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I know the Butterfly.The pretty people in the WoodsReceive me cordially—The Brooks laugh louder when I come—The Breezes madder play;Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,Wherefore, Oh Summer’s Day?

A Honey’s WeightContent Her smallest fraction helpThe Amber Quantity—

And hasn’t any tax to payAnd hasn’t any HomeIs just as high as you and I,And higher, I believe,So soar away and never sighAnd that’s the way to grieve –

Maturity of FateIs consummated equallyIn Ages, or a Night—A Hoary Boy, I’ve known to dropWhole statured—by the sideOf Junior of Fourscore—’twas ActNot Period—that died.

It was not night, for all the bellsPut out their tongues, for noon.It was not frost, for on my fleshI felt siroccos crawl,–Nor fire, for just my marble feetCould keep a chancel cool.And yet it tasted like them all;The figures I have seenSet orderly, for burial,Reminded me of mine,As if my life were shavenAnd fitted…

Then gave the East unto the WestAnd opening his mouthThe four Divisions of the EarthDid make as to devourWhile everything to corners slunkBehind the awful power –The Wind – unto his Chambers wentAnd nature ventured out –Her subjects scattered into placeHer systems ranged aboutAgain the smoke from Dwellings roseThe Day abroad was heard –How intimate,…

Of Emerald scant—her Gown—Her Beauty—is the love she doth—Itself—exhibit—Mine&md ash;

In keen and quivering ratioTo the ectasty.For each beloved hourSharp pittances of years,Bitter contested farthingsAnd coffers heaped with tears.

I heard a Woman say‘Poor Child’—and something in her voiceConvicted me—of me—So long I fainted, to myselfIt seemed the common way,And Health, and Laughter, Curious things—To look at, like a Toy—To sometimes hear ‘Rich people’ buyAnd see the Parcel rolled—And carried, I supposed—to Heaven,For children, made of Gold—But not to touch, or wish for,Or think…

I cannot see a spokeYet know its dripping feetGo round and round.My foot is on the Tide!An unfrequented road—Yet have all roadsA clearing at the end—Some have resigned the Loom—Some in the busy tombFind quaint employ—Some with new—stately feet—Pass royal through the gate—Flinging the problem backAt you and I!

Some that never layMake their first Repose this WinterI admonish TheeBlanket Wealthier the NeighborWe so new bestowThan thine acclimated CreatureWilt Thou, Austere Snow?

I wonder if It weighs like Mine–Or has an Easier size.I wonder if They bore it long–Or did it just begin–I could not tell the Date of Mine–It feels so old a pain–I wonder if it hurts to live–And if They have to try–And whether–could They choose between–It would not be–to die–I note that Some–gone…