To own the Art within the Soul
The Soul to entertain
With Silence as a Company
And Festival maintain

Is an unfurnished Circumstance
Possession is to One
As an Estate perpetual
Or a reduceless Mine.

There is a finished feeling
Experienced at Graves --
A leisure of the Future --
A Wilderness of Size.

By Death's bold Exhibition
Preciser what we are
And the Eternal function
Enabled to infer.

Uncertain lease -- develops lustre
On Time
Uncertain Grasp, appreciation
Of Sum --

The shorter Fate -- is oftener the chiefest
Because
Inheritors upon a tenure
Prize --

This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life
I mention it to you,
When Sunrise through a fissure drop
The Day must follow too.

If we demur, its gaping sides
Disclose as 'twere a Tomb
Ourself am lying straight wherein
The Favorite of Doom.

When it has just contained a Life
Then, Darling, it will close
And yet so bolder every Day
So turbulent it grows

I'm tempted half to stitch it up
With a remaining Breath
I should not miss in yielding, though
To Him, it would be Death --

And so I bear it big about
My Burial -- before
A Life quite ready to depart
Can harass me no more --

A doubt if it be Us
Assists the staggering Mind
In an extremer Anguish
Until it footing find.

An Unreality is lent,
A merciful Mirage
That makes the living possible
While it suspends the lives.

Absence disembodies -- so does Death
Hiding individuals from the Earth
Superposition helps, as well as love --
Tenderness decreases as we prove --

Split the Lark -- and you'll find the Music --
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled --
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.

Loose the Flood -- you shall find it patent --
Gush after Gush, reserved for you --
Scarlet Experiment!  Sceptic Thomas!
Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true?

Light is sufficient to itself --
If Others want to see
It can be had on Window Panes
Some Hours in the Day.

But not for Compensation --
It holds as large a Glow
To Squirrel in the Himmaleh
Precisely, as to you.

That Distance was between Us
That is not of Mile or Main --
The Will it is that situates --
Equator -- never can --

The Robin for the Crumb
Returns no syllable
But long records the Lady's name
In Silver Chronicle.

He outstripped Time with but a Bout,
He outstripped Stars and Sun
And then, unjaded, challenged God
In presence of the Throne.

And He and He in mighty List
Unto this present, run,
The larger Glory for the less
A just sufficient Ring.

Fame is the tine that Scholars leave
Upon their Setting Names --
The Iris not of Occident
That disappears as comes --

Escaping backward to perceive
The Sea upon our place --
Escaping forward, to confront
His glittering Embrace --

Retreating up, a Billow's height
Retreating blinded down
Our undermining feet to meet
Instructs to the Divine.

They ask but our Delight --
The Darlings of the Soil
And grant us all their Countenance
For a penurious smile.

Because the Bee may blameless hum
For Thee a Bee do I become
List even unto Me.

Because the Flowers unafraid
May lift a look on thine, a Maid
Alway a Flower would be.

Nor Robins, Robins need not hide
When Thou upon their Crypts intrude
So Wings bestow on Me
Or Petals, or a Dower of Buzz
That Bee to ride, or Flower of Furze
I that way worship Thee.

Finding is the first Act
The second, loss,
Third, Expedition for
The "Golden Fleece"

Fourth, no Discovery --
Fifth, no Crew --
Finally, no Golden Fleece --
Jason -- sham -- too.