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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…

When the Robins come,Give the one in Red Cravat,A Memorial crumb.If I couldn’t thank you,Being fast asleep,You will know I’m tryingWhy my Granite lip!

But let a splinter swerve,‘T were easier for youTo put the water backWhen floods have slit the hills,And scooped a turnpike for themselves,And blotted out the mills!

And God, that he called his,Till, recently a rival ClaimDisturbed these amities.The property, my garden,Which having sown with care,He claims the pretty acre,And sends a Bailiff there.The station of the partiesForbids publicity,But Justice is sublimerThan arms, or pedigree.I’ll institute an ‘Action’—I’ll vindicate the law—Jove! Choose your counsel—I retain ‘Shaw’!

As slow her flambeaux burn awayWhich solemnizes me.A something in a summer’s noon—A depth—an Azure—a perfume—Transcending ecstasy.And still within a summer’s nightA something so transporting brightI clap my hands to see—Then veil my too inspecting faceLets such a subtle—shimmering graceFlutter too far for me—The wizard fingers never rest—The purple brook within the breastStill chafes it…

I’d bring them every flower that growsFrom Amherst to Cashmere!I would not stop for night, or storm—Or frost, or death, or anyone—My business were so dear!If they would linger for a BirdMy Tambourin were soonest heardAmong the April Woods!Unwearied, all the summer long,Only to break in wilder songWhen Winter shook the boughs!What if they hear…