I had the Glory — that will do —
An Honor, Thought can turn her to
When lesser Fames invite —
With one long “Nay” —
Bliss’ early shape
Deforming — Dwindling — Gulfing up —
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It can’t be “Summer”!
That — got through!
It’s early — yet — for “Spring”!
There’s that long town of White — to cross —
Before the Blackbirds sing!
It can’t be “Dying”!
It’s too Rouge —
The Dead shall go in White —
So Sunset shuts my question down
With Cuffs of Chrysolite!
He forgot — and I — remembered —
‘Twas an everyday affair —
Long ago as Christ and Peter —
“Warmed them” at the “Temple fire.”
“Thou wert with him” — quoth “the Damsel”?
“No” — said Peter, ’twasn’t me —
Jesus merely “looked” at Peter —
Could I do aught else — to Thee?
If I could bribe them by a Rose
I’d bring them every flower that grows
From Amherst to Cashmere!
I would not stop for night, or storm —
Or frost, or death, or anyone —
My business were so dear!
If they would linger for a Bird
My Tambourin were soonest heard
Among the April Woods!
Unwearied, all the summer long,
Only to break in wilder song
When Winter shook the boughs!
What if they hear me!
Who shall say
That such an importunity
May not at last avail?
That, weary of this Beggar’s face —
They may not finally say, Yes —
To drive her from the Hall?