Nor Doubt of Scene to come,
But an adjourning Heart –
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I died for beauty but was scarce
When one who died for truth was lainIn an adjoining room.He questioned softly why I failed?‘For beauty,’ I replied.‘And I for truth,–the two are one;We brethren are,’ he said.And so, as kinsmen met a night,We talked between the rooms,Until the moss had reached our lips,And covered up our names.
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Whose forces Spheric windUntil the Velvet productDrop spicy to the ground—A homelier maturing—A process in the Bur—That teeth of Frosts alone discloseIn far October Air.
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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—
To the bright east she flies,
Remit her home,Without a change of wings,Or Love’s convenient things,Enticed to come.Fashioning what she is,Fathoming what she was,We deem we dream –And that dissolves the daysThrough which existence straysHomeless at home.
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That everlasting—sings!Whose galleries—are Sunrise—Whose Opera—the Springs—Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spinOf mellow—murmuring thread—Whose Beryl Egg, what Schoolboys huntIn ‘Recess’—Overhead!
The Butterfly’s Assumption Gown
This afternoon put on –How condescending to descendAnd be of Buttercups the friendIn a New England Town –