The distance that the dead have gone
Does not at first appear —
Their coming back seems possible
For many an ardent year.
And then, that we have followed them,
We more than half suspect,
So intimate have we become
With their dear retrospect.
-
-
The Doomed — regard the Sunrise
With different Delight —
Because — when next it burns abroad
They doubt to witness it —
The Man — to die — tomorrow —
Harks for the Meadow Bird —
Because its Music stirs the Axe
That clamors for his head —
Joyful — to whom the Sunrise...The duties of the Wind are few,
To cast the ships, at Sea,
Establish March, the Floods escort,
And usher Liberty.
The pleasures of the Wind are broad,
To dwell Extent among,
Remain, or wander,
Speculate, or Forests entertain.
The kinsmen of the Wind are Peaks
...The Dying need but little, Dear,
A Glass of Water's all,
A Flower's unobtrusive Face
To punctuate the Wall,
A Fan, perhaps, a Friend's Regret
And Certainty that one
No color in the Rainbow
Perceive, when you are gone.The event was directly behind Him
Yet He did not guess
Fitted itself to Himself like a Robe
Relished His ignorance.
Motioned itself to drill
Loaded and Levelled
And let His Flesh
Centuries from His soul.The Face in evanescence lain
Is more distinct than ours —
And ours surrendered for its sake
As Capsules are for Flower's —
Or is it the confiding sheen
Dissenting to enamor us
Of Detriment divine?The Face we choose to miss —
Be it but for a Day
As absent as a Hundred Years,
When it has rode away.The Fact that Earth is Heaven —
Whether Heaven is Heaven or not
If not an Affidavit
Of that specific Spot
Not only must confirm us
That it is not for us
But that it would affront us
To dwell in such a place —The fascinating chill that music leaves
Is Earth's corroboration
Of Ecstasy's impediment —
'Tis Rapture's germination
In timid and tumultuous soil
A fine — estranging creature —
To something upper wooing us
But not to our Creator —The feet of people walking home -
With gayer sandals go -
The Crocus, till she rises
The Vassal of the snow -
The lips at Hallelujah
Long years of practise bore -
Till bye and bye these Bargemen
Walked singing, on the shore.
Pearls are the Diver's farthings -
...