The reticent volcano keeps

But when the soul is in pain—The hearing him put his playthings upMakes work difficult—then—It is simple, to ache in the Bone, or the Rind—But Gimlets—among the nerve—Mangle daintier—terribler—Like a Panter in the Glove—

Debated—Rose again—This time—beyond the estimateOf Envy, or of Men—And now, among Circumference—Her steady Boat be seen—At home—among the Billows—AsThe Bough where she was born—

Before it was imperative‘Twas all distinct to me –

This, is the silent endBountiful colored, my Morning roseEarly and sere, its endNever Bud from a StemStepped with so gay a FootNever a Worm so confidentBored at so brave a Root

What right have I—to be a Bride—So late a Dowerless Girl—Nowhere to hide my dazzled Face—No one to teach me that new Grace—Nor introduce—my Soul—Me to adorn—How—tell—Trinket—to make Me beautiful—Fabrics of Cashmere—Never a Gown of Dun—more—Raiment instead—of Pompadour—For Me—My soul—to wear—Fingers—to frame my Round HairOval—as Feudal Ladies wore—Far Fashions—Fair—Skill to hold my Brow like an…

You see, God bless his suddenness,A fellow in the skiesOf independent hues,A little weather-worn,Inspiriting habilimentsOf indigo and brown.With specimens of song,As if for you to choose,Discretion in the interval,With gay delays he goesTo some superior treeWithout a single leaf,And shouts for joy to nobodyBut his seraphic self!