Went to thank Her - But She Slept - Her Bed - a funneled Stone - With Nosegays at the Head and Foot - That Travellers - had thrown - Who went to thank Her - But She Slept - 'Twas Short - to cross the Sea - To look upon Her like - alive - But turning back - 'twas slow.
It struck me - every day - The Lightning was as new As if the Cloud that instant slit And let the Fire through - It burned Me - in the Night - It Blistered to My Dream - It sickened fresh upon my sight - With every Morn that came -
I though that Storm - was brief - The Maddest - quickest by - But Nature lost the Date of This - And left it in the Sky.
Perhaps I asked too large - I take - no less than skies - For Earths, grow thick as Berries, in my native town - My Basket holds - just - Firmaments - Those - dangle easy - on my arm, But smaller bundles - Cram.
Felt my life with both my hands To see if it was there - I held my spirit to the Glass, To prove it possible - I turned my Being round and round And paused at every pound To ask the Owner's name - For doubt, that I should know the Sound -
I judged my features - jarred my hair - I pushed my dimples by, and waited - If they - twinkled back - Conviction might, of me -
I told myself, "Take Courage, Friend - That - was a former time - But we might learn to like the Heaven, As well as our Old Home!"
And we are waiting for the Coach - It seems as though the Time - Indignant - that the Joy was come - Did block the Gilded Hands - And would not let the Seconds by - But slowest instant - ends -
The Pendulum begins to count - Like little Scholars - loud - The steps grow thicker - in the Hall - The Heart begins to crowd -
Then I - my timid service done - Tho' service 'twas, of Love - Take up my little Violin - And further North - remove.
You'll know Her - by Her Foot - The finest Gamboge Hand With Fingers - where the Toes should be - Would more affront the Sand - Than this Quaint Creature's Boot - Adjusted by a Stern - Without a Button - I c'd vouch - Unto a Velvet Limb -
You'll know Her - by Her Vest - Tight fitting - Orange - Brown - Inside a Jacket duller - She wore when she was born -
Her Cap is small - and snug - Constructed for the Winds - She'd pass for Barehead - short way off - But as She closer stands -
So finer 'tis than Wool - You cannot feel the Seam - Nor is it clasped unto of Band - Nor held upon - of Brim -
You'll know Her - by Her Voice - At first - a doubtful Tone - A sweet endeavor - but as March To April - hurries on -
She squanders on your Head Such Threnodies of Pearl - You beg the Robin in your Brain To keep the other - still.
The Brain - is wider than the Sky - For - put them side by side - The one the other will contain With ease - and You - beside - The Brain is deeper than the sea - For - hold them - Blue to Blue - The one the other will absorb - As Sponges - Buckets - do - The Brain is just the weight of God - For - Heft them - Pound for Pound - And they will differ - if they do - As Syllable from Sound. Il Cervello - è più esteso del Cielo - Perché - mettili fianco a fianco - L'uno l'altro conterrà Con facilità - e Te - in aggiunta - Il Cervello è più profondo del mare - Perché - tienili - Azzurro contro Azzurro - L'uno l'altro assorbirà - Come le Spugne - i Secchi - assorbono - Il Cervello ha giusto il peso di Dio - Perché - Soppesali - Libbra per Libbra - Ed essi differiranno - se differiranno - Come la Sillaba dal Suono -
Ourselves were wed one summer - dear - Your Vision - was in June - And when Your little Lifetime failed, I wearied - too - of mine - And overtaken in the Dark - Where You had put me down - By Some one carrying a Light - I - too - received the Sign.
'Tis true - Our Futures different lay - Your Cottage - faced the sun - While Oceans - and the North did play - On every side of mine
'Tis true, Your Garden led the Bloom, For mine - in Frosts - was sown - And yet, one Summer, we were Queens - But You - were crowned in June.
The Lightning playeth - all the while - But when He singeth - then - Ourselves are conscious He exist - And we approach Him - stern - With Insulators - and a Glove - Whose short - sepulchral Bass Alarms us - tho' His Yellow feet May pass - and counterpass -
Upon the Ropes - above our Head - Continual - with the News - Nor We so much as check our speech - Nor stop to cross Ourselves.