Soul

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!

Forget! The lady with the Amulet

438

Forget! The lady with the Amulet
Forget she wore it at her Heart
Because she breathed against
Was Treason twixt?

Deny! Did Rose her Bee-
For Privilege of Play
Or Wile of Butterfly
Or Opportunity-Her Lord away?

The lady with the Amulet-will face-
The Bee-in Mausoleum laid-
Discard his Bride-
But longer than the little Rill-
That cooled the Forehead of the Hill-
While Other-went the Sea to fill-
And Other-went to turn the MillI'll
do thy Will-

For largest Woman's Hearth I knew

309

For largest Woman's Hearth I knew'
Tis little I can do-
And yet the largest Woman's Heart
Could hold an Arrow-too-
And so, instructed by my own,
I tenderer, turn Me to.

Forever at His side to walk

246

Forever at His side to walk-
The smaller of the two!
Brain of His Brain-
Blood of His Blood-
Two lives-One Being-now-

Forever of His fate to taste-
If grief-the largest part-
If joy-to put my piece away
For that beloved Heart-

All life-to know each other-
Whom we can never learn-
And bye and bye-a Change-
Called Heaven-
Rapt Neighborhoods of Men-
Just finding out-what puzzled us-
Without the lexicon!

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.

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.

First Robin

I dreaded that first robin so,
But he is mastered now,
And I'm accustomed to him grown,--
He hurts a little, though.


I thought if I could only live
Till that first shout got by,
Not all pianos in the woods
Had power to mangle me.


I dared not meet the daffodils,
For fear their yellow gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own.


I wished the grass would hurry,
So when 't was time to see,
He'd be too tall, the tallest one
Could stretch to look at me.


I could not bear the bees should come,
I wished they'd stay away
In those dim countries where they go:
What word had they for me?


They're here, though; not a creature failed,
No blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me,
The Queen of Calvary.


Each one salutes me as he goes,
And I my childish plumes
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment
Of their unthinking drums.

Exultation is the going

76

Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea,
Past the houses-past the headlands-
Into deep Eternity-


Bred as we, among the mountains,
Can the sailor understand
The divine intoxication
Of the first league out from land?

Exclusion (The soul selects her own society)

The soul selects her own society,

Then shuts the door;

On her divine majority

Obtrude no more.

Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing

At her low gate;

Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling

Upon her mat.

I've known her from an ample nation

Choose one

Then close the valves of her attention

Like stone.

Empty my Heart, of Thee

587

Empty my Heart, of Thee-
Its single Artery-
Begin, and leave Thee out-
Simply Extinction's Date-

Much Billow hath the Sea-
One Baltic-They-
Subtract Thyself, in play,
And not enough of me
Is left-to put away"
Myself" meanth Thee-

Erase the Root-no TreeThee-
then-no me-
The Heavens strippedEternity's
vast pocket, picked-

Elysium is as far as to

Elysium is as far as to
The very nearest Room
If in that Room a Friend await
Felicity or Doom--

What fortitude the Soul contains
That it can so endure
The accent of a coming Foot--
The opening of a Door--

Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!

275

Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!
Why, God, would be content
With but a fraction of the Life-
Poured thee, without a stint-
The whole of me-forever-
What more the Woman can,
Say quick, that I may dower thee
With last Delight I own!

It cannot be my Spirit-
For that was thine, before-
I ceded all of Dust I knew-
What Opulence the more
Had I-a freckled Maiden,
Whose farthest of Degree,
Was-that she might-
Some distant Heaven,
Dwell timidly, with thee!

Sift her, from Brow to Barefoot!
Strain till your last Surmise-
Drop, like a Tapestry, away,
Before the Fire's Eyes-
Winnow her finest fondness-
But hallow just the snow
Intact, in Everlasting flake-
Oh, Caviler, for you!

Don't put up my Thread and Needle

617

Don't put up my Thread and NeedleI'll
begin to Sew
When the Birds begin to whistle-
Better Stitches-so-

These were bent-my sight got crooked-
When my mind-is plain
I'll do seams-a Queen's endeavor
Would not blush to own


Hems-too fine for Lady's tracing
To the sightless KnotTucks-
of dainty interspersion-
Like a dotted Dot-

Leave my Needle in the furrow-
Where I put it down-
I can make the zigzag stitches
Straight-when I am strong-

Till then-dreaming I am sewing
Fetch the seam I missedCloser-
so I-at my sleeping-
Still surmise I stitch-

Did Our Best Moment last

393

Did Our Best Moment last'
Twould supersede the Heaven-
A few-and they by Risk-procure-
So this Sort-are not given-

Except as stimulants-in
Cases of Despair-
Or Stupor-The Reserve-
These Heavenly Moments are-

A Grant of the Divine-
That Certain as it ComesWithdraws-
and leaves the dazzled Soul
In her unfurnished Rooms

Death is a Dialogue between

976

Death is a Dialogue between
The Spirit and the Dust.
"Dissolve" says Death-The Spirit "Sir
I have another Trust"-

Death doubts it-Argues from the Ground-
The Spirit turns away
Just laying off for evidence
An Overcoat of Clay.

