The Popular Heart is a Cannon first
The Popular Heart is a Cannon first Subsequent a Drum Bells for an Auxiliary And an Afterward of Rum Not a Tomorrow to know its name Nor a Past to stare Ditches for Realms
Death sets a Thing significant
Death sets a Thing significant The Eye had hurried by Except a perished Creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little Workmanships In Crayon, or in Wool, With “This was last Her fingers did” Industrious
I learned at least what Home could be
I learned at least what Home could be How ignorant I had been Of pretty ways of Covenant How awkward at the Hymn Round our new Fireside but for this This pattern of the
A train went through a burial gate
A train went through a burial gate, A bird broke forth and sang, And trilled, and quivered, and shook his throat Till all the churchyard rang; And then adjusted his little notes, And bowed
Our little Kinsmen after Rain
Our little Kinsmen after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon. A needless life, it seemed to me Until a little Bird As to a Hospitality
This docile one inter
This docile one inter While we who dare to live Arraign the sunny brevity That sparkled to the Grave. On her departing span No wilderness remain As dauntless in the House of Death As
The Poets light but Lamps
The Poets light but Lamps Themselves go out The Wicks they stimulate If vital Light Inhere as do the Suns Each Age a Lens Disseminating their Circumference
As old as Woe
As old as Woe How old is that? Some eighteen thousand years As old as Bliss How old is that They are of equal years Together chiefest they ard found But seldom side by
The Future never spoke
The Future never spoke Nor will He like the Dumb Reveal by sign a syllable Of His Profound To Come But when the News be ripe Presents it in the Act Forestalling Preparation Escape
The Judge is like the Owl
The Judge is like the Owl I’ve heard my Father tell And Owls do build in Oaks So here’s an Amber Sill That slanted in my Path When going to the Barn And if
Victory comes late
Victory comes late And is held low to freezing lips Too rapt with frost To take it How sweet it would have tasted Just a Drop Was God so economical? His Table’s spread too
She bore it till the simple veins
She bore it till the simple veins Traced azure on her hand Til pleading, round her quiet eyes The purple Crayons stand. Till Daffodils had come and gone I cannot tell the sum, And
How soft a Caterpillar steps
How soft a Caterpillar steps I fond one on my Hand From such a velvet world it comes Such plushes at command Its soundless travels just arrest My slow terrestrial eye Intent upon its
It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone
It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone Enclosed ’twas not of Rail A Consciousness its Acre, and It held a Human Soul. Entombed by whom, for what offence If Home or Foreign born
Spring comes on the World
Spring comes on the World I sight the Aprils Hueless to me until thou come As, till the Bee Blossoms stand negative, Touched to Conditions By a Hum.