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Than one of higher temperatureFor frigid hour of mind.The vane a little to the eastScares muslin souls away;If broadcloth breasts are firmerThan those of organdy,Who is to blame? The weaver?Ah! the bewildering thread!The tapestries of paradise!So notelessly are made!

And I’m accustomed to him grown,–He hurts a little, though.I thought if I could only liveTill that first shout got by,Not all pianos in the woodsHad power to mangle me.I dared not meet the daffodils,For fear their yellow gownWould pierce me with a fashionSo foreign to my own.I wished the grass would hurry,So when ‘t…

But He is mastered, now,I’m accustomed to Him grown,He hurts a little, though—I thought If I could only liveTill that first Shout got by—Not all Pianos in the WoodsHad power to mangle me—I dared not meet the Daffodils—For fear their Yellow GownWould pierce me with a fashionSo foreign to my own—I wished the Grass would…

Had I Art—Impregnable my FortressUnto All Heart—But since Myself—assault Me—How have I peaceExcept by subjugatingConsciousness?And since We’re mutual MonarchHow this beExcept by Abdication—Me—of Me?

The second, loss,Third, Expedition forThe ‘Golden Fleece’Fourth, no Discovery—Fifth, no Crew—Finally, no Golden Fleece—Jason—sham—too.

‘ ‘Twas Sunset’—Some one said—I only saw a Sapphire Farm—And just a Single Herd—Of Opal Cattle—feeding farUpon so vain a Hill—As even while I looked—dissolved—Nor Cattle were—nor Soil—But in their stead—a Sea—displayed—And Ships—of such a sizeAs Crew of Mountains—could afford—And Decks—to seat the skies—This—too—the Showman rubbed away—And when I looked again—Nor Farm—nor Opal Herd—was there—Nor…