A science -- so the Savants say, "Comparative Anatomy" -- By which a single bone --
Is made a secret to unfold Of some rare tenant of the mold, Else perished in the stone --
So to the eye prospective led, This meekest flower of the mead Upon a winter's day,
Stands representative in gold Of Rose and Lily, manifold, And countless Butterfly!
Will there really be a "Morning"? Is there such a thing as "Day"? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like Water lilies?
Has it feathers like a Bird?
Is it brought from famous countries Of which I have never heard?
Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor! Oh some Wise Men from the skies! Please to tell a little Pilgrim
Where the place called "Morning" lies!
Great Caesar! Condescend The Daisy, to receive,
Gathered by Cato's Daughter, With your majestic leave!
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 my pillow roll,
And shouts fill all my Childish sky, And Bells keep saying "Victory" From steeples in my soul!
And if I don't -- the little Bird Within the Orchard, is not heard, And I omit to pray
"Father, thy will be done" today For my will goes the other way, And it were perjury!
Where I have lost, I softer tread -- I sow sweet flower from garden bed -- I pause above that vanished head And mourn.
Whom I have lost, I pious guard From accent harsh, or ruthless word -- Feeling as if their pillow heard,
Though stone!
Why, I have lost, the people know Who dressed in flocks of purest snow Went home a century ago
Next Bliss!
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!
The Daisy follows soft the Sun -- And when his golden walk is done -Sits shyly at his feet --
He -- waking -- finds the flower there -- Wherefore -- Marauder -- art thou here? Because, Sir, love is sweet!
We are the Flower -- Thou the Sun! Forgive us, if as days decline --
We nearer steal to Thee!
Enamored of the parting West -- The peace -- the flight -- the Amethyst -- Night's possibility!
107 'Twas such a little -- little boat That toddled down the bay! 'Twas such a gallant -- gallant sea
That beckoned it away!
'Twas such a greedy, greedy wave That licked it from the Coast -- Nor ever guessed the stately sails My little craft was lost!
108Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit -- Life!
109By 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!
Artists wrestled here! Lo, a tint Cashmere! Lo, a Rose!
Student of the Year! For the easel here Say Repose!
The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly.
The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially --
The Brooks laugh louder when I come -- The Breezes madder play;
Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists, Wherefore, Oh Summer's Day?
Where bells no more affright the morn -- Where scrabble never comes --
Where very nimble Gentlemen
Are forced to keep their rooms --
Where tired Children placid sleep
Thro' Centuries of noon
This place is Bliss -- this town is Heaven -- Please, Pater, pretty soon!
"Oh could we climb where Moses stood, And view the Landscape o'er"
Not Father's bells -- nor Factories, Could scare us any more!
Our share of night to bear -- Our share of morning -- Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning -
Here a star, and there a star, Some lose their way!
Here a mist, and there a mist, Afterwards -- Day!
Good night, because we must, How intricate the dust!
I would go, to know!
Oh incognito!
Saucy, Saucy Seraph
To elude me so!
Father! they won't tell me, Won't you tell them to?
What Inn is this
Where for the night
Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord?
Where the maids?
Behold, what curious rooms! No ruddy fires on the hearth -- No brimming Tankards flow -- Necromancer! Landlord! Who are these below?
I had some things that I called mine -- And God, that he called his,
Till, recently a rival Claim
Disturbed these amities.
The property, my garden, Which having sown with care, He claims the pretty acre, And sends a Bailiff there.
The station of the parties Forbids publicity,
But Justice is sublimer Than arms, or pedigree.
I'll institute an "Action" -- I'll vindicate the law --
Jove! Choose your counsel -- I retain "Shaw"!
In rags mysterious as these
The shining Courtiers go --
Veiling the purple, and the plumes -- Veiling the ermine so.
Smiling, as they request an alms -- At some imposing door!
Smiling when we walk barefoot Upon their golden floor!
My friend attacks my friend! Oh Battle picturesque!
Then I turn Soldier too,
And he turns Satirist!
How martial is this place!
Had I a mighty gun
I think I'd shoot the human race And then to glory run!
Talk with prudence to a Beggar Of "Potose," and the mines! Reverently, to the Hungry Of your viands, and your wines!
Cautious, hint to any Captive You have passed enfranchised feet! Anecdotes of air in Dungeons
Have sometimes proved deadly sweet!
If this is "fading"
Oh let me immediately "fade"! If this is "dying"
Bury me, in such a shroud of red! If this is "sleep,"
On such a night
How proud to shut the eye!
Good Evening, gentle Fellow men! Peacock presumes to die!
