Chapter 4

I said I gained it, -- This was all. Look, how I clutch it, Lest it fall, And I a pauper go; Unfitted by an instant's grace For the contented beggar's face I wore an hour ago.

LII.

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!

LIII.

RETURNING.

I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, 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 near; 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, But never quaked before.

I fitted to the latch My hand, with trembling care, Lest back the awful door should spring, And leave me standing there.

I moved my fingers off As cautiously as glass, And held my ears, and like a thief Fled gasping from the house.

LIV.

PRAYER.

Prayer is the little implement Through which men reach Where presence is denied them. They fling their speech

By means of it in God's ear; If then He hear, This sums the apparatus Comprised in prayer.

LV.

I know that he exists Somewhere, in silence. He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.

'T is an instant's play, 'T is a fond ambush, Just to make bliss Earn her own surprise!

But should the play Prove piercing earnest, Should the glee glaze In death's stiff stare,

Would not the fun Look too expensive? Would not the jest Have crawled too far?

LVI.

MELODIES UNHEARD.

Musicians wrestle everywhere: All day, among the crowded air, I hear the silver strife; And -- waking long before the dawn -- Such transport breaks upon the town I think it that "new life!"

It is not bird, it has no nest; Nor band, in brass and scarlet dressed, Nor tambourine, nor man; It is not hymn from pulpit read, -- The morning stars the treble led On time's first afternoon!

Some say it is the spheres at play! Some say that bright majority Of vanished dames and men! Some think it service in the place Where we, with late, celestial face, Please God, shall ascertain!

LVII.

CALLED BACK.

Just lost when I was saved! Just felt the world go by! Just girt me for the onset with eternity, When breath blew back, And on the other side I heard recede the disappointed tide!

Therefore, as one returned, I feel, Odd secrets of the line to tell! Some sailor, skirting foreign shores, Some pale reporter from the awful doors Before the seal!

Next time, to stay! Next time, the things to see By ear unheard, Unscrutinized by eye.

Next time, to tarry, While the ages steal, -- Slow tramp the centuries, And the cycles wheel.

II. LOVE.

I.

CHOICE.

Of all the souls that stand create I have elected one. When sense from spirit files away, And subterfuge is done;

When that which is and that which was Apart, intrinsic, stand, And this brief tragedy of flesh Is shifted like a sand;

When figures show their royal front And mists are carved away, -- Behold the atom I preferred To all the lists of clay!

II.

I have no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there;

Nor tie to earths to come, Nor action new, Except through this extent, The realm of you.

III.

Your riches taught me poverty. Myself a millionnaire In little wealths, -- as girls could boast, -- Till broad as Buenos Ayre,

You drifted your dominions A different Peru; And I esteemed all poverty, For life's estate with you.

Of mines I little know, myself, But just the names of gems, -- The colors of the commonest; And scarce of diadems

So much that, did I meet the queen, Her glory I should know: But this must be a different wealth, To miss it beggars so.

I 'm sure 't is India all day To those who look on you Without a stint, without a blame, -- Might I but be the Jew!

I 'm sure it is Golconda, Beyond my power to deem, -- To have a smile for mine each day, How better than a gem!

At least, it solaces to know That there exists a gold, Although I prove it just in time Its distance to behold!

It 's far, far treasure to surmise, And estimate the pearl That slipped my simple fingers through While just a girl at school!

IV.

THE CONTRACT.

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, 't is mutual risk, -- Some found it mutual gain; Sweet debt of Life, -- each night to owe, Insolvent, every noon.

V.

THE LETTER.

"GOING to him! Happy letter! Tell him -- Tell him the page I didn't write; Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun out. Tell him just how the fingers hurried, Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow; And then you wished you had eyes in your pages, So you could see what moved them so.

"Tell him it wasn't a practised writer, You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled; You could hear the bodice tug, behind you, As if it held but the might of a child; You almost pitied it, you, it worked so. Tell him -- No, you may quibble there, For it would split his heart to know it, And then you and I were silenter.

