Admin

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…

The cricket sang, And set the sun, And workmen finished, one by one, Their seam the day upon. The low grass loaded with the dew, The twilight stood as strangers do With hat in hand, polite and new, To stay…

The Court is far away— No Umpire—have I— My Sovereign is offended— To gain his grace—I’d die! I’ll seek his royal feet— I’ll say—Remember—King— Thou shalt—thyself—one day—a Child— Implore a larger—thing— That Empire—is of Czars— As small—they say—as I— Grant…

The Color of the Grave is Green— The Outer Grave—I mean— You would not know it from the Field— Except it own a Stone— To help the fond—to find it— Too infinite asleep To stop and tell them where it…

The Color of a Queen, is this— The Color of a Sun At setting—this and Amber— Beryl—and this, at Noon— And when at night—Auroran widths Fling suddenly on men— ‘Tis this—and Witchcraft—nature keeps A Rank—for Iodine—

The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes— Never had a Doubt— Laughs—at a Scruple— Believes all sham But Paradise— Credits the World— Deems His Dominion Broadest of Sovereignties— And Caesar—mean— In the Comparison—…

The Chemical conviction That Nought be lost Enable in Disaster My fractured Trust— The Faces of the Atoms If I shall see How more the Finished Creatures Departed me!

The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,– The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity.

The Brain—is wider than the Sky— For—put them side by side— The one the other will contain 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…

The Brain, within its Groove Runs evenly—and true— But let a Splinter swerve— ‘Twere easier for You— To put a Current back— When Floods have slit the Hills— And scooped a Turnpike for Themselves— And trodden out the Mills—