This that would greet — an hour ago —
Is quaintest Distance — now —
Had it a Guest from Paradise —
Nor glow, would it, nor bow —
Had it a notice from the Noon
Nor beam would it nor warm —
Match me the Silver Reticence —
Match me the Solid Calm —
-
-
This was a Poet — It is That
Distills amazing sense
From ordinary Meanings —
And Attar so immense
From the familiar species
That perished by the Door —
We wonder it was not Ourselves
Arrested it — before —
Of Pictures, the Discloser —
The Poet — it is He —...This was in the White of the Year —
That — was in the Green —
Drifts were as difficult then to think
As Daisies now to be seen —
Looking back is best that is left
Or if it be — before —
Retrospection is Prospect's half,
Sometimes, almost more.This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond —
Invisible, as Music —
But positive, as Sound —
It beckons, and it baffles —
Philosophy — don't know —
And through a Riddle, at the last —
Sagacity, must go —
To guess it, puzzles scholars —
To gain it, Men have...This — is the land — the Sunset washes —
These — are the Banks of the Yellow Sea —
Where it rose — or whither it rushes —
These — are the Western Mystery!
Night after Night
Her purple traffic
Strews the landing with Opal Bales —
Merchantmen — poise upon Horizons —
Dip — and...Tho' I get home how late — how late —
So I get home - 'twill compensate —
Better will be the Ecstasy
That they have done expecting me —
When Night — descending — dumb — and dark —
They hear my unexpected knock —
Transporting must the moment be —
Brewed from decades of Agony!
...Tho' my destiny be Fustian —
Hers be damask fine —
Tho' she wear a silver apron —
I, a less divine —
Still, my little Gypsy being
I would far prefer,
Still, my little sunburnt bosom
To her Rosier,
For, when Frosts, their punctual fingers
On her forehead lay...Those cattle smaller than a Bee
That herd upon the eye —
Whose tillage is the passing Crumb —
Those Cattle are the Fly —
Of Barns for Winter — blameless —
Extemporaneous stalls
They found to our objection —
On eligible walls —
Reserving the presumption
To suddenly...Those fair — fictitious People —
The Women — plucked away
From our familiar Lifetime —
The Men of Ivory —
Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas —
Who stay upon the Wall
In Everlasting Keepsake —
Can Anybody tell?
We trust — in places perfecter —
Inheriting...Those final Creatures, - who they are -
That faithful to the close
Administer her ecstasy,
But just the Summer knows.