To her derided Home
A Weed of Summer came --
She did not know her station low
Nor Ignominy's Name --
Bestowed a summer long
Upon a frameless flower --
Then swept as lightly from disdain
As Lady from her Bower --

Of Bliss the Codes are few --
As Jesus cites of Him --
"Come unto me" the moiety
That wafts the Seraphim --

He ate and drank the precious Words --
His Spirit grew robust --
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was Dust --

He danced along the dingy Days
And this Bequest of Wings
Was but a Book -- What Liberty
A loosened spirit brings --

This Me -- that walks and works -- must die,
Some fair or stormy Day,
Adversity if it may be
Or wild prosperity
The Rumor's Gate was shut so tight
Before my mind was born
Not even a Prognostic's push
Can make a Dent thereon --

Cosmopolities without a plea
Alight in every Land
The compliments of Paradise
From those within my Hand

Their dappled Journey to themselves
A compensation fair
Knock and it shall be opened
Is their Theology

Not at Home to Callers
Says the Naked Tree --
Bonnet due in April --
Wishing you Good Day --

The Bobolink is gone --
The Rowdy of the Meadow --
And no one swaggers now but me --
The Presbyterian Birds
Can now resume the Meeting
He boldly interrupted that overflowing Day
When supplicating mercy
In a portentous way
He swung upon the Decalogue
And shouted let us pray --

The Lassitudes of Contemplation
Beget a force
They are the spirit's still vacation
That him refresh --
The Dreams consolidate in action --
What mettle fair

There came a Wind like a Bugle --
It quivered through the Grass
And a Green Chill upon the Heat
So ominous did pass
We barred the Windows and the Doors
As from an Emerald Ghost --
The Doom's electric Moccasin
That very instant passed --
On a strange Mob of panting Trees
And Fences fled away
And Rivers where the Houses ran
Those looked that lived -- that Day --
The Bell within the steeple wild
The flying tidings told --
How much can come
And much can go,
And yet abide the World!

Immured in Heaven!
What a Cell!
Let every Bondage be,
Thou sweetest of the Universe,
Like that which ravished thee!

Declaiming Waters none may dread --
But Waters that are still
Are so for that most fatal cause
In Nature -- they are full --

Few, yet enough,
Enough is One --
To that ethereal throng
Have not each one of us the right
To stealthily belong?

'Tis not the swaying frame we miss,
It is the steadfast Heart,
That had it beat a thousand years,
With Love alone had bent,
Its fervor the electric Oar,
That bore it through the Tomb,
Ourselves, denied the privilege,
Consolelessly presume --

Who is it seeks my Pillow Nights --
With plain inspecting face --
"Did you" or "Did you not," to ask --
'Tis "Conscience" -- Childhood's Nurse --

With Martial Hand she strokes the Hair
Upon my wincing Head --
"All" Rogues "shall have their part in" what --
The Phosphorous of God --

Though the great Waters sleep,
That they are still the Deep,
We cannot doubt --
No vacillating God
Ignited this Abode
To put it out --