I have a Bird in spring
Which for myself doth sing --
The spring decoys.
And as the summer nears --
And as the Rose appears,
Robin is gone.
Yet do I not repine
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown --
Learneth beyond the sea
Melody new for me
And will return.
Fast is a safer hand
Held in a truer Land
Are mine --
And though they now depart,
There came a Day at Summer's full,
Entirely for me --
I thought that such were for the Saints,
Where Resurrections -- be --
The Sun, as common, went abroad,
The flowers, accustomed, blew,
As if no soul the solstice passed
That maketh all things new --
The time was scarce profaned, by speech --
The symbol of a word
Was needless, as at Sacrament,
The Wardrobe -- of our Lord --
Each was to each The Sealed Church,
Permitted to commune this -- time --
Lest we too awkward show
At Supper of the Lamb.
The Rose did caper on her cheek --
Her Bodice rose and fell --
Her pretty speech -- like drunken men --
Did stagger pitiful --
Her fingers fumbled at her work --
Her needle would not go --
What ailed so smart a little Maid --
It puzzled me to know --
Till opposite -- I spied a cheek
That bore another Rose --
Just opposite -- Another speech
That like the Drunkard goes --
A Vest that like her Bodice, danced --
To the immortal tune --
Till those two troubled -- little Clocks
Ticked softly into one.
The Service without Hope --
Is tenderest, I think --
Because 'tis unsustained
By stint -- Rewarded Work --
Has impetus of Gain --
And impetus of Goal --
There is no Diligence like that
That knows not an Until --
You know that Portrait in the Moon --
So tell me who 'tis like --
The very Brow -- the stooping eyes --
A fog for -- Say -- Whose Sake?
The very Pattern of the Cheek --
It varies -- in the Chin --
But -- Ishmael -- since we met -- 'tis long --
And fashions -- intervene --
When Moon's at full -- 'Tis Thou -- I say --
My lips just hold the name --
When crescent -- Thou art worn -- I note --
But -- there -- the Golden Same --
And when -- Some Night -- Bold -- slashing Clouds
Cut Thee away from Me --
That's easier -- than the other film
That glazes Holiday --
Nature rarer uses Yellow
Than another Hue.
Saves she all of that for Sunsets
Prodigal of Blue
Spending Scarlet, like a Woman
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly
Like a Lover's Words.
The Flower must not blame the Bee --
That seeketh his felicity
Too often at her door --
But teach the Footman from Vevay --
Mistress is "not at home" -- to say --
To people -- any more!
Joy to have merited the Pain --
To merit the Release --
Joy to have perished every step --
To Compass Paradise --
Pardon -- to look upon thy face --
With these old fashioned Eyes --
Better than new -- could be -- for that --
Though bought in Paradise --
Because they looked on thee before --
And thou hast looked on them --
Prove Me -- My Hazel Witnesses
The features are the same --
So fleet thou wert, when present --
So infinite -- when gone --
An Orient's Apparition --
Remanded of the Morn --
I rose -- because He sank --
I thought it would be opposite --
But when his power dropped --
My Soul grew straight.
I cheered my fainting Prince --
I sang firm -- even -- Chants --
I helped his Film -- with Hymn --
And when the Dews drew off
That held his Forehead stiff --
I met him --
Balm to Balm --
I told him Best -- must pass
Through this low Arch of Flesh --
No Casque so brave
It spurn the Grave --
I told him Worlds I knew
Summer for thee, grant I may be
When Summer days are flown!
Thy music still, when Whipporwill
And Oriole -- are done!
For thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb
And row my blossoms o'er!
Pray gather me --
Anemone --
Thy flower -- forevermore!
Indeed this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,—
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,—
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
She has laughed as softly as if she sighed,
She has counted six, and over,
Of a purse well filled, and a heart well tried -
Oh, each a worthy lover!
They "give her time"; for her soul must slip
Where the world has set the grooving;
She will lie to none with her fair red lip:
But love seeks truer loving.
She trembles her fan in a sweetness dumb,
As her thoughts were beyond recalling;
With a glance for one, and a glance for some,
From her eyelids rising and falling;
Speaks common words with a blushful air,
Hears bold words, unreproving;
But her silence says - what she never will swear -
And love seeks better loving.