Fond, and late—
We speculated fair, on every subject, but the Grave—
Of ours, none affair—
We handled Destinies, as cool—
As we—Disposers—be—
And God, a Quiet Party
To our Authority—
But fondest, dwelt upon Ourself
As we eventual—be—
When Girls to Women, softly raised
We—occupy—Degree—
We parted with a contract
To cherish, and to write
But Heaven made both, impossible
Before another night.
Invests so mean a brow!Almost a powdered FootmanMight dare to touch it now!Wait till in Everlasting RobesThat Democrat is dressed,Then prate about ‘Preferment’—And ‘Station,’ and the rest!Around this quiet CourtierObsequious Angels wait!Full royal is his Retinue!Full purple is his state!A Lord, might dare to lift the HatTo such a Modest ClaySince that My Lord, ‘the…
No more Vacation!Term of Light this Day begun!Failless as the fair rotationOf the Seasons and the Sun.Old the Grace, but new the Subjects—Old, indeed, the East,Yet upon His Purple ProgrammeEvery Dawn, is first.
To tell what Water isWould be acuter, would it notThan letting Him surmise?To lead Him to the WellAnd let Him hear it dripRemind Him, would it not, somewhatOf His condemned lip?
Debated—Rose again—This time—beyond the estimateOf Envy, or of Men—And now, among Circumference—Her steady Boat be seen—At home—among the Billows—AsThe Bough where she was born—
Remit her home,Without a change of wings,Or Love’s convenient things,Enticed to come.Fashioning what she is,Fathoming what she was,We deem we dream –And that dissolves the daysThrough which existence straysHomeless at home.
The only Adamant EstateIn all Identity –How mighty to the insecureThy PhysiognomyTo whom not any Face cohere –Unless concealed in thee
