Glee — the great storm is over —
Four — have recovered the Land —
Forty — gone down together —
Into the boiling Sand —
Ring — for the Scant Salvation —
Toll — for the bonnie Souls —
Neighbor — and friend — and Bridegroom,
Spinning upon the Shoals —
How they will tell the Story —
When Winter shake the Door —
Till the Children urge — But the Forty —
Did they — come back no more?
Then a softness — suffuses the Story —
And a silence — the Teller's eye —
And the Children — no further question —
And only the Sea — reply —
I asked no other thing —
No other — was denied —
I offered Being — for it —
The Mighty Merchant sneered —
Brazil? He twirled a Button —
Without a glance my way —
But — Madam — is there nothing else —
That We can show — Today?
I dwell in Possibility —
A fairer House than Prose —
More numerous of Windows —
Superior — for Doors —
Of Chambers as the Cedars —
Impregnable of Eye —
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky —
Of Visitors — the fairest —
For Occupation — This —
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise —
Each Life Converges to some Centre —
Expressed — or still —
Exists in every Human Nature
A Goal —
Embodied scarcely to itself- it may be —
Too fair
For Credibility's presumption
To mar —
Adored with caution- as a Brittle Heaven —
To reach
Were hopeless Rainbow's Raiment
To touch —
Yet persevered toward —
sure- for the distance;
How high —
Unto the Saints slow diligence —
The Sky —
Ungained- it may be —
by a Life's low Venture —
But then —
Eternity enables the endeavoring
Again.
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 —
Because I could not stop for Death —
He kindly stopped for me —
The Carriage held but just Ourselves —
And Immortality.
We slowly drove — He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For His Civility —
We passed the School where Children strove
At Recess — in the Ring —
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain —
We passed the Setting Sun —
Or rather — He passed Us —
The Dews drew quivering and chill —
For only Gossamer, my Gown —
My Tippet — only Tulle —
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground —
The Roof was scarcely visible —
The Cornice — in the Ground —
Since then — «t is Centuries-and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
