854

All interspersed with weed,The little cage of ‘Currer Bell’In quiet ‘Haworth’ laid.Gathered from many wanderings—Gethsemane can tellThro’ what transporting anguishShe reached the Asphodel!Soft falls the sounds of EdenUpon her puzzled ear—Oh what an afternoon for Heaven,When ‘Bronte’ entered there!

God—spell the word! I—can’t—Was’t Grace? Not that—Was’t Glory? That—will do—Spell slower—Glory—Such Anniversary shall be—Sometimes—not often—in Eternity—When farther Parted, than the Common Woe—Look—feed upon each other’s faces—so—In doubtful meal, if it be possibleTheir Banquet’s true—I tasted—careless—then—I did not know the WineCame once a World—Did you?Oh, had you told me so—This Thirst would blister—easier—now—You said it hurt…

Whom We have never seen—A Vital Kinsmanship importOur Soul and theirs—between—For Stranger—Strangers do not mourn—There be Immortal friendsWhom Death see first—’tis news of thisThat paralyze Ourselves—Who, vital only to Our Thought—Such Presence bear awayIn dying—’tis as if Our SoulsAbsconded—suddenly—

This Morning’s finest syllablePresumptuous Evening said –

Too lifted—for the scant degreeOf Life’s penurious Round—My little Circuit would have shamedThis new Circumference—have blamed—The homelier time behind.I should have been too saved—I see—Too rescued—Fear too dim to meThat I could spell the PrayerI knew so perfect—yesterday—That Scalding One—Sabachthani—Recited fluent—here—Earth would have been too much—I see—And Heaven—not enough for me—I should have had the…

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