There came a Day at Summer's full
There came a Day at Summer’s full, Entirely for me I thought that such were for the Saints, Where Resurrections be The Sun, as common, went abroad, The flowers, accustomed, blew, As if no
The Life that tied too tight escapes
The Life that tied too tight escapes Will ever after run With a prudential look behind And spectres of the Rein The Horse that scents the living Grass And sees the Pastures smile Will
Dust is the only Secret
Dust is the only Secret Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.” Nobody know “his Father” Never was a Boy Hadn’t any playmates, Or “Early history” Industrious!
Death is the supple Suitor
Death is the supple Suitor That wins at last It is a stealthy Wooing Conducted first By pallid innuendoes And dim approach But brave at last with Bugles And a bisected Coach It bears
Have you got a Brook in your little heart
Have you got a Brook in your little heart, Where bashful flowers blow, And blushing birds go down to drink, And shadows tremble so And nobody knows, so still it flows, That any brook
She staked her Feathers Gained an Arc
She staked her Feathers Gained an Arc Debated Rose again This time beyond the estimate Of Envy, or of Men And now, among Circumference Her steady Boat be seen At home among the Billows
Perhaps I asked too large
Perhaps I asked too large I take no less than skies For Earths, grow thick as Berries, in my native town My Basked holds just Firmaments Those dangle easy on my arm, But smaller
Who never wanted maddest Joy
Who never wanted maddest Joy Remains to him unknown The Banquet of Abstemiousness Defaces that of Wine Within its reach, though yet ungrasped Desire’s perfect Goal No nearer lest the Actual Should disentrall thy
It sounded as if the Streets were running
It sounded as if the Streets were running And then the Streets stood still Eclipse was all we could see at the Window And Awe was all we could feel. By and by the
The Hollows round His eager Eyes
The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories although Himself had not complained. Biography to All who passed Of Unobtrusive Pain Except for the italic Face Endured, unhelped unknown.
Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it
Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night, since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake
Which misses most
Which misses most, The hand that tends, Or heart so gently borne, ‘Tis twice as heavy as it was Because the hand is gone? Which blesses most, The lip that can, Or that that
Like Men and Women Shadows walk
Like Men and Women Shadows walk Upon the Hills Today With here and there a mighty Bow Or trailing Courtesy To Neighbors doubtless of their own Not quickened to perceive Minuter landscape as Ourselves
It don't sound so terrible quite as it did
It don’t sound so terrible quite as it did I run it over “Dead”, Brain, “Dead.” Put it in Latin left of my school Seems it don’t shriek so under rule. Turn it, a
These are the days when Birds come back
These are the days when Birds come back A very few a Bird or two To take a backward look. These are the days when skies resume The old old sophistries of June A