1458

Time’s wily Chargers will not wait
At any Gate but Woe’s—
But there—so gloat to hesitate
They will not stir for blows—

984

’Tis Anguish grander than Delight
’Tis Resurrection Pain—
The meeting Bands of smitten Face
We questioned to, again.

’Tis Transport wild as thrills the Graves
When Cerements let go
And Creatures clad in Miracle
Go up by Two and Two.

440

’Tis customary as we part
A trinket—to confer—
It helps to stimulate the faith
When Lovers be afar—

’Tis various—as the various taste—
Clematis—journeying far—
Presents me with a single Curl
Of her Electric Hair—

1698

’Tis easier to pity those when dead
That which pity previous
Would have saved—
A Tragedy enacted
Secures Applause
That Tragedy enacting
Too seldom does.

660

’Tis good—the looking back on Grief—
To re-endure a Day—
We thought the Mighty Funeral—
Of All Conceived Joy—

To recollect how Busy Grass
Did meddle—one by one—
Till all the Grief with Summer—waved
And none could see the stone.

And though the Woe you have Today
Be larger—As the Sea
Exceeds its Unremembered Drop—
They’re Water—equally—

466

’Tis little I—could care for Pearls—
Who own the ample sea—
Or Brooches—when the Emperor—
With Rubies—pelteth me—

Or Gold—who am the Prince of Mines—
Or Diamonds—when have I
A Diadem to fit a Dom—
Continual upon me—

1122

’Tis my first night beneath the Sun
If I should spend it here—
Above him is too low a height
For his Barometer
Who Airs of expectation breathes
And takes the Wind at prime—
But Distance his Delights confides
To those who visit him—

335

’Tis not that Dying hurts us so—
’Tis Living—hurts us more—
But Dying—is a different way—
A Kind behind the Door—

The Southern Custom—of the Bird—
That ere the Frosts are due—
Accepts a better Latitude—
We—are the Birds—that stay.

The Shrivers round Farmers’ doors—
For whose reluctant Crumb—
We stipulate—till pitying Snows
Persuade our Feathers Home.

1597

’Tis not the swaying frame we miss,
It is the steadfast Heart,
That had it beat a thousand years,
With Love alone had bent,
Its fervor the electric Oar,
That bore it through the Tomb,
Ourselves, denied the privilege,
Consolelessly presume—

545

’Tis One by One—the Father counts—
And then a Tract between
Set Cypherless—to teach the Eye
The Value of its Ten—

Until the peevish Student
Acquire the Quick of Skill—
Then Numerals are dowered back—
Adorning all the Rule—

’Tis mostly Slate and Pencil—
And Darkness on the School
Distracts the Children’s fingers—
Still the Eternal Rule

Regards least Cypherer alike
With Leader of the Band—
And every separate Urchin’s Sum—
Is fashioned for his hand—

355

’Tis Opposites—entice—
Deformed Men—ponder Grace—
Bright fires—the Blanketless—
The Lost—Day’s face—

The Blind—esteem it be
Enough Estate—to see—
The Captive—strangles new—
For deeming—Beggars—play—

To lack—enamor Thee—
Tho’ the Divinity—
Be only
Me—

1529

’Tis Seasons since the Dimpled War
In which we each were Conqueror
And each of us were slain
And Centuries ’twill be and more
Another Massacre before
So modest and so vain—
Without a Formula we fought
Each was to each the Pink Redoubt—

281

’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates—
So over Horror, it half Captivates—
The Soul stares after it, secure—
A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more—

To scan a Ghost, is faint—
But grappling, conquers it—
How easy, Torment, now—
Suspense kept sawing so—

The Truth, is Bald, and Cold—
But that will hold—
If any are not sure—
We show them—prayer—
But we, who know,
Stop hoping, now—

Looking at Death, is Dying—
Just let go the Breath—
And not the pillow at your Cheek
So Slumbereth—

Others, Can wrestle—
Yours, is done—
And so of Woe, bleak dreaded—come,
It sets the Fright at liberty—
And Terror’s free—
Gay, Ghastly, Holiday!

172

’Tis so much joy! ’Tis so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I,
Have ventured all upon a throw!
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so—
This side the Victory!

Life is but Life! And Death, but Death!
Bliss is, but Bliss, and Breath but Breath!
And if indeed I fail,
At least, to know the worst, is sweet!
Defeat means nothing but Defeat,
No drearier, can befall!

And if I gain! Oh Gun at Sea!
Oh Bells, that in the Steeples be!
At first, repeat it slow!
For Heaven is a different thing,
Conjectured, and waked sudden in—
And might extinguish me!

908

’Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast Thou
No Station in the Day?
’Twas not thy wont, to hinder so—
Retrieve thine industry—

’Tis Noon—My little Maid—
Alas—and art thou sleeping yet?
The Lily—waiting to be Wed—
The Bee—Hast thou forgot?

