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As Blind Men learn the sun!To die of thirst—suspectingThat Brooks in Meadows run!To stay the homesick—homesick feetUpon a foreign shore—Haunted by native lands, the while—And blue—beloved air!This is the Sovereign Anguish!This—the signal woe!These are the patient ‘Laureates’Whose voices—trained—below—As cend in ceaseless Carol—Inaudible, indeed,To us—the duller scholarsOf the Mysterious Bard!

The Easier to let go—For recollecting such as went—You could not spare—you know.And though their places somewhat filled—As did their Marble namesWith Moss—they never grew so full—You chose the newer names—And when this World—sets further back—As Dying—say it does—The former love—distincter grows—And supersedes the fresh—And Thought of them—so fair invites—It looks too tawdry GraceTo stay…

Because it flies!Mortal, my friend must be,Because it dies!Barbs has it, like a Bee!Ah, curious friend!Thou puzzlest me!

It’s very mean of ScienceTo go and interfere!I slew a worm the other day—A ‘Savant’ passing byMurmured ‘Resurgam’—’Centipede’!&q uot;Oh Lord—how frail are we’!I pull a flower from the woods—A monster with a glassComputes the stamens in a breath—And has her in a ‘class’!Whereas I took the ButterflyAforetime in my hat—He sits erect in ‘Cabinets’—The Clover…

Through it—compete with Death—The fellow cannot touch this Crown—By it—my title take—Ah, what a royal sakeTo my necessity—stooped down!No Wilderness—can beWhere this attendeth me—No Desert Noon—No fear of frost to comeHaunt the perennial bloom—But Certain June!Get Gabriel—to tell—the royal syllable—Get Saints—with new—unsteady tongue—To say what trance belowMost like their glory show—Fittest the Crown!

There can no Outer WineSo royally intoxicateAs that diviner BrandThe Soul achieves—Herself—To drink—or set awayFor Visitor—Or Sacrament—‘Tis not of HolidayTo stimulate a ManWho hath the Ample RhineWithin his Closet—Best you canExhale in offering.