There is no Frigate like a book To take us Lands away Nor any Coursers like a page Of prancing Poetry- This Travel may the poorest take Without oppress of a Toll- How frugal is the Chariot That bears the Human soul.
The Dandelion's pallid Tube Astonishes the Grass - And Winter instantly becomes An infinite Alas - The tube uplifts a signal Bud And then a shouting Flower - The Proclamation of the Suns That sepulture is o'er.
My Wars are laid away in Books - I have one Battle more - A Foe whom I have never seen But oft has scanned me o'er - And hesitated me between And others at my side, But chose the best - Neglecting me - till All the rest have died - How sweet if I am not forgot By Chums that passed away - Since Playmates at threescore and ten Are such a scarcity.
Who is it seeks my Pillow Nights, With plain inspecting face - "Did you" or "Did you not," to ask - 'Tis "Conscience," Childhood's Nurse - With Martial Hand she strokes the Hair Upon my wincing Head - "All" Rogues "shall have their part in" what - The Phosphorous of God.
'Tis not the swaying frame we miss - It is the steadfast Heart, That had it beat a thousand years, With Love alone had bent - It's fervor the electric Oar, That bore it through the Tomb - Ourselves, denied the privilege, Consolelessly presume.
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 Moccasin That very instant passed - On a strange Mob of panting Trees And Fences fled away And Rivers where the Houses ran Those looked that lived - that Day - The Bell within the steeple wild The flying tidings told - How much can come And much can go, And yet abide the World!