It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon —
The Flower — distinct and Red —
I, passing, thought another Noon
Another in its stead
Will equal glow, and thought no More
But came another Day
To find the Species disappeared —
The Same Locality —
The Sun in place — no other fraud...
It came at last but prompter Death
Had occupied the House —
His pallid Furniture arranged
And his metallic Peace —
Oh faithful Frost that kept the Date
Had Love as punctual been
Delight had aggrandized the Gate
And blocked the coming in.
It came his turn to beg —
The begging for the life
Is different from another Alms
'Tis Penury in Chief —
I scanned his narrow realm
I gave him leave to live
Lest Gratitude revive the snake
Though smuggled his reprieve
It can't be "Summer"!
That — got through!
It's early — yet — for "Spring"!
There's that long town of White — to cross —
Before the Blackbirds sing!
It can't be "Dying"!
It's too Rouge —
The Dead shall go in White —
So Sunset shuts my question down
With Cuffs of...
It did not surprise me —
So I said — or thought —
She will stir her pinions
And the nest forgot,
Traverse broader forests —
Build in gayer boughs,
Breathe in Ear more modern
God's old fashioned vows —
This was but a Birdling —
What and if it be
...
It dropped so low — in my Regard —
I heard it hit the Ground —
And go to pieces on the Stones
At bottom of my Mind —
Yet blamed the Fate that flung it — less
Than I denounced Myself,
For entertaining Plated Wares
Upon my Silver Shelf —
It feels a shame to be Alive —
When Men so brave — are dead —
One envies the Distinguished Dust —
Permitted — such a Head —
The Stone — that tells defending Whom
This Spartan put away
What little of Him we — possessed
In Pawn for Liberty —
The price is great —...
It is a lonesome Glee —
Yet sanctifies the Mind —
With fair association —
Afar upon the Wind
A Bird to overhear
Delight without a Cause —
Arrestless as invisible —
A matter of the Skies.
It is an honorable Thought
And make One lift One's Hat
As One met sudden Gentlefolk
Upon a daily Street
That We've immortal Place
Though Pyramids decay
And Kingdoms, like the Orchard
Flit Russetly away
It is easy to work when the soul is at play —
But when the soul is in pain —
The hearing him put his playthings up
Makes work difficult — then —
It is simple, to ache in the Bone, or the Rind —
But Gimlets — among the nerve —
Mangle daintier — terribler —
Like a Panter in the Glove —...