Presentiment — is that long Shadow — on the Lawn —
Indicative that Suns go down —
The Notice to the startled Grass
That Darkness — is about to pass —
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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
...A prisoner in a dungeon deep
Sat musing silently;
His head was rested on his hand,
His elbow on his knee.
Turned he his thoughts to future times
Or are they backward cast?
For freedom is he pining now
Or mourning for the past?
No, he has lived so long enthralled
...To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold,
Live o’er each scene, and be what they behold:
For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage,
Commanding tears to stream thro’ ev’ry age:
Tyrants no more their savage nature...Promise This — When You be Dying —
Some shall summon Me —
Mine belong Your latest Sighing —
Mine — to Belt Your Eye —
Not with Coins — though they be Minted
From an Emperor's Hand —
Be my lips — the only Buckle
Your low Eyes — demand —
Mine to stay — when all have...That I did always love,
I bring thee proof :
That till I loved
I did not love enough.
That I shall love alway,
I offer thee
That love is life,
And life hath immortality.
This, dost thou...
Death! thou real friend of innocence,
Tho' dreadful unto shivering sense,
I feel my nature tottering o'er
Thy gloomy waves, which loudly roar:
Immense the scene, yet dark the view,
Nor Reason darts her vision thro'.
Virtue! supreme of earthly good,
Oh let thy rays illume the road...Still rears the East her amber flag,
Guides still the sun along the crag
His caravan of red,
Like flowers that heard the tale 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...Publication — is the Auction
Of the Mind of Man —
Poverty — be justifying
For so foul a thing
Possibly — but We — would rather
From Our Garret go
White — Unto the White Creator —
Than invest — Our Snow —
Thought belong to Him who gave it —
Then — to Him Who...Purple — is fashionable twice —
This season of the year,
And when a soul perceives itself
To be an Emperor.