Air has no Residence, no Neighbor,

A Minor thing—it sounds—And yet, unto the single DoeAttempted of the Hounds‘Tis Terror as consummateAs Legions of AlarmDid leap, full flanked, upon the Host—‘Tis Units—make the Swarm—A Small Leech—on the Vitals—The sliver, in the Lung—The Bung out—of an Artery—Are scarce accounted—Harms—Yet might—by relationTo that Repealless thing—A Being—impotent to end—When once it has begun—

Had scarcely deigned to lie—When, stirring, for Belief’s delight,My Bride had slipped away—If ’twas a Dream—made solid—justThe Heaven to confirm—Or if Myself were dreamed of Her—The power to presume—With Him remain—who unto Me—Gave—even as to All—A Fiction superseding Faith—By so much—as ’twas real—

The Man who would possessMust first presentCertificateOf minted Holiness.

I—the Girl at school—You—and Eternity—theUntold Tale—Easing my famineAt my Lexicon—Logarithm—had I—for Drink—‘Twas a dry Wine—Somewhat different—must be—Dreams tint the Sleep—Cunning Reds of MorningMake the Blind—leap—Still at the Egg-life—Chafing the Shell—When you troubled the Ellipse—And the Bird fell—Manacles be dim—they say—To the new Free—Liberty—Commoner—N ever could—to me—‘Twas my last gratitudeWhen I slept—at night—‘Twas the first MiracleLet…

There seemed to rise a TuneFrom Miniature CreaturesAccompanying the Sun—Far Psalteries of Summer—Enamoring the EarThey never yet did satisfy—Remotest—when most fairThe Sun shone whole at intervals—Then Half—then utter hid—As if Himself were optionalAnd had Estates of CloudSufficient to enfold HimEternally from view—Except it were a whim of HisTo let the Orchards grow—A Bird sat careless…

And then, those little anodynesThat deaden suffering;And then, to go to sleep;And then, if it should beThe will of its Inquisitor,The liberty to die.