Not so the infinite Relations -- Below
Division is Adhesion's forfeit -- On High
Affliction but a Speculation -- And Woe
A Fallacy, a Figment, We knew --

Somewhat, to hope for,
Be it ne'er so far
Is Capital against Despair --

Somewhat, to suffer,
Be it ne'er so keen --
If terminable, may be borne.

Spring comes on the World --
I sight the Aprils --
Hueless to me until thou come
As, till the Bee
Blossoms stand negative,
Touched to Conditions
By a Hum.

Lest this be Heaven indeed
An Obstacle is given
That always gauges a Degree
Between Ourself and Heaven.

A Sickness of this World it most occasions
When Best Men die.
A Wishfulness their far Condition
To occupy.

A Chief indifference, as Foreign
A World must be
Themselves forsake -- contented,
For Deity.

Nature rarer uses Yellow
Than another Hue.
Saves she all of that for Sunsets
Prodigal of Blue

Spending Scarlet, like a Woman
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly
Like a Lover's Words.

I've dropped my Brain -- My Soul is numb --
The Veins that used to run
Stop palsied -- 'tis Paralysis
Done perfecter on stone

Vitality is Carved and cool.
My nerve in Marble lies --
A Breathing Woman
Yesterday -- Endowed with Paradise.

Not dumb -- I had a sort that moved --
A Sense that smote and stirred --
Instincts for Dance -- a caper part --
An Aptitude for Bird --

Who wrought Carrara in me
And chiselled all my tune
Were it a Witchcraft -- were it Death --
I've still a chance to strain

To Being, somewhere -- Motion -- Breath --
Though Centuries beyond,
And every limit a Decade --
I'll shiver, satisfied.

The Opening and the Close
Of Being, are alike
Or differ, if they do,
As Bloom upon a Stalk.

That from an equal Seed
Unto an equal Bud
Go parallel, perfected
In that they have decayed.

Reportless Subjects, to the Quick
Continual addressed --
But foreign as the Dialect
Of Danes, unto the rest.

Reportless Measures, to the Ear
Susceptive -- stimulus --
But like an Oriental Tale
To others, fabulous --

Pain has but one Acquaintance
And that is Death --
Each one unto the other
Society enough.

Pain is the Junior Party
By just a Second's right --
Death tenderly assists Him
And then absconds from Sight.

As willing lid o'er weary eye
The Evening on the Day leans
Till of all our nature's House
Remains but Balcony

I cannot meet the Spring unmoved --
I feel the old desire --
A Hurry with a lingering, mixed,
A Warrant to be fair --

A Competition in my sense
With something hid in Her --
And as she vanishes, Remorse
I saw no more of Her.

I never saw a Moor --
I never saw the Sea --
Yet know I how the Heather looks
And what a Billow be.

I never spoke with God
Nor visited in Heaven --
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the Checks were given --

It was a quiet way --
He asked if I was his --
I made no answer of the Tongue
But answer of the Eyes --
And then He bore me on
Before this mortal noise
With swiftness, as of Chariots
And distance, as of Wheels.
This World did drop away
As Acres from the feet
Of one that leaneth from Balloon
Upon an Ether street.
The Gulf behind was not,
The Continents were new --
Eternity it was before
Eternity was due.
No Seasons were to us --
It was not Night nor Morn --
But Sunrise stopped upon the place
And fastened it in Dawn.

Not to discover weakness is
The Artifice of strength --
Impregnability inheres
As much through Consciousness

Of faith of others in itself
As Pyramidal Nerve
Behind the most unconscious clock
What skilful Pointers move --

The Soul should always stand ajar
That if the Heaven inquire
He will not be obliged to wait
Or shy of troubling Her

Depart, before the Host have slid
The Bolt unto the Door --
To search for the accomplished Guest,
Her Visitor, no more --