woe
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The Morning after Woe –
‘Tis frequently the Way –
Surpasses all that rose before –
For utter Jubilee –
As Nature did not care –
And piled her Blossoms on –
And further to parade a Joy
Her Victim stared upon –
The Birds declaim their Tunes –
Pronouncing every word
Like Hammers — Did they know they fell
Like Litanies of Lead –
On here and there — a creature –
They’d modify the Glee
To fit some Crucifixal Clef –
Some Key of Calvary –
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Her — “last Poems” –
Poets — ended –
Silver — perished — with her Tongue –
Not on Record — bubbled other,
Flute — or Woman –
So divine –
Not unto its Summer — Morning
Robin — uttered Half the Tune –
Gushed too free for the Adoring –
From the Anglo-Florentine –
Late — the Praise –
‘Tis dull — conferring
On the Head too High to Crown –
Diadem — or Ducal Showing –
Be its Grave — sufficient sign –
Nought — that We — No Poet’s Kinsman –
Suffocate — with easy woe –
What, and if, Ourself a Bridegroom –
Put Her down — in Italy?
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‘Tis so appalling—it exhilarates—
So over Horror, it half Captivates—
The Soul stares after it, secure—
A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more—
To scan a Ghost, is faint—
But grappling, conquers it—
How easy, Torment, now—
Suspense kept sawing so—
The Truth, is Bald, and Cold—
But that will hold—
If any are not sure—
We show them—prayer—
But we, who know,
Stop hoping, now—
Looking at Death, is Dying—
Just let go the Breath—
And not the pillow at your Cheek
So Slumbereth—
Others, Can wrestle—
Yours, is done—
And so of Woe, bleak dreaded—come,
It sets the Fright at liberty—
And Terror’s free—
Gay, Ghastly, Holiday!
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To learn the Transport by the Pain
As Blind Men learn the sun!
To die of thirst — suspecting
That Brooks in Meadows run!
To stay the homesick — homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore –
Haunted by native lands, the while –
And blue — beloved air!
This is the Sovereign Anguish!
This — the signal woe!
These are the patient “Laureates”
Whose voices — trained — below –
Ascend in ceaseless Carol –
Inaudible, indeed,
To us — the duller scholars
Of the Mysterious Bard!
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