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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A toad can die of light!
Of toads and men,–Of earl and midgeThe privilege.Why swagger then?The gnat’s supremacyIs large as thine.
Death sets a thing significant
Except a perished creatureEntreat us tenderlyTo ponder little workmanshipsIn crayon or in wool,With ‘This was last her fingers did,’Industrious untilThe thimble weighed too heavy,The stitches stopped themselves,And then ‘t was put among the dustUpon the closet shelves.A book I have, a friend gave,Whose pencil, here and there,Had notched the place that pleased him,–At rest his…
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Until the morning sun—When One—turned smiling to the land—Oh God! the Other One!The stray ships—passing—Spied a face—Upon the waters borne—With eyes in death—still begging raised—And hands—beseeching—thrown!
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For—put them side by side—The one the other will containWith ease—and You—beside—The Brain is deeper than the sea—For—hold them—Blue to Blue—The one the other will absorb—As Sponges—Buckets—do—The Brain is just the weight of God—For—Heft them—Pound for Pound—And they will differ—if they do—As Syllable from Sound—
THE LARGEST fire ever known
Discovered is without surprise,Proceeds without concern:Consumes, and no report to men,An Occidental town,Rebuilt another morningTo be again burned down.
The Snow that never drifts –
That comes a single time a YearIs softly driving now –So thorough in the TreeAt night beneath the starThat it was February’s FootExperience would swear –Like Winter as a FaceWe stern and former knewRepaired of all but LonelinessBy Nature’s Alibit –Were every storm so spiceThe Value could not be –We buy with contrast – Pang…