Oh thou Celestial Host—
Bride of the Father and the Son
Bride of the Holy Ghost.
Other Betrothal shall dissolve—
Wedlock of Will, decay—
Only the Keeper of this Ring
Conquer Mortality—
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All men for Honor hardest work
Paid after they have ceased to workIn Infamy or Urn –
A little Dog that wags his tail
Of such a little Dog am IReminded by a BoyWho gambols all the living DayWithout an earthly causeBecause he is a little BoyI honestly suppose –The Cat that in the Corner dwellsHer martial Day forgotThe Mouse but a Tradition nowOf her desireless LotAnother class remind meWho neither please nor playBut not to make a ‘bit…
825
Between a few, and me—With them would Harbor be—
457
Glad—gay—Houses—Sealed so stately tight—Lids of Steel—on Lids of Marble—Locking Bare feet out—Brooks of Plush—in Banks of SatinNot so softly fallAs the laughter—and the whisper—From their People Pearl—No Bald Death—affront their Parlors—No Bold Sickness comeTo deface their Stately Treasures—Anguish—and the Tomb—Hum by—in Muffled Coaches—Lest they—wonder Why—Any—for the Press of Smiling—Interrupt—to die—
It’s thoughts—and just One Heart—
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…
I like to see it lap the miles,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;And then, prodigious, stepAround a pile of mountains,And, supercilious, peerIn shanties by the sides of roads;And then a quarry pareTo fit its sides, and crawl between,Complaining all the whileIn horrid, hooting stanza;Then chase itself down hillAnd neigh like Boanerges;Then, punctual as a star,Stop–docile and omnipotent–At its own stable door.