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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Have infinite withdrawn –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

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