"Tell him night finished before we finished, And the old clock kept neighing 'day!' And you got sleepy and begged to be ended -- What could it hinder so, to say? Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious, But if he ask where you are hid Until to-morrow, -- happy letter! Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!"

VI.

The way I read a letter 's this: 'T is first I lock the door, And push it with my fingers next, For transport it be sure.

And then I go the furthest off To counteract a knock; Then draw my little letter forth And softly pick its lock.

Then, glancing narrow at the wall, And narrow at the floor, For firm conviction of a mouse Not exorcised before,

Peruse how infinite I am To -- no one that you know! And sigh for lack of heaven, -- but not The heaven the creeds bestow.

VII.

Wild nights! Wild nights! Were I with thee, Wild nights should be Our luxury!

Futile the winds To a heart in port, -- Done with the compass, Done with the chart.

Rowing in Eden! Ah! the sea! Might I but moor To-night in thee!

VIII.

AT HOME.

The night was wide, and furnished scant With but a single star, That often as a cloud it met Blew out itself for fear.

The wind pursued the little bush, And drove away the leaves November left; then clambered up And fretted in the eaves.

No squirrel went abroad; A dog's belated feet Like intermittent plush were heard Adown the empty street.

To feel if blinds be fast, And closer to the fire Her little rocking-chair to draw, And shiver for the poor,

The housewife's gentle task. "How pleasanter," said she Unto the sofa opposite, "The sleet than May -- no thee!"

IX.

POSSESSION.

Did the harebell loose her girdle To the lover bee, Would the bee the harebell hallow Much as formerly?

Did the paradise, persuaded, Yield her moat of pearl, Would the Eden be an Eden, Or the earl an earl?

X.

A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld, -- The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled.

But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies, -- Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.

XI.

THE LOVERS.

The rose did caper on her cheek, Her bodice rose and fell, Her pretty speech, like drunken men, Did stagger pitiful.

Her fingers fumbled at her work, -- Her needle would not go; What ailed so smart a little maid It puzzled me to know,

Till opposite I spied a cheek That bore another rose; Just opposite, another speech That like the drunkard goes;

A vest that, like the bodice, danced To the immortal tune, -- Till those two troubled little clocks Ticked softly into one.

XII.

In lands I never saw, they say, Immortal Alps look down, Whose bonnets touch the firmament, Whose sandals touch the town, --

Meek at whose everlasting feet A myriad daisies play. Which, sir, are you, and which am I, Upon an August day?

XIII.

The moon is distant from the sea, And yet with amber hands She leads him, docile as a boy, Along appointed sands.

He never misses a degree; Obedient to her eye, He comes just so far toward the town, Just so far goes away.

Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand, And mine the distant sea, -- Obedient to the least command Thine eyes impose on me.

XIV.

He put the belt around my life, -- I heard the buckle snap, And turned away, imperial, My lifetime folding up Deliberate, as a duke would do A kingdom's title-deed, -- Henceforth a dedicated sort, A member of the cloud.

Yet not too far to come at call, And do the little toils That make the circuit of the rest, And deal occasional smiles To lives that stoop to notice mine And kindly ask it in, -- Whose invitation, knew you not For whom I must decline?

XV.

THE LOST JEWEL.

I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: "'T will keep."

I woke and chid my honest fingers, -- The gem was gone; And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own.

XVI.

What if I say I shall not wait? What if I burst the fleshly gate And pass, escaped, to thee? What if I file this mortal off, See where it hurt me, -- that 's enough, -- And wade in liberty?

They cannot take us any more, -- Dungeons may call, and guns implore; Unmeaning now, to me, As laughter was an hour ago, Or laces, or a travelling show, Or who died yesterday!

III. NATURE.

I.

MOTHER NATURE.

Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, -- Her admonition mild

In forest and the hill By traveller is heard, Restraining rampant squirrel Or too impetuous bird.

How fair her conversation, A summer afternoon, -- Her household, her assembly; And when the sun goes down

Her voice among the aisles Incites the timid prayer Of the minutest cricket, The most unworthy flower.

When all the children sleep She turns as long away As will suffice to light her lamps; Then, bending from the sky

With infinite affection And infiniter care, Her golden finger on her lip, Wills silence everywhere.

