How happy is the little Stone
How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears Whose Coat of elemental Brown A passing Universe put on, And independent as
Some one prepared this mighty show
Some one prepared this mighty show To which without a Ticket go The nations and the Days Displayed before the simplest Door That all may witness it and more, The pomp of summer Days.
The Robin's my Criterion for Tune
The Robin’s my Criterion for Tune Because I grow where Robins do But, were I Cuckoo born I’d swear by him The ode familiar rules the Noon The Buttercup’s, my Whim for Bloom Because,
How brittle are the Piers
How brittle are the Piers On which our Faith doth tread No Bridge below doth totter so Yet none hath such a Crowd. It is as old as God Indeed ’twas built by him
One Day is there of the Series
One Day is there of the Series Termed Thanksgiving Day. Celebrated part at Table Part in Memory. Neither Patriarch nor Pussy I dissect the Play Seems it to my Hooded thinking Reflex Holiday. Had
Not with a Club, the Heart is broken
Not with a Club, the Heart is broken Nor with a Stone A Whip so small you could not see it I’ve known To lash the Magic Creature Till it fell, Yet that Whip’s
Ended, ere it begun
Ended, ere it begun The Title was scarcely told When the Preface perished from Consciousness The Story, unrevealed Had it been mine, to print! Had it been yours, to read! That it was not
The Lightning playeth all the while
The Lightning playeth all the while But when He singeth then Ourselves are conscious He exist And we approach Him stern With Insulators and a Glove Whose short sepulchral Bass Alarms us tho’ His
Delayed till she had ceased to know
Delayed till she had ceased to know Delayed till in its vest of snow Her loving bosom lay An hour behind the fleeting breath Later by just an hour than Death Oh lagging Yesterday!
There is a June when Corn is cut
There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed As should a Face supposed the Grave’s Emerge a single Noon In
To undertake is to achieve
To undertake is to achieve Be Undertaking blent With fortitude of obstacle And toward encouragement That fine Suspicion, Natures must Permitted to revere Departed Standards and the few Criterion Sources here
They say that "Time assuages"
They say that “Time assuages” Time never did assuage An actual suffering strengthens As Sinews do, with age Time is a Test of Trouble But not a Remedy If such it prove, it prove
The Grass so little has to do
The Grass so little has to do A Sphere of simple Green With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain And stir all day to pretty Tunes The Breezes fetch along And hold
His oriental heresies
His oriental heresies Exhilarate the Bee, And filling all the Earth and Air With gay apostasy Fatigued at last, a Clover plain Allures his jaded eye That lowly Breast where Butterflies Have felt it
The Zeroes taught us Phosphorous
The Zeroes taught us Phosphorous We learned to like the Fire By playing Glaciers when a Boy And Tinder guessed by power Of Opposite to balance Odd If White a Red must be! Paralysis