Dickinson (Emily), The Complete Poems
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=Bibliographies= | =Bibliographies= | ||
- | =Edition de référence= | + | =Edition de référence - Poèmes au programme = |
- | |||
- | Poèmes au programme : | ||
Ligne 440: | Ligne 438: | ||
1896 | 1896 | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 316 | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Wind didn't come from the Orchard – today – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Further than that – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Nor stop to play with the Hay – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Nor joggle a Hat – | ||
+ | |||
+ | He's a transitive fellow – very – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Rely on that – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | If He leave a Bur at the door | ||
+ | |||
+ | We know He has climbed a Fir – | ||
+ | |||
+ | But the Fir is Where – Declare – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Were you ever there? | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | If He brings Odors of Clovers – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And that is His business – not Ours – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Then He has been with the Mowers – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Whetting away the Hours | ||
+ | |||
+ | To sweet pauses of Hay – | ||
+ | |||
+ | His Way – of a June Day – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | If He fling Sand, and Pebble – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Little Boys Hats – and Stubble – | ||
+ | |||
+ | With an occasional Steeple – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And a hoarse "Get out of the way, | ||
+ | |||
+ | I say," Who'd be the fool to stay? | ||
+ | |||
+ | Would you – Say – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Would you be the fool to stay? | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 317 | ||
+ | |||
+ | Just so – Jesus – raps – | ||
+ | |||
+ | He – doesn't weary – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Last – at the Knocker – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And first – at the Bell. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Then – on divinest tiptoe – standing – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Might He but spy the lady's soul – | ||
+ | |||
+ | When He – retires – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Chilled – or weary – | ||
+ | |||
+ | It will be ample time for – me – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Patient – upon the steps – until then – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Hears! I am knocking – low at thee. | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 318 | ||
+ | |||
+ | I'll tell you how the Sun rose – | ||
+ | |||
+ | A Ribbon at a time – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Steeples swam in Amethyst – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The news, like Squirrels, ran – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Hills untied their Bonnets – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Bobolinks – begun – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Then I said softly to myself – | ||
+ | |||
+ | "That must have been the Sun"! | ||
+ | |||
+ | But how he set – I know not – | ||
+ | |||
+ | There seemed a purple stile | ||
+ | |||
+ | That little Yellow boys and girls | ||
+ | |||
+ | Were climbing all the while – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Till when they reached the other side, | ||
+ | |||
+ | A Dominie in Gray – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Put gently up the evening Bars – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And led the flock away – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 319 | ||
+ | |||
+ | The nearest Dream recedes – unrealized – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Heaven we chase, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Like the June Bee – before the School Boy, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Invites the Race – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Stoops – to an easy Clover – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Dips – evades – teases – deploys – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Then – to the Royal Clouds | ||
+ | |||
+ | Lifts his light Pinnace – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Heedless of the Boy – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Staring – bewildered – at the mocking sky – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Homesick for steadfast Honey – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Ah, the Bee flies not | ||
+ | |||
+ | That brews that rare variety! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 320 | ||
+ | |||
+ | We play at Paste – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Till qualified, for Pearl – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Then, drop the Paste – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And deem ourself a fool – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | The Shapes – though – were similar – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And our new Hands | ||
+ | |||
+ | Learned Gem-Tactics – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Practicing Sands – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 321 | ||
+ | |||
+ | Of all the Sounds despatched abroad, | ||
+ | |||
+ | There's not a Charge to me | ||
+ | |||
+ | Like that old measure in the Boughs – | ||
+ | |||
+ | That phraseless Melody – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Wind does – working like a Hand, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Whose fingers Comb the Sky – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Then quiver down – with tufts of Tune – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Permitted Gods, and me – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Inheritance, it is, to us – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Beyond the Art to Earn – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Beyond the trait to take away | ||
+ | |||
+ | By Robber, since the Gain | ||
+ | |||
+ | Is gotten not of fingers – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And inner than the Bone – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Hid golden, for the whole of Days, | ||
+ | |||
+ | And even in the Urn, | ||
+ | |||
+ | I cannot vouch the merry Dust | ||
+ | |||
+ | Do not arise and play | ||
+ | |||
+ | In some odd fashion of its own, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Some quainter Holiday, | ||
+ | |||
+ | When Winds go round and round in Bands – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And thrum upon the door, | ||
+ | |||
+ | And Birds take places, overhead, | ||
+ | |||
+ | To bear them Orchestra. | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | I crave Him grace of Summer Boughs, | ||
