Dickinson (Emily), The Complete Poems
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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 --
c.1862 1890
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 --
c.1862 1891
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 –
c.1862
1914
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Have infinite withdrawn –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
c.1862
1914
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 --
c.1862
1891
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 --
c.1862
1914
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.
c.1862 1932
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?
c.1862
1932
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.
c.1861
1914
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 –
c.1860
1890
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!
c.1861
1891
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 –
c.1862 1891
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 –
c.1862 1890
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 –
c.1861 1890
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!
c.1858 1891
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"!
c.1860
1864
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"!
c.1861
1891
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 –
c.1862
1929
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 –
c.1862 1891
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.
c.1862 1891
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 –
c.1862 1894
330
The Juggler's Hat her Country is –
The Mountain Gorse – the Bee's!
c.1861 1894
331
While Asters –
On the Hill –
Their Everlasting fashions – set –
And Covenant Gentians – Frill!
c.1861
1894
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.
c.1862 1894
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 –
c.1862
1890
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 –
1862 1929
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.
c.1862
1945
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!
c.1862
1945
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 –
c.1862
1891
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!
c.1862 1891
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!
c.1862
1929
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!
c.1862
1896
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 –
c.1862 1929
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 –
c.1862
1929
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.
c.1862
1945
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!
c.1862
1929
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 –
c.1862 1929
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!
c.1862
1935
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 –
c.1862 1890
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 –
c.1862
1891
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!
c.1862 1929
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 –
c.1862 1896
502
At least – to pray – is left – is left –
Oh Jesus – in the Air –
I know not which thy chamber is –
I'm knocking – everywhere –
Thou settest Earthquake in the South –
And Maelstrom, in the Sea –
Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth –
Hast thou no Arm for Me?
c.1862 1891
503
Better – than Music! For I – who heard it –
I was used – to the Birds – before –
This – was different – 'Twas Translation –
Of all tunes I knew – and more –
'Twasn't contained – like other stanza –
No one could play it – the second time –
But the Composer – perfect Mozart –
Perish with him – that Keyless Rhyme!
So – Children – told how Brooks in Eden –
Bubbled a better – Melody –
Quaintly infer – Eve's great surrender –
Urging the feet – that would – not – fly –
Children – matured – are wiser – mostly –
Eden – a legend – dimly told –
Eve – and the Anguish – Grandame's story –
But – I was telling a tune – I heard –
Not such a strain – the Church – baptizes –
When the last Saint – goes up the Aisles –
Not such a stanza splits the silence –
When the Redemption strikes her Bells –
Let me not spill – its smallest cadence –
Humming – for promise – when alone –
Humming – until my faint Rehearsal –
Drop into tune – around the Throne –
c.1862
1945
504
You know that Portrait in the Moon –
So tell me who 'tis like –
The very Brow – the stooping eyes –
A fog for – Say – Whose Sake?
The very Pattern of the Cheek –
It varies – in the Chin –
But – Ishmael – since we met – 'tis long –
And fashions – intervene –
When Moon's at full – 'Tis Thou – I say –
My lips just hold the name –
When crescent – Thou art worn – I note –
But – there – the Golden Same –
And when – Some Night – Bold – slashing Clouds
Cut Thee away from Me –
That's easier – than the other film
That glazes Holiday –
c.1862 1935
505
I would not paint – a picture –
I'd rather be the One
Its bright impossibility
To dwell – delicious – on –
And wonder how the fingers feel
Whose rare – celestial – stir –
Evokes so sweet a Torment –
Such sumptuous – Despair –
I would not talk, like Cornets –
I'd rather be the One
Raised softly to the Ceilings –
And out, and easy on –
Through Villages of Ether –
Myself endued Balloon
By but a lip of Metal –
The pier to my Pontoon –
Nor would I be a Poet –
It's finer – own the Ear –
Enamored – impotent – content –
The License to revere,
A privilege so awful
What would the Dower be,
Had I the Art to stun myself
With Bolts of Melody!
c.1862 1945
506
He touched me, so I live to know
That such a day, permitted so,
I groped upon his breast –
It was a boundless place to me
And silenced, as the awful sea
Puts minor streams to rest.
