894

Let every Bondage be,Thou sweetest of the Universe,Like that which ravished thee!

A Coronet to find!Who never thirstedFlagons, and Cooling Tamarind!Who never climbed the weary league—Can such a foot exploreThe purple territoriesOn Pizarro’s shore?How many Legions overcome—The Emperor will say?How many Colors takenOn Revolution Day?How many Bullets bearest?Hast Thou the Royal scar?Angels! Write ‘Promoted’On this Soldier’s brow!

Can’t put the puppet bowingThat just now dangled still.An awe came on the trinket!The figures hunched with pain,Then quivered out of decimalsInto degreeless noon.It will not stir for doctors,This pendulum of snow;The shopman importunes it,While cool, concernless NoNods from the gilded pointers,Nods from seconds slim,Decades of arrogance betweenThe dial life and him.

I’m hardly justifiedIn sending all the Birds away—And moving into Pod—Myself—for scarcely settled—The Phoebes have begun—And then—it’s time to strike my Tent—And open House—again—It’s mostly, interruptions—My Summer—is despoiled—Because there was a Winter—once—And al the Cattle—starved—And so there was a Deluge—And swept the World away—But Ararat’s a Legend—now—And no one credits Noah—

Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil—It matters not the busy Wick—At her phosphoric toil!The Slave—forgets—to fill—The Lamp—burns golden—on—Unconscious that the oil is out—As that the Slave—is gone.

Had swept the Winter Street –The House was hookedThe Sun sent outFaint Deputies of Heat –Where rode the BirdThe Silence tiedHis ample – plodding SteedThe Apple in the Cellar snugWas all the one that played.