God permit industrious angels

It powders all the Wood.It fills with Alabaster WoolThe Wrinkles of the Road—It makes an Even FaceOf Mountain, and of Plain—Unbroken Forehead from the EastUnto the East again—It reaches to the Fence—It wraps it Rail by RailTill it is lost in Fleeces—It deals Celestial VailTo Stump, and Stack—and Stem—A Summer’s empty Room—Acres of Joints, where…

And went against the World—‘Twas not so much as David—had—But I—was twice as bold—I aimed by Pebble—but MyselfWas all the one that fell—Was it Goliath—was too large—Or was myself—too small?

But did not finish,–some way back,I could not fix the year,Nor where it went, nor why it cameThe second time to me,Nor definitely what it was,Have I the art to say.But somewhere in my soul, I knowI’ve met the thing before;It just reminded me–‘t was all–And came my way no more.

In plenty may be seen,A Pink and Pulpy multitudeThe tepid Ground upon.A needless life, it seemed to meUntil a little BirdAs to a HospitalityAdvanced and breakfasted.As I of He, so God of MeI pondered, may have judged,And left the little Angle WormWith Modesties enlarged.

A dim capacity for wingsDegrades the dress I wear.A power of butterfly must beThe aptitude to fly,Meadows of majesty concedesAnd easy sweeps of sky.So I must baffle at the hintAnd cipher at the sign,And make much blunder, if at lastI take the clew divine.

This little Hound within the HeartAll day and night with bark and start—And yet, it will not go—Would you untie it, were you me—Would it stop whining—if to Thee—I sent it—even now?It should not tease you—By your chair—or, on the mat—Or if it dare—to climb your dizzy knee—Or—sometimes at your side to run—When you were…