Poems List
Much Madness is divinest Sense
Much Madness is divinest Sense -
To a discerning Eye -
Much Sense - the starkest Madness `
Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail -
Assent - and you are sane -
Demur - you`re straightaway dangerous -
And handled with a Chain -
Morns like these—we parted
27
Morns like these—we parted—
Noons like these—she rose—
Fluttering first—then firmer
To her fair repose.
Never did she lisp it—
It was not for me—
She—was mute from transport—
I—from agony—
Till—the evening nearing
One the curtains drew—
Quick! A Sharper rustling!
And this linnet flew!
Morning—is the place for Dew
197
Morning—is the place for Dew—
Corn—is made at Noon—
After dinner light—for flowers—
Dukes—for Setting Sun!
Mine—by the Right of the White Election!
528
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—
Tilted—Confirmed—
Delirious Charter!
Mine—long as Ages steal!
Me, change! Me, alter!
268
Me, change! Me, alter!
Then I will, when on the Everlasting Hill
A Smaller Purple grows-
At sunset, or a lesser glow
Flickers upon Cordillera-
At Day's superior close!
Me prove it now—Whoever doubt
537
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!
Many cross the Rhine
123
Many cross the Rhine
In this cup of mine.
Sip old Frankfort air
From my brown Cigar.
Mama never forgets her birds
164
Mama never forgets her birds,
Though in another tree-
She looks down just as often
And just as tenderly
As when her little mortal nest
With cunning care she wove-
If either of her "sparrows fall,"
She "notices," above.
Low at my problem bending
69
Low at my problem bending,
Another problem comes-
Larger than mine-Serener-
Involving statelier sums.
I check my busy pencil,
My figures file away.
Wherefore, my baffled fingers
They perplexity?
Love—is that Later Thing than Death
Love—is that later Thing than Death—
More previous—than Life—
Confirms it at its entrance—And
Usurps it—of itself—
Tastes Death—the first—to hand the sting
The Second—to its friend—
Disarms the little interval—
Deposits Him with God—
Then hovers—an inferior Guard—
Lest this Beloved Charge
Need—once in an Eternity—
A smaller than the Large—
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