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It measures like the SeaIn mighty—unremitting BassAnd Blue MonotonyTill Hurricane bisectAnd as itself discernsIts sufficient AreaThe Heart convulsive learnsThat Calm is but a WallOf unattempted GauzeAn instant’s Push demolishesA Questioning—dissolves.

Termed Thanksgiving Day.Celebrated part at TablePart in Memory.Neither Patriarch nor PussyI dissect the PlaySeems it to my Hooded thinkingReflex Holiday.Had there been no sharp SubtractionFrom the early Sum—Not an Acre or a CaptionWhere was once a Room—Not a Mention, whose small PebbleWrinkled any Sea,Unto Such, were such Assembly‘Twere Thanksgiving Day.

The Day that was Before—And Day that was Behind—were one—And now—’twas Night—was here—Slow—Night—that must be watched away—As Grains upon a shore—Too imperceptible to note—Till it be night—no more—

Before they drop full music on;He stuns you by degrees,Prepares your brittle substanceFor the ethereal blow,By fainter hammers, further heard,Then nearer, then so slowYour breath has time to straighten,Your brain to bubble cool, —Deals one imperial thunderboltThat scalps your naked soul.

The Sun does not allowCaprices of the Atmosphere—And even when the SnowHeaves Balls of Specks, like Vicious BoyDirectly in His Eye—Does not so much as turn His HeadBusy with Majesty—‘Tis His to stimulate the Earth—And magnetize the Sea—And bind Astronomy, in place,Yet Any passing byWould deem Ourselves—the busierAs the Minutest BeeThat rides—emits a Thunder—A Bomb—to…

It has a Garret alsoFor Refuse and the Mouse.Besides the deepest CellarThat ever Mason laid –Look to it by its FathomsOurselves be not pursued –