And now, I'm different from before,
As if I breathed superior air –
Or brushed a Royal Gown –
My feet, too, that had wandered so –
My Gypsy face – transfigured now –
To tenderer Renown –
Into this Port, if I might come,
Rebecca, to Jerusalem,
Would not so ravished turn –
Nor Persian, baffled at her shrine
Lift such a Crucifixial sign
To her imperial Sun.
c.1862 1896
507
She sights a Bird – she chuckles –
She flattens – then she crawls –
She runs without the look of feet –
Her eyes increase to Balls –
Her Jaws stir – twitching – hungry –
Her Teeth can hardly stand –
She leaps, but Robin leaped the first –
Ah, Pussy, of the Sand,
The Hopes so juicy ripening –
You almost bathed your Tongue –
When Bliss disclosed a hundred Toes –
And fled with every one –
c.1862 1945
508
I'm ceded – I've stopped being Theirs –
The name They dropped upon my face
With water, in the country church
Is finished using, now,
And They can put it with my Dolls,
My childhood, and the string of spools,
I've finished threading – too –
Baptized, before, without the choice,
But this time, consciously, of Grace –
Unto supremest name –
Called to my Full – The Crescent dropped –
Existence's whole Arc, filled up,
With one small Diadem.
My second Rank – too small the first –
Crowned – Crowing – on my Father's breast –
A half unconscious Queen –
But this time – Adequate – Erect,
With Will to choose, or to reject,
And I choose, just a Crown –
c.1862
1890
509
If anybody's friend be dead
It's sharpest of the theme
The thinking how they walked alive –
At such and such a time –
Their costume, of a Sunday,
Some manner of the Hair –
A prank nobody knew but them
Lost, in the Sepulchre –
How warm, they were, on such a day,
You almost feel the date –
So short way off it seems –
And now – they're Centuries from that –
How pleased they were, at what you said –
You try to touch the smile
And dip your fingers in the frost –
When was it – Can you tell –
You asked the Company to tea –
Acquaintance – just a few –
And chatted close with this Grand Thing
That don't remember you –
Past Bows, and Invitations –
Past Interview, and Vow –
Past what Ourself can estimate –
That – makes the Quick of Woe!
c.1862 1891
510
It was not Death, for I stood up, And all the Dead, lie down - It was not Night, for all the Bells Put our their Tongues, for Noon.
It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Siroccos - crawl -
Nor fire - for just my Marble feet
Could keep a Chancel, cool -
And yet, it tasted, like them all,
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial,
Reminded me, of mine -
As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key,
And 'twas like Midnight, some -
When everything that ticked - has stopped -
And Space stares all around -
Or Grisly frosts - first Autunm morns,
Repeal the Beating Ground -
But, most, like Chaos - Stopless - cool -
Without a Chance, or Spar -
Or even a Report of Land-
To justify - Despair.
c.1862 1891
511
If you were coming in the Fall,
I'd brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls –
And put them each in separate Drawers,
For fear the numbers fuse –
If only Centuries, delayed,
I'd count them on my Hand,
Subtracting, till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman's Land.
If certain, when this life was out –
That yours and mine, should be
I'd toss it yonder, like a Rind,
And take Eternity –
But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee –
That will not state – its sting.
c.1862
1890
512
The Soul has Bandaged moments –
When too appalled to stir –
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her –
Salute her – with long fingers –
Caress her freezing hair –
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover – hovered – o'er –
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme – so – fair –
The soul has moments of Escape –
When bursting all the doors –
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings upon the Hours,
As do the Bee – delirious borne –
Long Dungeoned from his Rose –
Touch Liberty – then know no more,
But Noon, and Paradise –
The Soul's retaken moments –
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the Song,
The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue –
c.1862 1945
513
Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their – low Brows –
Or Bees – that thought the Summer's name
Some rumor of Delirium,
No Summer – could – for Them –
Or Arctic Creatures, dimly stirred –
By Tropic Hint – some Travelled Bird
Imported to the Wood –
Or Wind's bright signal to the Ear –
Making that homely, and severe,
Contented, known, before –
The Heaven – unexpected come,
To Lives that thought the Worshipping
A too presumptuous Psalm –
c.1862 1890
514
Her smile was shaped like other smiles –
The Dimples ran along –
And still it hurt you, as some Bird
Did hoist herself, to sing,
Then recollect a Ball, she got –
And hold upon the Twig,
Convulsive, while the Music broke –
Like Beads – among the Bog –
c.1862
1935
515
No Crowd that has occurred Exhibit –
I suppose That General Attendance
That Resurrection – does –
Circumference be full –
The long restricted Grave
Assert her Vital Privilege –
The Dust – connect – and live –
On Atoms – features place –
All Multitudes that were
Efface in the Comparison –
As Suns – dissolve a star –
Solemnity – prevail –
Its Individual Doom
Possess each separate Consciousness –
August – Absorbed – Numb –
What Duplicate – exist –
What Parallel can be –
Of the Significance of This –
To Universe – and Me?
