And that, so least displays—
One Art to recognize, must be,
Another Art, to praise.
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In his tremendous Chair—His observation omnifold,His inquest, everywhere—The Seasons played around his kneesLike Children round a sire—Grandfather of the Days is HeOf Dawn, the Ancestor—
DEAR March, come in!
I looked for you before.Put down your hat—You must have walked—How out of breath you are!Dear March, how are you?And the rest?Did you leave Nature well?Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,I have so much to tell!I got your letter, and the bird’s;The maples never knewThat you were coming,—I declare,How red their faces grew!But, March,…
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Dyes—said He—have I—Could disparage a Flamingo—Show Me them—said I—Cochineal—I chose—for deemingIt resemble Thee—And the little Border—Dusker—For resembling Me—
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The nuts are getting brown—The berry’s cheek is plumper—The Rose is out of town.The Maple wears a gayer scarf—The field a scarlet gown—Lest I should be old fashionedI’ll put a trinket on.
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And bear to all my friends,Drinking to her no more astir,By beck, or burn, or moor!
‘Heaven’ has different Signs—to me—
Is but a symbol of the Place—And when again, at Dawn,A mighty look runs round the WorldAnd settles in the Hills—An Awe if it should be like thatUpon the Ignorance steals—The Orchard, when the Sun is on—The Triumph of the BirdsWhen they together Victory make—Some Carnivals of Clouds—The Rapture of a finished Day—Returning to the…