Poems: Third Series | Page 7

peace a purple tar,?The son of ecstasy.
XXVII.
AURORA.
Of bronze and blaze?The north, to-night!?So adequate its forms,?So preconcerted with itself,?So distant to alarms, --?An unconcern so sovereign?To universe, or me,?It paints my simple spirit?With tints of majesty,?Till I take vaster attitudes,?And strut upon my stem,?Disdaining men and oxygen,?For arrogance of them.
My splendors are menagerie;?But their competeless show?Will entertain the centuries?When I am, long ago,?An island in dishonored grass,?Whom none but daisies know.
XXVIII.
THE COMING OF NIGHT.
How the old mountains drip with sunset,?And the brake of dun!?How the hemlocks are tipped in tinsel?By the wizard sun!
How the old steeples hand the scarlet,?Till the ball is full, --?Have I the lip of the flamingo?That I dare to tell?
Then, how the fire ebbs like billows,?Touching all the grass?With a departing, sapphire feature,?As if a duchess pass!
How a small dusk crawls on the village?Till the houses blot;?And the odd flambeaux no men carry?Glimmer on the spot!
Now it is night in nest and kennel,?And where was the wood,?Just a dome of abyss is nodding?Into solitude! --
These are the visions baffled Guido;?Titian never told;?Domenichino dropped the pencil,?Powerless to unfold.
XXIX.
AFTERMATH.
The murmuring of bees has ceased;?But murmuring of some?Posterior, prophetic,?Has simultaneous come, --
The lower metres of the year,?When nature's laugh is done, --?The Revelations of the book?Whose Genesis is June.
IV. TIME AND ETERNITY.
I.
This world is not conclusion;?A sequel stands beyond,?Invisible, as music,?But positive, as sound.?It beckons and it baffles;?Philosophies don't know,?And through a riddle, at the last,?Sagacity must go.?To guess it puzzles scholars;?To gain it, men have shown?Contempt of generations,?And crucifixion known.
II.
We learn in the retreating?How vast an one?Was recently among us.?A perished sun
Endears in the departure?How doubly more?Than all the golden presence?It was before!
III.
They say that 'time assuages,' --?Time never did assuage;?An actual suffering strengthens,?As sinews do, with age.
Time is a test of trouble,?But not a remedy.?If such it prove, it prove too?There was no malady.
IV.
We cover thee, sweet face.?Not that we tire of thee,?But that thyself fatigue of us;?Remember, as thou flee,?We follow thee until?Thou notice us no more,?And then, reluctant, turn away?To con thee o'er and o'er,?And blame the scanty love?We were content to show,?Augmented, sweet, a hundred fold?If thou would'st take it now.
V.
ENDING.
That is solemn we have ended, --?Be it but a play,?Or a glee among the garrets,?Or a holiday,
Or a leaving home; or later,?Parting with a world?We have understood, for better?Still it be unfurled.
VI.
The stimulus, beyond the grave?His countenance to see,?Supports me like imperial drams?Afforded royally.
VII.
Given in marriage unto thee,?Oh, thou celestial host!?Bride of the Father and the Son,?Bride of the Holy Ghost!
Other betrothal shall dissolve,?Wedlock of will decay;?Only the keeper of this seal?Conquers mortality.
VIII.
That such have died enables us?The tranquiller to die;?That such have lived, certificate?For immortality.
IX.
They won't frown always, -- some sweet day?When I forget to tease,?They'll recollect how cold I looked,?And how I just said 'please.'
Then they will hasten to the door?To call the little child,?Who cannot thank them, for the ice?That on her lisping piled.
X.
IMMORTALITY.
It is an honorable thought,?And makes one lift one's hat,?As one encountered gentlefolk?Upon a daily street,
That we've immortal place,?Though pyramids decay,?And kingdoms, like the orchard,?Flit russetly away.
XI.
The distance that the dead have gone?Does not at first appear;?Their coming back seems possible?For many an ardent year.
And then, that we have followed them?We more than half suspect,?So intimate have we become?With their dear retrospect.
XII.
How dare the robins sing,?When men and women hear?Who since they went to their account?Have settled with the year! --?Paid all that life had earned?In one consummate bill,?And now, what life or death can do?Is immaterial.?Insulting is the sun?To him whose mortal light,?Beguiled of immortality,?Bequeaths him to the night.?In deference to him?Extinct be every hum,?Whose garden wrestles with the dew,?At daybreak overcome!
XIII.
DEATH.
Death is like the insect?Menacing the tree,?Competent to kill it,?But decoyed may be.
Bait it with the balsam,?Seek it with the knife,?Baffle, if it cost you?Everything in life.
Then, if it have burrowed?Out of reach of skill,?Ring the tree and leave it, --?'T is the vermin's will.
XIV.
UNWARNED.
'T is sunrise, little maid, hast thou?No station in the day??'T was not thy wont to hinder so, --?Retrieve thine industry.
'T is noon, my little maid, alas!?And art thou sleeping yet??The lily waiting to be wed,?The bee, dost thou forget?
My little maid, 't is night; alas,?That night should be to thee?Instead of morning! Hadst thou broached?Thy little plan to me,?Dissuade thee if I could not, sweet,?I might have aided thee.
XV.
Each that we lose takes part of us;?A crescent still abides,?Which like the moon, some turbid night,?Is summoned by the tides.
XVI.
Not any higher stands the grave?For heroes than for men;?Not any nearer for the child?Than numb three-score and ten.
This latest leisure equal lulls?The beggar and his queen;?Propitiate this democrat?By summer's gracious mien.
XVII.
ASLEEP.
As far from pity as complaint,?As cool to speech as stone,?As numb to revelation?As if my trade were bone.
As far from time as history,?As near yourself to-day?As children to the rainbow's scarf,?Or