511
If you were
coming in the Fall,
I'd brush
the Summer by
With half a
smile, and half a spurn,
As
Housewives do, a Fly.
If I could
see you in a year,
I'd wind
the months in balls -
And put
them each in separate Drawers,
For fear the
numbers fuse -
If only
Centuries, delayed,
I'd count
them on my Hand,
Subtracting,
till my fingers dropped
Into Van
Dieman's Land.
If certain,
when this life was out -
That yours
and mine, should be -
I'd toss it
yonder, like a Rind,
And take
Eternity -
But, now,
uncertain of the length
Of this,
that is between,
It goads
me, like the Goblin Bee -
That will
not state - its sting.
561
I measure
every Grief I meet
With
narrow, probing, Eyes -
I wonder if
It weighs like Mine -
Or has an
Easier size.
I wonder if
They bore it long -
Or did it
just begin -
I could not
tell the Date of Mine -
It feels so
old a pain -
I wonder if
it hurts to live -
And if They
have to try -
And whether
- could They choose between -
It would
not be - to die -
I note that
Some - gone patient long -
At length,
renew their smile -
An
imitation of a Light
That has so
little Oil -
I wonder if
when Years have piled -
Some
Thousands - on the Harm -
That hurt
them early - such a lapse
Could give
them any Balm -
Or would
they go on aching still
Through
Centuries of Nerve -
Enlightened
to a larger Pain -
In Contrast
with the Love -
The Grieved
- are many - I am told -
There is
the various Cause -
Death - is but
one - and comes but once -
And only
nails the eyes -
There's Grief
of Want - and Grief of Cold -
A sort they
call "Despair" -
There's
Banishment from native Eyes -
In sight of
Native Air -
And though
I may not guess the kind -
Correctly -
yet to me
A piercing
Comfort it affords
In passing
Calvary -
To note the
fashions - of the Cross -
And how
they're mostly worn -
Still
fascinated to presume
That Some -
are like My Own -
579
I had been
hungry, all the Years -
My Noon had
Come - to dine -
I trembling
drew the Table near -
And touched
the Curious Wine -
'Twas this
on Tables I had seen -
When
turning, hungry, Home
I looked in
Windows, for the Wealth
I could not
hope - for Mine -
I did not
know the ample Bread -
'Twas so
unlike the Crumb
The Birds
and I, had often shared
In Nature's
- Dining Room -
The Plenty hurt
me - 'twas so new -
Myself felt
ill - and odd -
As Berry -
of a Mountain Bush -
Transplanted
- to a Road -
Nor was I
hungry - so I found
That Hunger
- was a way
Of Persons
outside Windows -
The
Entering - takes away -
580
I gave
myself to Him -
And took
Himself, for Pay,
The solemn
contract of a Life
Was
ratified, this way -
The Wealth
might disappoint -
Myself a
poorer prove
Than this
great Purchaser suspect,
The Daily
Own - of Love
Depreciate
the Vision -
But till
the Merchant buy -
Still Fable
- in the Isles of Spice -
The subtle
Cargoes - lie -
At least -
'tis Mutual - Risk -
Some -
found it - Mutual Gain -
Sweet Debt
of Life - Each Night to owe -
Insolvent -
every Noon –
609
I - Years had been - from Home -
And now - before the Door -
I dared not enter - lest a face
I never saw before
Stare vacant into mine -
And ask my Business there -
My Business - just a Life I left -
Was such – still dwelling there?
I fumbled at my nerve –
I scanned the Windows o’er -
The Silence - like an Ocean rolled -
And broke against my Ear -
I laughed a Wooden Laugh
That I - could fear a Door -
Who Danger – and the Dead – had faced -
And never shook - before.
I fitted to the Latch - my Hand
With trembling care -
Lest back the Awful Door should spring -
And leave me - in the Floor --
Then moved my fingers off, as cautiously as Glass -
And held my Ears - and like a Thief
Stole - gasping - from the House.
610
You'll find - it when you try to die -
The Easier to let go -
For recollecting such as went -
You could not spare - you know.
And though their places somewhat filled -
As did their Marble names
With Moss - they never grew so full -
You chose the newer names -
And when this World - sets further back -
As Dying - say it does -
The former love - distincter grows -
And supersedes the fresh -
And Thought of them - so fair invites -
It looks too tawdry Grace
To stay behind - with just the Toys
We bought - to ease their place -
613
They shut me up in Prose -
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet -
Because they liked me "still" -
Still! Could themself have peeped -
And seen my Brain - go round -
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason - in the Pound –
Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Abolish his Captivity -
And laugh - No more have I -
669
No Romance sold unto
Could so enthrall a Man -
As the perusal of
His Individual One -
'Tis Fiction's – to dilute plausibility
Our – Novel - When 'tis small eno’
To Credit - 'Tisn’t true -
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