c.1862
1929
516
Beauty – be not caused – It Is –
Chase it, and it ceases –
Chase it not, and it abides –
Overtake the Creases
In the Meadow – when the Wind
Runs his fingers thro' it –
Deity will see to it
That You never do it –
c.1862 1929
517
He parts Himself – like Leaves –
And then – He closes up –
Then stands upon the Bonnet
Of Any Buttercup –
And then He runs against
And oversets a Rose –
And then does Nothing –
Then away upon a Jib – He goes –
And dangles like a Mote
Suspended in the Noon –
Uncertain – to return Below –
Or settle in the Moon –
What come of Him – at Night –
The privilege to say
Be limited by Ignorance –
What come of Him – That Day –
The Frost – possess the World –
In Cabinets – be shown –
A Sepulchre of quaintest Floss –
An Abbey – a Cocoon –
c.1862 1935
518
Her sweet Weight on my Heart a Night
Had scarcely deigned to lie –
When, stirring, for Belief's delight,
My Bride had slipped away –
If 'twas a Dream – made solid – just
The Heaven to confirm –
Or if Myself were dreamed of Her –
The power to presume –
With Him remain – who unto Me –
Gave – even as to All –
A Fiction superseding Faith –
By so much – as 'twas real –
c.1862
1945
519
'Twas warm – at first – like Us –
Until there crept upon
A Chill – like frost upon a Glass –
Till all the scene – be gone.
The Forehead copied Stone –
The Fingers grew too cold
To ache – and like a Skater's Brook –
The busy eyes – congealed –
It straightened – that was all –
It crowded Cold to Cold –
It multiplied indifference –
As Pride were all it could –
And even when with Cords –
'Twas lowered, like a Weight –
It made no Signal, nor demurred,
But dropped like Adamant.
c.1862
1929
520
?
c.1862 1891
521
Endow the Living – with the Tears –
You squander on the Dead,
And They were Men and Women – now,
Around Your Fireside –
Instead of Passive Creatures,
Denied the Cherishing
Till They – the Cherishing deny –
With Death's Ethereal Scron –
c.1862 1945
522
Had I presumed to hope –
The loss had been to Me
A Value – for the Greatness' Sake –
As Giants – gone away –
Had I presumed to gain
A Favor so remote –
The failure but confirm the Grace
In further Infinite –
'Tis failure – not of Hope –
But Confident Despair –
Advancing on Celestial Lists –
With faint – Terrestial power –
'Tis Honor – though I die –
For That no Man obtain
Till He be justified by Death –
This – is the Second Gain –
c.1862
1929
523
Sweet – You forgot – but I remembered
Every time – for Two –
So that the Sum be never hindered
Through Decay of You –
Say if I erred? Accuse my Farthings –
Blame the little Hand
Happy it be for You – a Beggar's –
Seeking More – to spend –
Just to be Rich – to waste my Guineas
On so Best a Heart –
Just to be Poor – for Barefoot Vision
You – Sweet – Shut me out –
c.1862
1945
524
Departed – to the Judgment –
A Mighty Afternoon –
Great Clouds – like Ushers – learning –
Creation – looking on –
The Flesh – Surrendered –
Cancelled – The Bodiless – begun –
Two Worlds – like Audiences – disperse –
And leave the Soul – alone –
c.1862 1890
525
I think the Hemlock likes to stand
Upon a Marge of Snow –
It suits his own Austerity –
And satisfies an awe
That men, must slake in Wilderness –
And in the Desert – cloy –
An instinct for the Hoar, the Bald –
Lapland's – necessity –
The Hemlock's nature thrives – on cold –
The Gnash of Northern winds
Is sweetest nutriment – to him –
His best Norwegian Wines –
To satin Races – he is nought –
But Children on the Don,
Beneath his Tabernacles, play,
And Dnieper Wrestlers, run.
