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An unpretending timeMy Plane—and I, together wroughtBefore a Builder came—To measure our attainments—Had we the Art of BoardsSufficiently developed—He’d hire usAt Halves—My Tools took Human—Faces—The Bench, where we had toiled—Against the Man—persuaded—We—Temples build—I said—

Death—tho’soever Broad,Is Just Death, and cannot increase—Suspense—does not conclude—But perishes—to live anew—But just anew to die—Annihilation—plated freshWith Immortality—

Until there crept uponA Chill—like frost upon a Glass—Till all the scene—be gone.The Forehead copied Stone—The Fingers grew too coldTo ache—and like a Skater’s Brook—The busy eyes—congealed—It straightened—that was all—It crowded Cold to Cold—It multiplied indifference—As Pride were all it could—And even when with Cords—‘Twas lowered, like a Weight—It made no Signal, nor demurred,But dropped…

Immortal Alps look down—Whose Bonnets touch the firmament—Whose Sandals touch the town—Meek at whose everlasting feetA Myriad Daisy play—Which, Sir, are you and which am IUpon an August day?

It’s only fainter–by degrees–And then–it’s out of sight–A darker Ribbon–for a Day–A Crape upon the Hat–And then the pretty sunshine comes–And helps us to forget–The absent–mystic–creature–That but for love of us–Had gone to sleep–that soundest time–Without the weariness–

Whose maids upon remoter greenKeep their Seraphic May—And all day long, with dance and game,And gambol I may never name—Employ their holiday.Here to light measure, move the feetWhich walk no more the village street—Nor by the wood are found—Here are the birds that sought the sunWhen last year’s distaff idle hungAnd summer’s brows were bound.Ne’er…