But when the soul is in pain—
The hearing him put his playthings up
Makes work difficult—then—
It is simple, to ache in the Bone, or the Rind—
But Gimlets—among the nerve—
Mangle daintier—terribler—
Like a Panter in the Glove—
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111
I know the Butterfly.The pretty people in the WoodsReceive me cordially—The Brooks laugh louder when I come—The Breezes madder play;Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,Wherefore, Oh Summer’s Day?
707
Confer upon My flower—Refracted but a Countenance—For I—inhabit Her—
11
Upon the hill—that lies—I saw the sun—his plunder doneCrouch low to guard his prize.He stood as nearAs stood you here—A pace had been between—Did but a snake bisect the brakeMy life had forfeit been.That was a wondrous booty—I hope ’twas honest gained.Those were the fairest ingotsThat ever kissed the spade!Whether to keep the secret—Whether to…
My cocoon tightens, colors tease,
A dim capacity for wingsDegrades the dress I wear.A power of butterfly must beThe aptitude to fly,Meadows of majesty concedesAnd easy sweeps of sky.So I must baffle at the hintAnd cipher at the sign,And make much blunder, if at lastI take the clew divine.
A little Madness in the Spring
But God be with the Clown –Who ponders this tremendous scene –This whole Experiment of Green –As if it were his own!
206
That seeketh his felicityToo often at her door—But teach the Footman from Vevay—Mistress is ‘not at home’—to say—To people—any more!