My Garden—like the Beach—

One mitred Afternoon—None can avoid this purple—None evade this Crown!Coach, it insures, and footmen—Chamber, and state, and throng—Bells, also, in the villageAs we ride grand along!What dignified Attendants!What service when we pause!How loyally at partingTheir hundred hats they raise!Her pomp surpassing ermineWhen simple You, and I,Present our meek escutheonAnd claim the rank to die!

Till some odd afternoonThe Alps neglect their CurtainsAnd we look farther on!Italy stands the other side!While like a guard between —The solemn Alps —The siren AlpsForever intervene!

Before it was imperative‘Twas all distinct to me –

Land—by the Oceans passed.Transport—by throe—Peace—by its battles told—Love, by Memorial Mold—Birds, by the Snow.

And just to turn away,The fluttering of her fringesChild my perfidy—Weary for my—————I will singing go—I shall not feel the sleet—then—I shall not fear the snow.Flees so the phantom meadowBefore the breathless Bee—So bubble brooks in desertsOn Ears that dying lie—Burn so the Evening SpiresTo Eyes that Closing go—Hangs so distant Heaven—To a hand below.

I made the Taper shine—Madonna dim, to whom all Feet may come,Regard a Nun—Thou knowest every Woe—Needless to tell thee—so—But can’st thou doThe Grace next to it—heal?That looks a harder skill to us—Still—just as easy, if it be thy WillTo thee—Grant me—Thou knowest, though, so Why tell thee?