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Then I remember not.And if forgetting, recollecting,How near I had forgot.And if to miss, were merry,And to mourn, were gay,How very blithe the fingersThat gathered this, Today!

Could so enthrall a ManAs the perusal ofHis Individual One—‘Tis Fiction’s—When ’tis small enoughTo Credit—’Tisn’t true!

Bumblebees come—Hover—hesitate—Dri nk, and are gone—Butterflies pauseOn their passage Cashmere—I—softly plucking,Present them here!

May be seen the Dews among,Stooping—plucking—smiling&m dash;flying—Do the Buds to them belong?Angels, when the sun is hottestMay be seen the sands among,Stooping—plucking—sighing&m dash;flying—Parched the flowers they bear along.

For—put them side by side—The one the other will containWith ease—and You—beside—The Brain is deeper than the sea—For—hold them—Blue to Blue—The one the other will absorb—As Sponges—Buckets—do—The Brain is just the weight of God—For—Heft them—Pound for Pound—And they will differ—if they do—As Syllable from Sound—

Two—be finished using—Well enough for Schools—But for Minor Choosing—Life—just—or Death—Or the Everlasting—More—would be too vastFor the Soul’s Comprising—