After great pain, a formal feeling comes
After great pain, a formal feeling comes The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore, And Yesterday, or Centuries before? The Feet, mechanical, go round Of Ground,
This Dust, and its Feature
This Dust, and its Feature Accredited Today Will in a second Future Cease to identify This Mind, and its measure A too minute Area For its enlarged inspection’s Comparison appear This World, and its
Much Madness is divinest Sense
Much MADNESS is divinest sense (Author) To a discerning eye Much sense the starkest madness. ‘T’ is the MAJORITY In this, as all, prevail Assent and you are sane Demur, you’re straightway dangerous And
I had been hungry, all the Years
I had been hungry, all the Years My Noon had Come to dine I trembling drew the Table near And touched the Curious Wine ‘Twas this on Tables I had seen When turning, hungry,
I should have been too glad, I see
I should have been too glad, I see Too lifted for the scant degree Of Life’s penurious Round My little Circuit would have shamed This new Circumference have blamed The homelier time behind. I
She's happy, with a new Content
She’s happy, with a new Content That feels to her like Sacrament She’s busy with an altered Care As just apprenticed to the Air She’s tearful if she weep at all For blissful Causes
The Heart asks Pleasure first
The Heart asks Pleasure first And then Excuse from Pain And then those little Anodyness That deaden suffering And then to go to sleep And then if it should be The will of its
Perception of an object costs
Perception of an object costs Precise the Object’s loss Perception in itself a Gain Replying to its Price The Object Absolute is nought Perception sets it fair And then upbraids a Perfectness That situates
A something in a summer's Day
A something in a summer’s Day As slow her flambeaux burn away Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon A depth an Azure a perfume Transcending ecstasy. And still within a summer’s
Snow beneath whose chilly softness
Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Winter I admonish Thee Blanket Wealthier the Neighbor We so new bestow Than thine acclimated Creature Wilt Thou, Austere Snow?
Must be a Woe
Must be a Woe A loss or so To bend the eye Best Beauty’s way But once aslant It notes Delight As difficult As Stalactite A Common Bliss Were had for less The price
Me, change! Me, alter!
Me, change! Me, alter! Then I will, when on the Everlasting Hill A Smaller Purple grows At sunset, or a lesser glow Flickers upon Cordillera At Day’s superior close!
A Dew sufficed itself
A Dew sufficed itself And satisfied a Leaf And felt “how vast a destiny” “How trivial is Life!” The Sun went out to work The Day went out to play And not again that
The Winters are so short
The Winters are so short I’m hardly justified In sending all the Birds away And moving into Pod Myself for scarcely settled The Phoebes have begun And then it’s time to strike my Tent
This Merit hath the worst
This Merit hath the worst It cannot be again When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone The Maimed may pause, and breathe, And glance securely round The Deer attracts no further