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Themselves—go out—The Wicks they stimulate—If vital LightInhere as do the Suns—Each Age a LensDisseminating theirCircumference—

As Blind Men learn the sun!To die of thirst—suspectingThat Brooks in Meadows run!To stay the homesick—homesick feetUpon a foreign shore—Haunted by native lands, the while—And blue—beloved air!This is the Sovereign Anguish!This—the signal woe!These are the patient ‘Laureates’Whose voices—trained—below—As cend in ceaseless Carol—Inaudible, indeed,To us—the duller scholarsOf the Mysterious Bard!

Then stepped straight through the firmamentAnd rested on a beam;And then together bore awayUpon a shining sea,–Though never yet, in any portTheir coming mentioned be.If spoken by the distant bird,If met in ether seaBy frigate or by merchantman,Report was not to me.

A Blossom, or a Book,The seeds of smiles are planted—Which blossom in the dark.

Than any I had seen—Some Polar Expiation—An Omen in the BoneOf Death’s tremendous nearness—I probed Retrieverless thingsMy Duplicate—to borrow—A Haggard Comfort springsFrom the belief that Somewhere—Within the Clutch of Thought—There dwells one other CreatureOf Heavenly Love—forgot—I plucked at our PartitionAs One should pry the Walls—Between Himself—and Horror’s Twin—Within Opposing Cells—I almost strove to clasp his…

Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—Scantilly dealt to the Summer MorningSaved for your Ear when Lutes be old.Loose the Flood—you shall find it patent—Gush after Gush, reserved for you—Scarlet Experiment! Sceptic Thomas!Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true?