As if the cloud that instant slit
And let the fire through.
It burned me in the night,
It blistered in my dream;
It sickened fresh upon my sight
With every morning’s beam.
I thought that storm was brief,–
The maddest, quickest by;
But Nature lost the date of this,
And left it in the sky.
To remember how sad I amWould be an easy adversityBut the recollecting of BloomKeeps making November difficultTill I who was almost boldLose my way like a little ChildAnd perish of the cold.
Indemnity for LonelinessThat such a Bliss has been.
Fingers denied the plucking,Patient till paradise.To such, if they should whisperOf morning and the moor,They bear no other errand,And I, no other prayer.
The shining Courtiers go—Veiling the purple, and the plumes—Veiling the ermine so.Smiling, as they request an alms—At some imposing door!Smiling when we walk barefootUpon their golden floor!
Is like the child’s adversityWhose vista is a hill,Behind the hill is sorceryAnd everything unknown,But will the secret compensateFor climbing it alone?
A loss or so—To bend the eyeBest Beauty’s way—But—once aslantIt notes DelightAs difficultAs StalactiteA Common BlissWere had for less—The price—isEven as the Grace—Our lord—thought noExtravaganceTo pay—a Cross—
