A sweep of Gray—
Some scarlet patches on the way,
Compose an Evening Sky—
A little purple—slipped between—
Some Ruby Trousers hurried on—
A Wave of Gold—
A Bank of Day—
This just makes out the Morning Sky.
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How good—to be alive!
Alive—two-fold—The Birth I hadAnd this—besides, in—Thee!
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Is when the Cars have come—And we are waiting for the Coach—It seems as though the TimeIndignant—that the Joy was come—Did block the Gilded Hands—And would not let the Seconds by—But slowest instant—ends—The Pendulum begins to count—Like little Scholars—loud—The steps grow thicker—in the Hall—The Heart begins to crowd—Then I—my timid service done—Tho’ service ’twas, of…
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And ‘difficult the Gate’—And ‘few there be’—Correct again—That ‘enter in—thereat’—‘Tis Costly—So are purples!‘Tis just the price of Breath—With but the ‘Discount’ of the Grave—Termed by the Brokers—’Death’!And after that—there’s Heaven—The Good Man’s—’Dividend’—And Bad Men—’go to Jail’—I guess—
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‘Mansions’! Mansions must be warm!Mansions cannot let the tears in,Mansions must exclude the storm!‘Many Mansions,’ by ‘his Father,’I don’t know him; snugly built!Could the Children find the way there—Some, would even trudge tonight!
‘T was just this time last year I died.
When I was carried by the farms,–It had the tassels on.I thought how yellow it would lookWhen Richard went to mill;And then I wanted to get out,But something held my will.I thought just how red apples wedgedThe stubble’s joints between;And carts went stooping round the fieldsTo take the pumpkins in.I wondered which would miss me…
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Things go gayPierce—by the very PressOf Imagery—Their far Parades—order on the eyeWith a mute Pomp—A pleading Pageantry—Flags, are a brave sight—But no true EyeEver went by One—Steadily—Music’s triumphant—But the fine EarWinces with delightAre Drums too near—