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In it wait till judgment breakExcellent and fair.Be its mattress straight,Be its pillow round;Let no sunrise’ yellow noiseInterrupt this ground.

My Soul—at Liberty—Behind this mortal BoneThere knits a bolder One—You cannot prick with saw—Nor pierce with Scimitar—Two Bodies—therefore be—Bind One—The Other fly—The Eagle of his NestNo easier divest—And gain the SkyThan mayest Thou—Except Thyself may beThine Enemy—Captivity is Consciousness—So’s Liberty.

You write Him—every day—A little note—when you awake—And further in the Day.An Ample Letter—How you miss—And would delight to see—But then His House—is but a Step—And Mine’s—in Heaven—You see.

Since I was wed—to Him—A modesty befits the soulThat bears another’s—name—A doubt—if it be fair—indeed—To wear that perfect—pearl—The Man—upon the Woman—binds—To clasp her soul—for all—A prayer, that it more angel—prove—A whiter Gift—within—To that munificence, that chose—So unadorned—a Queen—A Gratitude—that such be true—It had esteemed the Dream—Too beautiful—for Shape to prove—Or posture—to redeem!

And stop to feed itself at tanks;And then, prodigious, stepAround a pile of mountains,And, supercilious, peerIn shanties by the sides of roads;And then a quarry pareTo fit its sides, and crawl between,Complaining all the whileIn horrid, hooting stanza;Then chase itself down hillAnd neigh like Boanerges;Then, punctual as a star,Stop–docile and omnipotent–At its own stable door.

You are very far—But were no oneFarther than you—Do you think I’d stopFor a Firmament—Or a Cubit—or so?I could borrow a BonnetOf the Lark—And a Chamois’ Silver Boot—And a stirrup of an Antelope—And be with you—Tonight!But, Moon, and Star,Though you’re very far—There is one—farther than you—He—is more than a firmament—from Me—So I can never go!