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What if I burst the fleshly Gate—And pass escaped—to thee!What if I file this Mortal—off—See where it hurt me—That’s enough—And wade in Liberty!They cannot take me—any more!Dungeons can call—and Guns imploreUnmeaning—now—to me—As laughter—was—an hour ago—Or Laces—or a Travelling Show—Or who died—yesterday!

Deep dug—for Summer days—Where Mosses go no more away—And Pebble—safely plays—It’s made of Fathoms—and a Belt—A Belt of jagged Stone—Inlaid with Emerald—half way down—And Diamonds—jumbled on—It has no Bucket—Were I richA Bucket I would buy—I’m often thirsty—but my lipsAre so high up—You see—I read in an Old fashioned BookThat People ‘thirst no more’—The Wells have…

With different Delight—Because—when next it burns abroadThey doubt to witness it—The Man—to die—tomorrow—Harks for the Meadow Bird—Because its Music stirs the AxeThat clamors for his head—Joyful—to whom the SunrisePrecedes Enamored—Day—Joyful—for whom the Meadow BirdHas ought but Elegy!

And No Man—is the OneOf all the Battles prevalent—By far the Greater One—No News of it is had abroad—Its Bodiless CampaignEstablishes, and terminates—Invisible—Unknown&mdas h;Nor History—record it—As Legions of a NightThe Sunrise scatters—These endure—Enact—and terminate—

Of individual Voice—As One detect on LandingsAn Emigrant’s address.A Hint of Ports and Peoples—And much not understood—The fairer—for the farness—And for the foreignhood.

In keen and quivering ratioTo the ectasty.For each beloved hourSharp pittances of years,Bitter contested farthingsAnd coffers heaped with tears.