• Her aged hands are worn with works of love;
    Dear aged hands that oft on me are laid;
    Her heart’s below, but, oh, her love’s above,
    As flowers do sunward turn though in the shade.

    The set of sun is dear that lasts not long,
    And she is sweeter far than light that dies:
    But if her aged body’s weak, she ’s strong;
    Her folly, wisdom in a...

  • He found my Being — set it up —

    Adjusted it to place —

    Then carved his name — upon it —

    And bade it to the East


    Be faithful — in his absence —

    And he would come again —

    With Equipage of Amber —

    That time — to take it Home —

  • 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,
    ...

  • Farewell dear babe, my heart's too much content,

    Farewell sweet babe, the pleasure of mine eye,

    Farewell fair flower that for a space was lent,

    Then ta'en away unto eternity.

    Blest babe why should I once bewail thy fate,

    Or sigh the days so soon were terminate;

    Sith thou art settled in an everlasting...

  • 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 —...

  • Of Being is a Bird

    The likest to the Down

    An Easy Breeze do put afloat

    The General Heavens — upon —


    It soars — and shifts — and whirls —

    And measures with the Clouds

    In easy — even — dazzling pace —

    No different the Birds —


    Except a Wake of Music

    Accompany...

  • UPON this Primrose hill,
    Where, if heaven would distil

    A shower of rain, each several drop might go

    To his own primrose, and grow manna so;

    And where their form, and their infinity
    ...

  •         I thought the Soul of Song had made

                This heart of mine her sepulchre;

            For all her golden dreams had fled,

                And I could win no note from her.

     

            But when for thee thou bid'st her sing,

                That spell dissolves her icy chain;

            She...