Poems List
I meant to have but modest needs
476
I meant to have but modest needs-
Such as Content-and Heaven-
Within my income-these could lie
And Life and I-keep even-
But since the last-included both-
It would suffice my Prayer
But just for One-to stipulate-
And Grace would grant the Pair-
And so-upon this wise-I prayed-
Great Spirit-Give to me
A Heaven not so large as Yours,
But large enough-for me-
A Smile suffused Jehovah's face-
The Cherubim-withdrew-
Grave Saints stole out to look at me-
And showed their dimples-too-
I left the Place, with all my might-
I threw my Prayer away-
The Quiet Ages picked it up-
And Judgment-twinkled-too-
Tat one so honest-be extant-
It take the Tale for true-
That "Whatsoever Ye shall ask-
Itself be given You"-
But I, grown shrewder-scan the Skies
With a suspicious Air-
As Children-swindled for the first
All Swindlers-be-infer-
I many times thought Peace had come
739
I many times thought Peace had come
When Peace was far away-
As Wrecked Men-deem they sight the Land-
At Centre of the Sea-
And struggle slacker-but to prove
As hopelessly as I-
How many the fictitious Shores-
Before the Harbor be-
I lived on dread; to those who know
I lived on dread; to those who know
The stimulus there is
In danger, other impetus
Is numb and vital-less.
As't were a spur upon the soul,
A fear will urge it where
To go without the spectre's aid
Were challenging despair.
I made slow Riches but my Gain
843
I made slow Riches but my Gain
Was steady as the Sun
And every Night, it numbered more
Than the preceding One
All Days, I did not earn the same
But my perceiveless Gain
Inferred the less by Growing than
The Sum that it had grown.
I like a look of Agony
241
I like a look of Agony,
Because I know it's true-
Men do not sham Convulsion,
Nor simulate, a Throe-
The Eyes glaze once-and that is Death-
Impossible to feign
The Beads upon the Forehead
By homely Anguish strung.
I live with Him—I see His face
463
I live with Him—I see His face—
I go no more away
For Visitor—or Sundown—
Death's single privacy
The Only One—forestalling Mine—
And that—by Right that He
Presents a Claim invisible—
No wedlock—granted Me—
I live with Him—I hear His Voice—
I stand alive—Today—
To witness to the Certainty
Of Immortality—
Taught Me—by Time—the lower Way—
Conviction—Every day—
That Life like This—is stopless—
Be Judgment—what it may—
I know where Wells grow—Droughtless Wells
460
I know where Wells grow—Droughtless Wells—
Deep dug—for Summer days—
Where Mosses go no more away—
And Pebble—safely plays—
It's made of Fathoms—and a Belt—
A Belt of jagged Stone—
Inlaid with Emerald—half way down—
And Diamonds—jumbled on—
It has no Bucket—Were I rich
A Bucket I would buy—
I'm often thirsty—but my lips
Are so high up—You see—
I read in an Old fashioned Book
That People "thirst no more"—
The Wells have Buckets to them there—
It must mean that—I'm sure—
Shall We remember Parching—then?
Those Waters sound so grand—
I think a little Well—like Mine—
Dearer to understand—
I know some lonely Houses off the Road
289
I know some lonely Houses off the Road
A Robber'd like the look of-
Wooden barred,
And Windows hanging low,
Inviting to-
A Portico,
Where two could creepOne-
hand the Tools-
The other peep-
To make sure All's Asleep-
Old fashioned eyes-
Not easy to surprise!
How orderly the Kitchen'd look, by night,
With just a Clock-
But they could gag the Tick-
And Mice won't bark-
And so the Walls-don't tellNone-
will-
A pair of Spectacles ajar just stir-
An Almanac's aware-
Was it the Mat-winked,
Or a Nervous Star?
The Moon-slides down the stair,
To see who's there!
There's plunder-where-
Tankard, or SpoonEarring-
or Stone-
A Watch-Some Ancient Brooch
To match the Grandmama-
Staid sleeping-there
Day-rattles-too
Stealth's-slow-
The Sun has got as far
As the third Sycamore-
Screams Chanticleer
"Who's there"?
And Echoes-Trains away,
Sneer-"Where"!
While the old Couple, just astir,
Fancy the Sunrise-left the door ajar!
I know a place where summer strives
I know a place where summer strives
With such a practised frost,
She each year leads her daisies back,
Recording briefly, 'Lost.'
But when the south wind stirs the pools
And struggles in the lanes,
Her heart misgives her for her vow,
And she pours soft refrains
Into the lap of adamant,
And spices, and the dew,
That stiffens quietly to quartz
Upon her amber shoe.
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