Poems No. 300-399
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300

"Morning" -- means "Milking" -- to the Farmer --
Dawn -- to the Teneriffe --
Dice -- to the Maid --
Morning means just Risk -- to the Lover --
Just revelation -- to the Beloved --

Epicures -- date a Breakfast -- by it --
Brides -- an Apocalypse --
Worlds -- a Flood --
Faint-going Lives -- Their Lapse from Sighing --
Faith -- The Experiment of Our Lord

 


301

I reason, Earth is short --
And Anguish -- absolute --
And many hurt,
But, what of that?

I reason, we could die --
The best Vitality
Cannot excel Decay,
But, what of that?

I reason, that in Heaven --
Somehow, it will be even --
Some new Equation, given --
But, what of that?

 


302

Like Some Old fashioned Miracle
When Summertime is done --
Seems Summer's Recollection
And the Affairs of June

As infinite Tradition
As Cinderella's Bays --
Or Little John -- of Lincoln Green --
Or Blue Beard's Galleries --

Her Bees have a fictitious Hum --
Her Blossoms, like a Dream --
Elate us -- till we almost weep --
So plausible -- they seem --

Her Memories like Strains -- Review --
When Orchestra is dumb --
The Violin in Baize replaced --
And Ear -- and Heaven -- numb --

 


303

The Soul selects her own Society --
Then -- shuts the Door --
To her divine Majority --
Present no more --

Unmoved -- she notes the Chariots -- pausing --
At her low Gate --
Unmoved -- an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat --

I've known her -- from an ample nation --
Choose One --
Then -- close the Valves of her attention --
Like Stone --

 


304

The Day came slow -- till Five o'clock --
Then sprang before the Hills
Like Hindered Rubies -- or the Light
A Sudden Musket -- spills --

The Purple could not keep the East --
The Sunrise shook abroad
Like Breadths of Topaz -- packed a Night --
The Lady just unrolled --

The Happy Winds -- their Timbrels took --
The Birds -- in docile Rows
Arranged themselves around their Prince
The Wind -- is Prince of Those --

The Orchard sparkled like a Jew --
How mighty 'twas -- to be
A Guest in this stupendous place --
The Parlor -- of the Day --

 


305

The difference between Despair
And Fear -- is like the One
Between the instant of a Wreck
And when the Wreck has been --

The Mind is smooth -- no Motion --
Contented as the Eye
Upon the Forehead of a Bust --
That knows -- it cannot see --

 


306

The Soul's Superior instants
Occur to Her -- alone --
When friend -- and Earth's occasion
Have infinite withdrawn --

Or She -- Herself -- ascended
To too remote a Height
For lower Recognition
Than Her Omnipotent --

This Mortal Abolition
Is seldom -- but as fair
As Apparition -- subject
To Autocratic Air --

Eternity's disclosure
To favorites -- a few --
Of the Colossal substance
Of Immortality

 


307

The One who could repeat the Summer day --
Were greater than itself -- though He
Minutest of Mankind should be --

And He -- could reproduce the Sun --
At period of going down --
The Lingering -- and the Stain -- I mean --

When Orient have been outgrown
And Occident -- become Unknown --
His Name -- remain --

 


308

I send Two Sunsets --
Day and I -- in competition ran --
I finished Two -- and several Stars --
While He -- was making One --

His own was ampler -- but as I
Was saying to a friend --
Mine -- is the more convenient
To Carry in the Hand --

 


309

For largest Woman's Hearth I knew --
'Tis little I can do --
And yet the largest Woman's Heart
Could hold an Arrow -- too --
And so, instructed by my own,
I tenderer, turn Me to.

 


310

Give little Anguish --
Lives will fret --
Give Avalanches --
And they'll slant --
Straighten -- look cautious for their Breath --
But make no syllable -- like Death --
Who only shows the Marble Disc --
Sublimer sort -- than Speech --

 


311

It sifts from Leaden Sieves --
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road --

It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain --
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again --

It reaches to the Fence --
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces --
It deals Celestial Vail

To Stump, and Stack -- and Stem --
A Summer's empty Room --
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them--

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen --
Then stills its Artisans -- like Ghosts --
Denying they have been --

 

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