From lonely prairies and God’s tenderness.
Imperial soul, star of a weedy stream,
Born where the ghosts of buffaloes still dream,
Whose spirit hoof-beats storm above his grave,
Above that breast of earth and prairie-fire —
Fire that freed the slave.
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I. THE DOLL UPON THE TOPMOST BOUGH
This playmate-gift, in Christmas dress,Was taken down and brought to meOne sleety night most comfortless.Her hair was gold, her dolly-sashWas gray brocade, most good to see.The dear toy laughed, and I forgotThe ill the new year promised me.II. ON SUDDENLY RECEIVING A CURL LONG REFUSEDOh, saucy gold circle of fairyland silk —Impudent, intimate, delicate treasure:A…
When I see a young tree
With white leavesAnd white budsBarely tipped with green,In the April weather,In the weeping sunshine—Then I see my lady,My democratic queen,Standing free and equalWith the youngest woodland saplingSwaying, singing in the wind,Delicate and white:Soul so near to blossom,Fragile, strong as death;A kiss from far-off Eden,A flash of Judgment’s trumpet—April’s breath.
[Written to the Most Beautiful Woman in the World]
And never have I been in love with Woman,Always aspiring to be set in tuneWith one who is invisible, inhuman.O laughing girl, cold TRUTH has stepped between,Spoiling the fevers of your virgin face:Making your shining eyes but lead and clay,Mocking your brilliant brain and lady’s grace.TRUTH haunted me the day I wooed and lost,The day…
And must the Senator from Illinois
This brazen gutter idol, reared to powerUpon a leering pyramid of lies?And must the Senator from IllinoisBe the world’s proverb of successful shame,Dazzling all State house flies that steal and steal,Who, when the sad State spares them, count it fame?If once or twice within his new won hallHis vote had counted for the broken men;If…
I look on the specious electrical light
Wickedly red or malignantly greenLike the beads of a young Senegambian queen.Showing, while millions of souls hurry on,The virtues of collars, from sunset till dawn,By dart or by tumble of whirl within whirl,Starting new fads for the shame-weary girl,By maggotry motions in sickening lineProclaiming a hat or a soup or a wine,While there far above…
In which he is remembered in similitude, by reference to Yorick,
Yorick is dead. Boy Hamlet walks forlornBeneath the battlements of Elsinore.Where are those oddities and capers nowThat used to “set the table on a roar”?And do his bauble-bells beyond the cloudsRing out, and shake with mirth the planets bright?No doubt he brings the blessed dead good cheer,But silence broods on Elsinore tonight.That little elf, Ophelia,…