c.1862 1890
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!"
c.1862 1891
527
To put this World down, like a Bundle –
And walk steady, away,
Requires Energy – possibly Agony –
'Tis the Scarlet way
Trodden with straight renunciation
By the Son of God –
Later, his faint Confederates
Justify the Road –
Flavors of that old Crucifixion –
Filaments of Bloom, Pontius Pilate sowed –
Strong Clusters, from Barabbas' Tomb –
Sacrament, Saints partook before us –
Patent, every drop,
With the Brand of the Gentile Drinker
Who indorsed the Cup –
c.1862 1935
528
Mine – by the Right of the White Election!
Mine – by the Royal Seal!
Mine – by the Sign in the Scarlet prison –
Bars – cannot conceal!
Mine – here – in Vision – and in Veto!
Mine – by the Grave's Repeal –
Tilted – Confirmed – Delirious Charter!
Mine – long as Ages steal!
c.1862 1890
529
I'm sorry for the Dead – Today –
It's such congenial times
Old Neighbors have at fences –
It's time o' year for Hay.
And Broad – Sunburned Acquaintance
Discourse between the Toil –
And laugh, a homely species
That makes the Fences smile –
It seems so straight to lie away
From all of the noise of Fields –
The Busy Carts – the fragrant Cocks –
The Mower's Metre – Steals –
A Trouble lest they're homesick –
Those Farmers – and their Wives –
Set separate from the Farming –
And all the Neighbors' lives –
A Wonder if the Sepulchre
Don't feel a lonesome way –
When Men – and Boys – and Carts – and June,
Go down the Fields to "Hay" –
c.1862
1929
530
You cannot put a Fire out –
A Thing that can ignite
Can go, itself, without a Fan –
Upon the slowest Night –
You cannot fold a Flood –
And put it in a Drawer –
Because the Winds would find it out –
And tell your Cedar Floor –
c.1862 1896
531
We dream – it is good we are dreaming –
It would hurt us – were we awake –
But since it is playing – kill us,
And we are playing – shriek –
What harm? Men die – externally –
It is a truth – of Blood –
But we – are dying in Drama –
And Drama – is never dead –
Cautious – We jar each other –
And either – open the eyes –
Lest the Phantasm – prove the Mistake –
And the livid Surprise
Cool us to Shafts of Granite –
With just an Age – and Name –
And perhaps a phrase in Egyptian –
It's prudenter – to dream –
c.1862 1935
532
I tried to think a lonelier Thing
Than any I had seen –
Some Polar Expiation – An Omen in the Bone
Of Death's tremendous nearness –
I probed Retrieverless things
My Duplicate – to borrow –
A Haggard Comfort springs
From the belief that Somewhere –
Within the Clutch of Thought –
There dwells one other Creature
Of Heavenly Love – forgot –
I plucked at our Partition
As One should pry the Walls –
Between Himself – and Horror's Twin –
Within Opposing Cells –
I almost strove to clasp his Hand,
Such Luxury – it grew –
That as Myself – could pity Him –
Perhaps he – pitied me –
c.1862 1945
533
Two butterflies went out at Noon –
And waltzed upon a Farm –
Then stepped straight through the Firmament
And rested, on a Beam –
And then – together bore away
Upon a shining Sea –
Though never yet, in any Port –
Their coming, mentioned – be –
If spoken by the distant Bird –
If met in Ether Sea
By Frigate, or by Merchantman –
No notice – was – to me –
c.1862 1891
534
We see – Comparatively –
The Thing so towering high
We could not grasp its segment
Unaided – Yesterday –
This Morning's finer Verdict –
Makes scarcely worth the toil –
A furrow – Our Cordillera –
Our Apennine – a Knoll –
Perhaps 'tis kindly – done us –
The Anguish – and the loss –
The wrenching – for His Firmament
The Thing belonged to us –
To spare these Striding Spirits
Some Morning of Chagrin –
The waking in a Gnat's – embrace –
Our Giants – further on –
c.1862 1929
535
She's happy, with a new Content –
That feels to her – like Sacrament –
She's busy – with an altered Care –
As just apprenticed to the Air –
She's tearful – if she weep at all –
For blissful Causes –
Most of all That Heaven permit so meek as her –
To such a Fate – to Minister.
c.1862 1935
536
The Heart asks Pleasure – first –
And then – Excuse from Pain –
And then – those little Anodyness
That deaden suffering –
And then – to go to sleep –
And then – if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor
The privilege to die –
c.1862 1890
537
Me prove it now – Whoever doubt
Me stop to prove it – now –
Make haste – the Scruple!
