Man -- > Poem

[Man]

Poem


THE LOVER'S SONG.


OH sooner shall yon star decline,
Which guides the wand'ring seaman's way,
Than thou shalt from the inmost shrine
Of this warm heart, be torn away:
No !--firm, as pure, my love shall be,
Though nurs'd for ever,--silently !

In vain for me the festal hall
Displays the wine-cup's blushing hue;
And music's swell, or faint, low fall,
Echoes, the vaulted chamber through:
Alike from song, and revelry,
I sorrowing turn me,--silently!





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


THE LOVER'S SONG.


I gaze unmov'd, though Beauty's smile,
And Beauty's eyes, be near to bless;
I think with beating breast the while,
Of thy retiring loveliness:
And lonely, and afar from thee,
My tears fall fast but,--silently!

Ev'n when my swelling soul is full
Of those deep feelings, which arise,
When mid-night, calmly beautiful,
With starry splendour lights the skies,
O'er Nature's glorious charms I sigh,
And mourn thine absence,--silently!

To dwell eternally apart
From thee on earth, may be my lot,
With fading brow, and with'ring heart
To linger on, where thou art not;
Yet turning, with devotion high,
To thy bright image,--silently !--




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


THE LOVER'S SONG.


Should it be thus,--when in the grave
My spirit finds its rest at last,
Wilt thou, who had'st no pow'r to save,
Weep for awhile o'er suff'ring past;
And sometimes, e'en when crowds are nigh,
Recall thy lost one,--silently!



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


I LINGER OFT BENEATH THY

RAY.


I LINGER oft beneath thy ray,
Young Queen of Heaven! at day's decline,
And muse on pleasures past away,
And happier hours, which once were mine.
How beautiful thy smiles of light,
O'er the still breast of ocean thrown,
When thou pursu'st, all calmly bright,
Thy clear, and silvery path alone !

When the low night-winds gently sweep
The flowers' fresh bloom in passing by,
And thy soft beams in lustre steep
Our vales, reposing peacefully,--




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


I LINGER OFT BENEATH THY

RAY.


I love to mark thee, moving on
Amidst yon far-off bowers of blue,
While ev'ry scene thou shin'st upon,
Shows lovlier in its moonlight hue !

Thine are the sweet, and lonely hours
With holiest hope, and feeling fraught,
And thine the tranquillizing pow'rs
Which still subdue each stormier thought,
My spirit owns thy mild controul
When earthly ills around me press;
Or darkly gather o'er my soul
The mists of human wretchedness!





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CHIEFTAIN'S SONG.


On to the field my banners bear,
I shall not long delay!
One last kiss from my lady fair,--
One bright curl of her silken hair,--
And then, away !--away !

On to the field !--and where my plume
Gleams high amid the fray,
There gallant spirits! seek your doom--
A warrior's wreath, or warrior's tomb:--
And now--away !--away! --





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


TO ---- ------

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN AT THE TOMB OF HIS PARENTS.

THEY sleep in peacefulness !--while thou art left
Upon the world's bleak desert, like a leaf,
--A faded, and a fallen one,--of which
The wild winds make their pastime,--toss'd at will
By their still varying breath. How bitterly
Thine own beloved mother would have wept
To mark the change which years have wrought in thee,
The dearest of her sons;--to see the clouds
Of passion mar thy spirit,--and the good
And god-like qualities, which made thy heart
Their hallow'd temple, chill'd,--degraded,--lost.
That pang the grave hath spar'd her !--she is gone



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


TO ---- ------

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN AT THE TOMB OF HIS PARENTS.


Where even Love,--the latest chain that binds
The human soul unto its earthly home,--
Can wake the throbbings of her breast no more.
HOW CAN Affection perish?--it should be
Link'd unto immortality--its pure,
And delicate essence deathless as divine !--
Oh! had she liv'd thou had'st not been the sad
And lonely thing thou art;--but mid the crowd
Who circle thee with smiles, and witching words,
Or, with enchanted eagerness, drink in
The music of thy dangerous flatteries,
Say is there one, who with enduring truth,
And firm devotedness like hers, would bear
The test of time--of poverty--or grief;--
One,--who if all beside were chang'd--would stand
"Faithful, amid the faithless," like the rose,
--The last, and loveliest,--which, in glowing grace
Meeteth the pallid sun-light, and the breath,
The bitter, blighting breath of Autumn's close.
Believe it not!--of those who gather round




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


TO ---- ------

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN AT THE TOMB OF HIS PARENTS.


