523

They bury, in the Grave?I do believe a SpeciesAs positively liveAs I, who testify itDeny that I—am dead—And fill my Lungs, for Witness—From Tanks—above my Head—I say to you, said Jesus—That there be standing here—A Sort, that shall not taste of Death—If Jesus was sincere—I need no further Argue—That statement of the LordIs not a…

To that Old Moses—done—To let him see—the Canaan—Without the entering—And tho’ in soberer moments—No Moses there can beI’m satisfied—the RomanceIn point of injury—Surpasses sharper stated—Of Stephen—or of Paul—For these—were only put to death—While God’s adroiter willOn Moses—seemed to fastenWith tantalizing PlayAs Boy—should deal with lesser Boy—To prove ability.The fault—was doubtless Israel’s—Myself—had banned the Tribes—And ushered…

Of a delivered syllable‘Twould crumble with the weight.

Were greater than itself—though HeMinutest of Mankind should be—And He—could reproduce the Sun—At period of going down—The Lingering—and the Stain—I mean—When Orient have been outgrownAnd Occident—become Unknown—His Name—remain—

As doth the Meadow BeeAnd visit only where I likedAnd No one visit meAnd flirt all Day with ButtercupsAnd marry whom I mayAnd dwell a little everywhereOr better, run awayWith no Police to followOr chase Him if He doTill He should jump PeninsulasTo get away from me—I said ‘But just to be a Bee’Upon a…

A full, and perfect time—The Summer closed upon itselfIn Consummated Bloom—The Corn, her furthest kernel filledBefore the coming Flail—When These—leaned unto Perfectness—Through Haze of Burial—

Your Vision—was in June—And when Your little Lifetime failed,I wearied—too—of mine—And overtaken in the Dark—Where You had put me down—By Some one carrying a Light—I—too—received the Sign.‘Tis true—Our Futures different lay—Your Cottage—faced the sun—While Oceans—and the North must be—On every side of mine‘Tis true, Your Garden led the Bloom,For mine—in Frosts—was sown—And yet, one Summer,…

Be it but a PlayOr a Glee among the GarretOr a HolidayOr a leaving Home, or later,Parting with a WorldWe have understood for betterStill to be explained.

Though in another tree—She looks down just as oftenAnd just as tenderlyAs when her little mortal nestWith cunning care she wove—If either of her ‘sparrows fall,’She ‘notices,’ above.

A Mountain—in my mind—More Mountains—then a Sea—More Seas—And thenA Desert—find—And My Horizon blocksWith steady—drifting—GrainsOf unconjectured quantity—As Asiatic Rains—Nor this—defeat my Pace—It hinder from the WestBut as an Enemy’s SaluteOne hurrying to Rest—What merit had the Goal—Except there interveneFaint Doubt—and far Competitor—To jeopardize the Gain?At last—the Grace in sight—I shout unto my feet—I offer them the…

I’d bring them every flower that growsFrom Amherst to Cashmere!I would not stop for night, or storm—Or frost, or death, or anyone—My business were so dear!If they would linger for a BirdMy Tambourin were soonest heardAmong the April Woods!Unwearied, all the summer long,Only to break in wilder songWhen Winter shook the boughs!What if they hear…

The Eastern Exiles—be—Who strayed beyond the Amber lineSome madder Holiday—And ever since—the purple MoatThey strive to climb—in vain—As Birds—that tumble from the cloudsDo fumble at the strain—The Blessed Ether—taught them—Some Transatlantic Morn—When Heaven—was too common—to miss—Too sure—to dote upon!