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A jar across the flowers goes,Their velvet masonryWithstands until the sweet assaultTheir chivalry consumes,While he, victorious, tilts awayTo vanquish other blooms.His feet are shod with gauze,His helmet is of gold;His breast, a single onyxWith chrysoprase, inlaid.His labor is a chant,His idleness a tune;Oh, for a bee’s experienceOf clovers and of noon!

As an Evening West,To a fine, pedantic sunshine—In a satin Vest!

But I could never sell—If you would like to borrow,Until the DaffodilUnties her yellow BonnetBeneath the village door,Until the Bees, from Clover rowsTheir Hock, and Sherry, draw,Why, I will lend until just then,But not an hour more!

I cannot climb thee—But, were it Two—Who know but we—Taking turns—at the Chimborazo—Ducal—at last—stand up by thee—Love—thou are deep—I cannot cross thee—But, were there TwoInstead of One—Rower, and Yacht—some sovereign Summer—Who knows—but we’d reach the Sun?Love—thou are Veiled—A few—behold thee—Smile—and alter—and prattle—and die—Bliss—were an Oddity—without thee—Nicknamed by God—Eternity—

First—Poets—Then the Sun—Then Summer—Then the Heaven of God—And then—the List is done—But, looking back—the First so seemsTo Comprehend the Whole—The Others look a needless Show—So I write—Poets—All—Their Summer—lasts a Solid Year—They can afford a SunThe East—would deem extravagant—And if the Further Heaven—Be Beautiful as they prepareFor Those who worship Them—It is too difficult a Grace—To…

All day—among the crowded airI hear the silver strife—And—walking—long before the morn—Such transport breaks upon the townI think it that ‘New Life’!If is not Bird—it has no nest—Nor ‘Band’—in brass and scarlet—drest—Nor Tamborin—nor Man—It is not Hymn from pulpit read—The ‘Morning Stars’ the Treble ledOn Time’s first Afternoon!Some—say—it is ‘the Spheres’—at play!Some say that bright…