+ | |||
+ | If such an Outcast be – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Who never heard that fleshless Chant – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Rise – solemn – on the Tree, | ||
+ | |||
+ | As if some Caravan of Sound | ||
+ | |||
+ | Off Deserts, in the Sky, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Had parted Rank, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Then knit, and swept – | ||
+ | |||
+ | In Seamless Company – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 322 | ||
+ | |||
+ | There came a Day at Summer's full, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Entirely for me – | ||
+ | |||
+ | I thought that such were for the Saints, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Where Resurrections – be – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | The Sun, as common, went abroad, | ||
+ | |||
+ | The flowers, accustomed, blew, | ||
+ | |||
+ | As if no soul the solstice passed | ||
+ | |||
+ | That maketh all things new – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | The time was scarce profaned, by speech – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The symbol of a word | ||
+ | |||
+ | Was needless, as at Sacrament, | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Wardrobe – of our Lord – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Each was to each The Sealed Church, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Permitted to commune this – time – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Lest we too awkward show | ||
+ | |||
+ | At Supper of the Lamb. | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | The Hours slid fast – as Hours will, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Clutched tight, by greedy hands – | ||
+ | |||
+ | So faces on two Decks, look back, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Bound to opposing lands – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | And so when all the time had leaked, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Without external sound | ||
+ | |||
+ | Each bound the Other's Crucifix – | ||
+ | |||
+ | We gave no other Bond – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Sufficient troth, that we shall rise – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Deposed – at length, the Grave – | ||
+ | |||
+ | To that new Marriage, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Justified – through Calvaries of Love – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 323 | ||
+ | |||
+ | As if I asked a common Alms, | ||
+ | |||
+ | And in my wondering hand | ||
+ | |||
+ | A Stranger pressed a Kingdom, | ||
+ | |||
+ | And I, bewildered, stand – | ||
+ | |||
+ | As if I asked the Orient | ||
+ | |||
+ | Had it for me a Morn – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And it should lift its purple Dikes, | ||
+ | |||
+ | And shatter me with Dawn! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 324 | ||
+ | |||
+ | Of Tribulation, these are They, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Denoted by the White – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Spangled Gowns, a lesser | ||
+ | |||
+ | Rank Of Victors – designate – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | All these – did conquer – | ||
+ | |||
+ | But the ones who overcame most times – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Wear nothing commoner than Snow – | ||
+ | |||
+ | No Ornament, but Palms – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Surrender – is a sort unknown – | ||
+ | |||
+ | On this superior soil – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Defeat – an outgrown Anguish – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Remembered, as the Mile | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Our panting Ankle barely passed – | ||
+ | |||
+ | When Night devoured the Road – | ||
+ | |||
+ | But we – stood whispering in the House – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And all we said – was "Saved"! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 325 | ||
+ | |||
+ | Of Tribulation, these are They, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Denoted by the White – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Spangled Gowns, a lesser Rank | ||
+ | |||
+ | Of Victors – designate – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | All these – did conquer – | ||
+ | |||
+ | But the ones who overcame most times – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Wear nothing commoner than Snow – | ||
+ | |||
+ | No Ornament, but Palms – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Surrender – is a sort unknown – | ||
+ | |||
+ | On this superior soil – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Defeat – an outgrown Anguish – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Remembered, as the Mile | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Our panting Ankle barely passed – | ||
+ | |||
+ | When Night devoured the Road – | ||
+ | |||
+ | But we – stood whispering in the House – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And all we said – was "Saved"! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 326 | ||
+ | |||
+ | I cannot dance upon my Toes – | ||
+ | |||
+ | No Man instructed me – | ||
+ | |||
+ | But oftentimes, among my mind, | ||
+ | |||
+ | A Glee possesseth me, | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | That had I Ballet knowledge – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Would put itself abroad | ||
+ | |||
+ | In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Or lay a Prima, mad, | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | And though I had no Gown of Gauze – | ||
+ | |||
+ | No Ringlet, to my Hair, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Nor hopped to Audiences – like Birds, | ||
+ | |||
+ | One Claw upon the Air, | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Nor rolled on wheels of snow | ||
+ | |||
+ | Till I was out of sight, in sound, | ||
+ | |||
+ | The House encore me so – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Nor any know I know the Art | ||
+ | |||
+ | I mention – easy – Here – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Nor any Placard boast me – | ||
+ | |||
+ | It's full as Opera – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 327 | ||
+ | |||
+ | Before I got my eye put out | ||
+ | |||
+ | I liked as well to see – | ||
+ | |||
+ | As other Creatures, that have Eyes | ||
+ | |||
+ | And know no other way – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | But were it told to me – Today – | ||
+ | |||
+ | That I might have the sky | ||
+ | |||
+ | For mine – I tell you that my Heart | ||
+ | |||
+ | Would split, for size of me – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | The Meadows – mine – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Mountains – mine – | ||
+ | |||
+ | All Forests – Stintless Stars – | ||
+ | |||
+ | As much of Noon as I could take | ||
