An Honor, Thought can turn her to
When lesser Fames invite—
With one long ‘Nay’—
Bliss’ early shape
Deforming—Dwindling—Gulfing up—
Time’s possibility.
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Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him–
Tell him I only said the syntax,And left the verb and the pronoun out.Tell him just how the fingers hurriedThen how they waded, slow, slow, slow-And then you wished you had eyes in your pages,So you could see what moved them so.‘Tell him it wasn’t a practised writer,You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled;You…
How firm Eternity must look
The only Adamant EstateIn all Identity –How mighty to the insecureThy PhysiognomyTo whom not any Face cohere –Unless concealed in thee
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Did I sing—too loud?But—I can say a little ‘Minor’Timid as a Bird!Wouldn’t the Angels try me—Just—once—more—Just—see—if I troubled them—But don’t—shut the door!Oh, if I—were the GentlemanIn the ‘White Robe’—And they—were the little Hand—that knocked—Could—I—forbid?
Death is like the insect
Competent to kill it,But decoyed may be.Bait it with the balsam,Seek it with the saw,Baffle, if it cost youEverything you are.Then, if it have burrowedOut of reach of skill –Wring the tree and leave it,‘Tis the vermin’s will.
Whose Pink career may have a close
To imitate these Neighbors fleetIn awe and innocence, were meet.
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No Station in the Day?‘Twas not thy wont, to hinder so—Retrieve thine industry—‘Tis Noon—My little Maid—Alas—and art thou sleeping yet?The Lily—waiting to be Wed—The Bee—Hast thou forgot?My little Maid—’Tis Night—AlasThat Night should be to theeInstead of Morning—Had’st thou broachedThy little Plan to Die—Dissuade thee, if I could not, Sweet,I might have aided—thee—