• The going from a world we know

    To one a wonder still

    Is like the child's adversity

    Whose vista is a hill,

    Behind the hill is sorcery

    And everything unknown,

    But will the secret compensate

    For climbing it alone?

  • The good Will of a Flower

    The Man who would possess

    Must first present

    Certificate

    Of minted Holiness.

  • And even when it dies, to pass

    In odors so divine,

    As lowly spices gone to sleep,

    Or amulets of pine


    And then to dwell in sovereign barns,

    And dream the days away, —

    The grass so little has to do,

    I wish I were the hay !

  • The grave my little cottage is,

    Where "Keeping house" for thee

    I make my parlor orderly

    And lay the marble tea.


    For two divided, briefly,

    A cycle, it may be,

    Till everlasting life unite

    In strong society.

  • The Guest is gold and crimson —

    An Opal guest and gray —

    Of Ermine is his doublet —

    His Capuchin gay —


    He reaches town at nightfall —

    He stops at every door —

    Who looks for him at morning

    I pray him too — explore

    The Lark's pure territory —

    Or the Lapwing's shore...

  • The hallowing of Pain

    Like hallowing of Heaven,

    Obtains at a corporeal cost —

    The Summit is not given


    To Him who strives severe

    At middle of the Hill —

    But He who has achieved the Top —

    All — is the price of All —

  • The harm of Years is on him —

    The infamy of Time —

    Depose him like a Fashion

    And give Dominion room.


    Forget his Morning Forces —

    The Glory of Decay

    Is a minuter Pageant

    Than least Vitality.

  • The healed Heart shows its shallow scar

    With confidential moan —

    Not mended by Mortality

    Are Fabrics truly torn —

    To go its convalescent way

    So shameless is to see

    More genuine were Perfidy

    Than such Fidelity.

  • The heart asks pleasure first,

    And then, excuse from pain ;

    And then, those little anodynes

    That deaden suffering ;


    And then, to go to sleep ;

    And then, if it should be

    The will of its Inquisitor,

    The...

  • The Heart has many Doors —

    I can but knock —

    For any sweet "Come in"

    Impelled to hark —

    Not saddened by repulse,

    Repast to me

    That somewhere, there exists,

    Supremacy —