+ | |||
+ | Between my finite eyes – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | The Motions of the Dipping Birds – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Morning's Amber Road – | ||
+ | |||
+ | For mine – to look at when I liked – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The News would strike me dead – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | So safer – guess – with just my soul | ||
+ | |||
+ | Upon the Window pane – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Where other Creatures put their eyes – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Incautious – of the Sun – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 328 | ||
+ | |||
+ | A Bird came down the Walk – | ||
+ | |||
+ | He did not know I saw – | ||
+ | |||
+ | He bit an Angleworm in halves | ||
+ | |||
+ | And ate the fellow, raw, | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | And then he drank a Dew | ||
+ | |||
+ | From a convenient Grass – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And then hopped sidewise to the Wall | ||
+ | |||
+ | To let a Beetle pass – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | He glanced with rapid eyes | ||
+ | |||
+ | That hurried all around – | ||
+ | |||
+ | They looked like frightened Beads, I thought – | ||
+ | |||
+ | He stirred his Velvet Head | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Like one in danger, Cautious, | ||
+ | |||
+ | I offered him a Crumb | ||
+ | |||
+ | And he unrolled his feathers | ||
+ | |||
+ | And rowed him softer home – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Than Oars divide the Ocean, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Too silver for a seam – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon | ||
+ | |||
+ | Leap, plashless as they swim. | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 329 | ||
+ | |||
+ | So glad we are – a Stranger'd deem | ||
+ | |||
+ | 'Twas sorry, that we were – | ||
+ | |||
+ | For where the Holiday should be | ||
+ | |||
+ | There publishes a Tear – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Nor how Ourselves be justified – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Since Grief and Joy are done | ||
+ | |||
+ | So similar – An Optizan | ||
+ | |||
+ | Could not decide between – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 330 | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Juggler's Hat her Country is – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Mountain Gorse – the Bee's! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 331 | ||
+ | |||
+ | While Asters – | ||
+ | |||
+ | On the Hill – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Their Everlasting fashions – set – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And Covenant Gentians – Frill! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 332 | ||
+ | |||
+ | There are two Ripenings – one – of sight – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Whose forces Spheric wind | ||
+ | |||
+ | Until the Velvet product | ||
+ | |||
+ | Drop spicy to the ground – | ||
+ | |||
+ | A homelier maturing – | ||
+ | |||
+ | A process in the Bur – | ||
+ | |||
+ | That teeth of Frosts alone disclose | ||
+ | |||
+ | In far October Air. | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 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 – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 334 | ||
+ | |||
+ | All the letters I can write | ||
+ | |||
+ | Are not fair as this – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Syllables of Velvet – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Sentences of Plush, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Depths of Ruby, undrained, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Hid, Lip, for Thee – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Play it were a Humming Bird – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And just sipped – me – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 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. | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 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! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 337 | ||
+ | |||
+ | I know a place where Summer strives | ||
+ | |||
+ | With such a practised Frost – | ||
+ | |||
+ | She – each year – leads her Daisies back – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Recording briefly – "Lost" – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | But when the South Wind stirs the Pools | ||
+ | |||
+ | And struggles in the lanes – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Her Heart misgives Her, for Her Vow – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And she pours soft Refrains | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Into the lap of Adamant – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And spices – and the Dew – | ||
+ | |||
+ | That stiffens quietly to Quartz – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Upon her Amber Shoe – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 338 | ||
+ | |||
+ | I know that He exists. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Somewhere – in Silence – | ||
+ | |||
+ | He has hid his rare life | ||
+ | |||
+ | From our gross eyes. | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 'Tis an instant's play. | ||
+ | |||
+ | 'Tis a fond Ambush – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Just to make Bliss | ||
+ | |||
+ | Earn her own surprise! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | But – should the play | ||
+ | |||
+ | Prove piercing earnest – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Should the glee – glaze – | ||
+ | |||
+ | In Death's – stiff – stare – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Would not the fun | ||
+ | |||
+ | Look too expensive! | ||
+ | |||
+ | Would not the jest – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Have crawled too far! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 339 | ||
+ | |||
+ | I tend my flowers for thee – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Bright Absentee! | ||
+ | |||
+ | My Fuchsia's Coral Seams | ||
+ | |||
+ | Rip – while the Sower – dreams – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Geraniums – tint – and spot – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Low Daisies – dot – | ||
+ | |||
+ | My Cactus – splits her Beard | ||
+ | |||
+ | To show her throat – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Carnations – tip their spice – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And Bees – pick up – | ||
+ | |||
+ | A Hyacinth – I hid – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Puts out a Ruffled Head – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And odors fall | ||
+ | |||
+ | From flasks – so small – | ||
+ | |||
