Tag Archives: high

I know where Wells grow — Droughtless Wells –

I know where Wells grow Droughtless Wells
I know where Wells grow — Droughtless Wells —
Deep dug — for Summer days —
Where Mosses go no more away —
And Pebble — safely plays —

It’s made of Fathoms — and a Belt —
A Belt of jagged Stone —
Inlaid with Emerald — half way down —
And Diamonds — jumbled on —

It has no Bucket — Were I rich
A Bucket I would buy —
I’m often thirsty — but my lips
Are so high up — You see —

I read in an Old fashioned Book
That People “thirst no more” —
The Wells have Buckets to them there —
It must mean that — I’m sure —

Shall We remember Parching — then?
Those Waters sound so grand —
I think a little Well — like Mine —
Dearer to understand –

Love — thou art high –

Love thou art high
Love — thou art high —
I cannot climb thee —
But, were it Two —
Who know but we —
Taking turns — at the Chimborazo —
Ducal — at last — stand up by thee —

Love — thou are deep —
I cannot cross thee —
But, were there Two
Instead of One —
Rower, and Yacht — some sovereign Summer —
Who knows — but we’d reach the Sun?

Love — thou are Veiled —
A few — behold thee —
Smile — and alter — and prattle — and die —
Bliss — were an Oddity — without thee —
Nicknamed by God —
Eternity –

‘Twas just this time, last year, I died.

'Twas just this time, last year, I died.‘Twas just this time, last year, I died.
I know I heard the Corn,
When I was carried by the Farms —
It had the Tassels on —

I thought how yellow it would look —
When Richard went to mill —
And then, I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.

I thought just how Red — Apples wedged
The Stubble’s joints between —
And the Carts stooping round the fields
To take the Pumpkins in —

I wondered which would miss me, least,
And when Thanksgiving, came,
If Father’d multiply the plates —
To make an even Sum —

And would it blur the Christmas glee
My Stocking hang too high
For any Santa Claus to reach
The Altitude of me —

But this sort, grieved myself,
And so, I thought the other way,
How just this time, some perfect year —
Themself, should come to me –

I’ll clutch — and clutch –

I'll clutch -- and clutch --I’ll clutch — and clutch —
Next — One — Might be the golden touch —
Could take it —
Diamonds — Wait —
I’m diving — just a little late —
But stars — go slow — for night —

I’ll string you — in fine Necklace —
Tiaras — make — of some —
Wear you on Hem —
Loop up a Countess — with you —
Make — a Diadem — and mend my old One —
Count — Hoard — then lose —
And doubt that you are mine —
To have the joy of feeling it — again —

I’ll show you at the Court —
Bear you — for Ornament
Where Women breathe —
That every sigh — may lift you
Just as high — as I —

And — when I die —
In meek array — display you —
Still to show — how rich I go —
Lest Skies impeach a wealth so wonderful —
And banish me –

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I’m saying every day

I'm saying every dayI’m saying every day
“If I should be a Queen, tomorrow” —
I’d do this way —
And so I deck, a little,

If it be, I wake a Bourbon,
None on me, bend supercilious —
With “This was she —
Begged in the Market place —
Yesterday.”

Court is a stately place —
I’ve heard men say —
So I loop my apron, against the Majesty
With bright Pins of Buttercup —
That not too plain —
Rank — overtake me —

And perch my Tongue
On Twigs of singing — rather high —
But this, might be my brief Term
To qualify —

Put from my simple speech all plain word —
Take other accents, as such I heard
Though but for the Cricket — just,
And but for the Bee —
Not in all the Meadow —
One accost me —

Better to be ready —
Than did next morn
Meet me in Aragon —
My old Gown — on —

And the surprised Air
Rustics — wear —
Summoned — unexpectedly —
To Exeter –

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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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Her — “last Poems” –

Her -- 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?

We don’t cry — Tim and I,

We don't cry -- Tim and I,We don’t cry — Tim and I,
We are far too grand —
But we bolt the door tight
To prevent a friend —

Then we hide our brave face
Deep in our hand —
Not to cry — Tim and I —
We are far too grand —

Nor to dream — he and me —
Do we condescend —
We just shut our brown eye
To see to the end —

Tim — see Cottages —
But, Oh, so high!
Then — we shake — Tim and I —
And lest I — cry —

Tim — reads a little Hymn —
And we both pray —
Please, Sir, I and Tim —
Always lost the way!

We must die — by and by —
Clergymen say —
Tim — shall — if I — do —
I — too — if he —

How shall we arrange it —
Tim — was — so — shy?
Take us simultaneous — Lord —
I — “Tim” — and Me!