The most pathetic thing I do
Is play I hear from you —
I make believe until my Heart
Almost believes it too
But when I break it with the news
You knew it was not true
I wish I had not broken it —
Goliah — so would you —
-
-
The most triumphant Bird I ever knew or met
Embarked upon a twig today
And till Dominion set
I famish to behold so eminent a sight
And sang for nothing scrutable
But intimate Delight.
Retired, and resumed his transitive Estate —
To what delicious Accident
Does finest Glory fit!...The mountain sat upon the plain
In his eternal chair,
His observation omnifold,
His inquest everywhere.
The seasons prayed...The Mountain sat upon the Plain
In his tremendous Chair —
His observation omnifold,
His inquest, everywhere —
The Seasons played around his knees
Like Children round a sire —
Grandfather of the Days is He
Of Dawn, the Ancestor —The Mountains — grow unnoticed —
Their Purple figures rise
Without attempt — Exhaustion —
Assistance — or Applause —
In Their Eternal Faces
The Sun — with just delight
Looks long — and last — and golden —
For fellowship — at night —The Murmur of a Bee
A Witchcraft — yieldeth me —
If any ask me why —
'Twere easier to die —
Than tell —
The Red upon the Hill
Taketh away my will —
If anybody sneer —
Take care — for God is here —
That's all.
The Breaking of the Day
...The murmuring of Bees, has ceased
But murmuring of some
Posterior, prophetic,
Has simultaneous come.
The lower metres of the Year
When Nature's laugh is done
The Revelations of the Book
Whose Genesis was June.
Appropriate Creatures to her change
The Typic Mother sends...The name — of it — is "Autumn" —
The hue — of it — is Blood —
An Artery — upon the Hill —
A Vein — along the Road —
Great Globules — in the Alleys —
And Oh, the Shower of Stain —
When Winds — upset the Basin —
And spill the Scarlet Rain —
It sprinkles Bonnets — far...The nearest Dream recedes — unrealized —
The Heaven we chase,
Like the June Bee — before the School Boy,
Invites the Race —
Stoops — to an easy Clover —
Dips — evades — teases — deploys —
Then — to the Royal Clouds
Lifts his light Pinnace —
Heedless of the Boy —
...Addressed to the Patrons of the Pennsylvania Freeman.
The wave is breaking on the shore,
The echo fading from the chime
Again the shadow moveth o'er
The dial-plate of time!
O seer-seen Angel! waiting now
With weary feet on sea and shore,
Impatient for the last dread vow
...