Crumbling is not an instant's Act

997

Crumbling is not an instant's Act
A fundamental pause
Dilapidation's processes
Are organized Decays.

'Tis first a Cobweb on the Soul
A Cuticle of Dust
A Borer in the Axis
An Elemental Rust-

Ruin is formal-Devil's work
Consecutive and slow-
Fail in an instant, no man did
Slipping-is Crash's law.

Conscious am I in my Chamber

679

Conscious am I in my Chamber,
Of a shapeless friend-
He doth not attest by Posture-
Nor Confirm-by Word-

Neither Place-need I present Him-
Fitter Courtesy
Hospitable intuition
Of His Company


Presence-is His furthest license-
Neither He to Me
Nor Myself to Him-by Accent-
Forfeit Probity-

Weariness of Him, were quainter
Than Monotony
Knew a Particle-of Space's
Vast Society

Neither if He visit Other-
Do He dwell-or Nay-know I-
But Instinct esteem Him
Immortality-

By my Window have I for Scenery

797

By my Window have I for Scenery
Just a Sea-with a Stem-
If the Bird and the Farmer-deem it a "Pine"-
The Opinion will serve-for them-

It has no Port, nor a "Line"-but the Jays-
That split their route to the Sky-
Or a Squirrel, whose giddy Peninsula
May be easier reached-this way-

For Inlands-the Earth is the under side-
And the upper side-is the Sun-
And its Commerce-if Commerce it have-
Of Spice-I infer from the Odors borne-

Of its Voice-to affirm-when the Wind is within-
Can the Dumb-define the Divine?
The Definition of Melody-is-
That Definition is none


It-suggests to our FaithThey-
suggest to our Sight-
When the latter-is put away
I shall meet with Conviction I somewhere met
That Immortality-

Was the Pine at my Window a "Fellow
Of the Royal" Infinity?
Apprehensions-are God's introductions-
To be hallowed-accordingly-

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!

Bound-a trouble

269

Bound-a trouble-
And lives can bear it!
Limit-how deep a bleeding go!
So-many-drops-of vital scarlet-
Deal with the soul
As with Algebra!


Tell it the Ages-to a cypher-
And it will ache-contented-onSing-
at its pain-as any Workman-
Notching the fall of the Even Sun!

Bring me the sunset in a cup

128

Bring me the sunset in a cup,
Reckon the morning's flagons up
And say how many Dew,
Tell me how far the morning leaps-
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
Who spun the breadth of blue!


Write me how many notes there be
In the new Robin's ecstasy
Among astonished boughs-
How many trips the Tortoise makes-
How many cups the Bee partakes,
The Debauchee of Dews!


Also, who laid the Rainbow's piers,
Also, who leads the docile spheres
By withes of supple blue?
Whose fingers string the stalactite-
Who counts the wampum of the night
To see that none is due?


Who built this little Alban House
And shut the windows down so close
My spirit cannot see?
Who'll let me out some gala day
With implements to fly away,
Passing Pomposity?

Better—than Music! For I—who heard it

503

Better—than Music! For I—who heard it—
I was used—to the Birds—before—
This—was different—'Twas Translation—
Of all tunes I knew—and more—


'Twasn't contained—like other stanza—
No one could play it—the second time—
But the Composer—perfect Mozart—
Perish with him—that Keyless Rhyme!


So—Children—told how Brooks in Eden—
Bubbled a better—Melody—
Quaintly infer—Eve's great surrender—
Urging the feet—that would—not—fly—


Children—matured—are wiser—mostly—
Eden—a legend—dimly told—
Eve—and the Anguish—Grandame's story—
But—I was telling a tune—I heard—


Not such a strain—the Church—baptizes—
When the last Saint—goes up the Aisles—
Not such a stanza splits the silence—
When the Redemption strikes her Bells—


Let me not spill—its smallest cadence—
Humming—for promise—when alone—
Humming—until my faint Rehearsal—
Drop into tune—around the Throne—

Bereaved of all, I went abroad

784

Bereaved of all, I went abroad-
No less bereaved was I
Upon a New Peninsula-
The Grave preceded me-

Obtained my Lodgings, ere myself-
And when I sought my Bed-
The Grave it was reposed upon
The Pillow for my Head-

I waked to find it first awake-
I rose-It followed me-
I tried to drop it in the Crowd-
To lose it in the Sea-

In Cups of artificial Drowse
To steep its shape away-
The Grave-was finished-but the Spade
Remained in Memory-

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!