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I—the Girl at school—You—and Eternity—theUntold Tale—Easing my famineAt my Lexicon—Logarithm—had I—for Drink—‘Twas a dry Wine—Somewhat different—must be—Dreams tint the Sleep—Cunning Reds of MorningMake the Blind—leap—Still at the Egg-life—Chafing the Shell—When you troubled the Ellipse—And the Bird fell—Manacles be dim—they say—To the new Free—Liberty—Commoner—N ever could—to me—‘Twas my last gratitudeWhen I slept—at night—‘Twas the first MiracleLet…

That passed the mouldering Pier—Just as the Granite Crumb let go—Our Savior, by a Hair—A second more, had dropped too deepFor Fisherman to plumb—The very profile of the ThoughtPuts Recollection numb—The possibility—to passWithout a Moment’s Bell—Into Conjecture’s presence—Is like a Face of Steel—That suddenly looks into oursWith a metallic grin—The Cordiality of Death—Who drills his…

So I can hang it in my room—And make believe I’m getting warmWhen others call it ‘Day’!Draw me a Robin—on a stem—So I am hearing him, I’ll dream,And when the Orchards stop their tune—Put my pretense—away—Say if it’s really—warm at noon—Whether it’s Buttercups—that ‘skim’—Or Butterflies—that ‘bloom’?Then—skip—the frost—upon the lea—And skip the Russet—on the tree—Let’s play…

The Clamoring for Gold—It kept me from a Thief, I think,For often, overboldWith Want, and Opportunity—I could have done a SinAnd been Myself that easy ThingAn independent Man—But often as my lot displaysToo hungry to be borneI deem Myself what I would be—And novel ComfortingMy Poverty and I derive—We question if the Man—Who own—Esteem the…

As Blind Men learn the sun!To die of thirst—suspectingThat Brooks in Meadows run!To stay the homesick—homesick feetUpon a foreign shore—Haunted by native lands, the while—And blue—beloved air!This is the Sovereign Anguish!This—the signal woe!These are the patient ‘Laureates’Whose voices—trained—below—As cend in ceaseless Carol—Inaudible, indeed,To us—the duller scholarsOf the Mysterious Bard!

And smooth she rustles far and wideThrough all the voiceful countryside.Through all the land her tale she tells;She spins, she tosses, she compelsThe kites, the clouds, the windmill sailsAnd all the trees in all the dales.God calls us, and the day preparesWith nimble, gay and gracious airs:And from Penzance to MaidenheadThe roads last night He…