And then reluctant turn—
My flowers raise their pretty lips—
Then put their nightgowns on.
As children caper when they wake
Merry that it is Morn—
My flowers from a hundred cribs
Will peep, and prance again.
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889
Toward which the forces creepPast which forces retrogradeIf it come in sleepTo suspend the BreathIs the most we canIgnorant is it Life or DeathNicely balancing.Let an instant pushOr an Atom pressOr a Circle hesitateIn CircumferenceIt—may jolt the HandThat adjusts the HairThat secures EternityFrom presenting—Here—
993
The Absence of an Eye—Except its Mind accompanyAbridge SocietyAs slightly as the Routes of Stars—Ourselves—asleep below—We know that their superior EyesInclude Us—as they go—
923
We shall never know—How He stretched His Anguish to usThat—is covered too—Spreads the Pond Her Base of LiliesBold above the BoyWhose unclaimed Hat and JacketSum the History—
358
Failed like Themselves—and conscious that it rose—Grew by the Fact, and not the UnderstandingHow Weakness passed—or Force—arose—Tell that the Worst, is easy in a Moment—Dread, but the Whizzing, before the Ball—When the Ball enters, enters Silence—Dying—annuls the power to kill.
How Human Nature dotes
The moment that a Plot is plumbedProspective is extinct –Prospective is the friendReserved for us to knowWhen Constancy is clarifiedOf Curiosity –Of subjects that resistRedoubtablest is thisWhere go we –Go we anywhereCreation after this?
990
Maturity of FateIs consummated equallyIn Ages, or a Night—A Hoary Boy, I’ve known to dropWhole statured—by the sideOf Junior of Fourscore—’twas ActNot Period—that died.