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As if the cloud that instant slitAnd let the fire through.It burned me in the night,It blistered in my dream;It sickened fresh upon my sightWith every morning’s beam.I thought that storm was brief,–The maddest, quickest by;But Nature lost the date of this,And left it in the sky.

So when the Hills decay—My Faith must take the Purple WheelTo show the Sun the way—‘Tis first He steps upon the Vane—And then—upon the Hill—And then abroad the World He goTo do His Golden Will—And if His Yellow feet should miss—The Bird would not arise—The Flowers would slumber on their Stems—No Bells have Paradise—How dare…

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.

So I said—or thought—She will stir her pinionsAnd the nest forgot,Traverse broader forests—Build in gayer boughs,Breathe in Ear more modernGod’s old fashioned vows—This was but a Birdling—What and if it beOne within my bosomHad departed me?This was but a story—What and if indeedThere were just such coffinIn the heart instead?

Make frugal—Ones—Content—And two or three—for Company—Upon a Holiday—Crowded—as Sacrament—Books—when the Unit—Spare the Tenant—long eno’—A Picture—if it Care—Itself—a Gallery too rare—For needing more—Flowers—to keep the Eyes—from going awkward—When it snows—A Bird—if they—prefer—Though Winter fire—sing clear as Plover—To our—ear—A Landscape—not so greatTo suffocate the Eye—A Hill—perhaps—Perhaps—the profile of a MillTurned by the Wind—Tho’ such—are luxuries—It’s thoughts—and just…

But large—serene—Burned on—until through Dissolution—It failed from Men—I could not deem these Planetary forcesAnnulled—But suffered an Exchange of Territory—Or World—