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Warm this inclement EarWith the encomium it earnedSince it was gathered here –Invest this alabaster ZestIn the Delights of Dust –Remitted – since it flitted itIn recusance august.

My premium—My Bliss—An Admiralty, less—A Sceptre—penniless—And Realms—just Dross—When Thrones accost my Hands—With ‘Me, Miss, Me’—I’ll unroll Thee—Dominions dowerless—beside this Grace—Election—Vote—The Ballots of Eternity, will show just that.

That every time I wake—Between my Curtain and the WallUpon an ample Crack—Like a Venetian—waiting—Accosts my open eye—Is just a Bough of Apples—Held slanting, in the Sky—The Pattern of a Chimney—The Forehead of a Hill—Sometimes—a Vane’s Forefinger—But that’s—Occasional—The Seasons—shift—my Picture—Upon my Emerald Bough,I wake—to find no—Emeralds—Then—Diamonds&m dash;which the SnowFrom Polar Caskets—fetched me—The Chimney—and the Hill—And…

So short a thing to sigh—And yet—by Trades—the size of theseWe men and women die!

Then stepped straight through the firmamentAnd rested on a beam;And then together bore awayUpon a shining sea,–Though never yet, in any portTheir coming mentioned be.If spoken by the distant bird,If met in ether seaBy frigate or by merchantman,Report was not to me.

If One wake at morn—If One wake at Midnight—better—Dreaming—of the Dawn—Sweeter—the Surmising Robins—Never gladdened Tree—Than a Solid Dawn—confronting—Leading to no Day—