Category Poets

How good his Lava Bed, To this laborious Boy – Who must be up to call the World And dress the sleepy Day –

How fits his Umber Coat The Tailor of the Nut? Combined without a seam Like Raiment of a Dream – Who spun the Auburn Cloth? Computed how the girth? The Chestnut aged grows In those primeval Clothes – We know…

How firm eternity must look To crumbling men like me – The only adamant Estate In all Identity – How mighty to the insecure – Thy Physiognomy To whom not any Face cohere – Unless concealed in thee.

How destitute is he Whose Gold is firm – Who finds it every time The same stale Sum – When Love with but a Pence Will so display As he had no esteem To India –

How dare the robins sing, When men and women hear Who since they went to their account Have settled with the year! – Paid all that life had earned In one consummate bill. And now, what life or death can…

How brittle are the Piers On which our Faith doth tread – No Bridge below doth totter so – Yet none hath such a Crowd – It is as old as God – Indeed – ’twas built by him –…

Hope is a subtle Glutton – He feeds upon the Fair – And yet – inspected closely What Abstinence is there – His is the Halcyon Table – That never seats but One – And whatsoever is consumed The same…

Hope is a strange invention – A Patent of the Heart – In unremitting action Yet never wearing out – Of this electric adjunct Not anything is known But its unique momentum Embellish all we own –

His voice decrepit was with Joy – Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with Glee – Is it Delight or Woe – Or Terror…

His oriental heresies Exhilarate the Bee, And filling all the Earth and sky With gay apostasy Fatigued at last, a Clover plain Ensnares his jaded eye Sweet homestead where the butterfly Betakes himself to die – Intoxicated with the peace…