The Doomed — regard the Sunrise
With different Delight –
Because — when next it burns abroad
They doubt to witness it –

The Man — to die — tomorrow –
Harks for the Meadow Bird –
Because its Music stirs the Axe
That clamors for his head –

Joyful — to whom the Sunrise
Precedes Enamored — Day –
Joyful — for whom the Meadow Bird
Has ought but Elegy!

The lonesome for they know not What –
The Eastern Exiles — be –
Who strayed beyond the Amber line
Some madder Holiday –

And ever since — the purple Moat
They strive to climb — in vain –
As Birds — that tumble from the clouds
Do fumble at the strain –

The Blessed Ether — taught them –
Some Transatlantic Morn –
When Heaven — was too common — to miss –
Too sure — to dote upon!

I shall keep singing!
Birds will pass me
On their way to Yellower Climes –
Each — with a Robin’s expectation –
I — with my Redbreast –
And my Rhymes –

Late — when I take my place in summer –
But — I shall bring a fuller tune –
Vespers — are sweeter than Matins — Signor –
Morning — only the seed of Noon –

Why — do they shut Me out of Heaven?
Did I sing — too loud?
But — I can say a little “Minor”
Timid as a Bird!

Wouldn’t the Angels try me –
Just — once — more –
Just — see — if I troubled them –
But don’t — shut the door!

Oh, if I — were the Gentleman
In the “White Robe” –
And they — were the little Hand — that knocked –
Could — I — forbid?

I’ve known a Heaven, like a Tent –
To wrap its shining Yards –
Pluck up its stakes, and disappear –
Without the sound of Boards
Or Rip of Nail — Or Carpenter –
But just the miles of Stare –
That signalize a Show’s Retreat –
In North America –

No Trace — no Figment of the Thing
That dazzled, Yesterday,
No Ring — no Marvel –
Men, and Feats –
Dissolved as utterly –
As Bird’s far Navigation
Discloses just a Hue –
A plash of Oars, a Gaiety –
Then swallowed up, of View.

Kill your Balm — and its Odors bless you –
Bare your Jessamine — to the storm –
And she will fling her maddest perfume –
Haply — your Summer night to Charm –

Stab the Bird — that built in your bosom –
Oh, could you catch her last Refrain –
Bubble! “forgive” — “Some better” — Bubble!
“Carol for Him — when I am gone”!

It can’t be “Summer”!
That — got through!
It’s early — yet — for “Spring”!
There’s that long town of White — to cross –
Before the Blackbirds sing!
It can’t be “Dying”!
It’s too Rouge –
The Dead shall go in White –
So Sunset shuts my question down
With Cuffs of Chrysolite!

I’ve known a Heaven, like a Tent –
To wrap its shining Yards –
Pluck up its stakes, and disappear –
Without the sound of Boards
Or Rip of Nail — Or Carpenter –
But just the miles of Stare –
That signalize a Show’s Retreat –
In North America –

No Trace — no Figment of the Thing
That dazzled, Yesterday,
No Ring — no Marvel –
Men, and Feats –
Dissolved as utterly –
As Bird’s far Navigation
Discloses just a Hue –
A plash of Oars, a Gaiety –
Then swallowed up, of View.

The Skies can’t keep their secret!
They tell it to the Hills –
The Hills just tell the Orchards –
And they — the Daffodils!

A Bird — by chance — that goes that way –
Soft overhears the whole –
If I should bribe the little Bird –
Who knows but she would tell?

I think I won’t — however –
It’s finer — not to know –
If Summer were an Axiom –
What sorcery had Snow?

So keep your secret — Father!
I would not — if I could,
Know what the Sapphire Fellows, do,
In your new-fashioned world!

If I could bribe them by a Rose
I’d bring them every flower that grows
From Amherst to Cashmere!
I would not stop for night, or storm –
Or frost, or death, or anyone –
My business were so dear!

If they would linger for a Bird
My Tambourin were soonest heard
Among the April Woods!
Unwearied, all the summer long,
Only to break in wilder song
When Winter shook the boughs!

What if they hear me!
Who shall say
That such an importunity
May not at last avail?

That, weary of this Beggar’s face –
They may not finally say, Yes –
To drive her from the Hall?