Tag Archives: stir

Removed from Accident of Loss

Removed from Accident of LossRemoved from Accident of Loss
By Accident of Gain
Befalling not my simple Days —
Myself had just to earn —

Of Riches — as unconscious
As is the Brown Malay
Of Pearls in Eastern Waters,
Marked His — What Holiday
Would stir his slow conception —
Had he the power to dream
That put the Dower’s fraction —
Awaited even — Him –

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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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The Grass so little has to do –

The Grass so little has to do --The Grass so little has to do —
A Sphere of simple Green —
With only Butterflies to brood
And Bees to entertain —

And stir all day to pretty Tunes
The Breezes fetch along —
And hold the Sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything —

And thread the Dews, all night, like Pearls —
And make itself so fine
A Duchess were too common
For such a noticing —

And even when it dies — to pass
In Odors so divine —
Like Lowly spices, lain to sleep —
Or Spikenards, perishing —

And then, in Sovereign Barns to dwell —
And dream the Days away,
The Grass so little has to do
I wish I were a Hay –

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Many a phrase has the English language

Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!Many a phrase has the English language —
I have heard but one —
Low as the laughter of the Cricket,
Loud, as the Thunder’s Tongue —

Murmuring, like old Caspian Choirs,
When the Tide’s a’ lull —
Saying itself in new inflection —
Like a Whippoorwill —

Breaking in bright Orthography
On my simple sleep —
Thundering its Prospective —
Till I stir, and weep —

Not for the Sorrow, done me —
But the push of Joy —
Say it again, Saxton!
Hush — Only to me!