Tag Archives: joy

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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The Morning after Woe –

The Morning after Woe --The Morning after Woe —
‘Tis frequently the Way —
Surpasses all that rose before —
For utter Jubilee —

As Nature did not care —
And piled her Blossoms on —
And further to parade a Joy
Her Victim stared upon —

The Birds declaim their Tunes —
Pronouncing every word
Like Hammers — Did they know they fell
Like Litanies of Lead —

On here and there — a creature —
They’d modify the Glee
To fit some Crucifixal Clef —
Some Key of Calvary –

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So glad we are — a Stranger’d deem

So glad we are -- a Stranger'd deemSo glad we are — a Stranger’d deem
‘Twas sorry, that we were —
For where the Holiday should be
There publishes a Tear —
Nor how Ourselves be justified —
Since Grief and Joy are done
So similar — An Optizan
Could not decide between –

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I should have been too glad, I see –

I should have been too glad, I see --I should have been too glad, I see —
Too lifted — for the scant degree
Of Life’s penurious Round —
My little Circuit would have shamed
This new Circumference — have blamed —
The homelier time behind.

I should have been too saved — I see —
Too rescued — Fear too dim to me
That I could spell the Prayer
I knew so perfect — yesterday —
That Scalding One — Sabachthani —
Recited fluent — here —

Earth would have been too much — I see —
And Heaven — not enough for me —
I should have had the Joy
Without the Fear — to justify —
The Palm — without the Calvary —
So Savior — Crucify —
Defeat — whets Victory — they say —
The Reefs — in old Gethsemane —
Endear the Coast — beyond!
‘Tis Beggars — Banquets — can define —
‘Tis Parching — vitalizes Wine —
“Faith” bleats — to understand!

Many a phrase has the English language

Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!Many a phrase has the English language —
I have heard but one —
Low as the laughter of the Cricket,
Loud, as the Thunder’s Tongue —

Murmuring, like old Caspian Choirs,
When the Tide’s a’ lull —
Saying itself in new inflection —
Like a Whippoorwill —

Breaking in bright Orthography
On my simple sleep —
Thundering its Prospective —
Till I stir, and weep —

Not for the Sorrow, done me —
But the push of Joy —
Say it again, Saxton!
Hush — Only to me!

Forever at His side to walk —

Forever at His side to walk -- Forever at His side to walk —
The smaller of the two!
Brain of His Brain —
Blood of His Blood —
Two lives — One Being — now —

Forever of His fate to taste —
If grief — the largest part —
If joy — to put my piece away
For that beloved Heart —

All life — to know each other —
Whom we can never learn —
And bye and bye — a Change —
Called Heaven —
Rapt Neighborhoods of Men —
Just finding out — what puzzled us —
Without the lexicon!

I have never seen “Volcanoes” –

I have never seen I have never seen “Volcanoes” —
But, when Travellers tell
How those old — phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still —

Bear within — appalling Ordnance,
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men —

If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
When upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place —

If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome —
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?

If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with joy “Pompeii”!
To the Hills return!

A fuzzy fellow without feet

'Tis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy!A fuzzy fellow, without feet,
Yet doth exceeding run!
Of velvet, is his Countenance,
And his Complexion, dun!

Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass!
Sometime, upon a bough,
From which he doth descend in plush
Upon the Passer-by!

All this in summer.
But when winds alarm the Forest Folk,
He taketh Damask Residence —
And struts in sewing silk!

Then, finer than a Lady,
Emerges in the spring!
A Feather on each shoulder!
You’d scarce recognize him!

By Men, yclept Caterpillar!
By me! But who am I,
To tell the pretty secret
Of the Butterfly!