How many be
Is not affirmed of Mathematics—
Or History—
One Calvary—exhibited to Stranger—
As many be
As persons—or Peninsulas—
Gethsemane—
Is but a Province—in the Being’s Centre—
Judea—
For Journey—or Crusade’s Achieving—
Too near—
Our Lord—indeed—made Compound Witness—
And yet—
There’s newer—nearer Crucifixion
Than That—
My Best—was gone to sleep—And Morn a new politeness took—And failed to wake them up—But called the others—clear—And passed their Curtains by—Sweet Morning—when I oversleep—Knock—Recollect—to Me—I looked at Sunrise—Once—And then I looked at Them—And wishfulness in me arose—For Circumstance the same—‘Twas such an Ample Peace—It could not hold a Sigh—‘Twas Sabbath—with the Bells divorced—‘Twas Sunset—all…
That were the Mind dissolved—The Site—of it—by ArchitectCould not again be proved—‘Tis vast—as our Capacity—As fair—as our idea—To Him of adequate desireNo further ’tis, than Here—
Kept treading–treading–till it seemedThat Sense was breaking through–And when they all were seated,A Service, like a Drum–Kept beating–beating–till I thoughtMy Mind was going numb–And then I heard them lift a BoxAnd creak across my SoulWith those same Boots of Lead, again,Then Space–began to toll,As all the Heavens were a Bell,And Being, but an Ear,And I,…
I bring thee ProofThat till I lovedI never lived—Enough—That I shall love alway—I argue theeThat love is life—And life hath Immortality—This—dost thou doubt—Sweet—Then have INothing to showBut Calvary—
A Thing that can igniteCan go, itself, without a Fan—Upon the slowest Night—You cannot fold a Flood—And put it in a Drawer—Because the Winds would find it out—And tell your Cedar Floor—
Saves she all of that for SunsetsProdigal of BlueSpending Scarlet, like a WomanYellow she affordsOnly scantly and selectlyLike a Lover’s Words.
