trouble

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Unto like Story -- Trouble has enticed me --Unto like Story — Trouble has enticed me –
How Kinsmen fell –
Brothers and Sister — who preferred the Glory –
And their young will
Bent to the Scaffold, or in Dungeons — chanted –
Till God’s full time –
When they let go the ignominy — smiling –
And Shame went still –

Unto guessed Crests, my moaning fancy, leads me,
Worn fair
By Heads rejected — in the lower country –
Of honors there –
Such spirit makes her perpetual mention,
That I — grown bold –
Step martial — at my Crucifixion –
As Trumpets — rolled –

Feet, small as mine — have marched in Revolution
Firm to the Drum –
Hands — not so stout — hoisted them — in witness –
When Speech went numb –
Let me not shame their sublime deportments –
Drilled bright –
Beckoning — Etruscan invitation –
Toward Light –

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Bound -- a trouble --Bound — a trouble –
And lives can bear it!
Limit — how deep a bleeding go!
So — many — drops — of vital scarlet –
Deal with the soul
As with Algebra!

Tell it the Ages — to a cypher –
And it will ache — contented — on –
Sing — at its pain — as any Workman –
Notching the fall of the Even Sun!

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Savior! I've no one else to tell --Savior! I’ve no one else to tell –
And so I trouble thee.
I am the one forgot thee so –
Dost thou remember me?
Nor, for myself, I came so far –
That were the little load –
I brought thee the imperial Heart
I had not strength to hold –
The Heart I carried in my own –
Till mine too heavy grew –
Yet — strangest — heavier since it went –
Is it too large for you?

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Savior! I've no one else to tell -- Savior! I’ve no one else to tell –
And so I trouble thee.
I am the one forgot thee so –
Dost thou remember me?
Nor, for myself, I came so far –
That were the little load –
I brought thee the imperial Heart
I had not strength to hold –
The Heart I carried in my own –
Till mine too heavy grew –
Yet — strangest — heavier since it went –
Is it too large for you?

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Flowers -- Well -- if anybodyFlowers — Well — if anybody
Can the ecstasy define –
Half a transport — half a trouble –
With which flowers humble men:
Anybody find the fountain
From which floods so contra flow –
I will give him all the Daisies
Which upon the hillside blow.

Too much pathos in their faces
For a simple breast like mine –
Butterflies from St. Domingo
Cruising round the purple line –
Have a system of aesthetics –
Far superior to mine.

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