On the Hill—
Their Everlasting fashions—set—
And Covenant Gentians—Frill!
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Me for showingIllegitimate—Would a Smile’s minute bestowingToo exorbitantTo the LadyWith the GuineaLook—if She should knowCrumb of MineA Robin’s LarderWould suffice to stow—
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The Soul has special times—When Dimness—looks the Oddity—Distinctness—easy—se ems—The Shapes we buried, dwell about,Familiar, in the Rooms—Untarnished by the Sepulchre,The Mouldering Playmate comes—In just the Jacket that he wore—Long buttoned in the MoldSince we—old mornings, Children—played—Divided—by a world—The Grave yields back her Robberies—The Years, our pilfered Things—Bright Knots of ApparitionsSalute us, with their wings—As we—it…
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This—to Heaven divine Has gone—Had You earlier blundered inPossibly, e’en You had seenAn Eternity—put on—Now—to ring a Door beyondIs the utmost of Your Hand—To the Skies—apologize—Nearer to Your CourtesiesThan this Sufferer polite—Dressed to meet You—See—in White!
Is it too late to touch you, Dear?
Love Marine and Love terrene –Love celestial too –
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The Thought to be alive—Anonymous Delight to know—And Madder—to conceive—Consoles a Woe so monstrousThat did it tear all Day,Without an instant’s Respite—‘Twould look too far—to Die—
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Embarrassed—not afraid—Encounter in my gardenAn unexpected Maid.She beckons, and the woods start—She nods, and all begin—Surely, such a countryI was never in!