If your Nerve, deny you —
Go above your Nerve —
He can lean against the Grave,
If he fear to swerve —
That's a steady posture —
Never any bend
Held of those Brass arms —
Best Giant made —
If your Soul seesaw —
Lift the Flesh door —
The Poltroon...
Image of Light, Adieu —
Thanks for the interview —
So long — so short —
Preceptor of the whole —
Coeval Cardinal —
Impart — Depart —
Imitation of Pope A Compliment to the Ladies
Wondrous the Gods more wondrous are the Men
More Wondrous Wondrous still the Cock & Hen
More wondrous still the Table Stool & Chair
But Ah More wondrous still the Charming Fair
As once I dreamed, methought I strayed
Within a snow-clad mountain's shade;
From whose far height the silence bore
One charméd word, "Excelsior!"
And, as upon my soul it fell,
It bound me with a fearful spell;
It shut the sweet vale...
Impossibility, like Wine
Exhilarates the Man
Who tastes it; Possibility
Is flavorless — Combine
A Chance's faintest Tincture
And in the former Dram
Enchantment makes ingredient
As certainly as Doom —
* * *
In a wife I would desire
What in whores is always found
The lineaments of Gratified desire[3]
So you're back from up the country, Mister Townsman, where you went,
And you're cursing all the business in a bitter discontent;
Well, we grieve to disappoint you, and it makes us sad to hear
That it wasn't cool and shady — and there wasn't plenty beer,
And the loony bullock snorted when you first came into view;
...
In Ebon Box, when years have flown
To reverently peer,
Wiping away the velvet dust
Summers have sprinkled there!
To hold a letter to the light —
Grown Tawny now, with time —
To con the faded syllables
That quickened us like Wine!
Perhaps a Flower's shrivelled check...
In falling Timbers buried —
There breathed a Man —
Outside — the spades — were plying —
The Lungs — within —
Could He — know — they sought Him —
Could They — know — He breathed —
Horrid Sand Partition —
Neither — could be heard —
Never slacked the Diggers —
...
In lands I never saw — they say
Immortal Alps look down —
Whose Bonnets touch the firmament —
Whose Sandals touch the town —
Meek at whose everlasting feet
A Myriad Daisy play —
Which, Sir, are you and which am I
Upon an August day?