Death be scant For Opportunity –
The River reaches to my feet –
As yet – My Heart be dry –
Oh Lover – Life could not convince –
Might Death – enable Thee –
The River reaches to My Breast –
Still – still – My Hands above
Proclaim with their remaining Might –
Dost recognize the Love?
The River reaches to my Mouth –
Remember – when the Sea
Swept by my searching eyes – the last –
Themselves were quick – with Thee!
c.1862
1935
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 –
c.1862
1945
539
The Province of the Saved
Should be the Art – To save –
Through Skill obtained in Themselves –
The Science of the Grave
No Man can understand
But He that hath endured
The Dissolution – in Himself –
That Man – be qualified
To qualify Despair
To Those who failing new –
Mistake Defeat for Death –
Each time – Till acclimated – to –
c.1862 1935
540
I took my Power in my Hand –
And went against the World –
'Twas not so much as David – had –
But I – was twice as bold –
I aimed by Pebble – but Myself
Was all the one that fell –
Was it Goliath – was too large –
Or was myself – too small?
c.1862
1891
541
Some such Butterfly be seen
On Brazilian Pampas –
Just at noon – no later –
Sweet – Then – the License closes –
Some such Spice – express and pass –
Subject to Your Plucking –
As the Stars – You knew last Night –
Foreigners – This Morning –
c.1862
1935
542
I had no Cause to be awake –
My Best – was gone to sleep –
And Morn a new politeness took –
And failed to wake them up –
But called the others – clear –
And passed their Curtains by –
Sweet Morning – when I oversleep –
Knock – Recollect – to Me –
I looked at Sunrise – Once –
And then I looked at Them –
And wishfulness in me arose –
For Circumstance the same –
'Twas such an Ample Peace –
It could not hold a Sigh –
'Twas Sabbath – with the Bells divorced –
'Twas Sunset – all the Day –
So choosing but a Gown –
And taking but a Prayer –
The only Raiment I should need –
I struggled – and was There –
c.1862 1891
543
I fear a Man of frugal Speech –
I fear a Silent Man –
Haranguer – I can overtake –
Or Babbler – entertain –
But He who weigheth – While the Rest –
Expend their furthest pound –
Of this Man – I am wary –
I fear that He is Grand –
c.1862 1929
544
The Martyr Poets – did not tell –
But wrought their Pang in syllable –
That when their mortal name be numb –
Their mortal fate – encourage Some –
The Martyr Painters – never spoke –
Bequeathing – rather – to their Work –
That when their conscious fingers cease –
Some seek in Art – the Art of Peace –
c.1862 1935
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 –
c.1862
1945
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.
c.1862 1929
547
I've seen a Dying Eye
Run round and round a Room –
In search of Something – as it seemed –
Then Cloudier become –
And then – obscure with Fog –
And then – be soldered down
Without disclosing what it be
'Twere blessed to have seen –
c.1862 1890
548
Death is potential to that Man
Who dies – and to his friend –
Beyond that – unconspicuous
To Anyone but God –
Of these Two – God remembers
The longest – for the friend –
Is integral – and therefore
Itself dissolved – of God –
c.1862 1945
549
That I did always love
I bring thee Proof
That till I loved
I never lived – Enough –
That I shall love alway –
I argue thee
That love is life –
And life hath Immortality –
This – dost thou doubt – Sweet –
Then have I
Nothing to show
But Calvary –
c.1862 1890
550
I cross till I am weary
A Mountain – in my mind –
More Mountains – then a Sea –
More Seas – And then
A Desert – find –
And My Horizon blocks
With steady – drifting –
Grains Of unconjectured quantity –
As Asiatic Rains –
Nor this – defeat my Pace –
It hinder from the West
But as an Enemy's Salute
One hurrying to Rest –
What merit had the Goal –
Except there intervene
Faint Doubt – and far Competitor –
To jeopardize the Gain?
