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A full, and perfect time—The Summer closed upon itselfIn Consummated Bloom—The Corn, her furthest kernel filledBefore the coming Flail—When These—leaned unto Perfectness—Through Haze of Burial—

Me! Hear! My foreign earThe sounds of welcome near!The saints shall meetOur bashful feet.My holiday shall beThat they remember me;My paradise, the fameThat they pronounce my name.

But doom me not to forfeit Thee—To forfeit Thee? The very nameIs sentence from Belief—and House—

Can the ecstasy define—Half a transport—half a trouble—With which flowers humble men:Anybody find the fountainFrom which floods so contra flow—I will give him all the DaisiesWhich upon the hillside blow.Too much pathos in their facesFor a simple breast like mine—Butterflies from St. DomingoCruising round the purple line—Have a system of aesthetics—Far superior to mine.

‘Tis a trifling knowledge—News-Boys salute the Door—Carts—joggle by—Morning’s bold face—stares in the window—Were but mine—the Charter of the least Fly—Houses hunch the HouseWith their Brick Shoulders—Coals—from a Rolling Load—rattle—how—near—To the very Square—His foot is passing—Possibly, this moment—While I—dream—Here—

Death—we do not know—Christ’s acquaintance with HimJustify Him—though—He—would trust no stranger—Other—could betray—Just His own endorsement—That—sufficeth Me—All the other DistanceHe hath traversed first—No New Mile remaineth—Far as Paradise—His sure foot preceding—Tender Pioneer—Base must be the CowardDare not venture—now—