The Road was lit with Moon and star
The Road was lit with Moon and star The Trees were bright and still Descried I by the distant Light A Traveller on a Hill To magic Perpendiculars Ascending, though Terrene Unknown his shimmering
The grave my little cottage is
The grave my little cottage is, Where “Keeping house” for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly, A cycle, it may be, Till everlasting life unite
Summer has two Beginnings
Summer has two Beginnings Beginning once in June Beginning in October Affectingly again Without, perhaps, the Riot But graphicker for Grace As finer is a going Than a remaining Face Departing then forever Forever
Exhilaration is the Breeze
Exhilaration is the Breeze That lifts us from the Ground And leaves us in another place Whose statement is not found Returns us not, but after time We soberly descend A little newer for
As if some little Arctic flower
As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came To continents of summer To firmaments of sun To strange, bright crowds of flowers And
The feet of people walking home
The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go The Crocus til she rises The Vassal of the snow The lips at Hallelujah Long years of practise bore Til bye and bye these
No Life can pompless pass away
No Life can pompless pass away The lowliest career To the same Pageant wends its way As that exalted here How cordial is the mystery! The hospitable Pall A “this way” beckons spaciously A
To own the Art within the Soul
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
Promise This When You be Dying
Promise This When You be Dying Some shall summon Me Mine belong Your latest Sighing Mine to Belt Your Eye Not with Coins though they be Minted From an Emperor’s Hand Be my lips
Of nearness to her sundered Things
Of nearness to her sundered Things The Soul has special times When Dimness looks the Oddity Distinctness easy seems The Shapes we buried, dwell about, Familiar, in the Rooms Untarnished by the Sepulchre, The
Me prove it now Whoever doubt
Me prove it now Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it now Make haste the Scruple! Death be scant For Opportunity The River reaches to my feet As yet My Heart be dry Oh
I was a Phoebe nothing more
I was a Phoebe nothing more A Phoebe nothing less The little note that others dropt I fitted into place I dwelt too low that any seek Too shy, that any blame A Phoebe
I could die to know
I could die to know ‘Tis a trifling knowledge News-Boys salute the Door Carts joggle by Morning’s bold face stares in the window Were but mine the Charter of the least Fly Houses hunch
She rose to His Requirement dropt
She rose to His Requirement dropt The Playthings of Her Life To take the honorable Work Of Woman, and of Wife If ought She missed in Her new Day, Of Amplitude, or Awe Or
To pile like Thunder to its close
To pile like Thunder to its close Then crumble grand away While Everything created hid This would be Poetry Or Love the two coeval come We both and neither prove Experience either and consume