That fine Prosperity
Whose Sources are interior—
As soon—Adversity
A Diamond—overtake
In far—Bolivian Ground—
Misfortune hath no implement
Could mar it—if it found—
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491
Until Death touches itWhile it and I lap one AirDwell in one BloodUnder one SacramentShow me Division can split or pare—Love is like Life—merely longerLove is like Death, during the GraveLove is the Fellow of the ResurrectionScooping up the Dust and chanting ‘Live’!
908
No Station in the Day?‘Twas not thy wont, to hinder so—Retrieve thine industry—‘Tis Noon—My little Maid—Alas—and art thou sleeping yet?The Lily—waiting to be Wed—The Bee—Hast thou forgot?My little Maid—’Tis Night—AlasThat Night should be to theeInstead of Morning—Had’st thou broachedThy little Plan to Die—Dissuade thee, if I could not, Sweet,I might have aided—thee—
995
That—was in the Green—Drifts were as difficult then to thinkAs Daisies now to be seen—Looking back is best that is leftOr if it be—before—Retrospection is Prospect’s half,Sometimes, almost more.
March is the Month of Expectation.
The Persons of prognosticationAre coming now –We try to show becoming firmness –But pompous JoyBetrays us, as his first BetrothalBetrays a Boy.
616
I thought it would be opposite—But when his power dropped—My Soul grew straight.I cheered my fainting Prince—I sang firm—even—Chants—I helped his Film—with Hymn—And when the Dews drew offThat held his Forehead stiff—I met him—Balm to Balm—I told him Best—must passThrough this low Arch of Flesh—No Casque so braveIt spurn the Grave—I told him Worlds I…
I heard a fly buzz when I died;
Was like the stillness in the airBetween the heaves of storm.The eyes beside had wrung them dry,And breaths were gathering sureFor that last onset, when the kingBe witnessed in his power.I willed my keepsakes, signed awayWhat portion of me ICould make assignable,–and thenThere interposed a fly,With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,Between the light and me;And then…