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The only Adamant EstateIn all Identity –How mighty to the insecureThy PhysiognomyTo whom not any Face cohere –Unless concealed in thee

It was not Sickness—then—Nor any need of Surgery—And therefore—’twas not Pain—It moved away the Cheeks—A Dimple at a time—And left the Profile—plainer—And in the place of BloomIt left the little TintThat never had a Name—You’ve seen it on a Cast’s face—Was Paradise—to blame—If momently ajar—Temerity—drew near—And sickened—ever afterwardFor Somewhat that it saw?

Incomplete—to Eye—But to Faith—a RevolutionIn Locality—Unto Us—the Suns extinguish—To our Opposite—New Horizons—they embellish—Fronting Us—with Night.

Impaled him on her fiercest stakes—He neutralized them all.She stung him, sapped his firm advance,But, when her worst was done,And he, unmoved, regarded her,Acknowledged him a man.

But did not finish,–some way back,I could not fix the year,Nor where it went, nor why it cameThe second time to me,Nor definitely what it was,Have I the art to say.But somewhere in my soul, I knowI’ve met the thing before;It just reminded me–‘t was all–And came my way no more.

Remit her home,Without a change of wings,Or Love’s convenient things,Enticed to come.Fashioning what she is,Fathoming what she was,We deem we dream –And that dissolves the daysThrough which existence straysHomeless at home.