Silence is all we dread.

Whole Pools of it—I’m used to that—But the least push of JoyBreaks up my feet—And I tip—drunken—Let no Pebble—smile—‘Twas the New Liquor—That was all!Power is only Pain—Stranded, thro’ Discipline,Till Weights—will hang—Give Balm—to Giants—And they’ll wilt, like Men—Give Himmaleh—They’ll Carry—Him!

The Color too remoteThat I could show it in Bazaar—A Guinea at a sight—The fine—impalpable Array—That swaggers on the eyeLike Cleopatra’s Company—Repeated—in the sky—The Moments of DominionThat happen on the SoulAnd leave it with a DiscontentToo exquisite—to tell—The eager look—on Landscapes—As if they just repressedSome Secret—that was pushingLike Chariots—in the Vest—The Pleading of the Summer—That…

‘Would’st Climb,’ I said?She said—’Not so’—‘With me—’ I said—With me?I showed her Secrets—Morning’s Nest—The Rope the Nights were put across—And now—’Would’st have me for a Guest?’She could not find her Yes—And then, I brake my life—And Lo,A Light, for her, did solemn glow,The larger, as her face withdrew—And could she, further, ‘No’?

But the success was his, it seems,And the discomfit mine.I meant to tell her how I longedFor just this single time;But Death had told her so the first,And she had hearkened him.To wander now is my abode;To rest,–to rest would beA privilege of hurricaneTo memory and me.

It cannot be again—When Fate hath taunted lastAnd thrown Her furthest Stone—The Maimed may pause, and breathe,And glance securely round—The Deer attracts no furtherThan it resists—the Hound—

From His amazing House—And leave a Day at every DoorA Deed, in every place—Without the incident of FameOr accident of Noise—The Earth has seemed to me a Drum,Pursued of little Boys