The Butterfly's Numidian Gown With spots of Burnish - roasted on Is proof against the Sun - But prone to shut it's spotted Fan And panting on a Clover lean As if it were undone.
Summer - we all have seen - A few of us - believed - A few - the more aspiring Unquestionably loved - But Summer does not care - She takes her gracious way As eligible as the Moon To the Temerity -
Deputed to adore - The Doom to be adored Unknown as to an Ecstasy The Embryo endowed.
"Secrets" is a daily word Yet does not exist - Muffled - it remits surmise - Murmured - it has ceased - Dungeoned in the Human Breast Doubtless secrets lie - But that Grate inviolate - Comes nor goes away Nothing with a Tongue or Ear - Secrets stapled there Will emerge but once - and dumb - To the Sepulchre.
Praise it - 'tis dead - It cannot glow - Warm this inclement Ear With the encomium it earned Since it was gathered here - Invest this alabaster Zest In the Delights of Dust - Remitted - since it flitted it In recusance august.
Long Years apart - can make no Breach a second cannot fill - The absence of the Witch does not Invalidate the spell - The embers of a Thousand Years Uncovered by the Hand That fondled them when they were Fire Will stir and understand. Lunghi Anni lontano - non possono creare Una breccia che un istante non possa colmare - L'assenza del Mago non Invalida l'incantesimo - Le braci di Mille Anni Schiuse dalla Mano Che le carezzava quand'erano Fuoco Si risveglieranno e capiranno.
In many and reportless places We feel a Joy - Reportless, also, but sincere as Nature Or Deity - It comes, without a consternation - Dissolves - the same - But leaves a sumptuous Destitution - Without a Name -
Profane it by a search - we cannot It has no home - Nor we who having once waylaid it - Thereafter roam.
Suppose the time will come Aid it in the coming When the Bird will crowd the Tree And the Bee be booming - I suppose the time will come Hinder it a little When the Corn in Silk will dress And in Chintz the Apple
I believe the Day will be When the Jay will giggle At his new white House the Earth That, too, halt a little.
How much the present moment means To those who've nothing more - The Fop - the Carp - the Atheist - Stake an entire store Upon a Moment's shallow Rim While their commuted Feet The Torrents of Eternity Do all but inundate.
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 No Hand hath he - His eloquence a Bubble As Fame should be - Applaud him to discover To your chagrin Demosthenes has vanished In Waters Green.