Tag Archives: mouldering

A precious — mouldering pleasure — ’tis –

A precious -- mouldering pleasure -- 'tis --A precious — mouldering pleasure — ’tis —
To meet an Antique Book —
In just the Dress his Century wore —
A privilege — I think —

His venerable Hand to take —
And warming in our own —
A passage back — or two — to make —
To Times when he — was young —

His quaint opinions — to inspect —
His thought to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind —
The Literature of Man —

What interested Scholars — most —
What Competitions ran —
When Plato — was a Certainty —
And Sophocles — a Man —

When Sappho — was a living Girl —
And Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante — deified —
Facts Centuries before

He traverses — familiar —
As One should come to Town —
And tell you all your Dreams — were true —
He lived — where Dreams were born —

His presence is Enchantment —
You beg him not to go —
Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize — just so –

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That after Horror — that ’twas us –

That after Horror -- that 'twas us --That after Horror — that ’twas us —
That passed the mouldering Pier —
Just as the Granite Crumb let go —
Our Savior, by a Hair —

A second more, had dropped too deep
For Fisherman to plumb —
The very profile of the Thought
Puts Recollection numb —

The possibility — to pass
Without a Moment’s Bell —
Into Conjecture’s presence —
Is like a Face of Steel —
That suddenly looks into ours
With a metallic grin —
The Cordiality of Death —
Who drills his Welcome in –

In Ebon Box, when years have flown

In Ebon Box, when years have flownIn 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!