+ | You marvel how they held – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Globe Roses – break their satin glake – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Upon my Garden floor – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Yet – thou – not there – | ||
+ | |||
+ | I had as lief they bore | ||
+ | |||
+ | No Crimson – more – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Thy flower – be gay – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Her Lord – away! | ||
+ | |||
+ | It ill becometh me – | ||
+ | |||
+ | I'll dwell in Calyx – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Gray – How modestly – alway – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Thy Daisy – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Draped for thee! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 340 | ||
+ | |||
+ | Is Bliss then, such Abyss, | ||
+ | |||
+ | I must not put my foot amiss | ||
+ | |||
+ | For fear I spoil my shoe? | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | I'd rather suit my foot | ||
+ | |||
+ | Than save my Boot – | ||
+ | |||
+ | For yet to buy another Pair | ||
+ | |||
+ | Is possible, | ||
+ | |||
+ | At any store – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | But Bliss, is sold just once. | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Patent lost | ||
+ | |||
+ | None buy it any more – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Say, Foot, decide the point – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Lady cross, or not? | ||
+ | |||
+ | Verdict for Boot! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 341 | ||
+ | |||
+ | After great pain, a formal feeling comes – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The stiff Heart questions was it | ||
+ | |||
+ | He, that bore, And Yesterday, or Centuries before? | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | The Feet, mechanical, go round – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Of Ground, or Air, or Ought – | ||
+ | |||
+ | A Wooden way | ||
+ | |||
+ | Regardless grown, | ||
+ | |||
+ | A Quartz contentment, like a stone – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | This is the Hour of Lead – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Remembered, if outlived, | ||
+ | |||
+ | As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow – | ||
+ | |||
+ | First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 342 | ||
+ | |||
+ | It will be Summer – eventually. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Ladies – with parasols – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Sauntering Gentlemen – with Canes – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And little Girls – with Dolls – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Will tint the pallid landscape – | ||
+ | |||
+ | As 'twere a bright Bouquet – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Thro' drifted deep, in Parian – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Village lies – today – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | The Lilacs – bending many a year – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Will sway with purple load – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Bees – will not despise the tune – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Their Forefathers – have hummed – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | The Wild Rose – redden in the Bog – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Aster – on the Hill | ||
+ | |||
+ | Her everlasting fashion – set – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And Covenant Gentians – frill – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Till Summer folds her miracle – | ||
+ | |||
+ | As Women – do – their Gown – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Of Priests – adjust the Symbols – | ||
+ | |||
+ | When Sacrament – is done – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 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. | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 344 | ||
+ | |||
+ | 'Twas the old – road – through pain – | ||
+ | |||
+ | That unfrequented – one – | ||
+ | |||
+ | With many a turn – and thorn – | ||
+ | |||
+ | That stops – at Heaven – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | This – was the Town – she passed – | ||
+ | |||
+ | There – where she – rested – last – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Then – stepped more fast – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The little tracks – close prest – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Then – not so swift – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Slow – slow – as feet did weary – grow – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Then – stopped – no other track! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Wait! Look! Her little Book – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The leaf – at love – turned back – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Her very Hat – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And this worn shoe just fits the track – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Herself – though – fled! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Another bed – a short one – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Women make – tonight – | ||
+ | |||
+ | In Chambers bright – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Too out of sight – though – | ||
+ | |||
+ | For our hoarse Good Night – | ||
+ | |||
+ | To touch her Head! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 345 | ||
+ | |||
+ | Funny – to be a Century – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And see the People – going by – | ||
+ | |||
+ | I – should die of the Oddity – | ||
+ | |||
+ | But then – I'm not so staid – as He – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | He keeps His Secrets safely – very – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Were He to tell – extremely sorry | ||
+ | |||
+ | This Bashful Globe of Ours would be – | ||
+ | |||
+ | So dainty of Publicity – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 346 | ||
+ | |||
+ | Not probable – The barest Chance – | ||
+ | |||
+ | A smile too few – a word too much | ||
+ | |||
+ | And far from Heaven as the Rest – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Soul so close on Paradise – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | What if the Bird from journey far – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Confused by Sweets – as Mortals – are – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Forget the secret of His wing | ||
+ | |||
+ | And perish – but a Bough between – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Oh, Groping feet – Oh Phantom Queen! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 347 | ||
+ | |||
+ | When Night is almost done – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And Sunrise grows so near | ||
+ | |||
+ | That we can touch the Spaces – | ||
+ | |||
