The Savior must have been

That I was found—Shall still my transport be—That once—on me—those Jasper GatesBlazed open—suddenly—That in my awkward—gazing—face—The Angels—softly peered—And touched me with their fleeces,Almost as if they cared—I’m banished—now—you know it—How foreign that can be—You’ll know—Sir—when the Savior’s faceTurns so—away from you—

Said Passion, through contracting Breaths‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’Bore Death from PassionAll His EastHe – sovereign as the SunResituated in the WestAnd the Debate was done.

Combined without a seamLike Raiment of a Dream –Who spun the Auburn Cloth?Computed how the girth?The Chestnut aged growsIn those primeval Clothes –We know that we are wise –Accomplished in Surprise –Yet by this Countryman –This nature – how undone!

This, and my heart beside—This, and my heart, and all the fields—And all the meadows wide—Be sure you count—should I forgetSome one the sum could tell—This, and my heart, and all the BeesWhich in the Clover dwell.

Employed a Fact to visit meAnd scuttle my Balloon –

Lest my beseeching face—at last—Rejected—be—of Her?