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Was steady as the SunAnd every Night, it numbered moreThan the preceding OneAll Days, I did not earn the sameBut my perceiveless GainInferred the less by Growing thanThe Sum that it had grown.

Is but a filament, I know,Of that diviner thingThat 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 WestWith harrowing Iodine—‘Tis this—invites—appalls—endows&mda sh;Flits—glimmers—proves—di ssolves—Returns—suggests—co nvicts—enchants—Then—flings in Paradise—

Birds will pass meOn their way to Yellower Climes—Each—with a Robin’s expectation—I—with my Redbreast—And my Rhymes—Late—when I take my place in summer—But—I shall bring a fuller tune—Vespers—are sweeter than Matins—Signor—Morning—only the seed of Noon—

Cashmere—or Calvary—the same—Degree—or Shame—I scarce esteem Location’s Name—So I may Come—What Thou dost—is Delight—Bondage as Play—be sweet—Imprisonment—Content—And Sentence—Sacrament—Just We two—meet—Where Thou art not—is Woe—Tho’ Bands of Spices—row—What Thou dost not—Despair—Tho’ Gabriel—praise me—Sire—

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.

Whose soft inhabitants to beSurpasses solitudeIf Bird the silence contradictOr flower presume to showIn that low summer of the WestImpossible to know –