Tag Archives: bell

Through the Dark Sod — as Education –

Through the Dark Sod -- as Education --Through the Dark Sod — as Education —
The Lily passes sure —
Feels her white foot — no trepidation —
Her faith — no fear —

Afterward — in the Meadow —
Swinging her Beryl Bell —
The Mold-life — all forgotten — now —
In Ecstasy — and Dell –

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I saw no Way — The Heavens were stitched –

I saw no Way -- The Heavens were stitched --I saw no Way — The Heavens were stitched —
I felt the Columns close —
The Earth reversed her Hemispheres —
I touched the Universe —

And back it slid — and I alone —
A Speck upon a Ball —
Went out upon Circumference —
Beyond the Dip of Bell –

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Just so — Jesus — raps –

Just so -- Jesus -- raps --Just so — Jesus — raps —
He — doesn’t weary —
Last — at the Knocker —
And first — at the Bell.
Then — on divinest tiptoe — standing —
Might He but spy the lady’s soul —
When He — retires —
Chilled — or weary —
It will be ample time for — me —
Patient — upon the steps — until then —
Hears! I am knocking — low at thee.

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That after Horror — that ’twas us –

That after Horror -- that 'twas us --That after Horror — that ’twas us —
That passed the mouldering Pier —
Just as the Granite Crumb let go —
Our Savior, by a Hair —

A second more, had dropped too deep
For Fisherman to plumb —
The very profile of the Thought
Puts Recollection numb —

The possibility — to pass
Without a Moment’s Bell —
Into Conjecture’s presence —
Is like a Face of Steel —
That suddenly looks into ours
With a metallic grin —
The Cordiality of Death —
Who drills his Welcome in –

Whose are the little beds, I asked

Whose are the little beds, I askedWhose are the little beds, I asked
Which in the valleys lie?
Some shook their heads, and others smiled —
And no one made reply.

Perhaps they did not hear, I said,
I will inquire again —
Whose are the beds — the tiny beds
So thick upon the plain?

‘Tis Daisy, in the shortest —
A little further on —
Nearest the door — to wake the Ist —
Little Leontoden.

‘Tis Iris, Sir, and Aster —
Anemone, and Bell —
Bartsia, in the blanket red —
And chubby Daffodil.

Meanwhile, at many cradles
Her busy foot she plied —
Humming the quaintest lullaby
That ever rocked a child.

Hush! Epigea wakens!
The Crocus stirs her lids —
Rhodora’s cheek is crimson,
She’s dreaming of the woods!

Then turning from them reverent —
Their bedtime ’tis, she said —
The Bumble bees will wake them
When April woods are red.