When I was small, a Woman died - Today - her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac - His face all Victory To look at her - How slowly The Seasons must have turned Till Bullets clipt an Angle And He passed quickly round -
If pride shall be in Paradise - Ourself cannot decide - Of their imperial Conduct - No person testified -
But, proud in Apparition - That Woman and her Boy Pass back and forth, before my Brain As even in the sky -
I'm confident that Bravoes - Perpetual break abroad For Braveries, remote as this In Yonder Maryland.
Like Mighty Foot Lights - burned the Red At Bases of the Trees - The far Theatricals of Day Exhibiting - to These - 'Twas Universe - that did applaud - While Chiefest - of the Crowd - Enabled by his Royal Dress - Myself distinguished God.
The Battle fought between the Soul And No Man - is the One Of all the Battles prevalent - By far the Greater One - No News of it is had abroad - It's Bodiless Campaign Establishes, and terminates - Invisible - Unknown -
Nor History - record it - As Legions of a Night The Sunrise scatters - These endure - Enact - and dissipate.
I think I was enchanted When first a sombre Girl - I read that Foreign Lady - The Dark - felt beautiful - And whether it was noon at night - Or only Heaven - at noon - For very Lunacy of Light I had not power to tell -
The Bees - became as Butterflies - The Butterflies - as Swans - Approached - and spurned the narrow Grass - And just the meanest Tunes
That Nature murmured to herself To keep herself in Cheer - I took for Giants - practising Titanic Opera -
The Days - to Mighty Metres stept - The Homeliest - adorned As if unto a Jubilee 'Twere suddenly confirmed -
I could not have defined the change - Conversion of the Mind Like Sanctifying in the Soul - Is witnessed - not explained -
'Twas a Divine Insanity - The Danger to be sane Should I again experience - 'Tis Antidote to turn -
To Tomes of solid Witchcraft - Magicians be asleep - But Magic - hath an Element Like Deity - to keep.
What care the Dead, for Chanticleer - What care the Dead for Day? 'Tis late your Sunrise vex their face - And Purple Ribaldry - of Morning Pour as blank on them As on the Tier of Wall The Mason builded, yesterday, And equally as cool -
What care the Dead for Summer? The Solstice had no Sun Could melt the Snow before their Gate - And knew One Bird a Tune -
Could thrill their Mortised Ear Of all the Birds that be - This One - beloved of Mankind Henceforward cherished be -
What care the Dead for Winter? Themselves as easy freeze - June Noon - as January Night - As soon the South - her Breeze
Of Sycamore - or Cinnamon - Deposit in a Stone And put a Stone to keep it Warm - Give Spices - unto Men.
To interrupt His Yellow Plan The Sun does not allow Caprices of the Atmosphere - And even when the Snow Heaves Balls of Specks, like Vicious Boy Directly in His Eye - Does not so much as turn His Head - Busy with Majesty -
'Tis His to stimulate the Earth - And magnetize the Sea - And bind Astronomy, in place, Yet Any passing by
Would deem Ourselves - the busier As the minutest Bee That rides - emits a Thunder - A Bomb - to justify.
Did you ever stand in a Cavern's Mouth - Widths out of the Sun - And look - and shudder, and block your breath - And deem to be alone In such a place, what horror, How Goblin it would be - And fly, as 'twere pursuing you? Then Loneliness - looks so -
Did you ever look in a Cannon's face - Between whose Yellow eye - And your's - the Judgment intervened - The Question of "To die" -
Extemporizing in your ear Distinct as Satyr's Drums - If you remember, and were saved - It's liker so - it seems.
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, be heard Adown the empty Street -
To feel if Blinds be fast - And closer to the fire - Her little Rocking Chair to draw - And recollect the Poor -
The Housewife's gentle Task - How pleasanter - said she Unto the Sofa opposite - The Sleet - than May, no Thee.
I cried at Pity - not at Pain - I heard a Woman say "Poor Child" - and something in her voice Convinced me - of me - So long I fainted, to myself It seemed the common way, And Health, and Laughter, Curious things - To look at, like a Toy -
To sometimes hear "Rich people" buy - And see the Parcel rolled - And carried, I suppose - to Heaven, For children, made of Gold -
But not to touch, or wish for, Or think of, with a sigh - And so and so - had been to me, Had God willed differently.
I wish I knew that Woman's name - So when she comes this way, To hold my life, and hold my ears For fear I hear her say
She's "sorry I am dead" - again - Just when the Grave and I - Have sobbed ourselves almost to sleep, Our only Lullaby.
Empty my Heart, of Thee - It's single Artery - Begin, and leave Thee out - Simply Extinction's Date - Much Billow hath the Sea - One Baltic - They - Subtract Thyself, in play, And not enough of me Is left - to put away - "Myself" meanth Thee -
Erase the Root - no Tree - Thee - then - no me - The Heavens stripped - Eternity's vast pocket, picked.