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Had scarcely deigned to lie—When, stirring, for Belief’s delight,My Bride had slipped away—If ’twas a Dream—made solid—justThe Heaven to confirm—Or if Myself were dreamed of Her—The power to presume—With Him remain—who unto Me—Gave—even as to All—A Fiction superseding Faith—By so much—as ’twas real—

I don’t believe a peevish BirdSo whimpered for the Spring –I taught my Heart a hundred timesPrecisely what to say –Provoking Lover, when you cameIts Treatise flew awayTo hide my strategy too lateTo wiser be too soon –For miseries so halcyonThe happiness atone –

It swallows substance up—Then covers the Abyss with Trance—So Memory can stepAround—across—upon it—As one within a Swoon—Goes safely—where an open eye—Would drop Him—Bone by Bone.

That every time I wake—Between my Curtain and the WallUpon an ample Crack—Like a Venetian—waiting—Accosts my open eye—Is just a Bough of Apples—Held slanting, in the Sky—The Pattern of a Chimney—The Forehead of a Hill—Sometimes—a Vane’s Forefinger—But that’s—Occasional—The Seasons—shift—my Picture—Upon my Emerald Bough,I wake—to find no—Emeralds—Then—Diamonds&m dash;which the SnowFrom Polar Caskets—fetched me—The Chimney—and the Hill—And…

For the long Hindrance—Grace—to Me—With Summers, and with Winters, grow,Some passing Year—A trait bestowTo make Me fairest of the Earth—The Waiting—then—will seem so worthI shall impute with half a painThe blame that I was chosen—then—Time to anticipate His Gaze—It’s first—Delight—and then—Surprise—The turning o’er and o’er my faceFor Evidence it be the Grace—He left behind One…

And Sunrise grows so nearThat we can touch the Spaces—It’s time to smooth the Hair—And get the Dimples ready—And wonder we could careFor that old—faded Midnight—That frightened—but an Hour—