Sweet - You forgot - but I remembered
Every time - for Two -
So that the Sum be never hindered
Through Decay of You -
Say if I erred? Accuse my Farthings -
Blame the little Hand
Happy it be for You - a Beggar's -
Seeking More - to spend -
Just to be Rich - to waste my Guineas
On so Best a Heart -
Just to be Poor - for Barefoot Vision
You - Sweet - Shut me out.
The Martyr Poets - did not tell -
But wrought their Pang in syllable -
That when their mortal name be numb -
Their mortal fate - encourage Some -
The Martyr Painters - never spoke -
Bequeathing - rather - to their Work -
That when their conscious fingers cease -
Some seek in Art - the Art of Peace -.
I fear a Man of frugal Speech -
I fear a Silent Man -
Haranguer - I can overtake -
Or Babbler - entertain -
But He who weigheth - While the Rest -
Expend their furthest pound -
Of this Man - I am wary -
I fear that He is Grand.
I had no Cause to be awake -
My Best - was gone to sleep -
And Morn a new politeness took -
And failed to wake them up -
But called the others - clear -
And passed their Curtains by -
Sweet Morning - When I oversleep -
Knock - Recollect - to Me -
I looked at Sunrise - Once -
And then I looked at Them -
And wishfulness in me arose -
For Circumstance the same -
'Twas such an Ample Peace -
It could not hold a Sigh -
'Twas Sabbath - with the Bells divorced -
'Twas Sunset - all the Day -
So choosing but a Gown -
And taking but a Prayer -
The only Raiment I should need -
I struggled - and was There.
Some such Butterfly be seen
On Brazilian Pampas -
Just at noon - no later - Sweet -
Then - the License closes -
Some such Rose - express - and pass -
Subject to Your Plucking -
As the Stars - You knew last Night -
Foreigners - This Morning.
I took my Power in my Hand -
And went against the World -
'Twas not so much as David - had -
But I - was twice as bold -
I aimed by Pebble - but Myself
Was all the one that fell -
Was it Goliath - was too large -
Or was myself - too small?
The Province of the Saved
Should be the Art - To Save -
Through Skill obtained in Themselves -
The Science of the Grave
No Man can understand
But He that hath endured
The Dissolution - in Himself -
That Man - be qualified
To qualify Despair
To Those who failing new -
Mistake Defeat for Death - Each time -
Till acclimated - to.
'Tis true - They shut me in the Cold -
But then - Themselves were warm
And could not know the feeling 'twas -
Forget it - Lord - of Them -
Let not my Witness hinder Them
In Heavenly esteem -
No Paradise could be - Conferred
Through Their beloved Blame -
The Harm They did - was short - And since
Myself - who bore it - do -
Forgive Them - Even as Myself -
Or else - forgive not me.
Me prove it now - Whoever doubt
Me stop to prove it - now -
Make haste - the Scruple! Death be scant
For Opportunity -
The River reaches to my feet -
As yet - My Heart be dry -
Oh Lover - Life could not convince -
Might Death - enable Thee -
The River reaches to My Breast -
Still - still - My Hands above
Proclaim with their remaining Might -
Dost recognize the Love?
The River reaches to my Mouth -
Remember - when the Sea
Swept by my searching eyes - the last -
Themselves were quick - with Thee!
The Heart asks Pleasure - first -
And then - Excuse from Pain -
And then - those little Anodyness
That deaden suffering -
And then - to go to sleep -
And then - if it should be
The will of it's Inquisitor
The privilege to die.