The nuts are getting brown—
The berry’s cheek is plumper—
The Rose is out of town.
The Maple wears a gayer scarf—
The field a scarlet gown—
Lest I should be old fashioned
I’ll put a trinket on.
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See the Bird—reach it!Curve by Curve—Sweep by Sweep—Round the Steep Air—Danger! What is that to Her?Better ’tis to fail—there—Than debate—here—Blue is Blue—the World through—Amber—Amber—Dew&mda sh;Dew—Seek—Friend—and see—Heaven is shy of Earth—that’s all—Bashful Heaven—thy Lovers small—Hide—too—from thee—
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But our unfurnished eyes—
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Has Anybody found?You’ll know it by the Row of StarsAround its forehead bound.A Rich man—might not notice it—Yet—to my frugal Eye,Of more Esteem than Ducats—Oh find it—Sir—for me!
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I entertained Myself—At first—a scant nutrition—An insufficient Loaf—But grown by slender addingsTo so esteemed a size‘Tis sumptuous enough for me—And almost to sufficeA Robin’s famine able—Red Pilgrim, He and I—A Berry from our tableReserve—for charity—
I like to see it lap the miles,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;And then, prodigious, stepAround a pile of mountains,And, supercilious, peerIn shanties by the sides of roads;And then a quarry pareTo fit its sides, and crawl between,Complaining all the whileIn horrid, hooting stanza;Then chase itself down hillAnd neigh like Boanerges;Then, punctual as a star,Stop–docile and omnipotent–At its own stable door.
Lightly stepped a yellow star
Loosed the Moon her silver hatFrom her lustral Face –All of Evening softly litAs an Astral Hall –Father, I observed to Heaven,You are punctual.