sound
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It don’t sound so terrible — quite — as it did –
I run it over — “Dead”, Brain, “Dead.”
Put it in Latin — left of my school –
Seems it don’t shriek so — under rule.
Turn it, a little — full in the face
A Trouble looks bitterest –
Shift it — just –
Say “When Tomorrow comes this way –
I shall have waded down one Day.”
I suppose it will interrupt me some
Till I get accustomed — but then the Tomb
Like other new Things — shows largest — then –
And smaller, by Habit –
It’s shrewder then
Put the Thought in advance — a Year –
How like “a fit” — then –
Murder — wear!
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Is it dead — Find it –
Out of sound — Out of sight –
“Happy”? Which is wiser –
You, or the Wind?
“Conscious”? Won’t you ask that –
Of the low Ground?
“Homesick”? Many met it –
Even through them — This
Cannot testify –
Themself — as dumb –
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Tags: conscious, dead, dumb, find, ground, happy, homesick, low, sight, sound, testify, wind, wiser
I felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there –
I held my spirit to the Glass,
To prove it possibler –
I turned my Being round and round
And paused at every pound
To ask the Owner’s name –
For doubt, that I should know the Sound –
I judged my features — jarred my hair –
I pushed my dimples by, and waited –
If they — twinkled back –
Conviction might, of me –
I told myself, “Take Courage, Friend –
That — was a former time –
But we might learn to like the Heaven,
As well as our Old Home!”
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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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There came a Day at Summer’s full,
Entirely for me –
I thought that such were for the Saints,
Where Resurrections — be –
The Sun, as common, went abroad,
The flowers, accustomed, blew,
As if no soul the solstice passed
That maketh all things new –
The time was scarce profaned, by speech –
The symbol of a word
Was needless, as at Sacrament,
The Wardrobe — of our Lord –
Each was to each The Sealed Church,
Permitted to commune this — time –
Lest we too awkward show
At Supper of the Lamb.
The Hours slid fast — as Hours will,
Clutched tight, by greedy hands –
So faces on two Decks, look back,
Bound to opposing lands –
And so when all the time had leaked,
Without external sound
Each bound the Other’s Crucifix –
We gave no other Bond –
Sufficient troth, that we shall rise –
Deposed — at length, the Grave –
To that new Marriage,
Justified — through Calvaries of Love –
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Of all the Sounds despatched abroad,
There’s not a Charge to me
Like that old measure in the Boughs –
That phraseless Melody –
The Wind does — working like a Hand,
Whose fingers Comb the Sky –
Then quiver down — with tufts of Tune –
Permitted Gods, and me –
Inheritance, it is, to us –
Beyond the Art to Earn –
Beyond the trait to take away
By Robber, since the Gain
Is gotten not of fingers –
And inner than the Bone –
Hid golden, for the whole of Days,
And even in the Urn,
I cannot vouch the merry Dust
Do not arise and play
In some odd fashion of its own,
Some quainter Holiday,
When Winds go round and round in Bands –
And thrum upon the door,
And Birds take places, overhead,
To bear them Orchestra.
I crave Him grace of Summer Boughs,
If such an Outcast be –
Who never heard that fleshless Chant –
Rise — solemn — on the Tree,
As if some Caravan of Sound
Off Deserts, in the Sky,
Had parted Rank,
Then knit, and swept –
In Seamless Company –
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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.
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When we stand on the tops of Things –
And like the Trees, look down –
The smoke all cleared away from it –
And Mirrors on the scene –
Just laying light — no soul will wink
Except it have the flaw –
The Sound ones, like the Hills — shall stand –
No Lighting, scares away –
The Perfect, nowhere be afraid –
They bear their dauntless Heads,
Where others, dare not go at Noon,
Protected by their deeds –
The Stars dare shine occasionally
Upon a spotted World –
And Suns, go surer, for their Proof,
As if an Axle, held –
Tags: afraid, away, axle, bear, care, cleared, dare, dauntless, deeds, down, flaw, heads, held, hills, laying, light, lightning, look, mirrors, noon, nowhere, occasionally, perfect, proof, protected, scares, scene, shine, smoke, soul, sound, spotted, stand, star, stars, sun, suns, surer, things, tops, tree, trees, upon, wink, world
