409

They dropped like Flakes—
They dropped like Stars—
Like Petals from a Rose—
When suddenly across the June
A wind with fingers—goes—

They perished in the Seamless Grass—
No eye could find the place—
But God can summon every face
Of his Repealless—List.

785

They have a little Odor—that to me
Is metre—nay—’tis melody—
And spiciest at fading—indicate—
A Habit—of a Laureate—

85

“They have not chosen me,” he said,
“But I have chosen them!”
Brave—Broken hearted statement—
Uttered in Bethlehem!

I could not have told it,
But since Jesus dared—
Sovereign! Know a Daisy
They dishonor shared!

350

They leave us with the Infinite.
But He—is not a man—
His fingers are the size of fists—
His fists, the size of men—

And whom he foundeth, with his Arm
As Himmaleh, shall stand—
Gibraltar’s Everlasting Shoe
Poised lightly on his Hand,

So trust him, Comrade—
You for you, and I, for you and me
Eternity is ample,
And quick enough, if true.

1391

They might not need me—yet they might—
I’ll let my Heart be just in sight—
A smile so small as mine might be
Precisely their necessity—

474

They put Us far apart—
As separate as Sea
And Her unsown Peninsula—
We signified “These see”—

They took away our Eyes—
They thwarted Us with Guns—
“I see Thee” each responded straight
Through Telegraphic Signs—

With Dungeons—They devised—
But through their thickest skill—
And their opaquest Adamant—
Our Souls saw—just as well—

They summoned Us to die—
With sweet alacrity
We stood upon our stapled feet—
Condemned—but just—to see—

Permission to recant—
Permission to forget—
We turned our backs upon the Sun
For perjury of that—

Not Either—noticed Death—
Of Paradise—aware—
Each other’s Face—was all the Disc
Each other’s setting—saw—

686

They say that “Time assuages”—
Time never did assuage—
An actual suffering strengthens
As Sinews do, with age—

Time is a Test of Trouble—
But not a Remedy—
If such it prove, it prove too
There was no Malady—

613

They shut me up in Prose—
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet—
Because they liked me “still”—

Still! Could themself have peeped—
And seen my Brain—go round—
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason—in the Pound—

Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Abolish his Captivity—
And laugh—No more have I—

1697

They talk as slow as Legends grow
No mushroom is their mind
But foliage of sterility
Too stolid for the wind—

They laugh as wise as Plots of Wit
Predestined to unfold
The point with bland prevision
Portentously untold.

874

They won’t frown always—some sweet Day
When I forget to tease—
They’ll recollect how cold I looked
And how I just said “Please.”

Then They will hasten to the Door
To call the little Girl
Who cannot thank Them for the Ice
That filled the lisping full.

689

The Zeroes—taught us—Phosphorous—
We learned to like the Fire
By playing Glaciers—when a Boy—
And Tinder—guessed—by power
Of Opposite—to balance Odd—
If White—a Red—must be!
Paralysis—our Primer—dumb—
Unto Vitality!

805

This Bauble was preferred of Bees—
By Butterflies admired
At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances—
Was justified of Bird—

Did Noon—enamel—in Herself
Was Summer to a Score
Who only knew of Universe—
It had created Her.

858

This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life
I mention it to you,
When Sunrise through a fissure drop
The Day must follow too.

If we demur, its gaping sides
Disclose as ’twere a Tomb
Ourself am lying straight wherein
The Favorite of Doom.

When it has just contained a Life
Then, Darling, it will close
And yet so bolder every Day
So turbulent it grows

I’m tempted half to stitch it up
With a remaining Breath
I should not miss in yielding, though
To Him, it would be Death—

And so I bear it big about
My Burial—before
A Life quite ready to depart
Can harass me no more—

822

This Consciousness that is aware
Of Neighbors and the Sun
Will be the one aware of Death
And that itself alone

Is traversing the interval
Experience between
And most profound experiment
Appointed unto Men—

How adequate unto itself
Its properties shall be
Itself unto itself and none
Shall make discovery.

Adventure most unto itself
The Soul condemned to be—
Attended by a single Hound
Its own identity.

1311

This *****—little—Heart
Is freely mine.
I won it with a Bun—
A Freckled shrine—

But eligibly fair
To him who sees
The Visage of the Soul
And not the knees.

1752

This docile one inter
While we who dare to live
Arraign the sunny brevity
That sparkled to the Grave.

On her departing span
No wilderness remain
As dauntless in the House of Death
As if it were her own—

936

This Dust, and its Feature—
Accredited—Today—
Will in a second Future—
Cease to identify—

This Mind, and its measure—
A too minute Area
For its enlarged inspection’s
Comparison—appear—

This World, and its species
A too concluded show
For its absorbed Attention’s
Remotest scrutiny—

145

This heart that broke so long—
These feet that never flagged—
This faith that watched for star in vain,
Give gently to the dead—

Hound cannot overtake the Hare
That fluttered panting, here—
Nor any schoolboy rob the nest
Tenderness builded there.

