Her Cargo—is of Dew—
And still—my Heart—my Eye outweighs—
East India—for you!
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Gain—Satiety—But Satiety—ConvictionOf NecessityOf an Austere trait in Pleasure—Good, without alarmIs a too established Fortune—Danger—deepens Sum—
Death leaves Us homesick, who behind,
Are ignorant of its ConcernAs if it were not born.Through all their former Places, weLike Individuals goWho something lost, the seeking forIs all that’s left them, now—
I heard a fly buzz when I died;
Was like the stillness in the airBetween the heaves of storm.The eyes beside had wrung them dry,And breaths were gathering sureFor that last onset, when the kingBe witnessed in his power.I willed my keepsakes, signed awayWhat portion of me ICould make assignable,–and thenThere interposed a fly,With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,Between the light and me;And then…
I breathed enough to learn the trick,
I simulate the breath so well,That one, to be quite sureThe lungs are stirless, must descendAmong the cunning cells,And touch the pantomime himself.How cool the bellows feels!
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For Hosts—do visit me—Recordless Company—Who baffle Key—They have no Robes, nor Names—No Almanacs—nor Climes—But general HomesLike Gnomes—Their Coming, may be knownBy Couriers within—Their going—is not—For they’ve never gone—
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From His amazing House—And leave a Day at every DoorA Deed, in every place—Without the incident of FameOr accident of Noise—The Earth has seemed to me a Drum,Pursued of little Boys