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It sifts from Leaden Sieves --It sifts from Leaden Sieves –
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road –

It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain –
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again –

It reaches to the Fence –
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces –
It deals Celestial Vail

To Stump, and Stack — and Stem –
A Summer’s empty Room –
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them–

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen –
Then stills its Artisans — like Ghosts –
Denying they have been –

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A shady friend — for Torrid days —A shady friend — for Torrid days —
Is easier to find —
Than one of higher temperature
For Frigid — hour of Mind —

The Vane a little to the East —
Scares Muslin souls — away —
If Broadcloth Hearts are firmer —
Than those of Organdy —

Who is to blame? The Weaver?
Ah, the bewildering thread!
The Tapestries of Paradise
So notelessly — are made!

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Delight is as the flight --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 –

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My Eye is fuller than my vase --My Eye is fuller than my vase –
Her Cargo — is of Dew –
And still — my Heart — my Eye outweighs –
East India — for you!

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As Watchers hang upon the EastAs Watchers hang upon the East,
As Beggars revel at a feast
By savory Fancy spread –
As brooks in deserts babble sweet
On ear too far for the delight,
Heaven beguiles the tired.

As that same watcher, when the East
Opens the lid of Amethyst
And lets the morning go –
That Beggar, when an honored Guest,
Those thirsty lips to flagons pressed,
Heaven to us, if true.

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