It came his turn to beg --
The begging for the life
Is different from another Alms
'Tis Penury in Chief --

I scanned his narrow realm
I gave him leave to live
Lest Gratitude revive the snake
Though smuggled his reprieve

Its little Ether Hood
Doth sit upon its Head --
The millinery supple
Of the sagacious God --

Till when it slip away
A nothing at a time --
And Dandelion's Drama
Expires in a stem.

I saw the wind within her
I knew it blew for me --
But she must buy my shelter
I asked Humility

More than the Grave is closed to me --
The Grave and that Eternity
To which the Grave adheres --
I cling to nowhere till I fall --
The Crash of nothing, yet of all --
How similar appears --

Of whom so dear
The name to hear
Illumines with a Glow
As intimate -- as fugitive
As Sunset on the snow --

She could not live upon the Past
The Present did not know her
And so she sought this sweet at last
And nature gently owned her
The mother that has not a knell
for either Duke or Robin

Summer is shorter than any one --
Life is shorter than Summer --
Seventy Years is spent as quick
As an only Dollar --

Sorrow -- now -- is polite -- and stays --
See how well we spurn him --
Equally to abhor Delight --
Equally retain him --

The Pile of Years is not so high
As when you came before
But it is rising every Day
From recollection's Floor
And while by standing on my Heart
I still can reach the top
Efface the mountain with your face
And catch me ere I drop

You cannot make Remembrance grow
When it has lost its Root --
The tightening the Soil around
And setting it upright
Deceives perhaps the Universe
But not retrieves the Plant --
Real Memory, like Cedar Feet
Is shod with Adamant --
Nor can you cut Remembrance down
When it shall once have grown --
Its Iron Buds will sprout anew
However overthrown --

Mine Enemy is growing old --
I have at last Revenge --
The Palate of the Hate departs --
If any would avenge

Let him be quick -- the Viand flits --
It is a faded Meat --
Anger as soon as fed is dead --
'Tis starving makes it fat --

How happy is the little Stone
That rambles in the Road alone,
And doesn't care about Careers
And Exigencies never fears --
Whose Coat of elemental Brown
A passing Universe put on,
And independent as the Sun
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute Decree
In casual simplicity --

My country need not change her gown,
Her triple suit as sweet
As when 'twas cut at Lexington,
And first pronounced "a fit."

Great Britain disapproves, "the stars";
Disparagement discreet, --
There's something in their attitude
That taunts her bayonet.

All things swept sole away
This -- is immensity --

"Go travelling with us!"
Her travels daily be
By routes of ecstasy
To Evening's Sea --

An Antiquated Tree
Is cherished of the Crow
Because that Junior Foliage is disrespectful now
To venerable Birds
Whose Corporation Coat
Would decorate Oblivion's
Remotest Consulate.

The Things that never can come back, are several --
Childhood -- some forms of Hope -- the Dead --
Though Joys -- like Men -- may sometimes make a Journey --
And still abide --
We do not mourn for Traveler, or Sailor,
Their Routes are fair --
But think enlarged of all that they will tell us
Returning here --
"Here!"  There are typic "Heres" --
Foretold Locations --
The Spirit does not stand --
Himself -- at whatsoever Fathom
His Native Land --

No Autumn's intercepting Chill
Appalls this Tropic Breast --
But African Exuberance
And Asiatic rest.

How much of Source escapes with thee --
How chief thy sessions be --
For thou hast borne a universe
Entirely away.