II.

OUT OF THE MORNING.

Will there really be a morning? Is there such a thing as day? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like water-lilies? Has it feathers like a bird? Is it brought from famous countries Of which I have never heard?

Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor! Oh, some wise man from the skies! Please to tell a little pilgrim Where the place called morning lies!

III.

At half-past three a single bird Unto a silent sky Propounded but a single term Of cautious melody.

At half-past four, experiment Had subjugated test, And lo! her silver principle Supplanted all the rest.

At half-past seven, element Nor implement was seen, And place was where the presence was, Circumference between.

IV.

DAY'S PARLOR.

The day came slow, till five o'clock, Then sprang before the hills Like hindered rubies, or the light A sudden musket spills.

The purple could not keep the east, The sunrise shook from fold, Like breadths of topaz, packed a night, The lady just unrolled.

The happy winds their timbrels took; The birds, in docile rows, Arranged themselves around their prince (The wind is prince of those).

The orchard sparkled like a Jew, -- How mighty 't was, to stay A guest in this stupendous place, The parlor of the day!

V.

THE SUN'S WOOING.

The sun just touched the morning; The morning, happy thing, Supposed that he had come to dwell, And life would be all spring.

She felt herself supremer, -- A raised, ethereal thing; Henceforth for her what holiday! Meanwhile, her wheeling king

Trailed slow along the orchards His haughty, spangled hems, Leaving a new necessity, -- The want of diadems!

The morning fluttered, staggered, Felt feebly for her crown, -- Her unanointed forehead Henceforth her only one.

VI.

THE ROBIN.

The robin is the one That interrupts the morn With hurried, few, express reports When March is scarcely on.

The robin is the one That overflows the noon With her cherubic quantity, An April but begun.

The robin is the one That speechless from her nest Submits that home and certainty And sanctity are best.

VII.

THE BUTTERFLY'S DAY.

From cocoon forth a butterfly As lady from her door Emerged -- a summer afternoon -- Repairing everywhere,

Without design, that I could trace, Except to stray abroad On miscellaneous enterprise The clovers understood.

Her pretty parasol was seen Contracting in a field Where men made hay, then struggling hard With an opposing cloud,

Where parties, phantom as herself, To Nowhere seemed to go In purposeless circumference, As 't were a tropic show.

And notwithstanding bee that worked, And flower that zealous blew, This audience of idleness Disdained them, from the sky,

Till sundown crept, a steady tide, And men that made the hay, And afternoon, and butterfly, Extinguished in its sea.

VIII.

THE BLUEBIRD.

Before you thought of spring, Except as a surmise, You see, God bless his suddenness, A fellow in the skies Of independent hues, A little weather-worn, Inspiriting habiliments Of indigo and brown.

With specimens of song, As if for you to choose, Discretion in the interval, With gay delays he goes To some superior tree Without a single leaf, And shouts for joy to nobody But his seraphic self!

IX.

APRIL.

An altered look about the hills; A Tyrian light the village fills; A wider sunrise in the dawn; A deeper twilight on the lawn; A print of a vermilion foot; A purple finger on the slope; A flippant fly upon the pane; A spider at his trade again; An added strut in chanticleer; A flower expected everywhere; An axe shrill singing in the woods; Fern-odors on untravelled roads, -- All this, and more I cannot tell, A furtive look you know as well, And Nicodemus' mystery Receives its annual reply.

X.

THE SLEEPING FLOWERS.

"Whose are the little beds," I asked, "Which in the valleys lie?" Some shook their heads, and others smiled, And no one made reply.

"Perhaps they did not hear," I said; "I will inquire again. Whose are the beds, the tiny beds So thick upon the plain?"

"'T is daisy in the shortest; A little farther on, Nearest the door to wake the first, Little leontodon.

"'T is iris, sir, and aster, Anemone and bell, Batschia in the blanket red, And chubby daffodil."

Meanwhile at many cradles Her busy foot she plied, Humming the quaintest lullaby That ever rocked a child.

"Hush! Epigea wakens! -- The crocus stirs her lids, Rhodora's cheek is crimson, -- She's dreaming of the woods."