+ | It's time to smooth the Hair – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | And get the Dimples ready – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And wonder we could care | ||
+ | |||
+ | For that old – faded Midnight – | ||
+ | |||
+ | That frightened – but an Hour – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 348 | ||
+ | |||
+ | I dreaded that first Robin, so, | ||
+ | |||
+ | But He is mastered, now, | ||
+ | |||
+ | I'm accustomed to Him grown, | ||
+ | |||
+ | He hurts a little, though – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | I thought If I could only live | ||
+ | |||
+ | Till that first Shout got by – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Not all Pianos in the Woods | ||
+ | |||
+ | Had power to mangle me – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | I dared not meet the Daffodils – | ||
+ | |||
+ | For fear their Yellow Gown | ||
+ | |||
+ | Would pierce me with a fashion | ||
+ | |||
+ | So foreign to my own – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | I wished the Grass would hurry – | ||
+ | |||
+ | So – when 'twas time to see – | ||
+ | |||
+ | He'd be too tall, the tallest one | ||
+ | |||
+ | Could stretch – to look at me – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | I could not bear the Bees should come, | ||
+ | |||
+ | I wished they'd stay away | ||
+ | |||
+ | In those dim countries where they go, | ||
+ | |||
+ | What word had they, for me? | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | They're here, though; not a creature failed – | ||
+ | |||
+ | No Blossom stayed away | ||
+ | |||
+ | In gentle deference to me – | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Queen of Calvary – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Each one salutes me, as he goes, | ||
+ | |||
+ | And I, my childish Plumes, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment | ||
+ | |||
+ | Of their unthinking Drums – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | 500 | ||
+ | |||
+ | Within my Garden, rides a Bird | ||
+ | |||
+ | Upon a single Wheel – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Whose spokes a dizzy Music make | ||
+ | |||
+ | As 'twere a travelling Mill – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | He never stops, but slackens | ||
+ | |||
+ | Above the Ripest Rose – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Partakes without alighting | ||
+ | |||
+ | And praises as he goes, | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | Till every spice is tasted – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And then his Fairy Gig | ||
+ | |||
+ | Reels in remoter atmospheres – | ||
+ | |||
+ | And I rejoin my Dog, | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | And He and I, perplex us | ||
+ | |||
+ | If positive, 'twere we – | ||
+ | |||
+ | Or bore the Garden in the Brain | ||
+ | |||
+ | This Curiosity – | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | But He, the best Logician, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Refers my clumsy eye – | ||
+ | |||
+ | To just vibrating Blossoms! | ||
+ | |||
+ | An Exquisite Reply! | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | and 500 -> 569 | ||
=Ressources sur le web= | =Ressources sur le web= | ||
[[Category: Concours - Agrégation]][[Category:Littérature]] | [[Category: Concours - Agrégation]][[Category:Littérature]] |
Version du 7 septembre 2009 à 11:23
Agrégation externe 2009-2010 (page en construction)
Bibliographies
Edition de référence - Poèmes au programme
303
The Soul selects her own Society –
Then – shuts the Door –
To her divine Majority –
Present no more –
Unmoved – she notes the Chariots – pausing –
At her low Gate –
Unmoved – an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat –
I've known her – from an ample nation –
Choose One –
Then – close the Valves of her attention –
Like Stone --
304
The Day came slow – till Five o'clock –
Then sprang before the Hills
Like Hindered Rubies – or the Light
A Sudden Musket – spills –
The Purple could not keep the East –
The Sunrise shook abroad
Like Breadths of Topaz – packed a Night –
The Lady just unrolled –
The Happy Winds – their Timbrels took –
The Birds – in docile Rows
Arranged themselves around their Prince
The Wind – is Prince of Those –
The Orchard sparkled like a Jew –
How mighty 'twas – to be
A Guest in this stupendous place –
The Parlor – of the Day --
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 –
306
The Soul's Superior instants
Occur to Her – alone –
When friend – and Earth's occasion
Have infinite withdrawn –
Or She – Herself – ascended
To too remote a Height
For lower Recognition
Than Her Omnipotent –
This Mortal Abolition
Is seldom – but as fair
As Apparition – subject
To Autocratic Air –
Eternity's disclosure
To favorites – a few –
Of the Colossal substance
Of Immortality
307
The One who could repeat the Summer day –
Were greater than itself – though
He Minutest of Mankind should be –
And He – could reproduce the Sun –
At period of going down –
The Lingering – and the Stain – I mean –
When Orient have been outgrown
And Occident – become Unknown –
His Name – remain --
308 I send Two Sunsets –
Day and I – in competition ran –
I finished Two – and several Stars –
While He – was making One –
His own was ampler – but as I
Was saying to a friend –
Mine – is the more convenient
To Carry in the Hand --
309
For largest Woman's Hearth I knew –
'Tis little I can do –
And yet the largest Woman's Heart
Could hold an Arrow – too –
And so, instructed by my own,
I tenderer, turn Me to.
310
Give little Anguish -
Lives will fret -
Give Avalanches -
And they'll slant -
Straighten – look cautious for their Breath -
But make no syllable – like Death -
Who only shows his Marble Disc -
Sublimer sort – than Speech -
c.1862
1924
311
It sifts from Leaden Sieves -
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road -
It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain -
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again -
It reaches to the Fence
It wraps it Rail by Rail -
Till it is lost in Fleeces -
It deals Celestial Vail
To Stump, and Stack - and Stem -
A Summer's empty Room -
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them -
It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen -
Then stills its Artisans - like Ghosts -
Denying they have been -
c.1862
1891
312
Her - “last Poems“ -
Poets – ended -
Silver – perished – with her Tongue -
Not on Record – bubbled other,
Flute – or Woman -
So divine -
Not unto its Summer – Morning
Robin – uttered Half the Tune -
Gushed too free for the Adoring -
From the Anglo-Florentine -
Late – the Praise -
'Tis dull – conferring
On the Head too High to Crown -
Diadem – or Ducal Showing -
Be its Grave – sufficient sign -
Nought – that We – No Poet's Kinsman -
Suffocate – with easy woe -
What, and if, Ourself a Bridegroom -
Put Her down – in Italy?
c.1862
1914
313
I should have been too glad, I see -
Too lifted - for the scant degree
Of Life's penurious Round -
My little Circuit would have shamed
This new Circumference - have blamed -
The homelier time behind.
