‘Arcturus’ is his other name—

Poets—ended—Silver—perished—w ith her Tongue—Not on Record—bubbled other,Flute—or Woman—So divine—Not unto its Summer—MorningRobin—uttered Half the Tune—Gushed too free for the Adoring—From the Anglo-Florentine—Late—the Praise—‘Tis dull—conferringOn the Head too High to Crown—Diadem—or Ducal Showing—Be its Grave—sufficient sign—Nought—that We—No Poet’s Kinsman—Suffocate—with easy woe—What, and if, Ourself a Bridegroom—Put Her down—in Italy?

We prate—of Heaven—Relate—when Neighbors die—At what o’clock to heaven—they fled—Who saw them—Wherefore fly?Is Heaven a Place—a Sky—a Tree?Location’s narrow way is for Ourselves—Unto the DeadThere’s no Geography—But State—Endowal—Focus—Where&m dash;Omnipresence—fly?

But large—serene—Burned on—until through Dissolution—It failed from Men—I could not deem these Planetary forcesAnnulled—But suffered an Exchange of Territory—Or World—

Dyes—said He—have I—Could disparage a Flamingo—Show Me them—said I—Cochineal—I chose—for deemingIt resemble Thee—And the little Border—Dusker—For resembling Me—

Has a fictitious CharterOr it has none –Balked in the vastest instanceBut to renew –Felled by but one assassin –Prosperity –

Widths out of the Sun—And look—and shudder, and block your breath—And deem to be aloneIn such a place, what horror,How Goblin it would be—And fly, as ’twere pursuing you?Then Loneliness—looks so—Did you ever look in a Cannon’s face—Between whose Yellow eye—And yours—the Judgment intervened—The Question of ‘To die’—Extemporizing in your earAs cool as Satyr’s Drums—If…