The Butterfly’s Assumption Gown

Though his surpassing MeritIs freely certifiedBy every Broom and BridgetThroughout a Christian Land –Neglected Son of GeniusI take thee by the Hand –

For his Pleiad’s Face—When the lone British LadyForsakes the Arctic RaceWhen to his Covenant NeedleThe Sailor doubting turns—It will be amply earlyTo ask what treason means.

Two—be finished using—Well enough for Schools—But for Minor Choosing—Life—just—or Death—Or the Everlasting—More—would be too vastFor the Soul’s Comprising—

Tapped soft upon the TownWith ‘I am great and cannot waitSo therefore let me in.’‘You’re soon,’ the Town replied,‘My Faces are asleep—But swear, and I will let you by,You will not wake them up.’The easy Guest compliedBut once within the TownThe transport of His CountenanceAwakened Maid and ManThe Neighbor in the PoolUpon His Hip elateMade…

Were Universe—one Rock—And fr I heard his silver CallThe other side the Block—I’d tunnel—till my GroovePushed sudden thro’ to his—Then my face take her Recompense—The looking in his Eyes—But ’tis a single Hair—A filament—a law—A Cobweb—wove in Adamant—A Battlement—of Straw—A limit like the VeilUnto the Lady’s face—But every Mesh—a Citadel—And Dragons—in the Crease—

Oh let me immediately ‘fade’!If this is ‘dying’Bury me, in such a shroud of red!If this is ‘sleep,’On such a nightHow proud to shut the eye!Good Evening, gentle Fellow men!Peacock presumes to die!