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 pondered how the bliss would look — And would it feel as big — When I could take it in my hand — As hovering — seen — through fog — And then — the size of this "small" life — The Sages — call it small — Swelled — like Horizons — in my vest — And I sneered — softly — "small"!
J 315 (Fascicle 22)
He fumbles at your Soul As Players at the Keys Before they drop full Music on — He stuns you by degrees — Prepares your brittle Nature For the Ethereal Blow By fainter Hammers — further heard — Then nearer — Then so slow Your Breath has time to straighten — Your Brain — to bubble Cool — Deals — One — imperial — Thunderbolt — That scalps your naked Soul — When Winds take Forests in the Paws — The Universe — is still —
J 656 (Fascicle 22)
The name — of it — is "Autumn" — The hue — of it — is Blood — An Artery — upon the Hill — A Vein — along the Road — Great Globules — in the Alleys — And Oh, the Shower of Stain — When Winds — upset the Basin — And spill the Scarlet Rain — It sprinkles Bonnets — far below — It gathers ruddy Pools — Then — eddies like a Rose — away — Upon Vermilion Wheels — * * * The name ̠ of it ̠ is “Autumn” — The hue ̠ of it ̠ is Blood — An Artery - opon the Hill – A Vein - along the Road - Great Globules - in the Alleys ̖ And Oh ' the Shower of Stain ̖ When Winds - upset the Basin ̖ And + spill the Scarlet Rain . It sprinkles Bonnets - far below - It + gathers ruddy Pools ̠ Then ̠ eddies like a Rose ̠ away - +Opon Vermillion Wheels - + tip . + stands in ̠ makes Vermillion. + And leaves me with the Hills .
J 754 (Fascicle 34)
My Life had stood — a Loaded Gun — In Corners — till a Day The Owner passed — identified — And carried Me away — And now We roam in Sovereign Woods — And now We hunt the Doe — And every time I speak for Him — The Mountains straight reply — And do I smile, such cordial light Upon the Valley glow — It is as a Vesuvian face Had let its pleasure through — And when at Night — Our good Day done — I guard My Master's Head — 'Tis better than the Eider-Duck's Deep Pillow — to have shared — To foe of His — I'm deadly foe — None stir the second time — On whom I lay a Yellow Eye — Or an emphatic Thumb — Though I than He — may longer live He longer must — than I — For I have but the power to kill, Without — the power to die —
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 dwelt among us" Could condescension be Like this consent of Language This loved Philology.
The farthest Thunder that I heard Was nearer than the Sky And rumbles still, though torrid Noons Have lain their missiles by — The Lightning that preceded it Struck no one but myself — But I would not exchange the Bolt For all the rest of Life — Indebtedness to Oxygen The Happy may repay, But not the obligation To Electricity — It founds the Homes and decks the Days And every clamor bright Is but the gleam concomitant Of that waylaying Light — The Thought is quiet as a Flake — A Crash without a Sound, How Life's reverberation Its Explanation found —