Poems List
Is Bliss then, such Abyss
340
Is Bliss then, such Abyss,
I must not put my foot amiss
For fear I spoil my shoe?
I'd rather suit my foot
Than save my Boot-
For yet to buy another Pair
Is possible,
At any store-
But Bliss, is sold just once.
The Patent lost
None buy it any more-
Say, Foot, decide the point-
The Lady cross, or not?
Verdict for Boot!
In Winter in my Room
1670
In Winter in my Room
I came upon a Worm-
Pink, lank and warm-
But as he was a worm
And worms presume
Not quite with him at home-
Secured him by a string
To something neighboring
And went along.
A Trifle afterward
A thing occurred
I'd not believe it if I heard
But state with creeping blood-
A snake with mottles rare
Surveyed my chamber floor
In feature as the worm before
But ringed with power-
The very string with which
I tied him-too
When he was mean and new
That string was there-
I shrank-"How fair you are"!
Propitiation's claw"
Afraid," he hissed
"Of me"?
"No cordiality"-
He fathomed me-
Then to a Rhythm Slim
Secreted in his Form
As Patterns swim
Projected him.
That time I flew
Both eyes his way
Lest he pursue
Nor ever ceased to run
Till in a distant Town
Towns on from mine
I set me down
This was a dream.
In lands I never saw—they say
124
In lands I never saw—they say
Immortal Alps look down—
Whose Bonnets touch the firmament—
Whose Sandals touch the town—
Meek at whose everlasting feet
A Myriad Daisy play—
Which, Sir, are you and which am I
Upon an August day?
In Ebon Box, when years have flown
169
In Ebon Box, when years have flown
To reverently peer,
Wiping away the velvet dust
Summers have sprinkled there!
To hold a letter to the light-
Grown Tawny now, with time-
To con the faded syllables
That quickened us like Wine!
Perhaps a Flower's shrivelled check
Among its stores to find-
Plucked far away, some morning-
By gallant-mouldering hand!
A curl, perhaps, from foreheads
Our Constancy forgot-
Perhaps, an Antique trinket-
In vanished fashions set!
And then to lay them quiet back-
And go about its care-
As if the little Ebon Box
Were none of our affair!
I'm the little Heart's Ease
176
I'm the little "Heart's Ease"!
I don't care for pouting skies!
If the Butterfly delay
Can I, therefore, stay away?
If the Coward Bumble Bee
In his chimney corner stay,
I, must resoluter be!
Who'll apologize for me?
Dear, Old fashioned, little flower!
Eden is old fashioned, too!
Birds are antiquated fellows!
Heaven does not change her blue.
Nor will I, the little Heart's Ease-
Ever be induced to do!
I'm sorry for the Dead—Today
529
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 Neighbors' lives—
A Wonder if the Sepulchre
Don't feel a lonesome way—
When Men—and Boys—and Carts—and June,
Go down the Fields to "Hay"—
I'm nobody! Who are you?
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They'd banish -- you know!
How dreary to be somebody!
How public like a frog
To tell one's name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
I'm wife-I've finished that
199
I'm "wife"-I've finished that-
That other stateI'm
Czar-I'm "Woman" nowIt's
safer so-
How odd the Girl's life looks
Behind this soft Eclipse-
I think that Earth feels so
To folks in Heaven-now-
This being comfort-then
That other kind-was pain-
But why compare?
I'm "Wife"! Stop there!
I'll send the feather from my Hat!
687
I'll send the feather from my Hat!
Who knows-but at the sight of that
My Sovereign will relent?
As trinket-worn by faded Child-
Confronting eyes long-comforted-
Blisters the Adamant!
If your Nerve, deny you
292
If your Nerve, deny you-
Go above your Nerve-
He can lean against the Grave,
If he fear to swerve
That's a steady posture-
Never any bend
Held of those Brass arms-
Best Giant made-
If your Soul seesaw-
Lift the Flesh door-
The Poltroon wants Oxygen-
Nothing more-
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