‘Twas an everyday affair—
Long ago as Christ and Peter—
‘Warmed them’ at the ‘Temple fire.’
‘Thou wert with him’—quoth ‘the Damsel’?
‘No’—said Peter, ’twasn’t me—
Jesus merely ‘looked’ at Peter—
Could I do aught else—to Thee?
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The Grass so little has to do –
With only Butterflies to broodAnd Bees to entertain –And stir all day to pretty TunesThe Breezes fetch along –And hold the Sunshine in its lapAnd bow to everything –And thread the Dews, all night, like Pearls –And make itself so fineA Duchess were too commonFor such a noticing –And even when it dies – to…
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To drink—enables MineThrough Desert or the WildernessAs bore it Sealed Wine—To go elastic—Or as OneThe Camel’s trait—attained—How powerful the StimulusOf an Hermetic Mind—
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So when Thou failest, nobody.It was a little tie—It just held Two, nor those it heldSince Somewhere thy sweet Face has spilledBeyond my Boundary—If things were opposite—and MeAnd Me it were—that ebbed from TheeOn some unanswering Shore—Would’st Thou seek so—just sayThat I the Answer may pursueUnto the lips it eddied through—So—overtaking Thee—
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With different Delight—Because—when next it burns abroadThey doubt to witness it—The Man—to die—tomorrow—Harks for the Meadow Bird—Because its Music stirs the AxeThat clamors for his head—Joyful—to whom the SunrisePrecedes Enamored—Day—Joyful—for whom the Meadow BirdHas ought but Elegy!
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The clouds were gaunt, and few—A Black—as of a Spectre’s CloakHid Heaven and Earth from view.The creatures chuckled on the Roofs—And whistled in the air—And shook their fists—And gnashed their teeth—And swung their frenzied hair.The morning lit—the Birds arose—The Monster’s faded eyesTurned slowly to his native coast—And peace—was Paradise!
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Enable thee to guessThe smaller size!Jesus! thy second faceMind thee in ParadiseOf ours!