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Myself—a MillionaireIn little Wealths, as Girls could boastTill broad as Buenos Ayre—You drifted your Dominions—A Different Peru—And I esteemed All PovertyFor Life’s Estate with you—Of Mines, I little know—myself—But just the names, of Gems—The Colors of the Commonest—And scarce of Diadems—So much, that did I meet the Queen—Her Glory I should know—But this, must be…

You are very far—But were no oneFarther than you—Do you think I’d stopFor a Firmament—Or a Cubit—or so?I could borrow a BonnetOf the Lark—And a Chamois’ Silver Boot—And a stirrup of an Antelope—And be with you—Tonight!But, Moon, and Star,Though you’re very far—There is one—farther than you—He—is more than a firmament—from Me—So I can never go!

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 morningI pray him too—exploreThe Lark’s pure territory—Or the Lapwing’s shore!

The Playthings of Her LifeTo take the honorable WorkOf Woman, and of Wife—If ought She missed in Her new Day,Of Amplitude, or Awe—Or first Prospective—Or the GoldIn using, wear away,It lay unmentioned—as the SeaDevelop Pearl, and Weed,But only to Himself—be knownThe Fathoms they abide—

Wherefore in timid questSome little Wren goes seeking round—Wherefore when boughs are free—Households in every tree—Pilgrim be found?Perhaps a home too high—Ah Aristocracy!The little Wren desires—Perhaps of twig so fine—Of twine e’en superfine,Her pride aspires—The Lark is not ashamedTo build upon the groundHer modest house—Yet who of all the throngDancing around the sunDoes so rejoice?

Because—The Wind does not require the GrassTo answer—Wherefore when He passShe cannot keep Her place.Because He knows—andDo not You—And We know not—Enough for UsThe Wisdom it be so—The Lightning—never asked an EyeWherefore it shut—when He was by—Because He knows it cannot speak—And reasons not contained——Of Talk—There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—Because He’s Sunrise—and I…