Our share of morning—
Our blank in bliss to fill
Our blank in scorning—
Here a star, and there a star,
Some lose their way!
Here a mist, and there a mist,
Afterwards—Day!
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We grow accustomed to the Dark –
As when the Neighbor holds the LampTo witness her Goodbye –A Moment – We uncertain stepFor newness of the night –Then – fit our Vision to the Dark –And meet the Road – erect –And so of larger – Darknesses –Those Evenings of the Brain –When not a Moon disclose a sign –Or Star –…
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But our unfurnished eyes—
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By Butterflies admiredAt Heavenly—Hopeless Distances—Was justified of Bird—Did Noon—enamel—in HerselfWas Summer to a ScoreWho only knew of Universe—It had created Her.
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Things go gayPierce—by the very PressOf Imagery—Their far Parades—order on the eyeWith a mute Pomp—A pleading Pageantry—Flags, are a brave sight—But no true EyeEver went by One—Steadily—Music’s triumphant—But the fine EarWinces with delightAre Drums too near—
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No more Vacation!Term of Light this Day begun!Failless as the fair rotationOf the Seasons and the Sun.Old the Grace, but new the Subjects—Old, indeed, the East,Yet upon His Purple ProgrammeEvery Dawn, is first.
The Hills erect their Purple Heads
Yet Man has not of all the ThrongA Curiosity.