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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Have infinite withdrawn –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

I started Early - Took my Dog -

And visited the Sea -

The Mermaids in the Basement

Came out to look at me -

And Frigates - in the Upper Floor

Extended Hempen Hands -

Presuming Me to be a Mouse -

Aground - upon the Sands -

But no Man moved Me - till the Tide

Went past my simple Shoe -

And past my Apron - and my Belt

And past my Bodice - too -

And made as He would eat me up -

As wholly as a Dew

Upon a Dandelion's Sleeve -

And then - I started - too -

And He - He followed - close behind -

I felt His Silver Heel

Upon my Ankle - Then my Shoes

Would overflow with Pearl -

Until We met the Solid Town -

No One He seemed to know -

And bowing - with a Mighty look -

At me - The Sea withdrew -

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

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