Then, turning from them, reverent, "Their bed-time 't is," she said; "The bumble-bees will wake them When April woods are red."

XI.

MY ROSE.

Pigmy seraphs gone astray, Velvet people from Vevay, Belles from some lost summer day, Bees' exclusive coterie. Paris could not lay the fold Belted down with emerald; Venice could not show a cheek Of a tint so lustrous meek. Never such an ambuscade As of brier and leaf displayed For my little damask maid. I had rather wear her grace Than an earl's distinguished face; I had rather dwell like her Than be Duke of Exeter Royalty enough for me To subdue the bumble-bee!

XII.

THE ORIOLE'S SECRET.

To hear an oriole sing May be a common thing, Or only a divine.

It is not of the bird Who sings the same, unheard, As unto crowd.

The fashion of the ear Attireth that it hear In dun or fair.

So whether it be rune, Or whether it be none, Is of within;

The "tune is in the tree," The sceptic showeth me; "No, sir! In thee!"

XIII.

THE ORIOLE.

One of the ones that Midas touched, Who failed to touch us all, Was that confiding prodigal, The blissful oriole.

So drunk, he disavows it With badinage divine; So dazzling, we mistake him For an alighting mine.

A pleader, a dissembler, An epicure, a thief, -- Betimes an oratorio, An ecstasy in chief;

The Jesuit of orchards, He cheats as he enchants Of an entire attar For his decamping wants.

The splendor of a Burmah, The meteor of birds, Departing like a pageant Of ballads and of bards.

I never thought that Jason sought For any golden fleece; But then I am a rural man, With thoughts that make for peace.

But if there were a Jason, Tradition suffer me Behold his lost emolument Upon the apple-tree.

XIV.

IN SHADOW.

I dreaded that first robin so, But he is mastered now, And I 'm accustomed to him grown, -- He hurts a little, though.

I thought if I could only live Till that first shout got by, Not all pianos in the woods Had power to mangle me.

I dared not meet the daffodils, For fear their yellow gown Would pierce me with a fashion So foreign to my own.

I wished the grass would hurry, So when 't was time to see, He 'd be too tall, the tallest one Could stretch to look at me.

I could not bear the bees should come, I wished they 'd stay away In those dim countries where they go: What word had they for me?

They 're here, though; not a creature failed, No blossom stayed away In gentle deference to me, The Queen of Calvary.

Each one salutes me as he goes, And I my childish plumes Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment Of their unthinking drums.

XV.

THE HUMMING-BIRD.

A route of evanescence With a revolving wheel; A resonance of emerald, A rush of cochineal; And every blossom on the bush Adjusts its tumbled head, -- The mail from Tunis, probably, An easy morning's ride.

XVI.

SECRETS.

The skies can't keep their secret! They tell it to the hills -- The hills just tell the orchards -- And they the daffodils!

A bird, by chance, that goes that way Soft overheard the whole. If I should bribe the little bird, Who knows but she would tell?

I think I won't, however, It's finer not to know; If summer were an axiom, What sorcery had snow?

So keep your secret, Father! I would not, if I could, Know what the sapphire fellows do, In your new-fashioned world!

XVII.

Who robbed the woods, The trusting woods? The unsuspecting trees Brought out their burrs and mosses His fantasy to please. He scanned their trinkets, curious, He grasped, he bore away. What will the solemn hemlock, What will the fir-tree say?

XVIII.

TWO VOYAGERS.

Two butterflies went out at noon And waltzed above a stream, Then stepped straight through the firmament And rested on a beam;

And then together bore away Upon a shining sea, -- Though never yet, in any port, Their coming mentioned be.

If spoken by the distant bird, If met in ether sea By frigate or by merchantman, Report was not to me.

XIX.

BY THE SEA.

I started early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me,

And frigates in the upper floor Extended hempen hands, Presuming me to be a mouse Aground, upon the sands.

But no man moved me till the tide Went past my simple shoe, And past my apron and my belt, And past my bodice too,

And made as he would eat me up As wholly as a dew Upon a dandelion's sleeve -- And then I started too.

