If this is "fading"
If this is “fading” Oh let me immediately “fade”! If this is “dying” Bury me, in such a shroud of red! If this is “sleep,” On such a night How proud to shut the
Further in Summer than the Birds
Further in Summer than the Birds Pathetic from the Grass A minor Nation celebrates Its unobtrusive Mass. No Ordinance be seen So gradual the Grace A pensive Custom it becomes Enlarging Loneliness. Antiquest felt
I never saw a Moor
I never saw a Moor I never saw the Sea Yet know I how the Heather looks And what a Billow be. I never spoke with God Nor visited in Heaven Yet certain am
Again his voice is at the door
Again his voice is at the door I feel the old Degree I hear him ask the servant For such an one as me I take a flower as I go My face to
Not to discover weakness is
Not to discover weakness is The Artifice of strength Impregnability inheres As much through Consciousness Of faith of others in itself As Pyramidal Nerve Behind the most unconscious clock What skilful Pointers move
The Sunset stopped on Cottages
The Sunset stopped on Cottages Where Sunset hence must be For treason not of His, but Life’s, Gone Westerly, Today The Sunset stopped on Cottages Where Morning just begun What difference, after all, Thou
The wind drew off
The wind drew off Like hungry dogs Defeated of a bone Through fissures in Volcanic cloud The yellow lightning shone The trees held up Their mangled limbs Like animals in pain When Nature falls
How the Waters closed above Him
How the Waters closed above Him We shall never know How He stretched His Anguish to us That is covered too Spreads the Pond Her Base of Lilies Bold above the Boy Whose unclaimed
I Years had been from Home
I Years had been from Home And now before the Door I dared not enter, lest a Face I never saw before Stare solid into mine And ask my Business there “My Business but
What would I give to see his face?
What would I give to see his face? I’d give I’d give my life of course But that is not enough! Stop just a minute let me think! I’d give my biggest Bobolink! That
Besides the Autumn poets sing
Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze A few incisive Mornings A few Ascetic Eves Gone Mr. Bryant’s “Golden
Those cattle smaller than a Bee
Those cattle smaller than a Bee That herd upon the eye Whose tillage is the passing Crumb Those Cattle are the Fly Of Barns for Winter blameless Extemporaneous stalls They found to our objection
His Mansion in the Pool
His Mansion in the Pool The Frog forsakes He rises on a Log And statements makes His Auditors two Worlds Deducting me The Orator of April Is hoarse Today His Mittens at his Feet
Lightly stepped a yellow star
Lightly stepped a yellow star To its lofty place Loosed the Moon her silver hat From her lustral Face All of Evening softly lit As an Astral Hall Father, I observed to Heaven, You
A little Snow was here and there
A little Snow was here and there Disseminated in her Hair Since she and I had met and played Decade had gathered to Decade But Time had added not obtained Impregnable the Rose For