I have a king who does not speak; So, wondering, thro’ the hours meek I trudge the day away,– Half glad when it is night and sleep, If, haply, thro’ a dream to peep In parlors shut by day. And if I do, when morning comes, It is as if a hundred drums Did round […]

I measure every grief I meet With analytic eyes; I wonder if it weighs like mine, Or has an easier size. I wonder if they bore it long, Or did it just begin? I could not tell the date of mine, It feels so old a pain. I wonder if it hurts to live, And […]

Finite to fail, but infinite to venture. For the one ship that struts the shore Many’s the gallant, overwhelmed creature Nodding in navies nevermore.

The bone that has no marrow; What ultimate for that? It is not fit for table, For beggar, or for cat. A bone has obligations, A being has the same; A marrowless assembly Is culpabler than shame. But how shall finished creatures A function fresh obtain? — Old Nicodemus’ phantom Confronting us again!

The brain is wider than the sky, For, put them side by side, The one the other will include With ease, and you beside. The brain is deeper than the sea, For, hold them, blue to blue, The one the other will absorb, As sponges, buckets do. The brain is just the weight of God, […]

To hang our head ostensibly, And subsequent to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind, Affords the sly presumption That, in so dense a fuzz, You, too, take cobweb attitudes Upon a plane of gauze!

Our lives are Swiss, — So still, so cool, Till, some odd afternoon, The Alps neglect their curtains, And we look farther on. Italy stands the other side, While, like a guard between, The solemn Alps, The siren Alps, Forever intervene!

A modest lot, a fame petite, A brief campaign of sting and sweet Is plenty! Is enough! A sailor’s business is the shore, A soldier’s — balls. Who asketh more Must seek the neighboring life!

It might be easier To fail with land in sight, Than gain my blue peninsula To perish of delight.

What soft, cherubic creatures These gentlewomen are! One would as soon assault a plush Or violate a star. Such dimity convictions, A horror so refined Of freckled human nature, Of Deity ashamed, — It’s such a common glory, A fisherman’s degree! Redemption, brittle lady, Be so, ashamed of thee.

Who never wanted, — maddest joy Remains to him unknown: The banquet of abstemiousness Surpasses that of wine. Within its hope, though yet ungrasped Desire’s perfect goal, No nearer, lest reality Should disenthrall thy soul.

To help our bleaker parts Salubrious hours are given, Which if they do not fit for earth Drill silently for heaven.

When roses cease to bloom, dear, And violets are done, When bumble-bees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the sun, The hand that paused to gather Upon this summer’s day Will idle lie, in Auburn, — Then take my flower, pray!

One blessing had I, than the rest So larger to my eyes That I stopped gauging, satisfied, For this enchanted size. It was the limit of my dream, The focus of my prayer, — A perfect, paralyzing bliss Contented as despair. I knew no more of want or cold, Phantasms both become, For this new […]

My worthiness is all my doubt, His merit all my fear, Contrasting which, my qualities Do lowlier appear; Lest I should insufficient prove For his beloved need, The chiefest apprehension Within my loving creed. So I, the undivine abode Of his elect content, Conform my soul as ‘t were a church Unto her sacrament.

Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy passion, my humility.

Softened by Time’s consummate plush, How sleek the woe appears That threatened childhood’s citadel And undermined the years! Bisected now by bleaker griefs, We envy the despair That devastated childhood’s realm, So easy to repair.

One day is there of the series Termed Thanksgiving day, Celebrated part at table, Part in memory. Neither patriarch nor pussy, I dissect the play; Seems it, to my hooded thinking, Reflex holiday. Had there been no sharp subtraction From the early sum, Not an acre or a caption Where was once a room, Not […]

I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next Would be my final inch, — This gave me that precarious gait Some call experience.

I must not put my foot amiss For fear I spoil my shoe? I’d rather suit my foot Than save my boot, For yet to buy another pair Is possible At any fair. But bliss is sold just once; The patent lost None buy it any more.