Because my Brook is fluent
Because my Brook is fluent I know ’tis dry Because my Brook is silent It is the Sea And startled at its rising I try to flee To where the Strong assure me Is
The Bustle in a House
The Bustle in a House The Morning after Death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon Earth The Sweeping up the Heart And putting Love away We shall not want to use again Until Eternity.
The Test of Love is Death
The Test of Love is Death Our Lord “so loved” it saith What Largest Lover hath Another doth If smaller Patience be Through less Infinity If Bravo, sometimes swerve Through fainter Nerve Accept its
Is it dead Find it
Is it dead Find it Out of sound Out of sight “Happy”? Which is wiser You, or the Wind? “Conscious”? Won’t you ask that Of the low Ground? “Homesick”? Many met it Even through
Each Second is the last
Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between. To fail within a Chance How terribler a thing Than perish from the Chance’s list Before the
There is a flower that Bees prefer
There is a flower that Bees prefer And Butterflies desire To gain the Purple Democrat The Humming Bird aspire And Whatsoever Insect pass A Honey bear away Proportioned to his several dearth And her
Till Death is narrow Loving
Till Death is narrow Loving The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness be spent But He whose loss procures you Such Destitution that Your Life too abject for itself
Absent Place an April Day
Absent Place an April Day Daffodils a-blow Homesick curiosity To the Souls that snow Drift may block within it Deeper than without Daffodil delight but Him it duplicate
Glory is that bright tragic thing
Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun, Gently replacing In oblivion
Empty my Heart, of Thee
Empty my Heart, of Thee Its single Artery Begin, and leave Thee out Simply Extinction’s Date Much Billow hath the Sea One Baltic They Subtract Thyself, in play, And not enough of me Is
The mob within the heart
The mob within the heart Police cannot suppress The riot given at the first Is authorized as peace Uncertified of scene Or signified of sound But growing like a hurricane In a congenial ground.
The Lilac is an ancient shrub
The Lilac is an ancient shrub But ancienter than that The Firmamental Lilac Upon the Hill tonight The Sun subsiding on his Course Bequeaths this final Plant To Contemplation not to Touch The Flower
Far from Love the Heavenly Father
Far from Love the Heavenly Father Leads the Chosen Child, Oftener through Realm of Briar Than the Meadow mild. Oftener by the Claw of Dragon Than the Hand of Friend Guides the Little One
They won't frown always some sweet Day
They won’t frown always some sweet Day When I forget to tease They’ll recollect how cold I looked And how I just said “Please.” Then They will hasten to the Door To call the
Those who have been in the Grave the longest
Those who have been in the Grave the longest Those who begin Today Equally perish from our Practise Death is the other way Foot of the Bold did least attempt it It is the