The Soul that hath a Guest
The Soul that hath a Guest Doth seldom go abroad Diviner Crowd at Home Obliterate the need And Courtesy forbid A Host’s departure when Upon Himself be visiting The Emperor of Men
One need not be a Chamber to be Haunted
One need not be a Chamber to be Haunted One need not be a House The Brain has Corridors surpassing Material Place Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting External Ghost Than its interior Confronting
The farthest Thunder that I heard
The farthest Thunder that I heard Was nearer than the Sky And rumbles still, though torrid Noons Have lain their missiles by The Lightning that preceded it Struck no one but myself But I
Experiment to me
Experiment to me Is every one I meet If it contain a Kernel? The Figure of a Nut Presents upon a Tree Equally plausibly, But Meat within, is requisite To Squirrels, and to Me.
A poor torn heart a tattered heart
A poor torn heart a tattered heart That sat it down to rest Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West Nor noticed Night did soft descend Nor Constellation burn Intent
Who occupies this House?
Who occupies this House? A Stranger I must judge Since No one know His Circumstance ‘Tis well the name and age Are writ upon the Door Or I should fear to pause Where not
The Day undressed Herself
The Day undressed Herself Her Garter was of Gold Her Petticoat of Purple plain Her Dimities as old Exactly as the World And yet the newest Star Enrolled upon the Hemisphere Be wrinkled much
There is a Languor of the Life
There is a Languor of the Life More imminent than Pain ‘Tis Pain’s Successor When the Soul Has suffered all it can A Drowsiness diffuses A Dimness like a Fog Envelops Consciousness As Mists
To make One's Toilette after Death
To make One’s Toilette after Death Has made the Toilette cool Of only Taste we cared to please Is difficult, and still That’s easier than Braid the Hair And make the Bodice gay When
I have a Bird in spring
I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing The spring decoys. And as the summer nears And as the Rose appears, Robin is gone. Yet do I not repine Knowing that
I heard a Fly buzz when I died
I heard a Fly buzz when I died The Stillness in the Room Was like the Stillness in the Air Between the Heaves of Storm The Eyes around had wrung them dry And Breaths
A little Madness in the Spring
A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King, But God be with the Clown Who ponders this tremendous scene This whole Experiment of Green As if it were his own!
Once more, my now bewildered Dove
Once more, my now bewildered Dove Bestirs her puzzled wings Once more her mistress, on the deep Her troubled question flings Thrice to the floating casement The Patriarch’s bird returned, Courage! My brave Columbia!
Fame is a fickle food
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect And with ironic caw Flap past it to
His little Hearse like Figure
His little Hearse like Figure Unto itself a Dirge To a delusive Lilac The vanity divulge Of Industry and Morals And every righteous thing For the divine Perdition Of Idleness and Spring