I like to see it lap the miles,

The nuts are getting brown—The berry’s cheek is plumper—The Rose is out of town.The Maple wears a gayer scarf—The field a scarlet gown—Lest I should be old fashionedI’ll put a trinket on.

Oh Jesus—in the Air—I know not which thy chamber is—I’m knocking—everywhere—Thou settest Earthquake in the South—And Maelstrom, in the Sea—Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth—Hast thou no Arm for Me?

That were the Mind dissolved—The Site—of it—by ArchitectCould not again be proved—‘Tis vast—as our Capacity—As fair—as our idea—To Him of adequate desireNo further ’tis, than Here—

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—

Three times—He would not go—But strove to stir the lifeless FanThe Waters—strove to stay.Three Times—the Billows tossed me up—Then caught me—like a Ball—Then made Blue faces in my face—And pushed away a sailThat crawled Leagues off—I liked to see—For thinking—while I die—How pleasant to behold a ThingWhere Human faces—be—The Waves grew sleepy—Breath—did not—The Winds—like Children—lulled—Then…

And a Green Chill upon the HeatSo ominous did passWe barred the Windows and the DoorsAs from an Emerald Ghost –The Doom’s electric MoccasinThe very instant passed –On a strange Mob of panting TreesAnd Fences fled awayAnd Rivers where the Houses ranThose looked that lived – that Day –The Bell within the steeple wildThe flying…

But Flowers—negotiate between us—As Ministry.

Then drop the paste,And deem ourself a fool.The shapes, though, were similar,And our new handsLearned gem-tacticsPractising sands.

I fear a Silent Man—Haranguer—I can overtake—Or Babbler—entertain—But He who weigheth—While the Rest—Expend their furthest pound—Of this Man—I am wary—I fear that He is Grand—

Show justest—through an Open Tomb—The Dying—as it were a HeightReorganizes EstimateAnd what We saw notWe distinguish clear—And mostly—see notWhat We saw before—‘Tis Compound Vision—Light—enabling Light—The Finite—furnishedWith the Infinite—Convex—and Concave Witness—Back—toward Time—And forward—Toward the God of Him—

That gust and storm are by,Yet is she more convincingThan Philosophy.My flowers turn from Forums—Yet eloquent declareWhat Cato couldn’t prove meExcept the birds were here!

And how if He be dead—And so around the Words I went—Of meeting them—afraid—I hinted Changes—Lapse of Time—The Surfaces of Years—I touched with Caution—lest they crack—And show me to my fears—Reverted to adjoining Lives—Adroitly turning outWherever I suspected Graves—‘Twas prudenter—I thought—And He—I pushed—with sudden force—In face of the Suspense—‘Was buried’—’Buried’! ‘He!’My Life just holds the…

In keen and quivering ratioTo the ectasty.For each beloved hourSharp pittances of years,Bitter contested farthingsAnd coffers heaped with tears.

I deemed EternityA Revelation of Yourself—‘Twas therefore DeityThe Absolute—removedThe Relative away—That I unto Himself adjustMy slow idolatry—

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?

Day and I—in competition ran—I finished Two—and several Stars—While He—was making One—His own was ampler—but as IWas saying to a friend—Mine—is the more convenientTo Carry in the Hand—

Invests so mean a brow!Almost a powdered FootmanMight dare to touch it now!Wait till in Everlasting RobesThat Democrat is dressed,Then prate about ‘Preferment’—And ‘Station,’ and the rest!Around this quiet CourtierObsequious Angels wait!Full royal is his Retinue!Full purple is his state!A Lord, might dare to lift the HatTo such a Modest ClaySince that My Lord, ‘the…

Enclosed ’twas not of RailA Consciousness its Acre, andIt held a Human Soul.Entombed by whom, for what offenceIf Home or Foreign born—Had I the curiosity‘Twere not appeased of menTill Resurrection, I must guessDenied the small desireA Rose upon its Ridge to sowOr take away a Briar.