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Ladies—with parasols—Sauntering Gentlemen—with Canes—And little Girls—with Dolls—Will tint the pallid landscape—As ’twere a bright Bouquet—Thro’ drifted deep, in Parian—The Village lies—today—The Lilacs—bending many a year—Will sway with purple load—The Bees—will not despise the tune—Their Forefathers—have hummed—The Wild Rose—redden in the Bog—The Aster—on the HillHer everlasting fashion—set—And Covenant Gentians—frill—Till Summer folds her miracle—As Women—do—their Gown—Of Priests—adjust…

On the Hill—Their Everlasting fashions—set—And Covenant Gentians—Frill!

And when his golden walk is done—Sits shyly at his feet—He—waking—finds the flower there—Wherefore—Marauder—art thou here?Because, Sir, love is sweet!We are the Flower—Thou the Sun!Forgive us, if as days decline—We nearer steal to Thee!Enamored of the parting West—The peace—the flight—the Amethyst—Night’s possibility!

Exhibit—I supposeThat General AttendanceThat Resurrection—does—Circumferen ce be full—The long restricted GraveAssert her Vital Privilege—The Dust—connect—and live—On Atoms—features place—All Multitudes that wereEfface in the Comparison—As Suns—dissolve a star—Solemnity—prevail—Its Individual DoomPossess each separate Consciousness—August—Absorbed&mda sh;Numb—What Duplicate—exist—What Parallel can be—Of the Significance of This—To Universe—and Me?

The Sun does not allowCaprices of the Atmosphere—And even when the SnowHeaves Balls of Specks, like Vicious BoyDirectly in His Eye—Does not so much as turn His HeadBusy with Majesty—‘Tis His to stimulate the Earth—And magnetize the Sea—And bind Astronomy, in place,Yet Any passing byWould deem Ourselves—the busierAs the Minutest BeeThat rides—emits a Thunder—A Bomb—to…

Abstemiously.The Rose is an Estate—In Sicily.