As Watchers hang upon the East, As Beggars revel at a feast
By savory Fancy spread --
As brooks in deserts babble sweet On ear too far for the delight, Heaven beguiles the tired.
As that same watcher, when the East Opens the lid of Amethyst
And lets the morning go --
That Beggar, when an honored Guest, Those thirsty lips to flagons pressed, Heaven to us, if true.
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!
Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.
124In lands I never saw -- they say Immortal Alps look down --
Whose Bonnets touch the firmament -- Whose Sandals touch the town --
Meek at whose everlasting feet A Myriad Daisy play --
Which, Sir, are you and which am I Upon an August day?
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ration To the ecstasy.
For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years -- Bitter contested farthings -- And Coffers heaped with Tears!
To fight aloud, is very brave -- But gallanter, I know
Who charge within the bosom The Cavalry of Woe --
Who win, and nations do not see -- Who fall -- and none observe -- Whose dying eyes, no Country Regards with patriot love --
We trust, in plumed procession For such, the Angels go --
Rank after Rank, with even feet -- And Uniforms of Snow.
"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!
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?
Cocoon above! Cocoon below! Stealthy Cocoon, why hide you so What all the world suspect? An hour, and gay on every tree Your secret, perched in ecstasy Defies imprisonment!
An hour in Chrysalis to pass, Then gay above receding grass A Butterfly to go!
A moment to interrogate,
Then wiser than a "Surrogate," The Universe to know!
These are the days when Birds come back -- A very few -- a Bird or two --
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies resume The old -- old sophistries of June -A blue and gold mistake.
Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee -- Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear -- And softly thro' the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh Sacrament of summer days, Oh Last Communion in the Haze -- Permit a child to join.
Thy sacred emblems to partake -- They consecrated bread to take And thine immortal wine!
131Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze --
A few incisive Mornings --
A few Ascetic Eves --
Gone -- Mr. Bryant's "Golden Rod" -- And Mr. Thomson's "sheaves."
Still, is the bustle in the Brook -- Sealed are the spicy valves -- Mesmeric fingers softly touch The Eyes of many Elves --
Perhaps a squirrel may remain -- My sentiments to share --
Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind -- Thy windy will to bear!
I bring an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching
Next to mine,
And summon them to drink;
Crackling with fever, they Essay, I turn my brimming eyes away, And come next hour to look.
The hands still hug the tardy glass -- The lips I would have cooled, alas -Are so superfluous Cold --
I would as soon attempt to warm The bosoms where the frost has lain Ages beneath the mould --
Some other thirsty there may be To whom this would have pointed me Had it remained to speak --
And so I always bear the cup If, haply, mine may be the drop Some pilgrim thirst to slake --
If, haply, any say to me "Unto the little, unto me," When I at last awake.
133As Children bid the Guest "Good Night" And then reluctant turn -
My flowers raise their pretty lips -- Then put their nightgowns on.
As children caper when they wake Merry that it is Morn --
My flowers from a hundred cribs Will peep, and prance again.
Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower, But I could never sell --
If you would like to borrow,
Until the Daffodil
Unties her yellow Bonnet
Beneath the village door,
Until the Bees, from Clover rows Their Hock, and Sherry, draw,
135
Water, is taught by thirst. Land -- by the Oceans passed. Transport -- by throe --
Peace -- by its battles told -- Love, by Memorial Mold -- Birds, by the Snow.
Have you got a Brook in your little heart, Where bashful flowers blow,
And blushing birds go down to drink, And shadows tremble so --
And nobody knows, so still it flows, That any brook is there,
And yet your little draught of life Is daily drunken there -
Why, look out for the little brook in March, When the rivers overflow,
And the snows come hurrying from the fills, And the bridges often go --
And later, in August it may be -- When the meadows parching lie, Beware, lest this little brook of life, Some burning noon go dry!
137Flowers -- 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.
138Pigmy seraphs -- gone astray -- Velvet people from Vevay --
Balles from some lost summer day -- Bees exclusive Coterie --
Paris could not lay the fold
Belted down with Emerald --
Venice could not show a check Of a tint so lustrous meek --
Never such an Ambuscade
As of briar and leaf displayed
For my little damask maid --
I had rather wear her grace
Than an Earl's distinguished face -I had rather dwell like her
Than be "Duke of Exeter" --
Royalty enough for me
To subdue the Bumblebee.
Soul, Wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard
Hundreds have lost indeed -- But tens have won an all --
Angel's breathless ballot Lingers to record thee -Imps in eager Caucus Raffle for my Soul!
