Father, I bring thee not myself, — That were the little load; I bring thee the imperial heart I had not strength to hold. The heart I cherished in my own Till mine too heavy grew, Yet strangest, heavier since it went, Is it too large for you?

Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim; Haste! lest while you’re lagging, I may remember him!

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 […]

I’ve got an arrow here; Loving the hand that sent it, I the dart revere. Fell, they will say, in ‘skirmish’! Vanquished, my soul will know, By but a simple arrow Sped by an archer’s bow.

There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man. It hurls its barbed syllables,– At once is mute again. But where it fell The saved will tell On patriotic day, Some epauletted brother Gave his breath away. Wherever runs the breathless sun, Wherever roams the day, There is its noiseless onset, […]

To lose thee, sweeter than to gain All other hearts I knew. ‘T is true the drought is destitute, But then I had the dew! The Caspian has its realms of sand, Its other realm of sea; Without the sterile perquisite No Caspian could be. p>

Poor little heart! Did they forget thee? Then dinna care! Then dinna care! Proud little heart! Did they forsake thee? Be debonair! Be debonair! Frail little heart! I would not break thee: Could’st credit me? Could’st credit me? Gay little heart! Like morning glory Thou’ll wilted be; thou’ll wilted be!

Split the lark and you’ll find the music, Bulb after bulb, in silver rolled, Scantily dealt to the summer morning, Saved for your ear when lutes be old. Loose the flood, you shall find it patent, Gush after gush, reserved for you; Scarlet experiment! sceptic Thomas, Now, do you doubt that your bird was true?

The springtime’s pallid landscape Will glow like bright bouquet, Though drifted deep in parian The village lies to-day. The lilacs, bending many a year, With purple load will hang; The bees will not forget the tune Their old forefathers sang. The rose will redden in the bog, The aster on the hill Her everlasting fashion […]

A solemn thing it was, I said, A woman white to be, And wear, if God should count me fit, Her hallowed mystery. A timid thing to drop a life Into the purple well, Too plummetless that it come back Eternity until.

I envy seas whereon he rides, I envy spokes of wheels Of chariots that him convey, I envy speechless hills That gaze upon his journey; How easy all can see What is forbidden utterly As heaven, unto me! I envy nests of sparrows That dot his distant eaves, The wealthy fly upon his pane, The […]

I live with him, I see his face; I go no more away For visitor, or sundown; Death’s single privacy, The only one forestalling mine, And that by right that he Presents a claim invisible, No wedlock granted me. I live with him, I hear his voice, I stand alive to-day To witness to the […]

He touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast. It was a boundless place to me, And silenced, as the awful sea Puts minor streams to rest. And now, I’m different from before, As if I breathed superior air, Or brushed a royal gown; My […]

My friend must be a bird, Because it flies! Mortal my friend must be, Because it dies! Barbs has it, like a bee. Ah, curious friend, Thou puzzlest me!

Not with a club the heart is broken, Nor with a stone; A whip, so small you could not see it. I’ve known To lash the magic creature Till it fell, Yet that whip’s name too noble Then to tell. Magnanimous of bird By boy descried, To sing unto the stone Of which it died.

We outgrow love like other things And put it in the drawer, Till it an antique fashion shows Like costumes grandsires wore.

To my quick ear the leaves conferred; The bushes they were bells; I could not find a privacy From Nature’s sentinels. In cave if I presumed to hide, The walls began to tell; Creation seemed a mighty crack To make me visible.

Morning is the place for dew, Corn is made at noon, After dinner light for flowers, Dukes for setting sun!

A murmur in the trees to note, Not loud enough for wind; A star not far enough to seek, Nor near enough to find; A long, long yellow on the lawn, A hubbub as of feet; Not audible, as ours to us, But dapperer, more sweet; A hurrying home of little men To houses unperceived, […]

Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door; Or has it feathers like a bird, Or billows like a shore?