It is not death, that sometime in a sigh

IPaery, my man! has thy brave legYet struck its foot against the pegOn which the world is spun?Or hast thou found No ThoroughfareWrit by the hand of Nature thereWhere man has never run!IIHast thou yet traced the Great UnknownOf channels in the Frozen Zone,Or held at Icy Bay,Hast thou still miss’d the proper trackFor homeward…

And, at her foot-print, but a bygone pace,The ocean-past, which, with increasing wave,Swallow’d her steps like a pursuing grave.Sad were my thoughts that anchor’d silentlyOn the dead waters of that passionless sea,Unstirr’d by any touch of living breath:Silence hung over it, and drowsy Death,Like a gorged sea-bird, slept with folded wingsOn crowded carcases—sad passive thingsThat…

No dawn – no dusk – no proper time of day.No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,No comfortable feel in any member –No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! –November!

No dawn–no dusk–no proper time of day–No sky–no earthly view–No distance looking blue–No road–no street–no ‘t’other side this way’–No end to any Row–No indications where the Crescents go–No top to any steeple–No recognitions of familiar people–No courtesies for showing ’em–No knowing ’em!No traveling at all–no locomotion–No inkling of the way–no notion–‘No go’ by land or…

With eyelids heavy and red,A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,Plying her needle and thread–Stitch! stitch! stitch!In poverty, hunger, and dirt,And still with a voice of dolorous pitchShe sang the ‘Song of the Shirt.’‘Work! work! work!While the cock is crowing aloof!And work — work — work,Till the stars shine through the roof!It’s Oh! to be a…

It was the Time of Roses,—We plucked them as we passed!That churlish season never frown’dOn early lovers yet:—Oh, no—the world was newly crown’dWith flowers when first we met!‘Twas twilight, and I bade you go,But still you held me fast;It was the Time of Roses,—We pluck’d them as we pass’d.—What else could peer thy glowing cheek,That…