140 An altered look about the hills -- A Tyrian light the village fills -- A wider sunrise in the morn -- A deeper twilight on the lawn -- A print of a vermillion foot --
A purple finger on the slope -- A flippant fly upon the pane -- A spider at his trade again --
An added strut in Chanticleer -- A flower expected everywhere -- An axe shrill singing in the woods -- Fern odors on untravelled roads -All this and more I cannot tell -- A furtive look you know as well -- And Nicodemus' Mystery
Receives its annual reply!
Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses -- Tenderly tucking them in from frost Before their feet are cold.
Never the treasures in her nest
The cautious grave exposes,
Building where schoolboy dare not look, And sportsman is not bold.
This covert have all the children Early aged, and often cold,
Sparrow, unnoticed by the Father -- Lambs for whom time had not a fold.
Whose are the little beds, I asked
Which in the valleys lie?
Some shook their heads, and others smiled -- And no one made reply.
Perhaps they did not hear, I said, I will inquire again --
Whose are the beds -- the tiny beds So thick upon the plain?
'Tis Daisy, in the shortest --
A little further on --
Nearest the door -- to wake the Ist -Little Leontoden.
'Tis Iris, Sir, and Aster -- Anemone, and Bell --
Bartsia, in the blanket red -- And chubby Daffodil.
Meanwhile, at many cradles Her busy foot she plied -- Humming the quaintest lullaby That ever rocked a child.
Hush! Epigea wakens!
The Crocus stirs her lids -- Rhodora's cheek is crimson, She's dreaming of the woods!
Then turning from them reverent -- Their bedtime 'tis, she said -- The Bumble bees will wake them When April woods are red.
143For every Bird a Nest --
Wherefore in timid quest
Some little Wren goes seeking round --
Wherefore when boughs are free -Households in every tree --
Pilgrim be found?
Perhaps a home too high -- Ah Aristocracy!
The little Wren desires -
Perhaps of twig so fine -Of twine e'en superfine, Her pride aspires --
The Lark is not ashamed To build upon the ground Her modest house --
Yet who of all the throng Dancing around the sun Does so rejoice?
144She bore it till the simple veins Traced azure on her hand -- Til pleading, round her quiet eyes The purple Crayons stand.
Till Daffodils had come and gone I cannot tell the sum,
And then she ceased to bear it -- And with the Saints sat down.
No more her patient figure At twilight soft to meet -- No more her timid bonnet Upon the village street -
But Crowns instead, and Courtiers -- And in the midst so fair,
Whose but her shy -- immortal face Of whom we're whispering here?
This heart that broke so long -- These feet that never flagged -- This faith that watched for star in vain, Give gently to the dead --
Hound cannot overtake the Hare That fluttered panting, here -- Nor any schoolboy rob the nest Tenderness builded there.
On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care
If such a little figure
Slipped quiet from its chair --
So quiet -- Oh how quiet, That nobody might know But that the little figure Rocked softer -- to and fro --
On such a dawn, or such a dawn -- Would anybody sigh
That such a little figure
Too sound asleep did lie
For Chanticleer to wake it -- Or stirring house below -- Or giddy bird in orchard -- Or early task to do?
There was a little figure plump For every little knoll --
Busy needles, and spools of thread -And trudging feet from school --
Playmates, and holidays, and nuts -And visions vast and small --
Strange that the feet so precious charged Should reach so small a goal!
147 Bless God, he went as soldiers, His musket on his breast -- Grant God, he charge the bravest Of all the martial blest!
Please God, might I behold him In epauletted white --
I should not fear the foe then -- I should not fear the fight!
All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of "Currer Bell" In quiet "Haworth" laid.
Gathered from many wanderings -Gethsemane can tell
Thro' what transporting anguish She reached the Asphodel!
Soft falls the sounds of Eden Upon her puzzled ear -
Oh what an afternoon for Heaven, When "Bronte" entered there!
She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!
She dropt as softly as a star From out my summer's Eve -- Less skillful than Le Verriere It's sorer to believe!
150
She died -- this was the way she died. And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.
Her little figure at the gate
The Angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side.
Mute thy Coronation -- Meek my Vive le roi, Fold a tiny courtier In thine Ermine, Sir, There to rest revering Till the pageant by, I can murmur broken, Master, It was I --
152The Sun kept stooping -- stooping -- low! The Hills to meet him rose!
On his side, what Transaction!
On their side, what Repose!
Deeper and deeper grew the stain Upon the window pane --
Thicker and thicker stood the feet Until the Tyrian
Was crowded dense with Armies -- So gay, so Brigadier --
That I felt martial stirrings
Who once the Cockade wore -- Charged from my chimney corner -- But Nobody was there!
