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And went against the World—‘Twas not so much as David—had—But I—was twice as bold—I aimed by Pebble—but MyselfWas all the one that fell—Was it Goliath—was too large—Or was myself—too small?

The Sun from shining,Nature—and some Men—Rest at Noon—some Men—While NatureAnd the Sun—go on—

And of ‘Truth’ until it proclaimed him a Liar –The Truth never flaunted a Sign –Simplicity fled from his counterfeit presenceAs Gold the Pyrites would shun –What confusion would cover the innocent JesusTo meet so enabled a Man!

Sometimes, I think that NoonIs but a symbol of the Place—And when again, at Dawn,A mighty look runs round the WorldAnd settles in the Hills—An Awe if it should be like thatUpon the Ignorance steals—The Orchard, when the Sun is on—The Triumph of the BirdsWhen they together Victory make—Some Carnivals of Clouds—The Rapture of a…

Because it flies!Mortal, my friend must be,Because it dies!Barbs has it, like a Bee!Ah, curious friend!Thou puzzlest me!

Then crouch within the door—Red—is the Fire’s common tint—But when the vivid OreHas vanquished Flame’s conditions,It quivers from the ForgeWithout a color, but the lightOf unanointed Blaze.Least Village has its BlacksmithWhose Anvil’s even ringStands symbol for the finer ForgeThat soundless tugs—within—Refining these impatient OresWith Hammer, and with BlazeUntil the Designated LightRepudiate the Forge—