Their Purple figures rise
Without attempt—Exhaustion—
Assistance—or Applause—
In Their Eternal Faces
The Sun—with just delight
Looks long—and last—and golden—
For fellowship—at night—
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Exhilarates the ManWho tastes it; PossibilityIs flavorless—CombineA Chance’s faintest TinctureAnd in the former DramEnchantment makes ingredientAs certainly as Doom—
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The East—Her Purple TrothKeeps with the Hill—The Noon unwinds Her BlueTill One Breadth cover Two—Remotest—still—Nor does the Night forgetA Lamp for Each—to set—Wicks wide away—The North—Her blazing SignErects in Iodine—Till Both—can see—The Midnight’s Dusky ArmsClasp Hemispheres, and HomesAnd soUpon Her Bosom—One—And One upon Her Hem—Both lie—
The spry Arms of the Wind
I have an errand imminentTo an adjoining Zone –I should not care to stopMy Process is not longThe Wind could wait without the GateOr stroll the Town among.To ascertain the HouseAnd is the soul at HomeAnd hold the Wick of mine to itTo light, and then return –
How fits his Umber Coat
Combined without a seamLike Raiment of a Dream –Who spun the Auburn Cloth?Computed how the girth?The Chestnut aged growsIn those primeval Clothes –We know that we are wise –Accomplished in Surprise –Yet by this Countryman –This nature – how undone!
I years had been from home,
I dared not open, lest a faceI never saw beforeStare vacant into mineAnd ask my business there.My business,–just a life I left,Was such still dwelling there?I fumbled at my nerve,I scanned the windows near;The silence like an ocean rolled,And broke against my ear.I laughed a wooden laughThat I could fear a door,Who danger and the…
If Nature smiles – the Mother must
Of Her eccentric Family –Is She so much to blame?