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Who Bounty—have not known—The fact of Famine—could not beExcept for Fact of Corn—Want—is a meagre ArtAcquired by Reverse—The Poverty that was not Wealth—Cannot be Indigence.

Would it try mine—Worn—now—and dull—sweet,Writing much to thee.If it had no word,Would it make the Daisy,Most as big as I was,When it plucked me?

‘Twas an everyday affair—Long ago as Christ and Peter—‘Warmed them’ at the ‘Temple fire.’‘Thou wert with him’—quoth ‘the Damsel’?‘No’—said Peter, ’twasn’t me—Jesus merely ‘looked’ at Peter—Could I do aught else—to Thee?

That other state—I’m Czar—I’m ‘Woman’ now—It’s safer so—How odd the Girl’s life looksBehind this soft Eclipse—I think that Earth feels soTo folks in Heaven—now—This being comfort—thenThat other kind—was pain—But why compare?I’m ‘Wife’! Stop there!

Instead I’ll say of GemIn His long Absence wornA Costlier oneBut every Tear I boreWere He to count them o’erHis own would fall so moreI’ll mis sum them.

In which His Face is set—All Latitudes exist for HisSufficient Continent—The Light His Action, and the DarkThe Leisure of His Will—In Him Existence serve or setA Force illegible.