Dust is the only Secret -- Death, the only One
You cannot find out all about In his "native town."
Nobody know "his Father" -- Never was a Boy --
Hadn't any playmates,
Or "Early history" --
Industrious! Laconic! Punctual! Sedate! Bold as a Brigand! Stiller than a Fleet!
Builds, like a Bird, too! Christ robs the Nest -- Robin after Robin
Smuggled to Rest!
Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels -- lone.
Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown.
Except for winds -- provincial. Except by Butterflies
Unnoticed as a single dew That on the Acre lies.
The smallest Housewife in the grass, Yet take her from the Lawn
And somebody has lost the face That made Existence -- Home!
The Murmur of a Bee
A Witchcraft -- yieldeth me -- If any ask me why --
'Twere easier to die --
Than tell -
The Red upon the Hill
Taketh away my will --
If anybody sneer --
Take care -- for God is here -- That's all.
The Breaking of the Day Addeth to my Degree -- If any ask me how --
Artist -- who drew me so -- Must tell!
You love me -- you are sure -- I shall not fear mistake -- I shall not cheated wake -- Some grinning morn --
To find the Sunrise left -- And Orchards -- unbereft -- And Dollie -- gone!
I need not start -- you're sure --
That night will never be --
When frightened -- home to Thee I run -- To find the windows dark --
And no more Dollie -- mark --
Quite none?
Be sure you're sure -- you know -- I'll bear it better now --
If you'll just tell me so --
Than when -- a little dull Balm grown -- Over this pain of mine --
You sting -- again!
Musicians wrestle everywhere -- All day -- among the crowded air I hear the silver strife --
And -- walking -- long before the morn -- Such transport breaks upon the town I think it that "New Life"!
If is not Bird -- it has no nest --
Nor "Band" -- in brass and scarlet -- drest -- Nor Tamborin -- nor Man --
It is not Hymn from pulpit read --
The "Morning Stars" the Treble led On Time's first Afternoon!
Some -- say -- it is "the Spheres" -- at play! Some say that bright Majority
Of vanished Dames -- and Men!
Some -- think it service in the place Where we -- with late -- celestial face -- Please God -- shall Ascertain!
Dying! Dying in the night! Won't somebody bring the light So I can see which way to go Into the everlasting snow?
And "Jesus"! Where is Jesus gone? They said that Jesus -- always came -- Perhaps he doesn't know the House -- This way, Jesus, Let him pass!
Somebody run to the great gate And see if Dollie's coming! Wait! I hear her feet upon the stair!
Death won't hurt -- now Dollie's here!
A little bread -- a crust -- a crumb -- A little trust -- a demijohn --
Can keep the soul alive --
Not portly, mind! but breathing -- warm -- Conscious -- as old Napoleon,
The night before the Crown!
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!
Just lost, when I was saved!
Just felt the world go by!
Just girt me for the onset with Eternity, When breath blew back,
And on the other side
I heard recede the disappointed tide!
Therefore, as One returned, I feel Odd secrets of the line to tell!
Some Sailor, skirting foreign shores -- Some pale Reporter, from the awful doors Before the Seal!
Next time, to stay!
Next time, the things to see By Ear unheard,
Unscrutinized by Eye -- Next time, to tarry,
While the Ages steal -Slow tramp the Centuries, And the Cycles wheel!
A feather from the Whippoorwill
That everlasting -- sings!
Whose galleries -- are Sunrise --
Whose Opera -- the Springs --
Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin Of mellow -- murmuring thread -- Whose Beryl Egg, what Schoolboys hunt In "Recess" -- Overhead!
My River runs to thee -Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me? My River wait reply --
Oh Sea -- look graciously -- I'll fetch thee Brooks
From spotted nooks --
Say -- Sea -- Take Me!
Tho' my destiny be Fustian -- Hers be damask fine --
Tho' she wear a silver apron -- I, a less divine --
Still, my little Gypsy being I would far prefer,
Still, my little sunburnt bosom To her Rosier,
For, when Frosts, their punctual fingers On her forehead lay,
You and I, and Dr. Holland,
Bloom Eternally!
Roses of a steadfast summer In a steadfast land,
Where no Autumn lifts her pencil -- And no Reapers stand!
Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree --
She looks down just as often And just as tenderly
As when her little mortal nest With cunning care she wove -- If either of her "sparrows fall," She "notices," above.
A Wounded Deer -- leaps highest -I'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!
166 I met a King this afternoon! He had not on a Crown in