When a Lover is a Beggar

When sense from spirit files away,And subterfuge is done;When that which is and that which wasApart, intrinsic, stand,And this brief tragedy of fleshIs shifted like a sand;When figures show their royal frontAnd mists are carved sway,–Behold the atom I FeferredTo all the lists of clay!

Derives its Magnitude—‘Tis Duke, or Dwarf, accordingAs is the Central Mood—The fine—unvarying AxisThat regulates the Wheel—Though Spokes—spin—more conspicuousAnd fling a dust—the while.The Inner—paints the Outer—The Brush without the Hand—Its Picture publishes—precise—As is the inner Brand—On fine—Arterial Canvas—A Cheek—perchance a Brow—The Star’s whole Secret—in the Lake—Eyes were not meant to know.

Are incomplete, and shy—For Greatness, that is ill at easeIn minor Company—A Smaller, could not be perturbed—The Summer Gnat displays—Unconscious that his single FleetDo not comprise the skies—

To see if it was there—I held my spirit to the Glass,To prove it possibler—I turned my Being round and roundAnd paused at every poundTo ask the Owner’s name—For doubt, that I should know the Sound—I judged my features—jarred my hair—I pushed my dimples by, and waited—If they—twinkled back—Conviction might, of me—I told myself, ‘Take…

Some that never layMake their first Repose this WinterI admonish TheeBlanket Wealthier the NeighborWe so new bestowThan thine acclimated CreatureWilt Thou, Austere Snow?

He bit an angle-worm in halvesAnd ate the fellow, raw.And then he drank a dewFrom a convenient grass,And the hopped sideways to the wallTo let a beetle pass.He glanced with rapid eyesThat hurried all abroad, –They looked like frightened beads, I thoughtHe stirred his velvet head.Like one in danger; cautious,I offered him a crumb,And he…