I should have been too saved - I see -
Too rescued - Fear too dim to me
That I could spell the Prayer
I knew so perfect – yesterday -
That Scalding One – Sabachthani -
Recited fluent - here -
Earth would have been too much - I see -
And Heaven - not enough for me -
I should have had the Joy
Without the fear - to justify -
The Palm - without the Calvary -
So Savior – Crucify -
Defeat - whets Victory - they say -
The Reefs - in old Gethsemane -
Endear the Coast – beyond!
'Tis Beggars - Banquets - can define -
'Tis Parching - vitalizes wine -
“Faith” bleats - to understand!
c.1862
1891
314
Nature – sometimes sears a Sapling -
Sometimes – scalps a Tree -
Her Green Peaople recollect it
When they do not die -
Fainter Leaves – to Further Seasons -
Dumbly testify -
We – who have the Souls -
Die oftener – Not so vitally -
c.1862
1945
315
He fumbles at your Soul
As Players at the Keys
Before they drop full Music on -
He stuns you by degrees -
Prepares your brittle Nature
For the Ethereal Blow
By fainter Hammers – further heard -
Then nearer – Then so slow
Your Breath has time to straighten -
Your Brain – to bubble Cool -
Deals – One – imperial – Thunderbolt -
That scalps your naked Soul -
When Winds take Forests in their Paws -
The Universe – is still -
c.1862
1896
316
The Wind didn't come from the Orchard – today –
Further than that –
Nor stop to play with the Hay –
Nor joggle a Hat –
He's a transitive fellow – very –
Rely on that –
If He leave a Bur at the door
We know He has climbed a Fir –
But the Fir is Where – Declare –
Were you ever there?
If He brings Odors of Clovers –
And that is His business – not Ours –
Then He has been with the Mowers –
Whetting away the Hours
To sweet pauses of Hay –
His Way – of a June Day –
If He fling Sand, and Pebble –
Little Boys Hats – and Stubble –
With an occasional Steeple –
And a hoarse "Get out of the way,
I say," Who'd be the fool to stay?
Would you – Say –
Would you be the fool to stay?
317
Just so – Jesus – raps –
He – doesn't weary –
Last – at the Knocker –
And first – at the Bell.
Then – on divinest tiptoe – standing –
Might He but spy the lady's soul –
When He – retires –
Chilled – or weary –
It will be ample time for – me –
Patient – upon the steps – until then –
Hears! I am knocking – low at thee.
318
I'll tell you how the Sun rose –
A Ribbon at a time –
The Steeples swam in Amethyst –
The news, like Squirrels, ran –
The Hills untied their Bonnets –
The Bobolinks – begun –
Then I said softly to myself –
"That must have been the Sun"!
But how he set – I know not –
There seemed a purple stile
That little Yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while –
Till when they reached the other side,
A Dominie in Gray –
Put gently up the evening Bars –
And led the flock away –
319
The nearest Dream recedes – unrealized –
The Heaven we chase,
Like the June Bee – before the School Boy,
Invites the Race –
Stoops – to an easy Clover –
Dips – evades – teases – deploys –
Then – to the Royal Clouds
Lifts his light Pinnace –
Heedless of the Boy –
Staring – bewildered – at the mocking sky –
Homesick for steadfast Honey –
Ah, the Bee flies not
That brews that rare variety!
320
We play at Paste –
Till qualified, for Pearl –
Then, drop the Paste –
And deem ourself a fool –
The Shapes – though – were similar –
And our new Hands
Learned Gem-Tactics –
Practicing Sands –
321
Of all the Sounds despatched abroad,
There's not a Charge to me
Like that old measure in the Boughs –
That phraseless Melody –
The Wind does – working like a Hand,
Whose fingers Comb the Sky –
Then quiver down – with tufts of Tune –
Permitted Gods, and me –
Inheritance, it is, to us –
Beyond the Art to Earn –
Beyond the trait to take away
By Robber, since the Gain
Is gotten not of fingers –
And inner than the Bone –
Hid golden, for the whole of Days,
And even in the Urn,
I cannot vouch the merry Dust
Do not arise and play
In some odd fashion of its own,
Some quainter Holiday,
When Winds go round and round in Bands –
And thrum upon the door,
And Birds take places, overhead,
To bear them Orchestra.
I crave Him grace of Summer Boughs,
If such an Outcast be –
Who never heard that fleshless Chant –
Rise – solemn – on the Tree,
As if some Caravan of Sound
Off Deserts, in the Sky,
Had parted Rank,
Then knit, and swept –
In Seamless Company –
322
There came a Day at Summer's full,
Entirely for me –
I thought that such were for the Saints,
Where Resurrections – be –
The Sun, as common, went abroad,
The flowers, accustomed, blew,
As if no soul the solstice passed
That maketh all things new –
The time was scarce profaned, by speech –
The symbol of a word
Was needless, as at Sacrament,
The Wardrobe – of our Lord –
Each was to each The Sealed Church,
Permitted to commune this – time –
Lest we too awkward show
At Supper of the Lamb.
