Poems List
How sick—to wait—in any place—but thine
368
How sick—to wait—in any place—but thine—
I knew last night—when someone tried to twine—
Thinking—perhaps—that I looked tired—or alone—
Or breaking—almost—with unspoken pain—
And I turned—ducal—
That right—was thine—
One port—suffices—for a Brig—like mine—
Ours be the tossing—wild though the sea—
Rather than a Mooring—unshared by thee.
Ours be the Cargo—unladed—here—
Rather than the "spicy isles—"
And thou—not there—
How many times these low feet staggered
187
How many times these low feet staggered-
Only the soldered mouth can tellTry-
can you stir the awful rivetTry-
can you lift the hasps of steel!
Stroke the cool forehead-hot so oftenLift-
if you care-the listless hair-
Handle the adamantine fingers
Never a thimble-more-shall wear-
Buzz the dull flies-on the chamber windowBrave-
shines the sun through the freckled paneFearless-
the cobweb swings from the ceiling-
Indolent Housewife-in Daisies-lain!
How happy is the little Stone
1510
How happy is the little Stone
That rambles in the Road alone,
And doesn't care about Careers
And Exigencies never fears-
Whose Coat of elemental Brown
A passing Universe put on,
And independent as the Sun
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute Decree
In casual simplicity-
How fortunate the Grave
897
How fortunate the Grave-
All Prizes to obtain-
Successful certain, if at last,
First Suitor not in vain.
Houses—so the Wise Men tell me—
"Houses"—so the Wise Men tell me—
"Mansions"! Mansions must be warm!
Mansions cannot let the tears in,
Mansions must exclude the storm!
"Many Mansions," by "his Father,"
I don't know him; snugly built!
Could the Children find the way there—
Some, would even trudge tonight!
Home
Years I had been from home,
And now, before the door
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before
Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business, - just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there?
I fumbled at my nerve,
I scanned the windows near;
The silence like an ocean rolled,
And broke against my ear.
I laughed a wooden laugh
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
But never quaked before.
I fitted to the latch
My hand, with trembling care,
Lest back the awful door should spring,
And leave me standing there.
I moved my fingers off
As cautiously as glass,
And held my ears, and like a thief
Fled gasping from the house.
His Bill an Auger is
1034
His Bill an Auger is,
His Head, a Cap and Frill.
He laboreth at every Tree
A Worm, His utmost Goal.
Her-last Poems
312
Her-"last Poems"Poets-
endedSilver-
perished-with her Tongue-
Not on Record-bubbled other,
Flute-or Woman-
So divine-
Not unto its Summer-Morning
Robin-uttered Half the Tune-
Gushed too free for the Adoring-
From the Anglo-FlorentineLate-
the Praise'
Tis dull-conferring
On the Head too High to CrownDiadem-
or Ducal Showing-
Be its Grave-sufficient signNought-
that We-No Poet's KinsmanSuffocate-
with easy woe-
What, and if, Ourself a Bridegroom-
Put Her down-in Italy?
Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead
649
Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead
Came the Darker WayCarriages-
Be Sure-and Guests-too-
But for Holiday
'Tis more pitiful Endeavor
Than did Loaded Sea
O'er the Curls attempt to caper
It had cast away-
Never Bride had such Assembling-
Never kinsmen kneeled
To salute so fair a Forehead-
Garland be indeed-
Fitter Feet-of Her before us-
Than whatever Brow
Art of Snow-or Trick of Lily
Possibly bestow
Of Her Father-Whoso ask Her-
He shall seek as high
As the Palm-that serve the Desert-
To obtain the Sky
Distance-be Her only Motion-
If 'tis Nay-or YesAcquiescence-
or Demurral-
Whosoever guess
He-must pass the Crystal Angle
That obscure Her faceHe-
must have achieved in person
Equal Paradise-
Her Grace is all she has
810
Her Grace is all she has-
And that, so least displays-
One Art to recognize, must be,
Another Art, to praise.
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