Their Height in Heaven comforts not —
Their Glory — nought to me —
'Twas best imperfect — as it was —
I'm finite — I can't see —
The House of Supposition —
The Glimmering Frontier that
Skirts the Acres of Perhaps —
To Me — shows insecure —
The Wealth I had — contented...
There are two Mays
And then a Must
And after that a Shall.
How infinite the compromise
That indicates I will!
There are two Ripenings — one — of sight —
Whose forces Spheric wind
Until the Velvet product
Drop spicy to the ground —
A homelier maturing —
A process in the Bur —
That teeth of Frosts alone disclose
In far October Air.
There came a Day at Summer's full,
Entirely for me —
I thought that such were for the Saints,
Where Resurrections — be —
The Sun, as common, went abroad,
The flowers, accustomed, blew,
As if no soul the solstice passed
That maketh all things new —
The time was scarce...
There came a Wind like a Bugle —
It quivered through the Grass
And a Green Chill upon the Heat
So ominous did pass
We barred the Windows and the Doors
As from an Emerald Ghost —
The Doom's electric Moccasin
That very instant passed —
On a strange Mob of panting Trees
...
There comes a warning like a spy
A shorter breath of Day
A stealing that is not a stealth
And Summers are away —
There comes an hour when begging stops,
When the long interceding lips
Perceive their prayer is vain.
"Thou shalt not" is a kinder sword
Than from a disappointing God
"Disciple, call again."
There is a finished feeling
Experienced at Graves —
A leisure of the Future —
A Wilderness of Size.
By Death's bold Exhibition
Preciser what we are
And the Eternal function
Enabled to infer.
There is a June when Corn is cut
And Roses in the Seed —
A Summer briefer than the first
But tenderer indeed
As should a Face supposed the Grave's
Emerge a single Noon
In the Vermilion that it wore
Affect us, and return —
Two Seasons, it is said, exist —
...