My little Maid—’Tis Night—Alas
That Night should be to thee
Instead of Morning—Had’st thou broached
Thy little Plan to Die—
Dissuade thee, if I could not, Sweet,
I might have aided—thee—

538

’Tis true—They shut me in the Cold—
But then—Themselves were warm
And could not know the feeling ’twas—
Forget it—Lord—of Them—

Let not my Witness hinder Them
In Heavenly esteem—
No Paradise could be—Conferred
Through Their beloved Blame—

The Harm They did—was short—And since
Myself—who bore it—do—
Forgive Them—Even as Myself—
Or else—forgive not me—

1482

’Tis whiter than an Indian Pipe—
’Tis dimmer than a Lace—
No stature has it, like a Fog
When you approach the place—
Nor any voice imply it here
Or intimate it there
A spirit—how doth it accost—
What function hat the Air?
This limitless Hyperbole
Each one of us shall be—
’Tis Drama—if Hypothesis
It be not Tragedy—

1072

Title divine—is mine!
The Wife—without the Sign!
Acute Degree—conferred on me—
Empress of Calvary!
Royal—all but the Crown!
Betrothed—without the swoon
God sends us Women—
When you—hold—Garnet to Garnet—
Gold—to Gold—
Born—Bridalled—Shrouded—
In a Day—
Tri Victory
“My Husband”—women say—
Stroking the Melody—
Is this—the way?

677

To be alive—is Power—
Existence—in itself—
Without a further function—
Omnipotence—Enough—

To be alive—and Will!
’Tis able as a God—
The Maker—of Ourselves—be what—
Such being Finitude!

1560

To be forgot by thee
Surpasses Memory
Of other minds
The Heart cannot forget
Unless it contemplate
What it declines
I was regarded then
Raised from oblivion
A single time
To be remembered what—
Worthy to be forgot
Is my renown

1312

To break so vast a Heart
Required a Blow as vast—
No Zephyr felled this Cedar straight—
’Twas undeserved Blast—

1702

Today or this noon
She dwelt so close
I almost touched her—
Tonight she lies
Past neighborhood
And bough and steeple,
Now past surmise.

255

To die—takes just a little while—
They say it doesn’t hurt—
It’s only fainter—by degrees—
And then—it’s out of sight—

A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
A Crape upon the Hat—
And then the pretty sunshine comes—
And helps us to forget—

The absent—mystic—creature—
That but for love of us—
Had gone to sleep—that soundest time—
Without the weariness—

1017

To die—without the Dying
And live—without the Life
This is the hardest Miracle
Propounded to Belief.

1209

To disappear enhances—
The Man that runs away
Is tinctured for an instant
With Immortality

But yesterday a Vagrant—
Today in Memory lain
With superstitious value
We tamper with “Again”

But “Never” far as Honor
Withdraws the Worthless thing
And impotent to cherish
We hasten to adorn—

Of Death the sternest function
That just as we discern
The Excellence defies us—
Securest gathered then

The Fruit perverse to plucking,
But leaning to the Sight
With the ecstatic limit
Of unobtained Delight—

1699

To do a magnanimous thing
And take oneself by surprise
If oneself is not in the habit of him
Is precisely the finest of Joys—

Not to do a magnanimous thing
Notwithstanding it never be known
Notwithstanding it cost us existence once
Is Rapture herself spurn—

1427

To earn it by disdaining it
Is Fame’s consummate Fee—
He loves what spurns him—
Look behind—He is pursuing thee.

So let us gather—every Day—
The Aggregate of
Life’s Bouquet
Be Honor and not shame—

126

To fight aloud, is very brave—
But gallanter, I know
Who charge within the *****
The Cavalry of Woe—

Who win, and nations do not see—
Who fall—and none observe—
Whose dying eyes, no Country
Regards with patriot love—

We trust, in plumed procession
For such, the Angels go—
Rank after Rank, with even feet—
And Uniforms of Snow.

546

To fill a Gap
Insert the Thing that caused it—
Block it up
With Other—and ’twill yawn the more—
You cannot solder an Abyss
With Air.

1242

To flee from memory
Had we the Wings
Many would fly
Inured to slower things
Birds with surprise
Would scan the cowering Van
Of men escaping
From the mind of man

105

To hang our head—ostensibly—
And subsequent, to find
That such was not the posture
Of our immortal mind—

Affords the sly presumption
That in so dense a fuzz—
You—too—take Cobweb attitudes
Upon a plane of Gauze!

526

To hear an Oriole sing
May be a common thing—
Or only a divine.

It is not of the Bird
Who sings the same, unheard,
As unto Crowd—

The Fashion of the Ear
Attireth that it hear
In Dun, or fair—

So whether it be Rune,
Or whether it be none
Is of within.

The “Tune is in the Tree—”
The Skeptic—showeth me—
“No Sir! In Thee!”

