Anguish

I have never seen "Volcanoes"

175

I have never seen "Volcanoes"-
But, when Travellers tell
How those old-phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still-


Bear within-appalling Ordnance,
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men-


If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
When upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place-


If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome-
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?


If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with joy "Pompeii"!
To the Hills return!

I had no time to Hate

478

I had no time to Hate-
Because
The Grave would hinder Me-
And Life was not so
Ample I
Could finish-Enmity-

Nor had I time to Love-
But since
Some Industry must be-
The little Toil of Love-
I thought
Be large enough for Me-

I felt a cleaving in my mind

I felt a cleaving in my mind
As if my brain had split;

I tried to match it, seam by seam,
But could not make them fit.

The thought behind I strove to join
Unto the thought before,

But sequence ravelled out of reach
Like balls upon a floor.

I cried at Pity—not at Pain

588

I cried at Pity—not at Pain—
I heard a Woman say
"Poor Child"—and something in her voice
Convicted me—of me—


So long I fainted, to myself
It seemed the common way,
And Health, and Laughter, Curious things—
To look at, like a Toy—


To sometimes hear "Rich people" buy
And see the Parcel rolled—
And carried, I supposed—to Heaven,
For children, made of Gold—


But not to touch, or wish for,
Or think of, with a sigh—
And so and so—had been to me,
Had God willed differently.


I wish I knew that Woman's name—
So when she comes this way,
To hold my life, and hold my ears
For fear I hear her say


She's "sorry I am dead"—again—
Just when the Grave and I—
Have sobbed ourselves almost to sleep,
Our only Lullaby—

I could die—to know

570

I could die—to know—
'Tis a trifling knowledge—
News-Boys salute the Door—
Carts—joggle by—
Morning's bold face—stares in the window—
Were but mine—the Charter of the least Fly—


Houses hunch the House
With their Brick Shoulders—
Coals—from a Rolling Load—rattle—how—near—
To the very Square—His foot is passing—
Possibly, this moment—
While I—dream—Here—

I can wade Grief

252

I can wade Grief-
Whole Pools of itI'm
used to that-
But the least push of Joy
Breaks up my feet-
And I tip-drunken-
Let no Pebble-smile'
Twas the New Liquor-
That was all!

Power is only Pain-
Stranded, thro' Discipline,
Till Weights-will hang-
Give Balm-to Giants-
And they'll wilt, like Men-
Give HimmalehThey'll
Carry-Him!

How the Waters closed above Him

923

How the Waters closed above Him
We shall never know-
How He stretched His Anguish to us
That-is covered too-

Spreads the Pond Her Base of Lilies
Bold above the Boy
Whose unclaimed Hat and Jacket
Sum the History-

Heart! We will forget him!

47

Heart! We will forget him!
You and I-tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave-
I will forget the light!


When you have done, pray tell me
That I may straight begin!
Haste! lest while you're lagging
I remember him!

He fumbles at your spirit

He fumbles at your spirit
As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on;
He stuns you by degrees,

Prepares your brittle substance
For the ethereal blow,
By fainter hammers, further heard,
Then nearer, then so slow

Your breath has time to straighten,
Your brain to bubble cool, --
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
That scalps your naked soul.

Good night! which put the candle out?

Good night! which put the candle out?
A jealous zephyr, not a doubt.

Ah! friend, you little knew
How long at that celestial wick
The angels labored diligent;

Extinguished, now, for you!

It might have been the lighthouse spark
Some sailor, rowing in the dark,

Had importuned to see!
It might have been the waning lamp
That lit the drummer from the camp

To purer reveille!

For each ecstatic instant

For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ectasty.


For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years,
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears.

Denial-is the only fact

965

Denial-is the only fact
Perceived by the Denied-
Whose Will-a numb significance-
The Day the Heaven died-

And all the Earth strove common round-
Without Delight, or Beam-
What Comfort was it Wisdom-was-
The spoiler of Our Home?

By a flower—By a letter

109

By a flower—By a letter—
By a nimble love—
If I weld the Rivet faster—
Final fast—above—


Never mind my breathless Anvil!
Never mind Repose!
Never mind the sooty faces
Tugging at the Forge!

After a hundred years

After a hundred years
Nobody knows the place,--
Agony, that enacted there,
Motionless as peace.


Weeds triumphant ranged,
Strangers strolled and spelled
At the lone orthography
Of the elder dead.


Winds of summer fields
Recollect the way,--
Instinct picking up the key
Dropped by memory.

After great pain, a formal feeling comes -- (341)

After great pain, a formal feeling comes --
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs
The stiff Heart questions, was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?


The Feet, mechanical, go round --
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought --
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone --


This is the Hour of Lead --
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow --
First -- Chill -- then Stupor -- then the letting go --

A Wounded Deer-leaps highest

165

A Wounded Deer-leaps highestI've
heard the Hunter tell'
Tis but the Ecstasy of death-
And then the Brake is still!


The Smitten Rock that gushes!
The trampled Steel that springs!
A Cheek is always redder
Just where the Hectic stings!


Mirth is the Mail of Anguish
In which it Cautious Arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And "you're hurt" exclaim!

