A Shady friend - for Torrid days - Is easier to find - Than one of higher temperature For Frigid - hour of Mind - The Vane a little to the East - Scares Muslin souls - away - If Broadcloth Hearts are firmer - Than those of Organdy -
Who is to blame? The Weaver? Ah, the bewildering thread! The Tapestries of Paradise So notelessly - are made.
What if I say I shall not wait! What if I burst the fleshly Gate - And pass escaped - to thee! What if I file this Mortal - off - See where it hurt me - That's enough - And wade in Liberty!
They cannot take me - any more! Dungeons can call - and Guns implore Unmeaning - now - to me -
As laughter - was - an hour ago - Or Laces - or a Travelling Show - Or who died - yesterday!
Many a phrase has the English language - I have heard but one - Low as the laughter of the Cricket, Loud, as the Thunder's Tongue - Murmuring, like old Caspian Choirs, When the Tide's a' lull - Saying itself in new inflection - Like a Whippowil -
Breaking in bright Orthography On my simple sleep - Thundering it's Prospective - Till I stir, and weep -
Not for the Sorrow, done me - But the push of Joy - Say it again, Saxon! Hush - Only to me!
Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life - Poured thee, without a stint - The whole of me - forever - What more the Woman can, Say quick, that I may dower thee With last Delight I own! It cannot be my Spirit - For that was thine, before - I ceded all of Dust I knew - What Opulence the more Had I - a freckled Maiden, Whose farthest of Degree, Was - that she might - Some distant Heaven, Dwell timidly, with thee!
Sift her, from Brow to Barefoot! Strain till your last Surmise - Drop, like a Tapestry, away, Before the Fire's Eyes - Winnow her finest fondness - But hallow just the snow Intact, in Everlasting flake - Oh, Caviler, for you!
The only Ghost I ever saw Was dressed in Mechlin - so - He had no sandal on his foot - And stepped like flakes of snow - His Gait - was soundless, like a Bird - But rapid - like the Roe - His fashions, quaint, Mosaic - Or haply, Mistletoe -
His conversation - seldom - His laughter, like the Breeze - That dies away in Dimples Among the pensive Trees -
Our interview - was transient - Of me, himself was shy - And God forbid I look behind - Since that appalling Day!
He put the Belt around my life - I heard the Buckle snap - And turned away, imperial, My Lifetime folding up - Deliberate, as a Duke would do A Kingdom's Title Deed - Henceforth, a Dedicated sort - A Member of the Cloud. Yet not too far to come at call - And do the little Toils That make the Circuit of the Rest - And deal occasional smiles To lives that stoop to notice mine - And kindly ask it in - Whose invitation, know you not For Whom I must decline?
I breathed enough to take the Trick - And now, removed from Air - I simulate the Breath, so well - That One, to be quite sure - The Lungs are stirless - must descend Among the Cunning Cells - And touch the Pantomime - Himself, How cool - the Bellows feels.
A solemn thing - it was - I said - A woman - white - to be - And wear - if God should count me fit - Her blameless mystery - A hallowed thing - to drop a life Into the purple well - Too plummetless - that it return - Eternity - until -
I pondered how the bliss would look - And would it feel as big - When I could take it in my hand - As glimmering - seen - through fog -
And then - the size of this "small" life - The Sages - call it small - Swelled - like Horizons - in my vest - And I sneered - softly - "small"!
One Life of so much Consequence! Yet I - for it - would pay - My Soul's entire income - In ceaseless - salary - One Pearl - to me - so signal - That I would instant dive - Although - I knew - to take it - Would cost me - just a life!
The Sea is full - I know it! That - does not blur my Gem! It burns - distinct from all the row - Intact - in Diadem!
The life is thick - I know it! Yet - not so dense a crowd - But Monarchs - are perceptible - Far down the dustiest Road!
Bound - a Trouble - and Lives will bear it - Circumscription - enables Wo - Still to anticipate - Were no limit - Who were sufficient to Misery? State it the Ages - to a cipher - And it will ache - contented on - Sing, at it's pain, as any Workman - Notching the fall of the Even Sun.