Exhilaration is the Breeze

A Wishfulness their far ConditionTo occupy.A Chief indifference, as ForeignA World must beThemselves forsake – contented,For Deity.

He offers His Berry, just the sameTo Partridge—and to Boy—He sometimes holds upon the Fence—Or struggles to a Tree—Or clasps a Rock, with both His Hands—But not for Sympathy—We—tell a Hurt—to cool it—This Mourner—to the SkyA little further reaches—instead—Brave Black Berry—

When I shall be ‘forgiven’—Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Head—Are out of sight—in Heaven—I think just how my lips will weigh—With shapeless—quivering—prayer—That you—so late—’Consider’ me—The ‘Sparrow’ of your Care—I mind me that of Anguish—sent—Some drifts were moved away—Before my simple bosom—broke—And why not this—if they?And so I con that thing—’forgiven’—Until& mdash;delirious—borne—By my long bright—and longer—trust—I drop…

Until there crept uponA Chill—like frost upon a Glass—Till all the scene—be gone.The Forehead copied Stone—The Fingers grew too coldTo ache—and like a Skater’s Brook—The busy eyes—congealed—It straightened—that was all—It crowded Cold to Cold—It multiplied indifference—As Pride were all it could—And even when with Cords—‘Twas lowered, like a Weight—It made no Signal, nor demurred,But dropped…

If Others want to seeIt can be had on Window PanesSome Hours in the Day.But not for Compensation—It holds as large a GlowTo Squirrel in the HimmalehPrecisely, as to you.

Whose soft inhabitants to beSurpasses solitudeIf Bird the silence contradictOr flower presume to showIn that low summer of the WestImpossible to know –