Beauty

If she had been the Mistletoe

44

If she had been the Mistletoe
And I had been the Rose-
How gay upon your table
My velvet life to close-
Since I am of the Druid,
And she is of the dewI'll
deck Tradition's buttonhole-
And send the Rose to you.

I tend my flowers for thee

339

I tend my flowers for thee-
Bright Absentee!
My Fuchsia's Coral Seams
Rip-while the Sower-dreams


Geraniums-tint-and spot-
Low Daisies-dot-
My Cactus-splits her Beard
To show her throat


Carnations-tip their spice-
And Bees-pick up-
A Hyacinth-I hid-
Puts out a Ruffled Head-
And odors fall
From flasks-so small-
You marvel how they held-

Globe Roses-break their satin glake-
Upon my Garden floorYet-
thou-not there-
I had as lief they bore
No Crimson-more-

Thy flower-be gay-
Her Lord-away!
It ill becometh meI'll
dwell in Calyx-Gray-
How modestly-alway-
Thy Daisy-
Draped for thee!

I Died For Beauty

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.


He questioned softly why I failed?
"For beauty," I replied.
"And I for truth - the two are one;
We brethren are," he said.


And so, as kinsmen met a-night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.

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-"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 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.

Heaven has different Signs—to me

"Heaven" has different Signs—to me—
Sometimes, I think that Noon
Is but a symbol of the Place—
And when again, at Dawn,


A mighty look runs round the World
And settles in the Hills—
An Awe if it should be like that
Upon the Ignorance steals—


The Orchard, when the Sun is on—
The Triumph of the Birds
When they together Victory make—
Some Carnivals of Clouds—


The Rapture of a finished Day—
Returning to the West—
All these—remind us of the place
That Men call "paradise"—


Itself be fairer—we suppose—
But how Ourself, shall be
Adorned, for a Superior Grace—
Not yet, our eyes can see—

Glowing is her Bonnet

72

Glowing is her Bonnet,
Glowing is her Cheek,
Glowing is her Kirtle,
Yet she cannot speak.

Better as the Daisy
From the Summer hill
Vanish unrecorded
Save by tearful rill-

Save by loving sunrise
Looking for her face.
Save by feet unnumbered
Pausing at the place.

Garland for Queens, may be

34

Garland for Queens, may beLaurels-
for rare degree
Of soul or sword.
Ah-but remembering meAh-
but remembering thee-
Nature in chivalry-
Nature in charity-
Nature in equity-
This Rose ordained!

Flowers—Well—if anybody

137

Flowers—Well—if anybody
Can the ecstasy define—
Half a transport—half a trouble—
With which flowers humble men:
Anybody find the fountain
From which floods so contra flow—
I will give him all the Daisies
Which upon the hillside blow.


Too much pathos in their faces
For a simple breast like mine—
Butterflies from St. Domingo
Cruising round the purple line—
Have a system of aesthetics—
Far superior to mine.

Come slowly—Eden!

Come slowly—Eden!
Lips unused to Thee—
Bashful—sip thy Jessamines—
As the fainting Bee—


Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums—
Counts his nectars—
Enters—and is lost in Balms.

Bird


A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.


And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And the hopped sideways to the wall
To let a beetle pass.


He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad, -
They looked like frightened beads, I thought
He stirred his velvet head.


Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rolled him softer home


Then oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, plashless, as they swim.

Before you thought of spring,

Before you thought of spring,
Except as a surmise,
You see, God bless his suddenness,
A fellow in the skies
Of independent hues,
A little weather-worn,
Inspiriting habiliments
Of indigo and brown.


With specimens of song,
As if for you to choose,
Discretion in the interval,
With gay delays he goes
To some superior tree
Without a single leaf,
And shouts for joy to nobody
But his seraphic self!

