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.
Toward which the forces creepPast which forces retrogradeIf it come in sleepTo suspend the BreathIs the most we canIgnorant is it Life or DeathNicely balancing.Let an instant pushOr an Atom pressOr a Circle hesitateIn CircumferenceIt—may jolt the HandThat adjusts the HairThat secures EternityFrom presenting—Here—
Just one time!Charged us to forget Him—But we couldn’t learn!Were Himself—such a Dunce—What would we—do?Love the dull lad—best—Oh, wouldn’t you?
The Sea upon our place—Escaping forward, to confrontHis glittering Embrace—Retreating up, a Billow’s heightRetreating blinded downOur undermining feet to meetInstructs to the Divine.
Are there two?I shouldn’t like to comeFor fear of joggling Him!If I could shut him upIn a Coffee Cup,Or tie him to a pinTill I got in—Or make him fastTo ‘Toby’s’ fist—Hist! Whist! I’d come!
Posterior—to Death—Initial of Creation, andThe Exponent of Earth—
As far as Death this way—Of River or of Ridge beyondWas no discovery.How far is it to Hell?As far as Death this way—How far left hand the SepulchreDefies Topography.
