A little East of Jordan,
Evangelists record,
A Gymnast and an Angel
Did wrestle long and hard –

Till morning touching mountain –
And Jacob, waxing strong,
The Angel begged permission
To Breakfast – to return –

Not so, said cunning Jacob!
“I will not let thee go
Except thou bless me” – Stranger!
The which acceded to –

Light swung

A little Road — not made of Man –
Enabled of the Eye —
Accessible to Thill of Bee —
Or Cart of Butterfly —

If Town it have — beyond itself –
‘Tis that — I cannot say —
I only know — no Curricle that rumble there
Bear Me —

A loss of something ever felt I —
The first that I could recollect
Bereft I was — of what I knew not
Too young that any should suspect

A Mourner walked among the children
I notwithstanding went about
As one bemoaning a Dominion
Itself the only Prince cast out —

Elder, Today, a session wiser
And fainter,

A Pit — but Heaven over it –
And Heaven beside, and Heaven abroad,
And yet a Pit –
With Heaven over it.

To stir would be to slip –
To look would be to drop –
To dream — to sap the Prop
That holds my chances up.
Ah! Pit! With Heaven over it!

The depth is

A poor – torn heart – a tattered heart –
That sat it down to rest —
Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day
Flowed silver to the West —
Nor noticed Night did soft descend —
Nor Constellation burn —
Intent upon the vision
Of latitudes unknown.

The angels — happening that way
This dusty heart espied —
Tenderly

A Saucer holds a Cup
In sordid human Life
But in a Squirrel’s estimate
A Saucer hold a Loaf.

A Table of a Tree
Demands the little King
And every Breeze that run along
His Dining Room do swing.

His Cutlery — he keeps
Within his Russer Lips –
To see it flashing when he dines
Do Birmingham eclipse –

Convicted

A single Clover Plank
Was all that saved a Bee
A Bee I personally knew
From sinking in the sky –

‘Twixt Firmament above
And Firmament below
The Billows of Circumference
Were sweeping him away –

The idly swaying Plank
Responsible to nought
A sudden Freight of Wind assumed
And Bumble Bee was not —

This harrowing event
Transpiring in the Grass
Did

A Solemn thing within the Soul
To feel itself get ripe —
And golden hang — while farther up —
The Maker’s Ladders stop —
And in the Orchard far below —
You hear a Being — drop —

A Wonderful — to feel the Sun
Still toiling at the Cheek
You thought was finished —
Cool of

A solemn thing — it was — I said —
A woman — white — to be —
And wear — if God should count me fit —
Her blameless mystery —

A hallowed thing — to drop a life
Into the purple well —
Too plummetless — that it return —
Eternity — until —

I

A Wife – at daybreak I shall be –
Sunrise — Hast thou a Flag for me?
At Midnight, I am but a Maid,
How short it takes to make a Bride –
Then — Midnight, I have passed from thee
Unto the East, and Victory –

Midnight — Good Night! I hear them call,
The

A Word made Flesh is seldom
And tremblingly partook
Nor then perhaps reported
But have I not mistook
Each one of us has tasted
With ecstasies of stealth
The very food debated
To our specific strength –

A Word that breathes distinctly
Has not the power to die
Cohesive as the Spirit
It may expire if He –
“Made Flesh and

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

Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Then crouch within the door –
Red – is the Fire’s common tint –
But when the vivid Ore
Has vanquished Flame’s conditions,
It quivers from the Forge
Without a color, but the light
Of unanointed Blaze.
Least Village has its Blacksmith
Whose Anvil’s even ring
Stands symbol for the

I Came to buy a smile — today —
But just a single smile —
The smallest one upon your face
Will suit me just as well —
The one that no one else would miss
It shone so very small —
I’m pleading at the “counter” — sir —
Could you afford to sell —
I’ve

I cannot want it more —
I cannot want it less —
My Human Nature’s fullest force
Expends itself on this.

And yet it nothing is
To him who easy owns —
Is Worth itself or Distance
He fathoms who obtains.
– Emily Dickinson

I can’t tell you — but you feel it —
Nor can you tell me —
Saints, with ravished slate and pencil
Solve our April Day!

Sweeter than a vanished frolic
From a vanished green!
Swifter than the hoofs of Horsemen
Round a Ledge of dream!

Modest, let us walk among it
With our faces veiled —
As they

I can wade Grief —
Whole Pools of it —
I’m used to that —
But the least push of Joy
Breaks up my feet —
And I tip — drunken —
Let no Pebble — smile —
‘Twas the New Liquor —
That was all!

Power is only Pain —
Stranded, thro’ Discipline,
Till Weights — will hang —
Give

I felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there —
I held my spirit to the Glass,
To prove it possibler –

I turned my Being round and round
And paused at every pound
To ask the Owner’s name —
For doubt, that I should know the Sound —

I judged my

I rose — because He sank —
I thought it would be opposite —
But when his power dropped —
My Soul grew straight.

I cheered my fainting Prince —
I sang firm — even — Chants —
I helped his Film — with Hymn —

And when the Dews drew off
That held his Forehead stiff

If I should die,
And you should live —
And time should gurgle on —
And morn should beam —
And noon should burn —
As it has usual done —
If Birds should build as early
And Bees as bustling go —
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
‘Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
When