The Hours slid fast – as Hours will,
Clutched tight, by greedy hands –
So faces on two Decks, look back,
Bound to opposing lands –
And so when all the time had leaked,
Without external sound
Each bound the Other's Crucifix –
We gave no other Bond –
Sufficient troth, that we shall rise –
Deposed – at length, the Grave –
To that new Marriage,
Justified – through Calvaries of Love –
323
As if I asked a common Alms,
And in my wondering hand
A Stranger pressed a Kingdom,
And I, bewildered, stand –
As if I asked the Orient
Had it for me a Morn –
And it should lift its purple Dikes,
And shatter me with Dawn!
324
Of Tribulation, these are They,
Denoted by the White –
The Spangled Gowns, a lesser
Rank Of Victors – designate –
All these – did conquer –
But the ones who overcame most times –
Wear nothing commoner than Snow –
No Ornament, but Palms –
Surrender – is a sort unknown –
On this superior soil –
Defeat – an outgrown Anguish –
Remembered, as the Mile
Our panting Ankle barely passed –
When Night devoured the Road –
But we – stood whispering in the House –
And all we said – was "Saved"!
325
Of Tribulation, these are They,
Denoted by the White –
The Spangled Gowns, a lesser Rank
Of Victors – designate –
All these – did conquer –
But the ones who overcame most times –
Wear nothing commoner than Snow –
No Ornament, but Palms –
Surrender – is a sort unknown –
On this superior soil –
Defeat – an outgrown Anguish –
Remembered, as the Mile
Our panting Ankle barely passed –
When Night devoured the Road –
But we – stood whispering in the House –
And all we said – was "Saved"!
326
I cannot dance upon my Toes –
No Man instructed me –
But oftentimes, among my mind,
A Glee possesseth me,
That had I Ballet knowledge –
Would put itself abroad
In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe –
Or lay a Prima, mad,
And though I had no Gown of Gauze –
No Ringlet, to my Hair,
Nor hopped to Audiences – like Birds,
One Claw upon the Air,
Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls,
Nor rolled on wheels of snow
Till I was out of sight, in sound,
The House encore me so –
Nor any know I know the Art
I mention – easy – Here –
Nor any Placard boast me –
It's full as Opera –
327
Before I got my eye put out
I liked as well to see –
As other Creatures, that have Eyes
And know no other way –
But were it told to me – Today –
That I might have the sky
For mine – I tell you that my Heart
Would split, for size of me –
The Meadows – mine –
The Mountains – mine –
All Forests – Stintless Stars –
As much of Noon as I could take
Between my finite eyes –
The Motions of the Dipping Birds –
The Morning's Amber Road –
For mine – to look at when I liked –
The News would strike me dead –
So safer – guess – with just my soul
Upon the Window pane –
Where other Creatures put their eyes –
Incautious – of the Sun –
328
A Bird came down the Walk –
He did not know I saw –
He bit an Angleworm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,
And then he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass –
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass –
He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all around –
They looked like frightened Beads, I thought –
He stirred his Velvet Head
Like one in danger, Cautious,
I offered him a Crumb
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home –
Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam –
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon
Leap, plashless as they swim.
329
So glad we are – a Stranger'd deem
'Twas sorry, that we were –
For where the Holiday should be
There publishes a Tear –
Nor how Ourselves be justified –
Since Grief and Joy are done
So similar – An Optizan
Could not decide between –
330
The Juggler's Hat her Country is –
The Mountain Gorse – the Bee's!
331
While Asters –
On the Hill –
Their Everlasting fashions – set –
And Covenant Gentians – Frill!
332
There are two Ripenings – one – of sight –
Whose forces Spheric wind
Until the Velvet product
Drop spicy to the ground –
A homelier maturing –
A process in the Bur –
That teeth of Frosts alone disclose
In far October Air.
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 –
334
All the letters I can write
Are not fair as this –
Syllables of Velvet –
Sentences of Plush,
Depths of Ruby, undrained,
Hid, Lip, for Thee –
Play it were a Humming Bird –
And just sipped – me –
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.
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!
337
I know a place where Summer strives
With such a practised Frost –
She – each year – leads her Daisies back –
Recording briefly – "Lost" –
But when the South Wind stirs the Pools
And struggles in the lanes –
Her Heart misgives Her, for Her Vow –
And she pours soft Refrains
Into the lap of Adamant –
And spices – and the Dew –
That stiffens quietly to Quartz –
Upon her Amber Shoe –
338
I know that He exists.
Somewhere – in Silence –
He has hid his rare life
From our gross eyes.
'Tis an instant's play.
