Tag Archives: grow

We grow accustomed to the Dark –

We grow accustomed to the Dark --We grow accustomed to the Dark –
When light is put away –
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye –

A Moment — We uncertain step
For newness of the night –
Then — fit our Vision to the Dark –
And meet the Road — erect –

And so of larger — Darkness –
Those Evenings of the Brain –
When not a Moon disclose a sign –
Or Star — come out — within –

The Bravest — grope a little –
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead –
But as they learn to see –

Either the Darkness alters –
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight –
And Life steps almost straight.

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I gained it so –

I gained it so --I gained it so –
By Climbing slow –
By Catching at the Twigs that grow
Between the Bliss — and me –
It hung so high
As well the Sky
Attempt by Strategy –

I said I gained it –
This — was all –
Look, how I clutch it
Lest it fall –
And I a Pauper go –
Unfitted by an instant’s Grace
For the Contented — Beggar’s face
I wore — an hour ago –

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Perhaps I asked too large –

Perhaps I asked too large --Perhaps I asked too large –
I take — no less than skies –
For Earths, grow thick as
Berries, in my native town –

My Basket holds — just — Firmaments –
Those — dangle easy — on my arm,
But smaller bundles — Cram.

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‘Twas the old — road — through pain –

'Twas the old -- road -- through pain --‘Twas the old — road — through pain –
That unfrequented — one –
With many a turn — and thorn –
That stops — at Heaven –

This — was the Town — she passed –
There — where she — rested — last –
Then — stepped more fast –
The little tracks — close prest –
Then — not so swift –
Slow — slow — as feet did weary — grow –
Then — stopped — no other track!

Wait! Look! Her little Book –
The leaf — at love — turned back –
Her very Hat –
And this worn shoe just fits the track –
Herself — though — fled!

Another bed — a short one –
Women make — tonight –
In Chambers bright –
Too out of sight — though –
For our hoarse Good Night –
To touch her Head!

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The Robin’s my Criterion for Tune —

The Robin's my Criterion for Tune —The Robin’s my Criterion for Tune —
Because I grow — where Robins do —
But, were I Cuckoo born —
I’d swear by him —
The ode familiar — rules the Noon —
The Buttercup’s, my Whim for Bloom —
Because, we’re Orchard sprung —
But, were I Britain born,
I’d Daisies spurn —
None but the Nut — October fit —
Because, through dropping it,
The Seasons flit — I’m taught —
Without the Snow’s Tableau
Winter, were lie — to me —
Because I see — New Englandly —
The Queen, discerns like me —
Provincially —