945

This is a Blossom of the Brain—
A small—italic Seed
Lodged by Design or Happening
The Spirit fructified—

Shy as the Wind of his Chambers
Swift as a Freshet’s Tongue
So of the Flower of the Soul
Its process is unknown.

When it is found, a few rejoice
The Wise convey it Home
Carefully cherishing the spot
If other Flower become.

When it is lost, that Day shall be
The Funeral of God,
Upon his Breast, a closing Soul
The Flower of our Lord.

441

This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me—
The simple News that Nature told—
With tender Majesty

Her Message is committed
To Hands I cannot see—
For love of Her—Sweet—countrymen—
Judge tenderly—of Me

266

This—is the land—the Sunset washes—
These—are the Banks of the Yellow Sea—
Where it rose—or whither it rushes—
These—are the Western Mystery!

Night after Night
Her purple traffic
Strews the landing with Opal Bales—
Merchantmen—poise upon Horizons—
Dip—and vanish like Orioles!

1264

This is the place they hoped before,
Where I am hoping now.
The seed of disappointment grew
Within a capsule gay,
Too distant to arrest the feet
That walk this plank of balm—
Before them lies escapeless sea—
The way is closed they came.

979

This Merit hath the worst—
It cannot be again—
When Fate hath taunted last
And thrown Her furthest Stone—

The Maimed may pause, and breathe,
And glance securely round—
The Deer attracts no further
Than it resists—the Hound—

1588

This Me—that walks and works—must die,
Some fair or stormy Day,
Adversity if it may be
Or wild prosperity
The Rumor’s Gate was shut so tight
Before my mind was born
Not even a Prognostic’s push
Can make a Dent thereon—

813

This quiet Dust was Gentleman and Ladies
And Lads and Girls—
Was laughter and ability and Sighing
And Frocks and Curls.

This Passive Place a Summer’s nimble mansion
Where Bloom and Bees
Exists an Oriental Circuit
Then cease, like these—

1120

This slow Day moved along—
I heard its axles go
As if they could not hoist themselves
They hated motion so—

I told my soul to come—
It was no use to wait—
We went and played and came again
And it was out of sight—

778

This that would greet—an hour ago—
Is quaintest Distance—now—
Had it a Guest from Paradise—
Nor glow, would it, nor bow—

Had it a notice from the Noon
Nor beam would it nor warm—
Match me the Silver Reticence—
Match me the Solid Calm—

448

This was a Poet—It is That
Distills amazing sense
From ordinary Meanings—
And Attar so immense

From the familiar species
That perished by the Door—
We wonder it was not Ourselves
Arrested it—before—

Of Pictures, the Discloser—
The Poet—it is He—
Entitles Us—by Contrast—
To ceaseless Poverty—

Of portion—so unconscious—
The Robbing—could not harm—
Himself—to Him—a Fortune—
Exterior—to Time—

995

This was in the White of the Year—
That—was in the Green—
Drifts were as difficult then to think
As Daisies now to be seen—

Looking back is best that is left
Or if it be—before—
Retrospection is Prospect’s half,
Sometimes, almost more.

501

This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond—
Invisible, as Music—
But positive, as Sound—
It beckons, and it baffles—
Philosophy—don’t know—
And through a Riddle, at the last—
Sagacity, must go—
To guess it, puzzles scholars—
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown—
Faith slips—and laughs, and rallies—
Blushes, if any see—
Plucks at a twig of Evidence—
And asks a Vane, the way—
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit—
Strong Hallelujahs roll—
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul—

207

Tho’ I get home how late—how late—
So I get home—’twill compensate—
Better will be the Ecstasy
That they have done expecting me—
When Night—descending—dumb—and dark—
They hear my unexpected knock—
Transporting must the moment be—
Brewed from decades of Agony!

To think just how the fire will burn—
Just how long-cheated eyes will turn—
To wonder what myself will say,
And what itself, will say to me—
Beguiles the Centuries of way!

163

Tho’ my destiny be Fustian—
Hers be damask fine—
Tho’ she wear a silver apron—
I, a less divine—

Still, my little Gypsy being
I would far prefer,
Still, my little sunburnt *****
To her Rosier,

For, when Frosts, their punctual fingers
On her forehead lay,
You and I, and Dr. Holland,
Bloom Eternally!

Roses of a steadfast summer
In a steadfast land,
Where no Autumn lifts her pencil—
And no Reapers stand!

1388

Those cattle smaller than a Bee
That herd upon the eye—
Whose tillage is the passing Crumb—
Those Cattle are the Fly—
Of Barns for Winter—blameless—
Extemporaneous stalls
They found to our objection—
On eligible walls—
Reserving the presumption
To suddenly descend
And gallop on the Furniture—
Or odiouser offend—
Of their peculiar calling
Unqualified to judge
To Nature we remand them
To justify or scourge—

1551

Those—dying then,
Knew where they went—
They went to God’s Right Hand—
That Hand is amputated now
And God cannot be found—

The abdication of Belief
Makes the Behavior small—
Better an ignis fatuus
Than no illume at all—

499

Those fair—fictitious People—
The Women—plucked away
From our familiar Lifetime—
The Men of Ivory—

Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—
Who stay upon the Wall
In Everlasting Keepsake—
Can Anybody tell?

