The Blunder is in estimate.
Eternity is there
We say, as of a Station —
Meanwhile he is so near
He joins me in my Ramble —
Divides abode with me —
No Friend have I that so persists
As this Eternity.
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The Bobolink is gone —
The Rowdy of the Meadow —
And no one swaggers now but me —
The Presbyterian Birds
Can now resume the Meeting
He boldly interrupted that overflowing Day
When supplicating mercy
In a portentous way
He swung upon the Decalogue
And shouted let us...The Bone that has no Marrow,
What Ultimate for that?
It is not fit for Table
For Beggar or for Cat.
A Bone has obligations —
A Being has the same —
A Marrowless Assembly
Is culpabler than shame.
But how shall finished Creatures
A function fresh obtain?...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 —I came, but she was gone. In her fair home,
There lay her lute, just as she touched it last,
At summer twilight, when the woodbine cups
Fill'd with pure fragrance. On her favourite seat
Lay the still open work-box, and that book
Which last she read, its pencil'd margin...The Butterfly in honored Dust
Assuredly will lie
But none will pass the Catacomb
So chastened as the Fly —The butterfly obtains
But little sympathy
Though favorably mentioned
In Entomology —
Because he travels freely
And wears a proper coat
The circumspect are certain
That he is dissolute —
Had he the homely scutcheon
Of modest Industry
'Twere...The Butterfly upon the Sky,
That doesn't know its Name
And hasn't any tax to pay
And hasn't any Home
Is just as high as you and I,
And higher, I believe,
So soar away and never sigh
And that's the way to grieve —The butterfly's assumption-gown,
In chrysoprase apartments hung,
This afternoon put on.
How condescending to descend,
And be of buttercups the friend
In a New England town !The Butterfly's Numidian Gown
With spots of Burnish roasted on
Is proof against the Sun
Yet prone to shut its spotted Fan
And panting on a Clover lean
As if it were undone —