South Winds jostle them
South Winds jostle them Bumblebees come Hover hesitate Drink, and are gone Butterflies pause On their passage Cashmere I softly plucking, Present them here!
Longing is like the Seed
Longing is like the Seed That wrestles in the Ground, Believing if it intercede It shall at length be found. The Hour, and the Clime Each Circumstance unknown, What Constancy must be achieved Before
I make His Crescent fill or lack
I make His Crescent fill or lack His Nature is at Full Or Quarter as I signify His Tides do I control He holds superior in the Sky Or gropes, at my Command Behind
One Blessing had I than the rest
One Blessing had I than the rest So larger to my Eyes That I stopped gauging satisfied For this enchanted size It was the limit of my Dream The focus of my Prayer A
Let me not mar that perfect Dream
Let me not mar that perfect Dream By an Auroral stain But so adjust my daily Night That it will come again. Not when we know, the Power accosts The Garment of Surprise Was
Her face was in a bed of hair
Her face was in a bed of hair, Like flowers in a plot Her hand was whiter than the sperm That feeds the sacred light. Her tongue more tender than the tune That totters
If pain for peace prepares
If pain for peace prepares Lo, what “Augustan” years Our feet await! If springs from winter rise, Can the Anemones Be reckoned up? If night stands fast then noon To gird us for the
The name of it is "Autumn"
The name of it is “Autumn” The hue of it is Blood An Artery upon the Hill A Vein along the Road Great Globules in the Alleys And Oh, the Shower of Stain When
Fame is the one that does not stay
Fame is the one that does not stay Its occupant must die Or out of sight of estimate Ascend incessantly Or be that most insolvent thing A Lightning in the Germ Electrical the embryo
She died at play
She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn Upon a Couch of flowers. Her ghost strolled softly o’er the hill Yesterday, and Today, Her
A Secret told
A Secret told Ceases to be a Secret then A Secret kept That can appal but One Better of it continual be afraid Than it And Whom you told it to beside
This was in the White of the Year
This was in the White of the Year That was in the Green Drifts were as difficult then to think As Daisies now to be seen Looking back is best that is left Or
Will there really be a "Morning"?
Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they? Has it feet like Water lilies? Has
Mama never forgets her birds
Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree She looks down just as often And just as tenderly As when her little mortal nest With cunning care she wove If either of her
You'll find it when you try to die
You’ll find it when you try to die The Easier to let go For recollecting such as went You could not spare you know. And though their places somewhat filled As did their Marble