1064

To help our Bleaker Parts
Salubrious Hours are given
Which if they do not fir for Earth
Drill silently for Heaven—

1586

To her derided Home
A **** of Summer came—
She did not know her station low
Nor Ignominy’s Name—
Bestowed a summer long
Upon a fameless flower—
Then swept as lightly from disdain
As Lady from her Bower—

Of Bliss the Codes are few—
As Jesus cites of Him—
“Come unto me” the moiety
That wafts the Seraphim—

1352

To his simplicity
To die—was little Fate—
If Duty live—contented
But her Confederate.

591

To interrupt His Yellow Plan
The Sun does not allow
Caprices of the Atmosphere—
And even when the Snow

Heaves ***** of Specks, like Vicious Boy
Directly in His Eye—
Does not so much as turn His Head
Busy with Majesty—

’Tis His to stimulate the Earth—
And magnetize the Sea—
And bind Astronomy, in place,
Yet Any passing by

Would deem Ourselves—the busier
As the Minutest Bee
That rides—emits a Thunder—
A Bomb—to justify—

622

To know just how He suffered—would be dear—
To know if any Human eyes were near
To whom He could entrust His wavering gaze—
Until it settle broad—on Paradise—

To know if He was patient—part content—
Was Dying as He thought—or different—
Was it a pleasant Day to die—
And did the Sunshine face his way—

What was His furthest mind—Of Home—or God—
Or what the Distant say—
At news that He ceased Human Nature
Such a Day—

And Wishes—Had He Any—
Just His Sigh—Accented—
Had been legible—to Me—
And was He Confident until
Ill fluttered out—in Everlasting Well—

And if He spoke—What name was Best—
What last
What One broke off with
At the Drowsiest—

Was He afraid—or tranquil—
Might He know
How Conscious Consciousness—could grow—
Till Love that was—and Love too best to be—
Meet—and the Junction be Eternity

167

To learn the Transport by the Pain
As Blind Men learn the sun!
To die of thirst—suspecting
That Brooks in Meadows run!

To stay the homesick—homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore—
Haunted by native lands, the while—
And blue—beloved air!

This is the Sovereign Anguish!
This—the signal woe!
These are the patient “Laureates”
Whose voices—trained—below—

Ascend in ceaseless Carol—
Inaudible, indeed,
To us—the duller scholars
Of the Mysterious Bard!

377

To lose one’s faith—surpass
The loss of an Estate—
Because Estates can be
Replenished—faith cannot—

Inherited with Life—
Belief—but once—can be—
Annihilate a single clause—
And Being’s—Beggary—

1754

To lose thee—sweeter than to gain
All other hearts I knew.
’Tis true the drought is destitute,
But then, I had the dew!

The Caspian has its realms of sand,
Its other realm of sea.
Without the sterile perquisite,
No Caspian could be.

434

To love thee Year by Year—
May less appear
Than sacrifice, and cease—
However, dear,
Forever might be short, I thought to show—
And so I pieced it, with a flower, now.

1755

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.

485

To make One’s Toilette—after Death
Has made the Toilette cool
Of only Taste we cared to please
Is difficult, and still—

That’s easier—than Braid the Hair—
And make the Bodice gay—
When eyes that fondled it are wrenched
By Decalogues—away—

1196

To make Routine a Stimulus
Remember it can cease—
Capacity to Terminate
Is a Specific Grace—
Of Retrospect the Arrow
That power to repair
Departed with the Torment
Become, alas, more fair—

1442

To mend each tattered Faith
There is a needle fair
Though no appearance indicate—
’Tis threaded in the Air—

And though it do not wear
As if it never Tore
’Tis very comfortable indeed
And spacious as before—

1367

“Tomorrow”—whose location
The Wise deceives
Though its hallucination
Is last that leaves—
Tomorrow—thou Retriever
Of every tare—
Of Alibi art thou
Or ownest where?

891

To my quick ear the Leaves—conferred—
The Bushes—they were Bells—
I could not find a Privacy
From Nature’s sentinels—

In Cave if I presumed to hide
The Walls—begun to tell—
Creation seemed a mighty Crack—
To make me visible—

638

To my small Hearth His fire came—
And all my House aglow
Did fan and rock, with sudden light—
’Twas Sunrise—’twas the Sky—

Impanelled from no Summer brief—
With limit of Decay—
’Twas Noon—without the News of Night—
Nay, Nature, it was Day—

1135

Too cold is this
To warm with Sun—
Too stiff to bended be,
To joint this Agate were a work—
Outstaring Masonry—

How went the Agile Kernel out
Contusion of the Husk
Nor Rip, nor wrinkle indicate
But just an Asterisk.

1186

Too few the mornings be,
Too scant the nights.
No lodging can be had
For the delights
That come to earth to stay,
But no apartment find
And ride away.