The only Ghost I ever saw Was dressed in Mechlin so He wore no sandal on his foot And stepped like flakes of snow His Gait was soundless, like the Bird But rapid like

Is Heaven a Physician? They say that He can heal But Medicine Posthumous Is unavailable Is Heaven an Exchequer? They speak of what we owe But that negotiation I’m not a Party to

He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years All crumpled was the cheek No other kiss had known Than flake of snow,

Unto like Story Trouble has enticed me How Kinsmen fell Brothers and Sister who preferred the Glory And their young will Bent to the Scaffold, or in Dungeons chanted Till God’s full time When

The World stands solemner to me Since I was wed to Him A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s name A doubt if it be fair indeed To wear that perfect pearl The

We shun it ere it comes, Afraid of Joy, Then sue it to delay And lest it fly, Beguile it more and more May not this be Old Suitor Heaven, Like our dismay at

Now I knew I lost her Not that she was gone But Remoteness travelled On her Face and Tongue. Alien, though adjoining As a Foreign Race Traversed she though pausing Latitudeless Place. Elements Unaltered

Forget! The lady with the Amulet Forget she wore it at her Heart Because she breathed against Was Treason twixt? Deny! Did Rose her Bee For Privilege of Play Or Wile of Butterfly Or

Our little secrets slink away Beside God’s shall not tell He kept his word a Trillion years And might we not as well But for the niggardly delight To make each other stare Is

Eden is that old-fashioned House We dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode Until we drive away. How fair on looking back, the Day We sauntered from the Door Unconscious our returning, But

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

Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself Upon his rare approach Go rapid, lest Competing Death Prevail upon the Coach Go timid, should his final eye Determine thee amiss Go boldly for thou paid’st

How Human Nature dotes On what it can’t detect. The moment that a Plot is plumbed Prospective is extinct Prospective is the friend Reserved for us to know When Constancy is clarified Of Curiosity

I suppose the time will come Aid it in the coming When the Bird will crowd the Tree And the Bee be booming. I suppose the time will come Hinder it a little When

With Pinions of Disdain The soul can farther fly Than any feather specified In Ornithology It wafts this sordid Flesh Beyond its dull control And during its electric gale The body is a soul

Why do they shut Me out of Heaven? Did I sing too loud? But I can say a little “Minor” Timid as a Bird! Wouldn’t the Angels try me Just once more Just see

Unto my Books so good to turn Far ends of tired Days It half endears the Abstinence And Pain is missed in Praise As Flavors cheer Retarded Guests With Banquettings to be So Spices

A faded Boy in sallow Clothes Who drove a lonesome Cow To pastures of Oblivion A statesman’s Embryo The Boys that whistled are extinct The Cows that fed and thanked Remanded to a Ballad’s

What Twigs We held by Oh the View When Life’s swift River striven through We pause before a further plunge To take Momentum As the Fringe Upon a former Garment shows The Garment cast,

My wheel is in the dark! I cannot see a spoke Yet know its dripping feet Go round and round. My foot is on the Tide! An unfrequented road Yet have all roads A

Air has no Residence, no Neighbor, No Ear, no Door, No Apprehension of Another Oh, Happy Air! Ethereal Guest at e’en an Outcast’s Pillow Essential Host, in Life’s faint, wailing Inn, Later than Light

Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me! Of Life? ‘Twere odd I fear [a] thing That comprehendeth me In

Better than Music! For I who heard it I was used to the Birds before This was different ‘Twas Translation Of all tunes I knew and more ‘Twasn’t contained like other stanza No one

When the Astronomer stops seeking For his Pleiad’s Face When the lone British Lady Forsakes the Arctic Race When to his Covenant Needle The Sailor doubting turns It will be amply early To ask

Frequently the wood are pink Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town. Oft a head is crested I was wont to see And as oft a cranny Where it used

My country need not change her gown, Her triple suit as sweet As when ’twas cut at Lexington, And first pronounced “a fit.” Great Britain disapproves, “the stars”; Disparagement discreet, There’s something in their

Essential Oils are wrung The Attar from the Rose Be not expressed by Suns alone It is the gift of Screws The General Rose decay But this in Lady’s Drawer Make Summer When the

By a flower By a letter By a nimble love If I weld the Rivet faster Final fast above Never mind my breathless Anvil! Never mind Repose! Never mind the sooty faces Tugging at

If you were coming in the Fall, I’d brush the Summer by With half a smile, and half a spurn, As Housewives do, a Fly. If I could see you in a year, I’d

A Burdock clawed my Gown Not Burdock’s blame But mine Who went too near The Burdock’s Den A Bog affronts my shoe What else have Bogs to do The only Trade they know The

“Unto Me?” I do not know you Where may be your House? “I am Jesus Late of Judea Now of Paradise” Wagons have you to convey me? This is far from Thence “Arms of

To love thee Year by Year May less appear Than sacrifice, and cease However, dear, Forever might be short, I thought to show And so I pieced it, with a flower, now.

Like Trains of Cars on Tracks of Plush I hear the level Bee A Jar across the Flowers goes Their Velvet Masonry Withstands until the sweet Assault Their Chivalry consumes While He, victorious tilts

When a Lover is a Beggar Abject is his Knee When a Lover is an Owner Different is he What he begged is then the Beggar Oh disparity Bread of Heaven resents bestowal Like

We grow accustomed to the Dark When light is put away As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp To witness her Goodbye A Moment We uncertain step For newness of the night Then fit

My River runs to thee Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me? My River wait reply Oh Sea look graciously I’ll fetch thee Brooks From spotted nooks Say Sea Take Me!

The long sigh of the Frog Upon a Summer’s Day Enacts intoxication Upon the Revery But his receding Swell Substantiates a Peace That makes the Ear inordinate For corporal release

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.

Her spirit rose to such a height Her countenance it did inflate Like one that fed on awe. More prudent to assault the dawn Than merit the ethereal scorn That effervesced from her.

The things we thought that we should do We other things have done But those peculiar industries Have never been begun The Lands we thought that we should seek When large enough to run

So the Eyes accost and sunder In an Audience Stamped occasionally forever So may Countenance Entertain without addressing Countenance of One In a Neighboring Horizon Gone as soon as known

I am ashamed I hide What right have I to be a Bride So late a Dowerless Girl Nowhere to hide my dazzled Face No one to teach me that new Grace Nor introduce

In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go Veiling the purple, and the plumes Veiling the ermine so. Smiling, as they request an alms At some imposing door! Smiling when we walk barefoot

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!

My life closed twice before its close It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me So huge, so hopeless to conceive As these that twice befell. Parting is all

The Martyr Poets did not tell But wrought their Pang in syllable That when their mortal name be numb Their mortal fate encourage Some The Martyr Painters never spoke Bequeathing rather to their Work

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” My Reason Life I had not had but

‘Tis Sunrise Little Maid Hast Thou No Station in the Day? ‘Twas not thy wont, to hinder so Retrieve thine industry ‘Tis Noon My little Maid Alas and art thou sleeping yet? The Lily

‘Twas fighting for his Life he was That sort accomplish well The Ordnance of Vitality Is frugal of its Ball. It aims once kills once conquers once There is no second War In that

Delight is as the flight Or in the Ratio of it, As the Schools would say The Rainbow’s way A Skein Flung colored, after Rain, Would suit as bright, Except that flight Were Aliment