Good Night! Which put the Candle out?
A jealous Zephyr — not a doubt —
Ah, friend, you little knew
How long at that celestial wick
The Angels — labored diligent —
Extinguished — now — for you!
It might — have been the Light House spark —
Some Sailor — rowing in the Dark —
...
I watched her face to see which way
She took the awful news —
Whether she died before she heard
Or in protracted bruise
Remained a few slow years with us —
Each heavier than the last —
A further afternoon to fail,
As Flower at fall of Frost.
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
...
Which is best? Heaven —
Or only Heaven to come
With that old Codicil of Doubt?
I cannot help esteem
The "Bird within the Hand"
Superior to the one
The "Bush" may yield me
Or may not
Too late to choose again.
Which is the best — the Moon or the Crescent?
Neither — said the Moon —
That is best which is not — Achieve it —
You efface the Sheen.
Not of detention is Fruition —
Shudder to attain.
Transport's decomposition follows —
He is Prism born.
Which misses most,
The hand that tends,
Or heart so gently borne,
'Tis twice as heavy as it was
Because the hand is gone?
Which blesses most,
The lip that can,
Or that that went to sleep
With "if I could" endeavoring
Without the strength to shape?
DEAR little, pretty, fav'rite ore,
That once increas'd Gloriana's store;
That lay within her bosom bless'd,
Gods might have envied thee thy nest.
I've read, imperial Jove of old
For love transform'd himself to gold:
And why, for a more lovely lass,
May he not now have...