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Who live there—Are they ‘Farmers’—Do they ‘hoe’—Do they know that this is ‘Amherst’—And that I—am coming—too—Do they wear ‘new shoes’—in ‘Eden’—Is it always pleasant—there—Won’t they scold us—when we’re homesick—Or tell God—how cross we are—You are sure there’s such a personAs ‘a Father’—in the sky—So if I get lost—there—ever—Or do what the Nurse calls ‘die’—I shan’t…

The Love of Thee—a Prism be—Excelling Violet—I see thee better for the YearsThat hunch themselves between—The Miner’s Lamp—sufficient be—To nullify the Mine—And in the Grave—I see Thee best—Its little Panels beAglow—All ruddy—with the LightI held so high, for Thee—What need of Day—To Those whose Dark—hath so—surpassing Sun—It deem it be—Continually—At the Meridian?

The brain has corridors surpassingMaterial place.Far safer, of a midnight meetingExternal ghost,Than an interior confrontingThat whiter host.Far safer through an Abbey gallop,The stones achase,Than, moonless, one’s own self encounterIn lonesome place.Ourself, behind ourself concealed,Should startle most;Assassin, hid in our apartment,Be horror’s least.The prudent carries a revolver,He bolts the door,O’erlooking a superior spectreMore near.

And in the Handsome SkiesI shall not feel at Home—I know—I don’t like Paradise—Because it’s Sunday—all the time—And Recess—never comes—And Eden’ll be so lonesomeBright Wednesday Afternoons—If God could make a visit—Or ever took a Nap—So not to see us—but they sayHimself—a TelescopePerennial beholds us—Myself would run awayFrom Him—and Holy Ghost—and All—But there’s the ‘Judgement Day’!

How luscious lies the pea withinThe pod that Duty locks!

He wore no sandal on his foot,And stepped like flakes of snow.His gait was soundless, like the bird,But rapid, like the roe;His fashions quaint, mosaic,Or, haply, mistletoe.Hi conversation seldom,His laughter like the breezeThat dies away in dimplesAmong the pensive trees.Our interview was transient, —Of me, himself was shy;And God forbid I look behindSince that appalling…