Consulting summer's clock,
But half the hours remain.
I ascertain it with a shock -
I shall not look again.
The second half of joy
Is shorter than the first.
The truth I do not dare to know
I muffle with a jest.
By a departing light
We see acuter, quite,
Than by a wick that stays.
There's something in the flight
That clarifies the sight
And decks the rays.
A Pit - but Heaven over it -
And Heaven beside, and Heaven abroad;
And yet a Pit -
With Heaven over it.
To stir would be to slip -
To look would be to drop -
To dream - to sap the Prop
That holds my chances up.
Ah! Pit! With Heaven over it!
The depth is all my thought -
I dare not ask my feet -
'Twould start us where we sit
So straight you'd scarce suspect
It was a Pit - with fathoms under it
It's Circuit just the same
Whose Doom to whom
'Twould start them -
We - could tremble -
But since we got a Bomb -
And held it in our Bosom -
Nay - Hold it - it is calm.
A face devoid of love or grace,
A hateful, hard, successful face,
A face with which a stone
Would feel as thoroughly at ease
As were they old acquaintances -
First time together thrown.
A curious Cloud surprised the Sky,
'Twas like a sheet with Horns;
The sheet was Blue -
The Antlers Gray -
It almost touched the Lawns.
So low it leaned - then statelier drew -
And trailed like robes away;
A Queen adown a satin aisle,
Had not the majesty.
With sweetness unabated
Informed the hour had come
With no remiss of triumph
The autumn started home -
Her home to be with Nature
As competition done
By influential kinsmen
Invited to return
In supplements of Purple
An adequate repast
In heavenly reviewing
Her residue be past.
Witchcraft has not a pedigree
'Tis early as our Breath
And mourners meet it going out
The moment of our death.
La Stregoneria non ha un lignaggio
È remota come il Respiro
E chi ci piange la incontra mentre sta uscendo
Nel momento della nostra morte.
When we have ceased to care
The Gift is given
For which we gave the Earth
And mortgaged Heaven
But so declined in worth
'Tis ignominy now
To look upon.
Volcanoes be in Sicily
And South America
I judge from my Geography
Volcanoes nearer here
A Lava step at any time
Am I inclined to climb
A Crater I may contemplate
Vesuvius at Home.
'Twas comfort in her Dying Room
To hear the living Clock
A short relief to have the wind
Walk boldly up and knock
Diversion from the Dying Theme
To hear the children play
But wrong the more
That these could live
And this of our's must die.