We trust—in places perfecter—
Inheriting Delight
Beyond our faint Conjecture—
Our dizzy Estimate—

Remembering ourselves, we trust—
Yet Blesseder—than We—
Through Knowing—where We only hope—
Receiving—where we—pray—

Of Expectation—also—
Anticipating us
With transport, that would be a pain
Except for Holiness—

Esteeming us—as Exile—
Themself—admitted Home—
Through easy Miracle of Death—
The Way ourself, must come—

1766

Those final Creatures,—who they are—
That, faithful to the close,
Administer her ecstasy,
But just the Summer knows.

1454

Those not live yet
Who doubt to live again—
“Again” is of a twice
But this—is one—
The Ship beneath the Draw
Aground—is he?
Death—so—the Hyphen of the Sea—
Deep is the Schedule
Of the Disk to be—
Costumeless Consciousness—
That is he—

922

Those who have been in the Grave the longest—
Those who begin Today—
Equally perish from our Practise—
Death is the other way—

Foot of the Bold did least attempt it—
It—is the White Exploit—
Once to achieve, annuls the power
Once to communicate—

1599

Though the great Waters sleep,
That they are still the Deep,
We cannot doubt—
No vacillating God
Ignited this Abode
To put it out—

598

Three times—we parted—Breath—and I—
Three times—He would not go—
But strove to stir the lifeless Fan
The Waters—strove to stay.

Three Times—the Billows tossed me up—
Then caught me—like a Ball—
Then made Blue faces in my face—
And pushed away a sail

That crawled Leagues off—I liked to see—
For thinking—while I die—
How pleasant to behold a Thing
Where Human faces—be—

The Waves grew sleepy—Breath—did not—
The Winds—like Children—lulled—
Then Sunrise kissed my Chrysalis—
And I stood up—and lived—

1061

Three Weeks passed since I had seen Her—
Some Disease had vext
’Twas with Text and Village Singing
I beheld Her next

And a Company—our pleasure
To discourse alone—
Gracious now to me as any—
Gracious unto none—

Borne without dissent of Either
To the Parish night—
Of the Separated Parties
Which be out of sight?

9

Through lane it lay—through bramble—
Through clearing and through wood—
Banditti often passed us
Upon the lonely road.

The wolf came peering curious—
The owl looked puzzled down—
The serpent’s satin figure
Glid stealthily along—

The tempests touched our garments—
The lightning’s poinards gleamed—
Fierce from the Crag above us
The hungry Vulture screamed—

The satyr’s fingers beckoned—
The valley murmured “Come”—
These were the mates—
This was the road
Those children fluttered home.

392

Through the Dark Sod—as Education—
The Lily passes sure—
Feels her white foot—no trepidation—
Her faith—no fear—

Afterward—in the Meadow—
Swinging her Beryl Bell—
The Mold-life—all forgotten—now—
In Ecstasy—and Dell—

792

Through the strait pass of suffering—
The Martyrs—even—trod.
Their feet—upon Temptations—
Their faces—upon God—

A stately—shriven—Company—
Convulsion—playing round—
Harmless—as streaks of Meteor—
Upon a Planet’s Bond—

Their faith—the everlasting troth—
Their Expectation—fair—
The Needle—to the North Degree—
Wades—so—thro’ polar Air!

1753

Through those old Grounds of memory,
The sauntering alone
Is a divine intemperance
A prudent man would shun.
Of liquors that are vended
’Tis easy to beware
But statutes do not meddle
With the internal bar.
Pernicious as the sunset
Permitting to pursue
But impotent to gather,
The tranquil perfidy
Alloys our firmer moments
With that severest gold
Convenient to the longing
But otherwise withheld.

1153

Through what transports of Patience
I reached the stolid Bliss
To breathe my Blank without thee
Attest me this and this—
By that bleak exultation
I won as near as this
Thy privilege of dying
Abbreviate me this—

279

Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord,
Then, I am ready to go!
Just a look at the Horses—
Rapid! That will do!

Put me in on the firmest side—
So I shall never fall—
For we must ride to the Judgment—
And it’s partly, down Hill—

But never I mind the steeper—
And never I mind the Sea—
Held fast in Everlasting Race—
By my own Choice, and Thee—

Goodbye to the Life I used to live—
And the World I used to know—
And kiss the Hills, for me, just once—
Then—I am ready to go!

907

Till Death—is narrow Loving—
The scantest Heart extant
Will hold you till your privilege
Of Finiteness—be spent—

But He whose loss procures you
Such Destitution that
Your Life too abject for itself
Thenceforward imitate—

Until—Resemblance perfect—
Yourself, for His pursuit
Delight of Nature—abdicate—
Exhibit Love—somewhat—

1121

Time does go on—
I tell it gay to those who suffer now—
They shall survive—
There is a sun—
They don’t believe it now—

802

Time feels so vast that were it not
For an Eternity—
I fear me this Circumference
Engross my Finity—

To His exclusion, who prepare
By Processes of Size
For the Stupendous Vision
Of his diameters—