hill

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How many Flowers fail in Wood --How many Flowers fail in Wood –
Or perish from the Hill –
Without the privilege to know
That they are Beautiful –

How many cast a nameless Pod
Upon the nearest Breeze –
Unconscious of the Scarlet Freight –
It bear to Other Eyes –

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The Angle of a Landscape --The Angle of a Landscape –
That every time I wake –
Between my Curtain and the Wall
Upon an ample Crack –

Like a Venetian — waiting –
Accosts my open eye –
Is just a Bough of Apples –
Held slanting, in the Sky –

The Pattern of a Chimney –
The Forehead of a Hill –
Sometimes — a Vane’s Forefinger –
But that’s — Occasional –

The Seasons — shift — my Picture –
Upon my Emerald Bough,
I wake — to find no — Emeralds –
Then — Diamonds — which the Snow

From Polar Caskets — fetched me –
The Chimney — and the Hill –
And just the Steeple’s finger –
These — never stir at all –

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It will be Summer -- eventually.It will be Summer — eventually.
Ladies — with parasols –
Sauntering Gentlemen — with Canes –
And little Girls — with Dolls –

Will tint the pallid landscape –
As ’twere a bright Bouquet –
Thro’ drifted deep, in Parian –
The Village lies — today –

The Lilacs — bending many a year –
Will sway with purple load –
The Bees — will not despise the tune –
Their Forefathers — have hummed –

The Wild Rose — redden in the Bog –
The Aster — on the Hill
Her everlasting fashion — set –
And Covenant Gentians — frill –

Till Summer folds her miracle –
As Women — do — their Gown –
Of Priests — adjust the Symbols –
When Sacrament — is done –

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White Asters

White AstersWhile Asters –
On the Hill –
Their Everlasting fashions — set –
And Covenant Gentians — Frill!

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Tie the Strings to my Life, My LordTie the Strings to my Life, My Lord,
Then, I am ready to go!
Just a look at the Horses —
Rapid! That will do!

Put me in on the firmest side —
So I shall never fall —
For we must ride to the Judgment —
And it’s partly, down Hill —

But never I mind the steeper —
And never I mind the Sea —
Held fast in Everlasting Race —
By my own Choice, and Thee —

Goodbye to the Life I used to live —
And the World I used to know —
And kiss the Hills, for me, just once —
Then — I am ready to go!

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Me, change! Me, alter!Me, change! Me, alter!
Then I will, when on the Everlasting Hill
A Smaller Purple grows –
At sunset, or a lesser glow
Flickers upon Cordillera –
At Day’s superior close!

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She died at playShe died at play,
Gambolled away
Her lease of spotted hours,
Then sank as gaily as a Turn
Upon a Couch of flowers.

Her ghost strolled softly o’er the hill
Yesterday, and Today,
Her vestments as the silver fleece –
Her countenance as spray.

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