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!