To the stanch Dust
We safe commit thee —
Tongue if it hath,
Inviolate to thee —
Silence — denote —
And Sanctity — enforce thee —
Passenger — of Infinity —
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Unknown great Master! whose creative thought
Is here inscribed, though from Fame's shining scroll
Thy name is lost, this wondrous dome is fraught
With the expression of thy reverent soul.
Immortal, in each curve and line inwrought;
As in the vast,...Though Time has silvered o'er thy honored head,
And left some traces on thy gallant form,
Upon thy soul no hoar-frost has he shed,
Nor chilled the heart that yet beats true and warm.
And he, in whom the glow of early feeling,
Youth's fire and...To this World she returned.
But with a tinge of that —
A Compound manner,
As a Sod
Espoused a Violet,
That chiefer to the Skies
Than to himself, allied,
Dwelt hesitating, half of Dust,
And half of Day, the Bride.To try to speak, and miss the way
And ask it of the Tears,
Is Gratitude's sweet poverty,
The Tatters that he wears —
A better Coat if he possessed
Would help him to conceal,
Not subjugate, the Mutineer
Whose title is "the Soul."
To Venetian ArtistsTo wait an Hour — is long —
If Love be just beyond —
To wait Eternity — is short —
If Love reward the end —To Whom the Mornings stand for Nights,
What must the Midnights — be!I keep in mind that magic moment:
When you appeared before my eyes
Like ghost, like fleeting apparition,
Like genius of the purest grace.
In torturous hopeless melancholy,
In vanity and noisy fuss
I’ve always heard your tender voice
I saw your features in my dreams.
...Today or this noon
She dwelt so close
I almost touched her —
Tonight she lies
Past neighborhood
And bough and steeple,
Now past surmise.