At last – the Grace in sight –
I shout unto my feet –
I offer them the Whole of Heaven
The instant that we meet –
They strive – and yet delay –
They perish – Do we die –
Or is this Death's Experiment –
Reversed – in Victory?
c.1862
1935
551
There is a Shame of Nobleness –
Confronting Sudden Pelf –
A finer Shame of Ecstasy –
Convicted of Itself –
A best Disgrace – a Brave Man feels –
Acknowledged – of the Brave –
One More – "Ye Blessed" – to be told –
But that's – Behind the Grave –
c.1862 1891
552
An ignorance a Sunset
Confer upon the Eye –
Of Territory – Color –
Circumference – Decay –
Its Amber Revelation
Exhilirate – Debase –
Omnipotence' inspection
Of Our inferior face –
And when the solemn features
Confirm – in Victory –
We start – as if detected
In Immortality –
c.1862
1935
553
One Crucifixion is recorded – only –
How many be
Is not affirmed of Mathematics –
Or History –
One Calvary – exhibited to Stranger –
As many be
As persons – or Peninsulas –
Gethsemane –
Is but a Province – in the Being's Centre –
Judea –
For Journey – or Crusade's Achieving –
Too near –
Our Lord – indeed – made Compound Witness –
And yet –
There's newer – nearer Crucifixion
Than That –
c.1862
1945
554
The Black Berry – wears a Thorn in his side –
But no Man heard Him cry –
He offers His Berry, just the same
To Partridge – and to Boy –
He sometimes holds upon the Fence –
Or struggles to a Tree –
Or clasps a Rock, with both His Hands –
But not for Sympathy –
We – tell a Hurt – to cool it –
This Mourner – to the Sky
A little further reaches – instead –
Brave Black Berry –
c.1862
1945
555
Trust in the Unexpected –
By this – was William Kidd
Persuaded of the Buried Gold –
As One had testified –
Through this – the old Philosopher –
His Talismanic Stone
Discerned – still withholden
To effort undivine –
'Twas this – allured Columbus –
When Genoa – withdrew
Before an Apparition
Baptized America –
The Same – afflicted Thomas –
When Deity assured
'Twas better – the perceiving not –
Provided it believed –
c.1862
1935
556
The Brain, within its Groove
Runs evenly – and true –
But let a Splinter swerve –
'Twere easier for You –
To put a Current back –
When Floods have slit the Hills –
And scooped a Turnpike for Themselves –
And trodden out the Mills –
c.1862 1890
557
She hideth Her the last –
And is the first, to rise –
Her Night doth hardly recompense
The Closing of Her eyes –
She doth Her Purple Work –
And putteth Her away
In low Apartments in the Sod –
As worthily as We.
To imitate her life
As impotent would be
As make of Our imperfect Mints,
The Julep – of the Bee –
c.1862 1935
558
But little Carmine hath her face –
Of Emerald scant – her Gown –
Her Beauty – is the love she doth –
Itself – exhibit – Mine –
c.1862
1935
559
It knew no Medicine –
It was not Sickness – then –
Nor any need of Surgery –
And therefore – 'twas not Pain –
It moved away the Cheeks –
A Dimple at a time –
And left the Profile – plainer –
And in the place of Bloom
It left the little Tint
That never had a Name –
You've seen it on a Cast's face –
Was Paradise – to blame –
If momently ajar –
Temerity – drew near –
And sickened – ever afterward
For Somewhat that it saw?
c.1862
1935
560
It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation –
But large – serene –
Burned on – until through Dissolution –
It failed from Men –
I could not deem these Planetary forces
Annulled –
But suffered an Exchange of Territory –
Or World –
c.1862
1945
561
I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, Eyes –
I wonder if It weighs like Mine –
Or has an Easier size.
