Tag Archives: snow

Answer July –

Answer July --Answer July –
Where is the Bee –
Where is the Blush –
Where is the Hay?

Ah, said July –
Where is the Seed –
Where is the Bud –
Where is the May –
Answer Thee — Me –

Nay — said the May –
Show me the Snow –
Show me the Bells –
Show me the Jay!

Quibbled the Jay –
Where be the Maize –
Where be the Haze –
Where be the Bur?
Here — said the Year –

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The Angle of a Landscape –

The Angle of a Landscape --The Angle of a Landscape –
That every time I wake –
Between my Curtain and the Wall
Upon an ample Crack –

Like a Venetian — waiting –
Accosts my open eye –
Is just a Bough of Apples –
Held slanting, in the Sky –

The Pattern of a Chimney –
The Forehead of a Hill –
Sometimes — a Vane’s Forefinger –
But that’s — Occasional –

The Seasons — shift — my Picture –
Upon my Emerald Bough,
I wake — to find no — Emeralds –
Then — Diamonds — which the Snow

From Polar Caskets — fetched me –
The Chimney — and the Hill –
And just the Steeple’s finger –
These — never stir at all –

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After great pain, a formal feeling comes –

After great pain, a formal feeling comes --After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round –
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –

This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First — Chill — then Stupor — then the letting go –

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I cannot dance upon my Toes –

I cannot dance upon my Toes --I cannot dance upon my Toes –
No Man instructed me –
But oftentimes, among my mind,
A Glee possesseth me,

That had I Ballet knowledge –
Would put itself abroad
In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe –
Or lay a Prima, mad,

And though I had no Gown of Gauze –
No Ringlet, to my Hair,
Nor hopped to Audiences — like Birds,
One Claw upon the Air,

Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls,
Nor rolled on wheels of snow
Till I was out of sight, in sound,
The House encore me so –

Nor any know I know the Art
I mention — easy — Here –
Nor any Placard boast me –
It’s full as Opera –

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Of Tribulation, these are They

Of Tribulation, these are TheyOf Tribulation, these are They,
Denoted by the White –
The Spangled Gowns, a lesser Rank
Of Victors — designate –

All these — did conquer –
But the ones who overcame most times –
Wear nothing commoner than Snow –
No Ornament, but Palms –

Surrender — is a sort unknown –
On this superior soil –
Defeat — an outgrown Anguish –
Remembered, as the Mile

Our panting Ankle barely passed –
When Night devoured the Road –
But we — stood whispering in the House –
And all we said — was “Saved”!

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The Robin’s my Criterion for Tune —

The Robin's my Criterion for Tune —The Robin’s my Criterion for Tune —
Because I grow — where Robins do —
But, were I Cuckoo born —
I’d swear by him —
The ode familiar — rules the Noon —
The Buttercup’s, my Whim for Bloom —
Because, we’re Orchard sprung —
But, were I Britain born,
I’d Daisies spurn —
None but the Nut — October fit —
Because, through dropping it,
The Seasons flit — I’m taught —
Without the Snow’s Tableau
Winter, were lie — to me —
Because I see — New Englandly —
The Queen, discerns like me —
Provincially —

A Mien to move a Queen –

A Mien to move a Queen --A Mien to move a Queen –
Half Child — Half Heroine –
An Orleans in the Eye
That puts its manner by
For humbler Company
When none are near
Even a Tear –
Its frequent Visitor –

A Bonnet like a Duke –
And yet a Wren’s Peruke
Were not so shy
Of Goer by –
And Hands — so slight –
They would elate a Sprite
With Merriment –

A Voice that Alters — Low
And on the Ear can go
Like Let of Snow –
Or shift supreme –
As tone of Realm
On Subjects Diadem –

Too small — to fear –
Too distant — to endear –
And so Men Compromise
And just — revere –

Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!

Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!
Why, God, would be content
With but a fraction of the Life –
Poured thee, without a stint –
The whole of me — forever –
What more the Woman can,
Say quick, that I may dower thee
With last Delight I own!

It cannot be my Spirit –
For that was thine, before –
I ceded all of Dust I knew –
What Opulence the more
Had I — a freckled Maiden,
Whose farthest of Degree,
Was — that she might –
Some distant Heaven,
Dwell timidly, with thee!

Sift her, from Brow to Barefoot!
Strain till your last Surmise –
Drop, like a Tapestry, away,
Before the Fire’s Eyes –
Winnow her finest fondness –
But hallow just the snow
Intact, in Everlasting flake –
Oh, Caviler, for you!