She bore it till the simple veins
Traced azure on her hand —
Til pleading, round her quiet eyes
The purple Crayons stand.
Till Daffodils had come and gone
I cannot tell the sum,
And then she ceased to bear it —
And with the Saints sat down.
No more her patient figure...
She could not live upon the Past
The Present did not know her
And so she sought this sweet at last
And nature gently owned her
The mother that has not a knell
for either Duke or Robin
She dealt her pretty words like Blades —
How glittering they shone —
And every One unbared a Nerve
Or wantoned with a Bone —
She never deemed — she hurt —
That — is not Steel's Affair —
A vulgar grimace in the Flesh —
How ill the Creatures bear —
To Ache is human — not...
She died at play,
Gambolled away
Her lease of spotted hours,
Then sank as gaily as a Turk
Upon a Couch of flowers.
Her ghost strolled softly o'er the hill
Yesterday, and Today,
Her vestments as the silver fleece —
Her countenance as spray.
She died — this was the way she died.
And when her breath was done
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.
Her little figure at the gate
The Angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side.
She dwelleth in the Ground —
Where Daffodils — abide —
Her Maker — Her Metropolis —
The Universe — Her Maid —
To fetch Her Grace — and Hue —
And Fairness — and Renown —
The Firmament's — To Pluck Her —
And fetch Her Thee — be mine —
She hideth Her the last —
And is the first, to rise —
Her Night doth hardly recompense
The Closing of Her eyes —
She doth Her Purple Work —
And putteth Her away
In low Apartments in the Sod -
As worthily as We.
To imitate her life
As impotent would be...
She laid her docile Crescent down
And this confiding Stone
Still states to Dates that have forgot
The News that she is gone —
So constant to its stolid trust,
The Shaft that never knew —
It shames the Constancy that fled
Before its emblem flew —
She lay as if at play
Her life had leaped away —
Intending to return —
But not so soon —
Her merry Arms, half dropt —
As if for lull of sport —
An instant had forgot —
The Trick to start —
Her dancing Eyes — ajar —
As if their Owner were
Still...
She rose as high as His Occasion
Then sought the Dust —
And lower lay in low Westminster
For Her brief Crest —