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Where Sunset hence must beFor treason not of His, but Life’s,Gone Westerly, Today—The Sunset stopped on CottagesWhere Morning just begun—What difference, after all, Thou mak’stThou supercilious Sun?

But You have enough—of those—I could bring You Odors from St. Domingo—Colors—from Vera Cruz—Berries of the Bahamas—have I—But this little BlazeFlickering to itself—in the Meadow—Suits Me—more than those—Never a Fellow matched this Topaz—And his Emerald Swing—Dower itself—for Bobadilo—Better—Could I bring?

A Witchcraft—yieldeth me—If any ask me why—‘Twere easier to die—Than tell—The Red upon the HillTaketh away my will—If anybody sneer—Take care—for God is here—That’s all.The Breaking of the DayAddeth to my Degree—If any ask me how—Artist—who drew me so—Must tell!

What, when the Rose is ripe—What when the Eggs fly off in MusicFrom the Maple Keep?What shall I do when the Skies a’chirrupDrop a Tune on me—When the Bee hangs all Noon in the ButtercupWhat will become of me?Oh, when the Squirrel fills His PocketsAnd the Berries stareHow can I bear their jocund FacesThou from…

The likest to the DownAn Easy Breeze do put afloatThe General Heavens—upon—It soars—and shifts—and whirls—And measures with the CloudsIn easy—even—dazzling pace—No different the Birds—Except a Wake of MusicAccompany their feet—As did the Down emit a Tune—For Ecstasy—of it

Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—Scantilly dealt to the Summer MorningSaved for your Ear when Lutes be old.Loose the Flood—you shall find it patent—Gush after Gush, reserved for you—Scarlet Experiment! Sceptic Thomas!Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true?