And he -- he followed close behind; I felt his silver heel Upon my ankle, -- then my shoes Would overflow with pearl.

Until we met the solid town, No man he seemed to know; And bowing with a mighty look At me, the sea withdrew.

XX.

OLD-FASHIONED.

Arcturus is his other name, -- I'd rather call him star! It's so unkind of science To go and interfere!

I pull a flower from the woods, -- A monster with a glass Computes the stamens in a breath, And has her in a class.

Whereas I took the butterfly Aforetime in my hat, He sits erect in cabinets, The clover-bells forgot.

What once was heaven, is zenith now. Where I proposed to go When time's brief masquerade was done, Is mapped, and charted too!

What if the poles should frisk about And stand upon their heads! I hope I 'm ready for the worst, Whatever prank betides!

Perhaps the kingdom of Heaven 's changed! I hope the children there Won't be new-fashioned when I come, And laugh at me, and stare!

I hope the father in the skies Will lift his little girl, -- Old-fashioned, naughty, everything, -- Over the stile of pearl!

XXI.

A TEMPEST.

An awful tempest mashed the air, The clouds were gaunt and few; A black, as of a spectre's cloak, Hid heaven and earth from view.

The creatures chuckled on the roofs And whistled in the air, And shook their fists and gnashed their teeth. And swung their frenzied hair.

The morning lit, the birds arose; The monster's faded eyes Turned slowly to his native coast, And peace was Paradise!

XXII.

THE SEA.

An everywhere of silver, With ropes of sand To keep it from effacing The track called land.

XXIII.

IN THE GARDEN.

A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.

And then he drank a dew From a convenient grass, And then hopped sidewise to the wall To let a beetle pass.

He glanced with rapid eyes That hurried all abroad, -- They looked like frightened beads, I thought; He stirred his velvet head

Like one in danger; cautious, I offered him a crumb, And he unrolled his feathers And rowed him softer home

Than oars divide the ocean, Too silver for a seam, Or butterflies, off banks of noon, Leap, splashless, as they swim.

XXIV.

THE SNAKE.

A narrow fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him, -- did you not, His notice sudden is.

The grass divides as with a comb, A spotted shaft is seen; And then it closes at your feet And opens further on.

He likes a boggy acre, A floor too cool for corn. Yet when a child, and barefoot, I more than once, at morn,

Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash Unbraiding in the sun, -- When, stooping to secure it, It wrinkled, and was gone.

Several of nature's people I know, and they know me; I feel for them a transport Of cordiality;

But never met this fellow, Attended or alone, Without a tighter breathing, And zero at the bone.

XXV.

THE MUSHROOM.

The mushroom is the elf of plants, At evening it is not; At morning in a truffled hut It stops upon a spot

As if it tarried always; And yet its whole career Is shorter than a snake's delay, And fleeter than a tare.

'T is vegetation's juggler, The germ of alibi; Doth like a bubble antedate, And like a bubble hie.

I feel as if the grass were pleased To have it intermit; The surreptitious scion Of summer's circumspect.

Had nature any outcast face, Could she a son contemn, Had nature an Iscariot, That mushroom, -- it is him.

XXVI.

THE STORM.

There came a wind like a bugle; It quivered through the grass, And a green chill upon the heat So ominous did pass We barred the windows and the doors As from an emerald ghost; The doom's electric moccason That very instant passed. On a strange mob of panting trees, And fences fled away, And rivers where the houses ran The living looked that day. The bell within the steeple wild The flying tidings whirled. How much can come And much can go, And yet abide the world!

XXVII.

THE SPIDER.

A spider sewed at night Without a light Upon an arc of white. If ruff it was of dame Or shroud of gnome, Himself, himself inform. Of immortality His strategy Was physiognomy.

XXVIII.

I know a place where summer strives With such a practised frost, She each year leads her daisies back, Recording briefly, "Lost."

But when the south wind stirs the pools And struggles in the lanes, Her heart misgives her for her vow, And she pours soft refrains

Into the lap of adamant, And spices, and the dew, That stiffens quietly to quartz, Upon her amber shoe.

XXIX.