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I tie my Hat -- I crease my Shawl --
Life's little duties do -- precisely --
As the very least
Were infinite -- to me --

I put new Blossoms in the Glass --
And throw the old -- away --
I push a petal from my gown
That anchored there -- I weigh
The time 'twill be till six o'clock
I have so much to do --
And yet -- Existence -- some way back --
Stopped -- struck -- my tickling -- through --
We cannot put Ourself away
As a completed Man
Or Woman -- When the Errand's done
We came to Flesh -- upon --
There may be -- Miles on Miles of Nought --
Of Action -- sicker far --
To simulate -- is stinging work --
To cover what we are
From Science -- and from Surgery --
Too Telescopic Eyes
To bear on us unshaded --
For their -- sake -- not for Ours --
'Twould start them --
We -- could tremble --
But since we got a Bomb --
And held it in our Bosom --
Nay -- Hold it -- it is calm --

Therefore -- we do life's labor --
Though life's Reward -- be done --
With scrupulous exactness --
To hold our Senses -- on --

It feels a shame to be Alive --
When Men so brave -- are dead --
One envies the Distinguished Dust --
Permitted -- such a Head --

The Stone -- that tells defending Whom
This Spartan put away
What little of Him we -- possessed
In Pawn for Liberty --

The price is great -- Sublimely paid --
Do we deserve -- a Thing --
That lives -- like Dollars -- must be piled
Before we may obtain?

Are we that wait -- sufficient worth --
That such Enormous Pearl
As life -- dissolved be -- for Us --
In Battle's -- horrid Bowl?

It may be -- a Renown to live --
I think the Man who die --
Those unsustained -- Saviors --
Present Divinity --

'Twas just this time, last year, I died.
I know I heard the Corn,
When I was carried by the Farms --
It had the Tassels on --

I thought how yellow it would look --
When Richard went to mill --
And then, I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.

I thought just how Red -- Apples wedged
The Stubble's joints between --
And the Carts stooping round the fields
To take the Pumpkins in --

I wondered which would miss me, least,
And when Thanksgiving, came,
If Father'd multiply the plates --
To make an even Sum --

And would it blur the Christmas glee
My Stocking hang too high
For any Santa Claus to reach
The Altitude of me --

But this sort, grieved myself,
And so, I thought the other way,
How just this time, some perfect year --
Themself, should come to me --

I showed her Heights she never saw --
"Would'st Climb," I said?
She said -- "Not so" --
"With me --" I said -- With me?
I showed her Secrets -- Morning's Nest --
The Rope the Nights were put across --
And now -- "Would'st have me for a Guest?"
She could not find her Yes --
And then, I brake my life -- And Lo,
A Light, for her, did solemn glow,
The larger, as her face withdrew --
And could she, further, "No"?

Could -- I do more -- for Thee --
Wert Thou a Bumble Bee --
Since for the Queen, have I --
Nought but Bouquet?

This was a Poet -- It is That
Distills amazing sense
From ordinary Meanings --
And Attar so immense

From the familiar species
That perished by the Door --
We wonder it was not Ourselves
Arrested it -- before --

Of Pictures, the Discloser --
The Poet -- it is He --
Entitles Us -- by Contrast --
To ceaseless Poverty --

Of portion -- so unconscious --
The Robbing -- could not harm --
Himself -- to Him -- a Fortune --
Exterior -- to Time --

I died for Beauty -- but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room --

He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
"For Beauty", I replied --
"And I -- for Truth -- Themself are One --
We Brethren, are", He said --

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night --
We talked between the Rooms --
Until the Moss had reached our lips --
And covered up -- our names --