Is but a filament, I know,
Of that diviner thing
That faints upon the face of Noon—
And smites the Tinder in the Sun—
And hinders Gabriel’s Wing—
‘Tis this—in Music—hints and sways—
And far abroad on Summer days—
Distils uncertain pain—
‘Tis this enamors in the East—
And tints the Transit in the West
With harrowing Iodine—
‘Tis this—invites—appalls—endows&mda sh;
Flits—glimmers—proves—di ssolves—
Returns—suggests—co nvicts—enchants—
Then—flings in Paradise—
It was not night, for all the bellsPut out their tongues, for noon.It was not frost, for on my fleshI felt siroccos crawl,–Nor fire, for just my marble feetCould keep a chancel cool.And yet it tasted like them all;The figures I have seenSet orderly, for burial,Reminded me of mine,As if my life were shavenAnd fitted…
The Pearl—the Just—Our Thought.Most shun the Public AirLegitimate, and Rare—The Capsule of the WindThe Capsule of the MindExhibit here, as doth a Burr—Germ’s Germ be where?
Are so for that most fatal causeIn Nature – they are full –
Is the unknown peninsula.Beauty is nature’s fact.But witness for her land,And witness for her sea,The cricket is her utmostOf elegy to me.
Adjusted it to place—Then carved his name—upon it—And bade it to the EastBe faithful—in his absence—And he would come again—With Equipage of Amber—That time—to take it Home—
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.
