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There’s nothing cooler falls—Than Life’s sweet Calculations—The mixing Bells and Palls—Make Lacerating Tune—To Ears the Dying Side—‘Tis Coronal—and Funeral—Saluting—in the Road—

Red — is the Fire’s common tint —But when the vivid OreHas vanquished Flame’s conditions,It quivers from the ForgeWithout a color, but the lightOf unanointed Blaze.Least Village has its BlacksmithWhose Anvil’s even ringStands symbol for the finer ForgeThat soundless tugs — within —Re[f]ining these impatient OresWith Hammer, and with BlazeUntile the Designated LightRepudiate the Forge

The Ruin was withinOh cunning wreck that told no taleAnd let no Witness inThe mind was built for mighty FreightFor dread occasion plannedHow often foundering at SeaOstensibly, on LandA not admitting of the woundUntil it grew so wideThat all my Life had entered itAnd there were troughs besideA closing of the simple lidThat opened to…

Though no appearance indicate‘Tis threaded in the AirAnd though it do not wearAs if it never Tore‘Tis very comfortable indeedAnd spacious as before

The Stars express aroundFor in the Zones of ParadiseThe Lord alone is burned—His Eye, it is the East and West—The North and South when HeDo concentrate His CountenanceLike Glow Worms, flee away—Oh Poor and Far—Oh Hindred EyeThat hunted for the Day—The Lord a Candle entertainsEntirely for Thee—

When I was a little Girl—They given us Presents most—you know—When we are new—and small.I kept it in my Hand—I never put it down—I did not dare to eat—or sleep—For fear it would be gone—I heard such words as ‘Rich’—When hurrying to school—From lips at Corners of the Streets—And wrestled with a smile.Rich! ‘Twas Myself—was…