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22 November 2011 @ 11:06 pm
Surgeons must be careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the Culprit—Life!
 
 
11 November 2011 @ 01:12 pm
'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!
 
 
07 November 2011 @ 08:46 pm
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 are 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!
 
 
06 November 2011 @ 02:41 pm
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!
 
 
04 May 2010 @ 09:42 pm
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!

When I have lost, you'll know by this—
A Bonnet black—A dusk surplice—
A little tremor in my voice
Like this!

Why, I have lost, the people know
Who dressed in flocks of purest snow
Went home a century ago
Next Bliss!
 
 
 
03 May 2010 @ 11:13 pm
103

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!
 
 
02 May 2010 @ 11:15 pm
Great Caesar! Condescend
The Daisy, to receive,
Gathered by Cato's Daughter,
With your majestic leave!
 
 
01 May 2010 @ 11:55 pm
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!
 
 
25 April 2010 @ 07:19 pm
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!
 
 
22 April 2010 @ 02:56 pm
New feet within my garden go—
New fingers stir the sod—
A Troubadour upon the Elm
Betrays the solitude.

New children play upon the green—
New Weary sleep below—
And still the pensive Spring returns—
And still the punctual snow!