Poems List
It don't sound so terrible—quite—as it did
426
It don't sound so terrible—quite—as it did—
I run it over—"Dead", Brain, "Dead."
Put it in Latin—left of my school—
Seems it don't shriek so—under rule.
Turn it, a little—full in the face
A Trouble looks bitterest—
Shift it—just—
Say "When Tomorrow comes this way—
I shall have waded down one Day."
I suppose it will interrupt me some
Till I get accustomed—but then the Tomb
Like other new Things—shows largest—then—
And smaller, by Habit—
It's shrewder then
Put the Thought in advance—a Year—
How like "a fit"—then—
Murder—wear!
It dropped so low in my regard
It dropped so low in my regard
I heard it hit the ground,
And go to pieces on the stones
At bottom of my mind;
Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less
Than I reviled myself
For entertaining plated wares
Upon my silver shelf.
It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon
978
It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon-
The Flower-distinct and Red-
I, passing, thought another Noon
Another in its stead
Will equal glow, and thought no More
But came another Day
To find the Species disappeared-
The Same Locality-
The Sun in place-no other fraud
On Nature's perfect Sum-
Had I but lingered Yesterday-
Was my retrieveless blame-
Much Flowers of this and further Zones
Have perished in my Hands
For seeking its Resemblance-
But unapproached it stands-
The single Flower of the Earth
That I, in passing by
Unconscious was-Great Nature's Face
Passed infinite by Me-
It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
584
It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
I could not feel the Anguish go-
But only knew by looking back-
That something-had benumbed the Track-
Nor when it altered, I could say,
For I had worn it, every day,
As constant as the Childish frock-
I hung upon the Peg, at night.
But not the Grief-that nestled close
As needles-ladies softly press
To Cushions Cheeks-
To keep their place-
Nor what consoled it, I could trace-
Except, whereas 'twas WildernessIt's
better-almost Peace-
Is Bliss then, such Abyss
340
Is Bliss then, such Abyss,
I must not put my foot amiss
For fear I spoil my shoe?
I'd rather suit my foot
Than save my Boot-
For yet to buy another Pair
Is possible,
At any store-
But Bliss, is sold just once.
The Patent lost
None buy it any more-
Say, Foot, decide the point-
The Lady cross, or not?
Verdict for Boot!
Is it true, dear Sue?
218
Is it true, dear Sue?
Are there two?
I shouldn't like to come
For fear of joggling Him!
If I could shut him up
In a Coffee Cup,
Or tie him to a pin
Till I got in-
Or make him fast
To "Toby's" fist-
Hist! Whist! I'd come!
In lands I never saw—they say
124
In lands I never saw—they say
Immortal Alps look down—
Whose Bonnets touch the firmament—
Whose Sandals touch the town—
Meek at whose everlasting feet
A Myriad Daisy play—
Which, Sir, are you and which am I
Upon an August day?
In Winter in my Room
1670
In Winter in my Room
I came upon a Worm-
Pink, lank and warm-
But as he was a worm
And worms presume
Not quite with him at home-
Secured him by a string
To something neighboring
And went along.
A Trifle afterward
A thing occurred
I'd not believe it if I heard
But state with creeping blood-
A snake with mottles rare
Surveyed my chamber floor
In feature as the worm before
But ringed with power-
The very string with which
I tied him-too
When he was mean and new
That string was there-
I shrank-"How fair you are"!
Propitiation's claw"
Afraid," he hissed
"Of me"?
"No cordiality"-
He fathomed me-
Then to a Rhythm Slim
Secreted in his Form
As Patterns swim
Projected him.
That time I flew
Both eyes his way
Lest he pursue
Nor ever ceased to run
Till in a distant Town
Towns on from mine
I set me down
This was a dream.
I'm the little Heart's Ease
176
I'm the little "Heart's Ease"!
I don't care for pouting skies!
If the Butterfly delay
Can I, therefore, stay away?
If the Coward Bumble Bee
In his chimney corner stay,
I, must resoluter be!
Who'll apologize for me?
Dear, Old fashioned, little flower!
Eden is old fashioned, too!
Birds are antiquated fellows!
Heaven does not change her blue.
Nor will I, the little Heart's Ease-
Ever be induced to do!
In Ebon Box, when years have flown
169
In Ebon Box, when years have flown
To reverently peer,
Wiping away the velvet dust
Summers have sprinkled there!
To hold a letter to the light-
Grown Tawny now, with time-
To con the faded syllables
That quickened us like Wine!
Perhaps a Flower's shrivelled check
Among its stores to find-
Plucked far away, some morning-
By gallant-mouldering hand!
A curl, perhaps, from foreheads
Our Constancy forgot-
Perhaps, an Antique trinket-
In vanished fashions set!
And then to lay them quiet back-
And go about its care-
As if the little Ebon Box
Were none of our affair!
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