A Weight with Needles on the pounds

264

A Weight with Needles on the pounds-
To push, and pierce, besides-
That if the Flesh resist the Heft-
The puncture-coolly tries-

That not a pore be overlooked
Of all this Compound Frame-
As manifold for Anguish-
As Species-be-for name-

A still—Volcano—Life

601

A still—Volcano—Life—
That flickered in the night—
When it was dark enough to do
Without erasing sight—


A quiet—Earthquake Style—
Too subtle to suspect
By natures this side Naples—
The North cannot detect


The Solemn—Torrid—Symbol—
The lips that never lie—
Whose hissing Corals part—and shut—
And Cities—ooze away—

A nearness to Tremendousness

963

A nearness to Tremendousness-
An Agony procures-
Affliction ranges Boundlessness-
Vicinity to Laws

Contentment's quiet Suburb-
Affliction cannot stay
In Acres-Its Location
Is Illocality-

A doubt if it be Us

859

A doubt if it be Us
Assists the staggering Mind
In an extremer Anguish
Until it footing find.


An Unreality is lent,
A merciful Mirage
That makes the living possible
While it suspends the lives.

"Houses"-so the Wise Men tell me

127

"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!

The Wheel of the Breast

Through rivers of veins on the nameless quest
The tide of my life goes hurriedly sweeping,
Till it reaches that curious wheel o' the breast,
The human heart, which is never at rest.
Faster, faster, it cries, and leaping,
Plunging, dashing, speeding away,
The wheel and the river work night and day.
I know not wherefore, I know not whither,
This strange tide rushes with such mad force:
It glides on hither, it slides on thither,
Over and over the selfsame course,
With never an outlet and never a source;
And it lashes itself to the heat of passion
And whirls the heart in a mill-wheel fashion.
I can hear in the hush of the still, still night,
The ceaseless sound of that mighty river;
I can hear it gushing, gurgling, rushing,
With a wild, delirious, strange delight,
And a conscious pride in its sense of might,
As it hurries and worries my heart forever.
And I wonder oft as I lie awake,
And list to the river that seethes and surges
Over the wheel that it chides and urges—
I wonder oft if that wheel will break
With the mighty pressure it bears, some day,
Or slowly and wearily wear away.
For little by little the heart is wearing,
Like the wheel of the mill, as the tide goes tearing
And plunging hurriedly through my breast,
In a network of veins on a nameless quet,
From and forth, unto unknown oceans,
Bringing its cargoes of fierce emotions,
With never a pause or an hour for rest.

The Maniac

I saw them sitting in the shade;
The long green vines hung over,
But could not hide the gold-haired maid
And Earl, my dark-eyed lover.
His arm was clasped so close, so close,
Her eyes were softly lifted,
While his eyes drank the cheek of rose
And breasts like snowflakes drifted.


A strange noise sounded in my brain;
I was a guest unbidden.
I stole away, but came again
With two knives snugly hidden.
I stood behind them. Close they kissed,
While eye to eye was speaking;
I aimed my steels, and neither missed
The heart I sent it seeking.


There were two death-shrieks mingled so
It seemed like one voice crying.
I laughed-it was such bliss, you know,
To hear and see them dying.
I laughed and shouted while I stood
Above the lovers, gazing
Upon the trickling rills of blood
And frightened eyes fast glazing.


It was such joy to see the rose
Fade from her cheek forever;
To know the lips he kissed so close
Could answer never, never.
To see his arm grow stark and cold,
And know it could not hold her;
To know that while the world grew old
His eyes could not behold her.


A crowd of people thronged about,
Brought thither by my laughter;
I gave one last triumphant shout-
Then darkness followed after.
That was a thousand years ago;
Each hour I live it over,
For there, just out of reach, you know,


She
lies, with Earl, my lover.


They lie there, staring, staring so
With great, glazed eyes to taunt me.
Will no one bury them down low,
Where they shall cease to haunt me?
He kissed her lips, not mine; the flowers



And vines hung all about them
Sometimes I sit and laugh for hours
To think just how I found them.


And then I sometimes stand and shriek
In agony of terror:
I see the red warm in her cheek,
Then laugh loud at my error.
My cheek was all too pale he thought;
He deemed hers far the brightest.
Ha! but my dagger touched a spot
That made
her
face the whitest!


But oh, the days seem very long,
Without my Earl, my lover;
And something in my head seems wrong
The more I think it over.
Ah! look-she is not dead-look there!
She's standing close beside me!
Her eyes are open-how they stare!
Oh, hide me! hide me! hide me!

The Jealous Gods

Oh life is wonderful,' she said,
'And all my world is bright;
Can Paradise show fairer skies,
Or more effulgent light?'
(Speak lower, lower, mortal heart,
The jealous gods may hear.)


She turned for answer; but his gaze
Cut past her like a lance,
And shone like flame on one who came
With radiant glance for glance.
(You spoke too loud, O mortal heart,
The jealous gods were near.)


They walked through green and sunlit ways;
And yet the earth seemed black,
For there were three, where two should be;
So runs the world, alack.
(The listening gods, the jealous gods,
They want no Edens here.)