Delight is as the flight –
Or in the Ratio of it,
As the Schools would say –
The Rainbow’s way –
A Skein
Flung colored, after Rain,
Would suit as bright,
Except that flight
Were Aliment –

“If it would last”
I asked the East,
When that Bent Stripe
Struck up my childish
Firmament –
And I, for glee,
Took Rainbows, as the common way,
And empty Skies
The Eccentricity –

And so with Lives –
And so with Butterflies –
Seen magic — through the fright
That they will cheat the sight –
And Dower latitudes far on –
Some sudden morn –
Our portion — in the fashion –
Done –

What would I give to see his face?
I’d give — I’d give my life — of course –
But that is not enough!
Stop just a minute — let me think!
I’d give my biggest Bobolink!
That makes two — Him — and Life!
You know who “June” is –
I’d give her –
Roses a day from Zanzibar –
And Lily tubes — like Wells –
Bees — by the furlong –
Straits of Blue
Navies of Butterflies — sailed thro’ –
And dappled Cowslip Dells –

Then I have “shares” in Primrose “Banks” –
Daffodil Dowries — spicy “Stocks” –
Dominions — broad as Dew –
Bags of Doublons — adventurous Bees
Brought me — from firmamental seas –
And Purple — from Peru –

Now — have I bought it –
“Shylock”? Say!
Sign me the Bond!
“I vow to pay
To Her — who pledges this –
One hour — of her Sovereign’s face”!
Ecstatic Contract!
Niggard Grace!
My Kingdom’s worth of Bliss!

Make me a picture of the sun –
So I can hang it in my room –
And make believe I’m getting warm
When others call it “Day”!

Draw me a Robin — on a stem –
So I am hearing him, I’ll dream,
And when the Orchards stop their tune –
Put my pretense — away –

Say if it’s really — warm at noon –
Whether it’s Buttercups — that “skim” –
Or Butterflies — that “bloom”?
Then — skip — the frost — upon the lea –
And skip the Russet — on the tree –
Let’s play those — never come!

Except to Heaven, she is nought.
Except for Angels — lone.
Except to some wide-wandering Bee
A flower superfluous blown.

Except for winds — provincial.
Except by Butterflies
Unnoticed as a single dew
That on the Acre lies.

The smallest Housewife in the grass,
Yet take her from the Lawn
And somebody has lost the face
That made Existence — Home!

Flowers — Well — if anybody
Can the ecstasy define –
Half a transport — half a trouble –
With which flowers humble men:
Anybody find the fountain
From which floods so contra flow –
I will give him all the Daisies
Which upon the hillside blow.

Too much pathos in their faces
For a simple breast like mine –
Butterflies from St. Domingo
Cruising round the purple line –
Have a system of aesthetics –
Far superior to mine.

South Winds jostle them –
Bumblebees come –
Hover — hesitate –
Drink, and are gone –

Butterflies pause
On their passage Cashmere –
I — softly plucking,
Present them here!

Some Rainbow — coming from the Fair!
Some Vision of the World Cashmere –
I confidently see!
Or else a Peacock’s purple Train
Feather by feather — on the plain
Fritters itself away!

The dreamy Butterflies bestir!
Lethargic pools resume the whir
Of last year’s sundered tune!
From some old Fortress on the sun
Baronial Bees — march — one by one –
In murmuring platoon!

The Robins stand as thick today
As flakes of snow stood yesterday –
On fence — and Roof — and Twig!
The Orchis binds her feather on
For her old lover – Don the Sun!
Revisiting the Bog!

Without Commander! Countless! Still!
The Regiments of Wood and Hill
In bright detachment stand!
Behold! Whose Multitudes are these?
The children of whose turbaned seas –
Or what Circassian Land?