Two butterflies went out at Noon -
And waltzed upon a Farm -
Then stepped straight through the Firmament
And rested, on a Beam -
And then - together bore away
Upon a shining Sea -
Though never yet, in any Port -
Their coming, mentioned - be -
If spoken by the distant Bird -
If met in Ether Sea
By Frigate, or by Merchantman -
No notice - was - to me.
I tried to think a lonelier Thing
Than any I had seen -
Some Polar Expiation - An Omen in the Bone
Of Death's tremendous nearness -
I probed Retrieveless things
My Duplicate - to borrow -
A Haggard Comfort springs
From the belief that Somewhere -
Within the Clutch of Thought -
There dwells one other Creature
Of Heavenly Love - forgot -
I plucked at our Partition -
As One should pry the Walls -
Between Himself - and Horror's Twin -
Within Opposing Cells -
I almost strove to clasp his Hand,
Such Luxury - it grew -
That as Myself - could pity Him -
He - too - could pity me.
We dream - it is good we are dreaming -
It would hurt us - were we awake -
But since it is playing - kill us,
And we are playing - shriek -
What harm? Men die - externally -
It is a truth - of Blood -
But we - are dying in Drama -
And Drama - is never dead -
Cautious - We jar each other -
And either - open the eyes -
Lest the Phantasm - prove the Mistake -
And the livid Surprise
Cool us to Shafts of Granite -
With just an age - and name -
And perhaps a latin inscription -
It's prudenter - to dream.
You cannot put a Fire out -
A Thing that can ignite
Can go, itself, without a Fan -
Upon the slowest night -
You cannot fold a Flood -
And put it in a Drawer -
Because the Winds would find it out -
And tell your Cedar Floor.
I'm sorry for the Dead - Today -
It's such congenial times
Old neighbors have at fences -
It's time o'year for Hay,
And Broad - Sunburned Acquaintance
Discourse between the Toil -
And laugh, a homely species
That makes the Fences smile -
It seems so straight to lie away
From all of the noise of Fields -
The Busy Carts - the fragrant Cocks -
The Mower's Metre - Steals -
A Trouble lest they're homesick -
Those Farmers - and their Wives -
Set separate from the Farming -
And all the Neighbor's lives -
A Wonder if the Sepulchre
Dont feel a lonesome way -
When Men - and Boys - and Carts - and June,
Go down the Fields to "Hay".
Mine - by the Right of the White Election!
Mine - by the Royal Seal!
Mine - by the Sign in the Scarlet prison -
Bars - cannot conceal!
Mine - here - in Vision - and in Veto!
Mine - by the Grave's Repeal -
Titled - Confirmed -
Delirious Charter!
Mine - while Ages steal!
To put this World down, like a Bundle -
And walk steady, away,
Requires Energy - possibly Agony -
'Tis the Scarlet way
Trodden with straight renunciation
By the Son of God -
Later, his faint Confederates
Justify the Road -
Flavors of that old Crucifixion -
Filaments of Bloom, Pontius Pilate sowed -
Strong Clusters, from Barabbas'Tomb -
Sacrament, Saints partook before us -
Patent, every drop,
With the Brand of the Gentile Drinker
Who enforced the Cup.
To hear an Oriole sing
May be a common thing -
Or only a divine.
It is not of the Bird
Who sings the same, unheard,
As unto Crowd -
The Fashion of the Ear
Attireth that it hear
In Dun, or fair -
So whether it be Rune,
Or whether it be din -
Is of within.
The "Tune is in the Tree -"
The Skeptic - showeth me -
"No Sir! In Thee!"
I think the Hemlock likes to stand
Upon a Marge of Snow -
It suits his own Austerity -
And satisfies an awe
That men, must slake in Wilderness -
And in the Desert - cloy -
An hunger for the Hoar, the Bald -
Lapland's - necessity -
The Hemlock's nature thrives - on cold -
The Gnash of Northern winds
Is sweetest nutriment - to him -
His best Norwegian Wines -
To satin Races - he is nought -
But Children on the Don,
Beneath his Tabernacles, play,
And Dnieper Wrestlers, run.
Departed - to the Judgment -
A Mighty - Afternoon -
Great Clouds - like Ushers - leaning -
Creation - looking on -
The Flesh - Surrendered - Cancelled -
The Bodiless - begun -
Two Worlds - like Audiences - disperse -
And leave the Soul - alone.