Tag Archives: little

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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Good Morning — Midnight –

Good Morning -- Midnight --Good Morning — Midnight —
I’m coming Home —
Day — got tired of Me —
How could I — of Him?

Sunshine was a sweet place —
I liked to stay —
But Morn — didn’t want me — now —
So — Goodnight — Day!

I can look — can’t I —
When the East is Red?
The Hills — have a way — then —
That puts the Heart — abroad —

You — are not so fair — Midnight —
I chose — Day —
But — please take a little Girl —
He turned away!

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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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The Color of the Grave is Green –

The Color of the Grave is Green --The Color of the Grave is Green —
The Outer Grave — I mean —
You would not know it from the Field —
Except it own a Stone —

To help the fond — to find it —
Too infinite asleep
To stop and tell them where it is —
But just a Daisy — deep —

The Color of the Grave is white —
The outer Grave — I mean —
You would not know it from the Drifts —
In Winter — till the Sun —

Has furrowed out the Aisles —
Then — higher than the Land
The little Dwelling Houses rise
Where each — has left a friend —

The Color of the Grave within —
The Duplicate — I mean —
Not all the Snows could make it white —
Not all the Summers — Green —

You’ve seen the Color — maybe —
Upon a Bonnet bound —
When that you met it with before —
The Ferret — cannot find –

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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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Although I put away his life –

Although I put away his life --Although I put away his life —
An Ornament too grand
For Forehead low as mine, to wear,
This might have been the Hand

That sowed the flower, he preferred —
Or smoothed a homely pain,
Or pushed the pebble from his path —
Or played his chosen tune —

On Lute the least — the latest —
But just his Ear could know
That whatsoe’er delighted it,
I never would let go —

The foot to bear his errand —
A little Boot I know —
Would leap abroad like Antelope —
With just the grant to do —

His weariest Commandment —
A sweeter to obey,
Than “Hide and Seek” —
Or skip to Flutes —
Or all Day, chase the Bee —

Your Servant, Sir, will weary —
The Surgeon, will not come —
The World, will have its own — to do —
The Dust, will vex your Fame —

The Cold will force your tightest door
Some February Day,
But say my apron bring the sticks
To make your Cottage gay —

That I may take that promise
To Paradise, with me —
To teach the Angels, avarice,
You, Sir, taught first — to me.

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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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