Soul, wilt thou toss again?
By just such a hazard
Hundreds have lost, indeed,
But tens have won an all.
Angels’ breathless ballot
Lingers to record thee;
Imps in eager caucus
Raffle for my soul.
“Imps in eager caucus” and “Angels’ breathless ballot”–I imagine some sort of cosmic craps hall, where it all comes down to one bold toss of the dice. Snake eyes? Box cars? You won’t know until you throw the bones…
This photo is available a greeting card
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, –
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do
If bees are few.
What mystery pervades a well!
The water lives so far,
Like neighbor from another world
Residing in a jar.
The spider as an artist
Has never been employed
Though his surpassing merit
Is freely certified
By every broom and Bridget
Throughout a Christian land.
Neglected son of genius,
I take thee by the hand.
High from the earth I heard a bird;
He trod upon the trees
As he esteemed them trifles,
And then he spied a breeze,
And situated softly
Upon a pile of wind
Which in a perturbation
Nature had left behind.
A sepal, petal, and a thorn
Upon a common summer’s morn,
A flash of dew, a bee or two,
A breeze
A caper in the trees, –
And I’m a rose!
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June 13, 2007 at 10:09 am
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