So sick—to guess—
So strong—to know—
So brave—upon its little Bed
To tell the very last They said
Unto Itself—and smile—And shake—
For that dear—distant—dangerous—Sake—
But—the Instead—the Pinching fear
That Something—it did do—or dare—
Offend the Vision—and it flee—
And They no more remember me—
Nor ever turn to tell me why—
Oh, Master, This is Misery—
By Climbing slow—By Catching at the Twigs that growBetween the Bliss—and me—It hung so highAs well the SkyAttempt by Strategy—I said I gained it—This—was all—Look, how I clutch itLest it fall—And I a Pauper go—Unfitted by an instant’s GraceFor the Contented—Beggar’s faceI wore—an hour ago—
Occur to Her—alone—When friend—and Earth’s occasionHave infinite withdrawn—Or She—Herself—ascendedTo too remote a HeightFor lower RecognitionThan Her Omnipotent—This Mortal AbolitionIs seldom—but as fairAs Apparition—subjectTo Autocratic Air—Eternity’s disclosureTo favorites—a few—Of the Colossal substanceOf Immortality
If only to enclose the SaintsTo Affidavit given.The Missionary to the MoleMust prove there is a SkyLocation doubtless he would pleadBut what excuse have I?Too much of Proof affronts BeliefThe Turtle will not tryUnless you leave him – then returnAnd he has hauled away.
You see, God bless his suddenness,A fellow in the skiesOf independent hues,A little weather-worn,Inspiriting habilimentsOf indigo and brown.With specimens of song,As if for you to choose,Discretion in the interval,With gay delays he goesTo some superior treeWithout a single leaf,And shouts for joy to nobodyBut his seraphic self!
So I keep bringing These—Just as the Night keeps fetching StarsTo our familiar eyes—Maybe, we shouldn’t mind them—Unless they didn’t come—Then—maybe, it would puzzle usTo find our way Home—
Existence—in itself—Without a further function—Omnipotence—Enough—To be alive—and Will!‘Tis able as a God—The Maker—of Ourselves—be what—Such being Finitude!
