Our Lord—’so loved’—it saith—
What Largest Lover—hath
Another—doth—
If smaller Patience—be—
Through less Infinity—
If Bravo, sometimes swerve—
Through fainter Nerve—
Accept its Most—
And overlook—the Dust—
Last—Least—
The Cross’—Request—
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Upon their Setting Names—The Iris not of OccidentThat disappears as comes—
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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…
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So pretty—so ashamed!So hidden in her leafletsLest anybody find—So breathless till I passed here—So helpless when I turnedAnd bore her struggling, blushing,Her simple haunts beyond!For whom I robbed the Dingle—For whom I betrayed the Dell—Many, will doubtless ask me,But I shall never tell!
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But large—serene—Burned on—until through Dissolution—It failed from Men—I could not deem these Planetary forcesAnnulled—But suffered an Exchange of Territory—Or World—
September’s Baccalaureate
Of Crickets – Crows – and RetrospectsAnd a dissembling BreezeThat hints without assuming –An Innuendo searThat makes the Heart put up its FunAnd turn Philosopher.
The reticent volcano keeps
Confided are his projects pinkTo no precarious man.If nature will not tell the taleJehovah told to herCan human nature not surviveWithout a listener?Admonished by her buckled lipsLet every babbler beThe only secret people keepIs Immortality.