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Ceases to be a Secret—then—A Secret—kept—That—can appal but One—Better of it—continual be afraid—Than it—And Whom you told it to—beside—

Within this inner room!It wears a sprig upon its breast—And will not tell its name.Some touch it, and some kiss it—Some chafe its idle hand—It has a simple gravityI do not understand!I would not weep if I were they—How rude in one to sob!Might scare the quiet fairyBack to her native wood!While simple-hearted neighborsChat of…

They tell it to the Hills—The Hills just tell the Orchards—And they—the Daffodils!A Bird—by chance—that goes that way—Soft overhears the whole—If I should bribe the little Bird—Who knows but she would tell?I think I won’t—however—It’s finer—not to know—If Summer were an Axiom—What sorcery had Snow?So keep your secret—Father!I would not—if I could,Know what the Sapphire…

Three times, ‘t is said, a sinking manComes up to face the skies,And then declines foreverTo that abhorred abodeWhere hope and he part company,—For he is grasped of God.The Maker’s cordial visage,However good to see,Is shunned, we must admit it,Like an adversity.

With a Bobolink for a Chorister —And an Orchard, for a Dome —Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice —I just wear my Wings —And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,Our little Sexton — sings.God preaches, a noted Clergyman —And the sermon is never long,So instead of getting to Heaven, at least —I’m going, all…

Except it quiet bringOur little garden that we lostBack to the Lawn again.So spicy her Carnations nod—So drunken, reel her Bees—So silver steal a hundred flutesFrom out a hundred trees—That whoso sees this little flowerBy faith may clear beholdThe Bobolinks around the throneAnd Dandelions gold.