It’s like the Light –
A fashionless Delight –
It’s like the Bee –
A dateless — Melody –

It’s like the Woods –
Private — Like the Breeze –
Phraseless — yet it stirs
The proudest Trees –

It’s like the Morning –
Best — when it’s done –
And the Everlasting Clocks –
Chime — Noon!

Unto like Story — Trouble has enticed me –
How Kinsmen fell –
Brothers and Sister — who preferred the Glory –
And their young will
Bent to the Scaffold, or in Dungeons — chanted –
Till God’s full time –
When they let go the ignominy — smiling –
And Shame went still –

Unto guessed Crests, my moaning fancy, leads me,
Worn fair
By Heads rejected — in the lower country –
Of honors there –
Such spirit makes her perpetual mention,
That I — grown bold –
Step martial — at my Crucifixion –
As Trumpets — rolled –

Feet, small as mine — have marched in Revolution
Firm to the Drum –
Hands — not so stout — hoisted them — in witness –
When Speech went numb –
Let me not shame their sublime deportments –
Drilled bright –
Beckoning — Etruscan invitation –
Toward Light –

Good Night! Which put the Candle out?
A jealous Zephyr — not a doubt –
Ah, friend, you little knew
How long at that celestial wick
The Angels — labored diligent –
Extinguished — now — for you!

It might — have been the Light House spark –
Some Sailor — rowing in the Dark –
Had importuned to see!
It might — have been the waning lamp
That lit the Drummer from the Camp
To purer Reveille!

When we stand on the tops of Things –
And like the Trees, look down –
The smoke all cleared away from it –
And Mirrors on the scene –

Just laying light — no soul will wink
Except it have the flaw –
The Sound ones, like the Hills — shall stand –
No Lighting, scares away –

The Perfect, nowhere be afraid –
They bear their dauntless Heads,
Where others, dare not go at Noon,
Protected by their deeds –

The Stars dare shine occasionally
Upon a spotted World –
And Suns, go surer, for their Proof,
As if an Axle, held –

Morning — is the place for Dew –
Corn — is made at Noon –
After dinner light — for flowers –
Dukes — for Setting Sun!

In Ebon Box, when years have flown
To reverently peer,
Wiping away the velvet dust
Summers have sprinkled there!

To hold a letter to the light –
Grown Tawny now, with time –
To con the faded syllables
That quickened us like Wine!

Perhaps a Flower’s shrivelled check
Among its stores to find –
Plucked far away, some morning –
By gallant — mouldering hand!

A curl, perhaps, from foreheads
Our Constancy forgot –
Perhaps, an Antique trinket –
In vanished fashions set!

And then to lay them quiet back –
And go about its care –
As if the little Ebon Box
Were none of our affair!

Dying! Dying in the night!
Won’t somebody bring the light
So I can see which way to go
Into the everlasting snow?

And “Jesus”! Where is Jesus gone?
They said that Jesus — always came –
Perhaps he doesn’t know the House –
This way, Jesus, Let him pass!

Somebody run to the great gate
And see if Dollie’s coming! Wait!
I hear her feet upon the stair!
Death won’t hurt — now Dollie’s here!

A toad can die of light!
Death is the common right
Of toads and men, –
Of earl and midge
The privilege.
Why swagger then?
The gnat’s supremacy
Is large as thine.