How glittering they shone—
And every One unbared a Nerve
Or wantoned with a Bone—
She never deemed—she hurt—
That—is not Steel’s Affair—
A vulgar grimace in the Flesh—
How ill the Creatures bear—
To Ache is human—not polite—
The Film upon the eye
Mortality’s old Custom—
Just locking up—to Die.
Whatever strata of IniquityMy Nature underlie –Truth is good Health – and Safety, and the Sky.How meagre, what an Exile – is a Lie,And Vocal – when we die –
What rosy faceHas lost a blush today?I found her—’pleiad’—in the woodsAnd bore her safe away.Robins, in the traditionDid cover such with leaves,But which the cheek—And which the pallMy scrutiny deceives.
And shade is all that devastates the stillnessSeems it sometimes this would be all –
As oft as He go downHe leave Ourselves a Sphere behind—‘Tis mostly—following—We go no further with the DustThan to the Earthen Door—And then the Panels are reversed—And we behold—no more.
Exhilarates the ManWho tastes it; PossibilityIs flavorless—CombineA Chance’s faintest TinctureAnd in the former DramEnchantment makes ingredientAs certainly as Doom—
A Night or two ago—And now she turns Her perfect FaceUpon the World below—Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde—Her Cheek—a Beryl hewn—Her Eye unto the Summer DewThe likest I have known—Her Lips of Amber never part—But what must be the smileUpon Her Friend she could conferWere such Her Silver Will—And what a privilege to beBut…
