Category Poem

The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain- And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep; And then, if it should be The will of its Inquisitor, The liberty to die.

The hallowing of Pain Like hallowing of Heaven, Obtains at a corporeal cost— The Summit is not given To Him who strives severe At middle of the Hill— But He who has achieved the Top— All—is the price of All—

The Guest is gold and crimson— An Opal guest and gray— Of Ermine is his doublet— His Capuchin gay— He reaches town at nightfall— He stops at every door— Who looks for him at morning I pray him too—explore The…

The Grass so little has to do – A Sphere of simple Green – With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain – And stir all day to pretty Tunes The Breezes fetch along – And hold the Sunshine…

The Grace—Myself—might not obtain— Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—

The good Will of a Flower The Man who would possess Must first present Certificate Of minted Holiness.

The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade. A brief, but patient illness— An hour to prepare, And one below this morning Is where the angels are— It was a short procession, The…

The Future—never spoke— Nor will He—like the Dumb— Reveal by sign—a syllable Of His Profound To Come— But when the News be ripe— Presents it—in the Act— Forestalling Preparation— Escape—or Substitute— Indifference to Him— The Dower—as the Doom— His Office—but…

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!

The first Day’s Night had come— And grateful that a thing So terrible—had been endured— I told my Soul to sing— She said her Strings were snapt— Her Bow—to Atoms blown— And so to mend her—gave me work Until another…