469

‘Tis Living—hurts us more—But Dying—is a different way—A Kind behind the Door—The Southern Custom—of the Bird—That ere the Frosts are due—Accepts a better Latitude—We—are the Birds—that stay.The Shrivers round Farmers’ doors—For whose reluctant Crumb—We stipulate—till pitying SnowsPersuade our Feathers Home.

Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee—Nay—Nature is Heaven—Nature is what we hear—The Bobolink—the Sea—Thunder—the Cricket—Nay—Nature is Harmony—Nature is what we know—Yet have no art to say—So impotent Our Wisdom isTo her Simplicity.

A Species stands beyond—Invisible, as Music—But positive, as Sound—It beckons, and it baffles—Philosophy—don’t know—And through a Riddle, at the last—Sagacity, must go—To guess it, puzzles scholars—To gain it, Men have borneContempt of GenerationsAnd Crucifixion, shown—Faith slips—and laughs, and rallies—Blushes, if any see—Plucks at a twig of Evidence—And asks a Vane, the way—Much Gesture, from the…

It was a Common NightExcept the Dying—this to UsMade Nature differentWe noticed smallest things—Things overlooked beforeBy this great light upon our MindsItalicized—as ’twere.As We went out and inBetween Her final RoomAnd Rooms where Those to be aliveTomorrow were, a BlameThat Others could existWhile She must finish quiteA Jealousy for Her aroseSo nearly infinite—We waited while…

He flung a menace at the earth,A menace at the sky.The leaves unhooked themselves from treesAnd started all abroad;The dust did scoop itself like handsAnd throw away the road.The wagons quickened on the streets,The thunder hurried slow;The lightning showed a yellow beak,And then a livid claw.The birds put up the bars to nests,The cattle fled…

Experienced at Graves—A leisure of the Future—A Wilderness of Size.By Death’s bold ExhibitionPreciser what we areAnd the Eternal functionEnabled to infer.