Life and Existence

The Dying, is a trifle, past But living, this include The dying multifold—without The Respite to be dead.

The Dying, is a trifle, past But living, this include The dying multifold—without The Respite to be dead.

Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth.

Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth.

Dying! To be afraid of thee One must to thine Artillery Have left exposed a Friend— Than thine old Arrow is a Shot Delivered straighter to the Heart The leaving Love behind.

This quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies And Lads and Girls— Was laughter and ability and Sighing, And Frocks and Curls.

God gave a Loaf to every Bird— But just a Crumb—to Me—

Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One— Surfeit! When the Daffodil Doth of the Dew— Even as Herself—Sir— I will—of You—

Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Ourselves And Immortality.

Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Ourselves And Immortality.

Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Ourselves And Immortality.

The Brain—is wider than the Sky— For—put them side by side— The one the other will contain With ease—and You—beside.

It was not Death, for I stood up, And all the Dead, lie down—

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

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

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

Much Madness is divinest Sense— To a discerning Eye— Much Sense—the starkest Madness— ’Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail— Assent—and you are sane— Demur—you’re straightway dangerous— And handled with a Chain.

Except Thyself may be Thine Enemy— Captivity is Consciousness— So’s Liberty.

Good Morning—Midnight— I’m coming Home— Day—got tired of Me— How could I—of Him?

Of Course—I prayed— And did God Care? He cared as much as on the Air A Bird—had stamped her foot— And cried “Give Me”—

After great pain, a formal feeling comes.

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last— I’m going, all along.

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last— I’m going, all along.

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church— I keep it, staying at Home— With a bobolink for a Chorister— And an Orchard, for a Dome—