When We stop to Die—
We want the Dew—then—
Honors—taste dry—
Flags—vex a Dying face—
But the least Fan
Stirred by a friend’s Hand—
Cools—like the Rain—
Mine be the Ministry
When they Thirst comes—
And Hybla Balms—
Dews of Thessaly, to fetch—
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A Robber’d like the look of—Wooden barred,And Windows hanging low,Inviting to—A Portico,Where two could creep—One—hand the Tools—The other peep—To make sure All’s Asleep—Old fashioned eyes—Not easy to surprise!How orderly the Kitchen’d look, by night,With just a Clock—But they could gag the Tick—And Mice won’t bark—And so the Walls—don’t tell—None—will—A pair of Spectacles ajar just stir—An…
Air has no Residence, no Neighbor,
No Apprehension of AnotherOh, Happy Air!Ethereal Guest at e’en an Outcast’s Pillow –Essential Host, in Life’s faint, wailing Inn,Later than Light thy Consciousness accost meTill it depart, persuading Mine –
They say that ‘time assuages,’–
An actual suffering strengthens,As sinews do, with age.Time is a test of trouble,But not a remedy.If such it prove, it prove tooThere was no malady.
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Do it not displayLarger for the Totalness—‘Tis EconomyTo bestow a WorldAnd withhold a Star—Utmost, is Munificence—Less, tho’ larger, poor.
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I must not put my foot amissFor fear I spoil my shoe?I’d rather suit my footThan save my Boot—For yet to buy another PairIs possible,At any store—But Bliss, is sold just once.The Patent lostNone buy it any more—Say, Foot, decide the point—The Lady cross, or not?Verdict for Boot!
994
Abstemiously.The Rose is an Estate—In Sicily.