963

There seemed to rise a TuneFrom Miniature CreaturesAccompanying the Sun—Far Psalteries of Summer—Enamoring the EarThey never yet did satisfy—Remotest—when most fairThe Sun shone whole at intervals—Then Half—then utter hid—As if Himself were optionalAnd had Estates of CloudSufficient to enfold HimEternally from view—Except it were a whim of HisTo let the Orchards grow—A Bird sat careless…

Competent to kill it,But decoyed may be.Bait it with the balsam,Seek it with the saw,Baffle, if it cost youEverything you are.Then, if it have burrowedOut of reach of skill –Wring the tree and leave it,‘Tis the vermin’s will.

Were They industrious?So many questions to put ThemHave I the eagernessThat could I snatch Their FacesThat could Their lips replyNot till the last was answeredShould They start for the Sky.Not if Their Party were waiting,Not if to talk with MeWere to Them now, HomesicknessAfter Eternity.Not if the Just suspect meAnd offer a RewardWould I restore…

Immortal Alps look down—Whose Bonnets touch the firmament—Whose Sandals touch the town—Meek at whose everlasting feetA Myriad Daisy play—Which, Sir, are you and which am IUpon an August day?

More fair, because impossibleThat any gain.The mountaln at a given distanceIn amber lies;Approached, the amber flits a little,–And that’s the skies!

So I get home – ’twill compensate—Better will be the EcstasyThat they have done expecting me—When Night—descending—dumb—and dark—They hear my unexpected knock—Transporting must the moment be—Brewed from decades of Agony!To think just how the fire will burn—Just how long-cheated eyes will turn—To wonder what myself will say,And what itself, will say to me—Beguiles the Centuries…