Than Heaven more remote,
For Heaven is the root,
But these the flitted seed.
More flown indeed
Than ones that never were,
Or those that hide, and are.
What madness, by their side,
A vision to provide
Of future days
They cannot praise.
My soul, to find them, come,
They cannot call, they're dumb,
Nor prove, nor woo,
But that they have abode
Is absolute as God,
And instant, too.
Talk not to me of Summer Trees
The foliage of the mind
A Tabernacle is for Birds
Of no corporeal kind
And winds do go that way at noon
To their Ethereal Homes
Whose Bugles call the least of us
To undepicted Realms
"Heaven" has different Signs -- to me --
Sometimes, I think that Noon
Is but a symbol of the Place --
And when again, at Dawn,
A mighty look runs round the World
And settles in the Hills --
An Awe if it should be like that
Upon the Ignorance steals --
The Orchard, when the Sun is on --
The Triumph of the Birds
When they together Victory make --
Some Carnivals of Clouds --
The Rapture of a finished Day --
Returning to the West --
All these -- remind us of the place
That Men call "paradise" --
I went to Heaven --
'Twas a small Town --
Lit -- with a Ruby --
Lathed -- with Down --
Stiller -- than the fields
At the full Dew --
Beautiful -- as Pictures --
No Man drew.
People -- like the Moth --
Of Mechlin -- frames --
Duties -- of Gossamer --
And Eider -- names --
Almost -- contented --
I -- could be --
'Mong such unique
Society --
My life closed twice before its close --
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me
So huge, so hopeless to conceive
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
Immured in Heaven!
What a Cell!
Let every Bondage be,
Thou sweetest of the Universe,
Like that which ravished thee!
He put the Belt around my life
I heard the Buckle snap --
And turned away, imperial,
My Lifetime folding up --
Deliberate, as a Duke would do
A Kingdom's Title Deed --
Henceforth, a Dedicated sort --
A Member of the Cloud.
Yet not too far to come at call --
And do the little Toils
That make the Circuit of the Rest --
And deal occasional smiles
To lives that stoop to notice mine --
And kindly ask it in --
Whose invitation, know you not
For Whom I must decline?
So give me back to Death --
The Death I never feared
Except that it deprived of thee --
And now, by Life deprived,
In my own Grave I breathe
And estimate its size --
Its size is all that Hell can guess --
And all that Heaven was --
How far is it to Heaven?
As far as Death this way --
Of River or of Ridge beyond
Was no discovery.
How far is it to Hell?
As far as Death this way --
How far left hand the Sepulchre
Defies Topography.
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 Comes --
Withdraws -- and leaves the dazzled Soul
In her unfurnished Rooms
Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their -- low Brows --
Or Bees -- that thought the Summer's name
Some rumor of Delirium,
No Summer -- could -- for Them --
Or Arctic Creatures, dimly stirred --
By Tropic Hint -- some Travelled Bird
Imported to the Wood --
Or Wind's bright signal to the Ear --
Making that homely, and severe,
Contented, known, before --
The Heaven -- unexpected come,
To Lives that thought the Worshipping
A too presumptuous Psalm --
The Bird her punctual music brings
And lays it in its place --
Its place is in the Human Heart
And in the Heavenly Grace --
What respite from her thrilling toil
Did Beauty ever take --
But Work might be electric Rest
To those that Magic make --