'Tis a fond Ambush –
Just to make Bliss
Earn her own surprise!
But – should the play
Prove piercing earnest –
Should the glee – glaze –
In Death's – stiff – stare –
Would not the fun
Look too expensive!
Would not the jest –
Have crawled too far!
339
I tend my flowers for thee –
Bright Absentee!
My Fuchsia's Coral Seams
Rip – while the Sower – dreams –
Geraniums – tint – and spot –
Low Daisies – dot –
My Cactus – splits her Beard
To show her throat –
Carnations – tip their spice –
And Bees – pick up –
A Hyacinth – I hid –
Puts out a Ruffled Head –
And odors fall
From flasks – so small –
You marvel how they held –
Globe Roses – break their satin glake –
Upon my Garden floor –
Yet – thou – not there –
I had as lief they bore
No Crimson – more –
Thy flower – be gay –
Her Lord – away!
It ill becometh me –
I'll dwell in Calyx –
Gray – How modestly – alway –
Thy Daisy –
Draped for thee!
340
Is Bliss then, such Abyss,
I must not put my foot amiss
For fear I spoil my shoe?
I'd rather suit my foot
Than save my Boot –
For yet to buy another Pair
Is possible,
At any store –
But Bliss, is sold just once.
The Patent lost
None buy it any more –
Say, Foot, decide the point –
The Lady cross, or not?
Verdict for Boot!
341
After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions was it
He, that bore, And Yesterday, or Centuries before?
The Feet, mechanical, go round –
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –
This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –
342
It will be Summer – eventually.
Ladies – with parasols –
Sauntering Gentlemen – with Canes –
And little Girls – with Dolls –
Will tint the pallid landscape –
As 'twere a bright Bouquet –
Thro' drifted deep, in Parian –
The Village lies – today –
The Lilacs – bending many a year –
Will sway with purple load –
The Bees – will not despise the tune –
Their Forefathers – have hummed –
The Wild Rose – redden in the Bog –
The Aster – on the Hill
Her everlasting fashion – set –
And Covenant Gentians – frill –
Till Summer folds her miracle –
As Women – do – their Gown –
Of Priests – adjust the Symbols –
When Sacrament – is done –
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.
344
'Twas the old – road – through pain –
That unfrequented – one –
With many a turn – and thorn –
That stops – at Heaven –
This – was the Town – she passed –
There – where she – rested – last –
Then – stepped more fast –
The little tracks – close prest –
Then – not so swift –
Slow – slow – as feet did weary – grow –
Then – stopped – no other track!
Wait! Look! Her little Book –
The leaf – at love – turned back –
Her very Hat –
And this worn shoe just fits the track –
Herself – though – fled!
Another bed – a short one –
Women make – tonight –
In Chambers bright –
Too out of sight – though –
For our hoarse Good Night –
To touch her Head!
345
Funny – to be a Century –
And see the People – going by –
I – should die of the Oddity –
But then – I'm not so staid – as He –
He keeps His Secrets safely – very –
Were He to tell – extremely sorry
This Bashful Globe of Ours would be –
So dainty of Publicity –
346
Not probable – The barest Chance –
A smile too few – a word too much
And far from Heaven as the Rest –
The Soul so close on Paradise –
What if the Bird from journey far –
Confused by Sweets – as Mortals – are –
Forget the secret of His wing
And perish – but a Bough between –
Oh, Groping feet – Oh Phantom Queen!
347
When Night is almost done –
And Sunrise grows so near
That we can touch the Spaces –
It's time to smooth the Hair –
And get the Dimples ready –
And wonder we could care
For that old – faded Midnight –
That frightened – but an Hour –
348
I dreaded that first Robin, so,
But He is mastered, now,
I'm accustomed to Him grown,
He hurts a little, though –
I thought If I could only live
Till that first Shout got by –
Not all Pianos in the Woods
Had power to mangle me –
I dared not meet the Daffodils –
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own –
I wished the Grass would hurry –
So – when 'twas time to see –
He'd be too tall, the tallest one
Could stretch – to look at me –
I could not bear the Bees should come,
I wished they'd stay away
In those dim countries where they go,
What word had they, for me?
They're here, though; not a creature failed –
No Blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me –
The Queen of Calvary –
Each one salutes me, as he goes,
And I, my childish Plumes,
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment
Of their unthinking Drums –
500
Within my Garden, rides a Bird
Upon a single Wheel –
Whose spokes a dizzy Music make
As 'twere a travelling Mill –
He never stops, but slackens
Above the Ripest Rose –
Partakes without alighting
And praises as he goes,
Till every spice is tasted –
And then his Fairy Gig
Reels in remoter atmospheres –
And I rejoin my Dog,
And He and I, perplex us
If positive, 'twere we –
Or bore the Garden in the Brain
This Curiosity –
But He, the best Logician,
Refers my clumsy eye –
To just vibrating Blossoms!
An Exquisite Reply!
and 500 -> 569