crown

Her — “last Poems” –
Poets — ended –
Silver — perished — with her Tongue –
Not on Record — bubbled other,
Flute — or Woman –
So divine –
Not unto its Summer — Morning
Robin — uttered Half the Tune –
Gushed too free for the Adoring –
From the Anglo-Florentine –
Late — the Praise –
‘Tis dull — conferring
On the Head too High to Crown –
Diadem — or Ducal Showing –
Be its Grave — sufficient sign –
Nought — that We — No Poet’s Kinsman –
Suffocate — with easy woe –
What, and if, Ourself a Bridegroom –
Put Her down — in Italy?

The Sun — just touched the Morning –
The Morning — Happy thing –
Supposed that He had come to dwell –
And Life would all be Spring!

She felt herself supremer –
A Raised — Ethereal Thing!
Henceforth — for Her — What Holiday!
Meanwhile — Her wheeling King –
Trailed — slow — along the Orchards –
His haughty — spangled Hems –
Leaving a new necessity!
The want of Diadems!

The Morning — fluttered — staggered –
Felt feebly — for Her Crown –
Her unanointed forehead –
Henceforth — Her only One!

For this — accepted Breath –
Through it — compete with Death –
The fellow cannot touch this Crown –
By it — my title take –
Ah, what a royal sake
To my necessity — stooped down!

No Wilderness — can be
Where this attendeth me –
No Desert Noon –
No fear of frost to come
Haunt the perennial bloom –
But Certain June!

Get Gabriel — to tell — the royal syllable –
Get Saints — with new — unsteady tongue –
To say what trance below
Most like their glory show –
Fittest the Crown!

I met a King this afternoon!
He had not on a Crown indeed,
A little Palmleaf Hat was all,
And he was barefoot, I’m afraid!

But sure I am he Ermine wore
Beneath his faded Jacket’s blue –
And sure I am, the crest he bore
Within that Jacket’s pocket too!

For ’twas too stately for an Earl –
A Marquis would not go so grand!
‘Twas possibly a Czar petite –
A Pope, or something of that kind!

If I must tell you, of a Horse
My freckled Monarch held the rein –
Doubtless an estimable Beast,
But not at all disposed to run!

And such a wagon! While I live
Dare I presume to see
Another such a vehicle
As then transported me!

Two other ragged Princes
His royal state partook!
Doubtless the first excursion
These sovereigns ever took!

I question if the Royal Coach
Round which the Footmen wait
Has the significance, on high,
Of this Barefoot Estate!

A little bread — a crust — a crumb –
A little trust — a demijohn –
Can keep the soul alive –
Not portly, mind! but breathing — warm –
Conscious — as old Napoleon,
The night before the Crown!

A modest lot — A fame petite –
A brief Campaign of sting and sweet
Is plenty! Is enough!
A Sailor’s business is the shore!
A Soldier’s — balls! Who asketh more,
Must seek the neighboring life!