We wear our sober Dresses when we die,
But Summer, frilled as for a Holiday
Adjourns her sigh --

To the bright east she flies,
Brothers of Paradise
Remit her home,
Without a change of wings,
Or Love's convenient things,
Enticed to come.

Fashioning what she is,
Fathoming what she was,
We deem we dream --
And that dissolves the days
Through which existence strays
Homeless at home.

No ladder needs the bird but skies
To situate its wings,
Nor any leader's grim baton
Arraigns it as it sings.
The implements of bliss are few --
As Jesus says of Him,
"Come unto me" the moiety
That wafts the cherubim.

The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings --
Like fallow Article --
And not a song pervade his Lips --
Or none perceptible.

His small Umbrella quaintly halved
Describing in the Air
An Arc alike inscrutable
Elate Philosopher.

Deputed from what Firmament --
Of what Astute Abode --
Empowered with what Malignity
Auspiciously withheld --

To his adroit Creator
Acribe no less the praise --
Beneficent, believe me,
His Eccentricities --

The Spirit lasts -- but in what mode --
Below, the Body speaks,
But as the Spirit furnishes --
Apart, it never talks --
The Music in the Violin
Does not emerge alone
But Arm in Arm with Touch, yet Touch
Alone -- is not a Tune --
The Spirit lurks within the Flesh
Like Tides within the Sea
That make the Water live, estranged
What would the Either be?
Does that know -- now -- or does it cease --
That which to this is done,
Resuming at a mutual date
With every future one?
Instinct pursues the Adamant,
Exacting this Reply --
Adversity if it may be, or
Wild Prosperity,
The Rumor's Gate was shut so tight
Before my Mind was sown,
Not even a Prognostic's Push
Could make a Dent thereon --

Morning is due to all --
To some -- the Night --
To an imperial few --
The Auroral light.

Blossoms will run away,
Cakes reign but a Day,
But Memory like Melody
Is pink Eternally.

It would not know if it were spurned,
This gallant little flower --
How therefore safe to be a flower
If one would tamper there.

To enter, it would not aspire --
But may it not despair
That it is not a Cavalier,
To dare and perish there?

We shun it ere it comes,
Afraid of Joy,
Then sue it to delay
And lest it fly,
Beguile it more and more --
May not this be
Old Suitor Heaven,
Like our dismay at thee?

The farthest Thunder that I heard
Was nearer than the Sky
And rumbles still, though torrid Noons
Have lain their missiles by --
The Lightning that preceded it
Struck no one but myself --
But I would not exchange the Bolt
For all the rest of Life --
Indebtedness to Oxygen
The Happy may repay,
But not the obligation
To Electricity --
It founds the Homes and decks the Days
And every clamor bright
Is but the gleam concomitant
Of that waylaying Light --
The Thought is quiet as a Flake --
A Crash without a Sound,
How Life's reverberation
Its Explanation found --

Where Roses would not dare to go,
What Heart would risk the way --
And so I send my Crimson Scouts
To sound the Enemy --

Witchcraft was hung, in History,
But History and I
Find all the Witchcraft that we need
Around us, every Day --

Expanse cannot be lost --
Not Joy, but a Decree
Is Deity --
His Scene, Infinity --
Whose rumor's Gate was shut so tight
Before my Beam was sown,
Not even a Prognostic's push
Could make a Dent thereon --

The World that thou hast opened
Shuts for thee,
But not alone,
We all have followed thee --
Escape more slowly
To thy Tracts of Sheen --
The Tent is listening,
But the Troops are gone!

The Bird her punctual music brings
And lays it in its place --
Its place is in the Human Heart
And in the Heavenly Grace --
What respite from her thrilling toil
Did Beauty ever take --
But Work might be electric Rest
To those that Magic make --