Before I got my eye put out

327

Before I got my eye put out
I liked as well to see-
As other Creatures, that have Eyes
And know no other way-

But were it told to me-Today-
That I might have the sky
For mine-I tell you that my Heart
Would split, for size of me-

The Meadows-mine-
The Mountains-mine-
All Forests-Stintless Stars-
As much of Noon as I could take
Between my finite eyes-

The Motions of the Dipping Birds-
The Morning's Amber Road-
For mine-to look at when I liked-
The News would strike me dead-

So safer-guess-with just my soul
Upon the Window pane-
Where other Creatures put their eyesIncautious-
of the Sun-

Beauty-be not caused-It Is

516

Beauty-be not caused-It Is-
Chase it, and it ceases-
Chase it not, and it abides-

Overtake the Creases

In the Meadow-when the Wind
Runs his fingers thro' it-
Deity will see to it
That You never do it-

Autumn-overlooked my Knitting

748

Autumn-overlooked my KnittingDyes-
said He-have I-
Could disparage a Flamingo-
Show Me them-said I


Cochineal-I chose-for deeming
It resemble Thee-
And the little Border-Dusker-
For resembling Me-

As imperceptibly as Grief

1540

As imperceptibly as Grief
The Summer lapsed away-
Too imperceptible at last
To seem like Perfidy-
A Quietness distilled
As Twilight long begun,
Or Nature spending with herself
Sequestered Afternoon-
The Dusk drew earlier in-
The Morning foreign shone-
A courteous, yet harrowing Grace,
As Guest, that would be gone-
And thus, without a Wing
Or service of a Keel
Our Summer made her light escape
Into the Beautiful.

As if some little Arctic flower

180

As if some little Arctic flower
Upon the polar hem-
Went wandering down the Latitudes
Until it puzzled came
To continents of summer-
To firmaments of sun-
To strange, bright crowds of flowers-
And birds, of foreign tongue!
I say, As if this little flower
To Eden, wandered in-
What then? Why nothing,
Only, your inference therefrom!

An ignorance a Sunset

552

An ignorance a Sunset
Confer upon the Eye-
Of Territory-ColorCircumference-
Decay-

Its Amber Revelation
Exhilirate-Debase-
Omnipotence' inspection
Of Our inferior face-

And when the solemn features
Confirm-in Victory-
We start-as if detected
In Immortality-

Alter! When the Hills do

729

Alter! When the Hills do-
Falter! When the Sun
Question if His Glory
Be the Perfect One-

Surfeit! When the Daffodil
Doth of the Dew-
Even as Herself-Sir-
I will-of You-

A something in a summer's Day

122

A something in a summer's Day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.

A something in a summer's noon-
A depth-an Azure-a perfume-
Transcending ecstasy.

And still within a summer's night
A something so transporting bright
I clap my hands to see-

Then veil my too inspecting face
Lets such a subtle-shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me-

The wizard fingers never rest-
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes it narrow bed-

Still rears the East her amber Flag-
Guides still the sun along the Crag
His Caravan of Red-

So looking on-the night-the morn
Conclude the wonder gay-
And I meet, coming thro' the dews
Another summer's Day!

A Route of Evanescence

A Route of Evanescence
With a revolving Wheel--
A Resonance of Emerald--
A Rush of Cochineal--
And every Blossom on the Bush
Adjusts its tumbled Head--
The mail from Tunis, probably,
An easy Morning's Ride--

A Mien to move a Queen

283

A Mien to move a Queen-
Half Child-Half Heroine-
An Orleans in the Eye
That puts its manner by
For humbler Company
When none are near
Even a Tear-
Its frequent Visitor-

A Bonnet like a Duke-
And yet a Wren's Peruke
Were not so shy
Of Goer by-
And Hands-so slight-
They would elate a Sprite
With Merriment-

A Voice that Alters-Low
And on the Ear can go
Like Let of Snow-
Or shift supreme-
As tone of Realm
On Subjects Diadem-

Too small-to fear-
Too distant-to endear-
And so Men Compromise
And just-revere-

Two Roses

A humble wild-rose, pink and slender,
Was plucked and placed in a bright bouquet,

Beside a Jacqueminot’s royal splendour,
And both in my lady’s boudoir lay.

Said the haughty bud, in a tone of scorning,
‘I wonder why you are called a rose?

Your leaves will fade in a single morning;
No blood of mine in your pale cheek glows.

‘Your course green stalk shows dust of the highway,
You have no depths of fragrant bloom;

And what could you learn in a rustic byway
To fit you to lie in my lady’s room?

‘If called to adorn her warm, white bosom,
What have you to offer for such a place,

Beside my fragrant and splendid blossom,
Ripe with colour and rich with grace?

Said the sweet wild-rose, ‘Despite your dower
Of finer breeding and deeper hue,

Despite your beauty, fair, high-bred flower,
It is I who should lie on her breast, not you.

‘For small account is your hot-house glory
Beside the knowledge that came to me

When I heard by the wayside love’s old story
And felt the kiss of the amorous bee.’