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But in this black ReceptacleCan be no Bode of Dawn

The smallest Gamboge HandWith Fingers—where the Toes should be—Would more affront the Sand—Than this Quaint Creature’s Boot—Adjusted by a Stern—Without a Button—I could vouch—Unto a Velvet Limb—You’ll know Her—by Her Vest—Tight fitting—Orange—Brown—Inside a Jacket duller—She wore when she was born—Her Cap is small—and snug—Constructed for the Winds—She’d pass for Barehead—short way off—But as She Closer…

‘ ‘Twas Sunset’—Some one said—I only saw a Sapphire Farm—And just a Single Herd—Of Opal Cattle—feeding farUpon so vain a Hill—As even while I looked—dissolved—Nor Cattle were—nor Soil—But in their stead—a Sea—displayed—And Ships—of such a sizeAs Crew of Mountains—could afford—And Decks—to seat the skies—This—too—the Showman rubbed away—And when I looked again—Nor Farm—nor Opal Herd—was there—Nor…

The loss of an Estate—Because Estates can beReplenished—faith cannot—Inherited with Life—Belief—but once—can be—Annihilate a single clause—And Being’s—Beggary—

‘If I should be a Queen, tomorrow’—I’d do this way—And so I deck, a little,If it be, I wake a Bourbon,None on me, bend supercilious—With ‘This was she—Begged in the Market place—Yesterday.’Court is a stately place—I’ve heard men say—So I loop my apron, against the MajestyWith bright Pins of Buttercup—That not too plain—Rank—overtake me—And perch…

Accessible to thill of bee,Or cart of butterfly.If town it have, beyond itself,‘T is that I cannot say;I only sigh,–no vehicleBears me along that way.