Summer days—
Distils uncertain pain—
’Tis this enamors in the East—
And tints the Transit in the West
With harrowing Iodine—

’Tis this—invites—appalls—endows—
Flits—glimmers—proves—dissolves—
Ret­urns—suggests—convicts—enchants—
Then—flings in Paradise—

815

The Luxury to apprehend
The Luxury ’twould be
To look at Thee a single time
An Epicure of Me

In whatsoever Presence makes
Till for a further Food
I scarcely recollect to starve
So first am I supplied—

The Luxury to meditate
The Luxury it was
To banguet on thy Countenance
A Sumptuousness bestows

On plainer Days, whose Table far
As Certainty can see
Is laden with a single Crumb
The Consciousness of Thee.

452

The Malay—took the Pearl—
Not—I—the Earl—
I—feared the Sea—too much
Unsanctified—to touch—

Praying that I might be
Worthy—the Destiny—
The Swarthy fellow swam—
And bore my Jewel—Home—

Home to the Hut! What lot
Had I—the Jewel—got—
Borne on a Dusky Breasty—
I had not deemed a Vest
Of Amber—fit—

The ***** never knew
I—wooed it—too—
To gain, or be undone—
Alike to Him—One—

468

The Manner of its Death
When Certain it must die—
’Tis deemed a privilege to choose—
’Twas Major Andre’s Way—

When Choice of Life—is past—
There yet remains a Love
Its little Fate to stipulate—

How small in those who live—

The Miracle to tease
With Bable of the styles—
How “they are Dying mostly—now”—
And Customs at “St. James”!

544

The Martyr Poets—did not tell—
But wrought their Pang in syllable—
That when their mortal name be numb—
Their mortal fate—encourage Some—

The Martyr Painters—never spoke—
Bequeathing—rather—to their Work—
That when their conscious fingers cease—
Some seek in Art—the Art of Peace—

1131

The Merchant of the Picturesque
A Counter has and sales
But is within or negative
Precisely as the calls—
To Children he is small in price
And large in courtesy—
It suits him better than a check
Their artless currency—
Of Counterfeits he is so shy
Do one advance so near
As to behold his ample flight—

1355

The Mind lives on the Heart
Like any Parasite—
If that is full of Meat
The Mind is fat.

But if the Heart omit
Emaciate the Wit—
The Aliment of it
So absolute.

985

The Missing All—prevented Me
From missing minor Things.
If nothing larger than a World’s
Departure from a Hinge—
Or Sun’s extinction, be observed—
’Twas not so large that I
Could lift my Forehead from my work
For Curiosity.

1745

The mob within the heart
Police cannot suppress
The riot given at the first
Is authorized as peace

Uncertified of scene
Or signified of sound
But growing like a hurricane
In a congenial ground.

423

The Months have ends—the Years—a knot—
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery—

The Earth lays back these tired lives
In her mysterious Drawers—
Too tenderly, that any doubt
An ultimate Repose—

The manner of the Children—
Who weary of the Day—
Themself—the noisy Plaything
They cannot put away—

429

The Moon is distant from the Sea—
And yet, with Amber Hands—
She leads Him—docile as a Boy—
Along appointed Sands—

He never misses a Degree—
Obedient to Her Eye
He comes just so far—toward the Town—
Just so far—goes away—

Oh, Signor, Thine, the Amber Hand—
And mine—the distant Sea—
Obedient to the least command
Thine eye impose on me—

1528

The Moon upon her fluent Route
Defiant of a Road—
The Star’s Etruscan Argument
Substantiate a God—

If Aims impel these Astral Ones
The ones allowed to know
Know that which makes them as forgot
As Dawn forgets them—now—

737

The Moon was but a Chin of Gold
A Night or two ago—
And now she turns Her perfect Face
Upon the World below—

Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde—
Her Cheek—a Beryl hewn—
Her Eye unto the Summer Dew
The likest I have known—

Her Lips of Amber never part—
But what must be the smile
Upon Her Friend she could confer
Were such Her Silver Will—

And what a privilege to be
But the remotest Star—
For Certainty She take Her Way
Beside Your Palace Door—

Her Bonnet is the Firmament—
The Universe—Her Shoe—
The Stars—the Trinkets at Her Belt—
Her Dimities—of Blue—

364

The Morning after Woe—
’Tis frequently the Way—
Surpasses all that rose before—
For utter Jubilee—

As Nature did not care—
And piled her Blossoms on—
And further to parade a Joy
Her Victim stared upon—

The Birds declaim their Tunes—
Pronouncing every word
Like Hammers—Did they know they fell
Like Litanies of Lead—

On here and there—a creature—
They’d modify the Glee
To fit some Crucifixal Clef—
Some Key of Calvary—

12

The morns are meeker than they were—
The nuts are getting brown—
The berry’s cheek is plumper—
The Rose is out of town.

The Maple wears a gayer scarf—
The field a scarlet gown—
Lest I should be old fashioned
I’ll put a trinket on.

1746

The most important population
Unnoticed dwell,
They have a heaven each instant
Not any hell.

Their names, unless you know them,
’Twere useless tell.
Of bumble-bees and other nations
The grass is full.

1290

The most pathetic thing I do
Is play I hear from you—
I make believe until my Heart
Almost believes it too
But when I break it with the news
You knew it was not true
I wish I had not broken it—
Goliah—so would you—

1265

The most triumphant Bird I ever knew or met
Embarked upon a twig today
And till Dominion set
I famish to behold so eminent a sight
And sang for nothing scrutable
But intimate Delight.
Retired, and resumed his transitive Estate—
To what delicious Accident
Does finest Glory fit!