At Bases of the Trees—
The far Theatricals of Day
Exhibiting—to These—
‘Twas Universe—that did applaud—
While Chiefest—of the Crowd—
Enabled by his Royal Dress—
Myself distinguished God—
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And so I trouble thee.I am the one forgot thee so—Dost thou remember me?Nor, for myself, I came so far—That were the little load—I brought thee the imperial HeartI had not strength to hold—The Heart I carried in my own—Till mine too heavy grew—Yet—strangest—heavier since it went—Is it too large for you?
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Till we—are stouter—What they—renounced—Till we—are less afraid—How many times they—bore the faithful witness—Till we—are helped—As if a Kingdom—cared!Read then—of faith—That shone above the fagot—Clear strains of HymnThe River could not drown—Brave names of Men—And Celestial Women—Passed out—of RecordInto—Renown!
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And later—when we die—A little Water supplicate—Of fingers going by—It intimates the finer want—Whose adequate supplyIs that Great Water in the West—Termed Immortality—
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That passed the mouldering Pier—Just as the Granite Crumb let go—Our Savior, by a Hair—A second more, had dropped too deepFor Fisherman to plumb—The very profile of the ThoughtPuts Recollection numb—The possibility—to passWithout a Moment’s Bell—Into Conjecture’s presence—Is like a Face of Steel—That suddenly looks into oursWith a metallic grin—The Cordiality of Death—Who drills his…
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I know I heard the Corn,When I was carried by the Farms—It had the Tassels on—I thought how yellow it would look—When Richard went to mill—And then, I wanted to get out,But something held my will.I thought just how Red—Apples wedgedThe Stubble’s joints between—And the Carts stooping round the fieldsTo take the Pumpkins in—I wondered…
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But I was not a ‘Diver’—Her brow is fit for thronesBut I have not a crest.Her heart is fit for home—I—a Sparrow—build thereSweet of twigs and twineMy perennial nest.