If tenderer industriousness
Pervaded her, we thought
A further force of life
Developed from within,–
When Death lit all the shortness up,
And made the hurry plain.
We wondered at our blindness,–
When nothing was to see
But her Carrara guide-post,–
At our stupidity
When, duller than our dulness,
The busy darling lay,
So busy was she, finishing,
So leisurely were we!
By strech of limb or stir of lid, —An independent one.Was ever idleness like this?Within a hut of stoneTo bask the centuries awayNor once look up for noon?
Be rendered by the Bee—Herself, without a ParliamentApology for Me.
How intricate the dust!I would go, to know!Oh incognito!Saucy, Saucy SeraphTo elude me so!Father! they won’t tell me,Won’t you tell them to?
Only the soldered mouth can tell—Try—can you stir the awful rivet—Try—can you lift the hasps of steel!Stroke the cool forehead—hot so often—Lift—if you care—the listless hair—Handle the adamantine fingersNever a thimble—more—shall wear—Buzz the dull flies—on the chamber window—Brave—shines the sun through the freckled pane—Fearless—the cobweb swings from the ceiling—Indolent Housewife—in Daisies—lain!
Gambolled awayHer lease of spotted hours,Then sank as gaily as a TurnUpon a Couch of flowers.Her ghost strolled softly o’er the hillYesterday, and Today,Her vestments as the silver fleece—Her countenance as spray.
Then disappearedAs Birds before achievingA Latitude.Our Retrospection of ThemA fixed Delight,But our AnticipationA Dice—a Doubt—
