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 —
-
-
It makes no difference abroad —
The Seasons — fit — the same —
The Mornings blossom into Noons —
And split their Pods of Flame —
Wild flowers — kindle in the Woods —
The Brooks slam — all the Day —
No Black bird bates his Banjo —
For passing Calvary —
Auto da Fe — and...It might be lonelier
Without the Loneliness —
I'm so accustomed to my Fate —
Perhaps the Other — Peace —
Would interrupt the Dark —
And crowd the little Room —
Too scant — by Cubits — to contain
The Sacrament — of Him —
I am not used to Hope —
It might...It rises — passes — on our South
Inscribes a simple Noon —
Cajoles a Moment with the Spires
And infinite is gone —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...It sounded as if the Streets were running
And then — the Streets stood still —
Eclipse — was all we could see at the Window
And Awe — was all we could feel.
By and by — the boldest stole out of his Covert
To see if Time was there —
Nature was in an Opal Apron,
Mixing fresher Air....It struck me — every Day —
The Lightning was as new
As if the Cloud that instant slit
And let the Fire through —
It burned Me — in the Night —
It Blistered to My Dream —
It sickened fresh upon my sight —
With every Morn that came —
I though that Storm — was brief —...It troubled me as once I was —
For I was once a Child —
Concluding how an Atom — fell —
And yet the Heavens — held —
The Heavens weighed the most — by far —
Yet Blue — and solid — stood —
Without a Bolt — that I could prove —
Would Giants — understand?
Life set me...It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone
Enclosed 'twas not of Rail
A Consciousness its Acre, and
It held a Human Soul.
Entombed by whom, for what offence
If Home or Foreign born —
Had I the curiosity
'Twere not appeased of men
Till Resurrection, I must guess
...It was a quiet seeming Day —
There was no harm in earth or sky —
Till with the closing sun
There strayed an accidental Red
A Strolling Hue, one would have said
To westward of the Town —
But when the Earth began to jar
And Houses vanished with a roar
And Human Nature hid...