I wonder if They bore it long –
Or did it just begin –
I could not tell the Date of Mine –
It feels so old a pain –
I wonder if it hurts to live –
And if They have to try –
And whether – could They choose between –
It would not be – to die –
I note that Some – gone patient long –
At length, renew their smile –
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil –
I wonder if when Years have piled –
Some Thousands – on the Harm –
That hurt them early – such a lapse
Could give them any Balm –
Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries of Nerve –
Enlightened to a larger Pain –
In Contrast with the Love –
The Grieved – are many – I am told –
There is the various Cause –
Death – is but one – and comes but once –
And only nails the eyes –
There's Grief of Want – and Grief of Cold –
A sort they call "Despair" –
There's Banishment from native Eyes –
In sight of Native Air –
And though I may not guess the kind –
Correctly – yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary –
To note the fashions – of the Cross –
And how they're mostly worn –
Still fascinated to presume
That Some – are like My Own –
c.1862 1896
562
Conjecturing a Climate
Of unsuspended Suns –
Adds poignancy to Winter –
The Shivering Fancy turns
To a fictitious Country
To palliate a Cold –
Not obviated of Degree –
Nor erased – of Latitude –
c.1862
1929
563
I could not prove the Years had feet –
Yet confident they run
Am I, from symptoms that are past
And Series that are done –
I find my feet have further Goals –
I smile upon the Aims
That felt so ample – Yesterday –
Today's – have vaster claims –
I do not doubt the self I was
Was competent to me –
But something awkward in the fit –
Proves that – outgrown – I see –
c.1862
1945
564
My period had come for Prayer –
No other Art – would do –
My Tactics missed a rudiment –
Creator – Was it you?
God grows above – so those who pray
Horizons – must ascend –
And so I stepped upon the North
To see this Curious Friend –
His House was not – no sign had He –
By Chimney – nor by Door
Could I infer his Residence –
Vast Prairies of Air
Unbroken by a Settler –
Were all that I could see –
Infinitude – Had'st Thou no Face
That I might look on Thee?
The Silence condescended –
Creation stopped – for Me –
But awed beyond my errand –
I worshipped – did not "pray" –
c.1862
1929
565
One Anguish – in a Crowd –
A Minor thing – it sounds –
And yet, unto the single Doe
Attempted of the Hounds
'Tis Terror as consummate
As Legions of Alarm
Did leap, full flanked, upon the Host –
'Tis Units – make the Swarm –
A Small Leech – on the Vitals –
The sliver, in the Lung –
The Bung out – of an Artery –
Are scarce accounted – Harms –
Yet might – by relation
To that Repealless thing –
A Being – impotent to end –
When once it has begun –
c.1862 1945
566
A Dying Tiger – moaned for Drink –
I hunted all the Sand –
I caught the Dripping of a Rock
And bore it in my Hand –
His Mighty Balls – in death were thick –
But searching – I could see
A Vision on the Retina
Of Water – and of me –
'Twas not my blame – who sped too slow –
'Twas not his blame – who died
While I was reaching him –
But 'twas – the fact that He was dead –
c.1862
1945
567
He gave away his Life –
To Us – Gigantic Sum –
A trifle – in his own esteem –
But magnified – by Fame –
Until it burst the Hearts
That fancied they could hold –
When swift it slipped its limit –
And on the Heavens – unrolled –
'Tis Ours – to wince – and weep –
And wonder – and decay
By Blossoms gradual process –
He chose – Maturity –
And quickening – as we sowed –
Just obviated Bud –
And when We turned to note the Growth –
Broke – perfect – from the Pod –
c.1862
1935
568
We learned the Whole of Love –
The Alphabet – the Words –
A Chapter – then the mighty Book –
Then – Revelation closed –
But in Each Other's eyes
An Ignorance beheld –
Diviner than the Childhood's –
And each to each, a Child –
Attempted to expound
What Neither – understood –
Alas, that Wisdom is so large –
And Truth – so manifold!
c.1862 1945
569
I reckon – when I count it all –
First – Poets – Then the Sun –
Then Summer – Then the Heaven of God –
And then – the List is done –
But, looking back – the First so seems
To Comprehend the Whole –
The Others look a needless Show –
So I write – Poets – All –
Their Summer – lasts a Solid Year –
They can afford a Sun
The East – would deem extravagant –
And if the Further Heaven –
Be Beautiful as they prepare
For Those who worship Them –
It is too difficult a Grace –
To justify the Dream –
c.1862
1929