men

A Burdock — clawed my Gown –
Not Burdock’s — blame –
But mine –
Who went too near
The Burdock’s Den –

A Bog — affronts my shoe –
What else have Bogs — to do –
The only Trade they know –
The splashing Men!
Ah, pity — then!

‘Tis Minnows can despise!
The Elephant’s — calm eyes
Look further on!

I’ve known a Heaven, like a Tent –
To wrap its shining Yards –
Pluck up its stakes, and disappear –
Without the sound of Boards
Or Rip of Nail — Or Carpenter –
But just the miles of Stare –
That signalize a Show’s Retreat –
In North America –

No Trace — no Figment of the Thing
That dazzled, Yesterday,
No Ring — no Marvel –
Men, and Feats –
Dissolved as utterly –
As Bird’s far Navigation
Discloses just a Hue –
A plash of Oars, a Gaiety –
Then swallowed up, of View.

The Rose did caper on her cheek –
Her Bodice rose and fell –
Her pretty speech — like drunken men –
Did stagger pitiful –

Her fingers fumbled at her work –
Her needle would not go –
What ailed so smart a little Maid –
It puzzled me to know –

Till opposite — I spied a cheek
That bore another Rose –
Just opposite — Another speech
That like the Drunkard goes –

A Vest that like her Bodice, danced –
To the immortal tune –
Till those two troubled — little Clocks
Ticked softly into one.

Tho’ I get home how late — how late –
So I get home – ’twill compensate –
Better will be the Ecstasy
That they have done expecting me –
When Night — descending — dumb — and dark –
They hear my unexpected knock –
Transporting must the moment be –
Brewed from decades of Agony!

To think just how the fire will burn –
Just how long-cheated eyes will turn –
To wonder what myself will say,
And what itself, will say to me –
Beguiles the Centuries of way!

We don’t cry — Tim and I,
We are far too grand –
But we bolt the door tight
To prevent a friend –

Then we hide our brave face
Deep in our hand –
Not to cry — Tim and I –
We are far too grand –

Nor to dream — he and me –
Do we condescend –
We just shut our brown eye
To see to the end –

Tim — see Cottages –
But, Oh, so high!
Then — we shake — Tim and I –
And lest I — cry –

Tim — reads a little Hymn –
And we both pray –
Please, Sir, I and Tim –
Always lost the way!

We must die — by and by –
Clergymen say –
Tim — shall — if I — do –
I — too — if he –

How shall we arrange it –
Tim — was — so — shy?
Take us simultaneous — Lord –
I — “Tim” — and Me!

It’s such a little thing to weep –
So short a thing to sigh –
And yet — by Trades — the size of these
We men and women die!

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!

To learn the Transport by the Pain
As Blind Men learn the sun!
To die of thirst — suspecting
That Brooks in Meadows run!

To stay the homesick — homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore –
Haunted by native lands, the while –
And blue — beloved air!

This is the Sovereign Anguish!
This — the signal woe!
These are the patient “Laureates”
Whose voices — trained — below –

Ascend in ceaseless Carol –
Inaudible, indeed,
To us — the duller scholars
Of the Mysterious Bard!