Thy steps with sweetest looks, and honied tones,
The many, would but mock thy trust;--the few,
Who would be all unchang'd, whate'er of ill
Might steal upon thy path-way, must be won
By sacred honour--pure integrity--
By gen'rous actions,--and unsullied truth.
Like the Death-Angel's, thy career hath been
Mark'd out by desolation!--thou hast cast
The shadow of destruction o'er the young,--
The beautiful,--the happy,--and the pure;--
Giving, in base requital of their love,
The cup of bitterness, and shame, to be
The only portion of their blasted years.
Come not these mem'ries o'er thy waking thoughts,
And slumb'ring visions, like the spectre-shapes
Which haunt a murd'rer's dreams ?--Canst thou look back
Upon thy work of ruin unappall'd?--
Doth remorse waken never, when thy glance
Is thrown upon the guilt which tracks the way




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


TO ---- ------

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN AT THE TOMB OF HIS PARENTS.


Of thy past wand'rings?--'Tis a fearful thing
To know that mutter'd curses have been breath'd
In utt'rance with our name;--but worse it is
To feel that we deserve such malison
From lips once wont to bless us, with the tones,
And fond, deep fervency, of tenderness.
Thy gifted mind was never form'd to lie
Enchain'd in sin's low servitude;--to bend
Its lofty energies, its high proud hopes
Unto polluted pleasure's fettering pow'r.
Then be thy better self again!--nor quench
The early brightness of thy soul in gloom
Dark as the brow of mid-night--still some rays
Of Virtue linger round thee: may their glow
Kindle to rich and glorious light, and shed
A splendid radiance o'er thy coming days !



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


ON APPROACHING PARIS,
1826.


WE journey'd on !--the twilight star
Shone, in its tranquil beauty, o'er us;
While, with its thousand lights, afar
The glitt'ring city lay before us.
Oh! never o'er an ev'ning's close
Sank more serene, and sweet repose!
So lingeringly the sun-set ray
Had faded from the west away,
It seem'd as if the Fire-God met
His parting moment with regret;
The voices of the winds were still,
And breath'd no sigh on bow'r or hill;




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


ON APPROACHING PARIS,
1826.


There was not ev'n the slightest cloud
The heavens clear depth of blue to shroud;
But all things wore that peaceful mood,
Which wins the soul to solitude--
And it might well the spirit grieve
Such scene's soft quietude to leave,
To mix with restless crowds again,
Amidst the wildering haunts of men;
Where warring interests wear away
The best affections,--and decay
The links of confidence,--and steal
The springs of life from hearts that feel.
In sadness at the thought, I turn'd
To mark the countless fires that burn'd
Along the distance--flashing high,
From tow'r, and wall their radiancy;
For different, as the changing glare,
Of the red, fitful gleamings there,
To the pure planet's holy light,
Which o'er us beam'd, so calmly bright,




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


TAKE BACK THY RING.


TAKE back thy ring!--for I have learn'd
To hear thy name with hopeless heart,
And oft, with sick'ning soul, have turn'd
From what thou wert,--to what thou art!

I will not wear a pledge from one
Whose love is mock'ry like to thine;
I'd rather live uncheer'd, and lone,
As flowers, o'er which no sun-rays shine!

I know that thou wilt falsely say,
I shrink before misfortune's night;
That I can coldly turn away,
And leave thee to its withering blight.





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


TAKE BACK THY RING.


Thou wilt believe it not!--too well
Past years of deep devotedness,
The fonder--truer--tale will tell
Of my soul's changeless tenderness--

And aught but this I could have borne--
To know thee vile Dishonour's slave;
The finger-mark of shame and scorn,
Th' oppressor of the pure, and brave.

But never shall my fate be twin'd
With that of one, whose fame is blasted;
Whose word is as the idle wind;
Whose days in servile guilt are wasted !




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


SONG.


LET me sit in the twilight hour alone,
And muse on the lov'd ones far away,
Till my heart hath taken the hallow'd tone,
And the spirit-like calm of the closing day.

And visions of happiness, faded long,
Again in their beauty round me press;
While dreams, which to earlier days belong,
Steal soothingly over my loneliness !



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


ADINE:


A FRAGMENT.


SHE lov'd to hold communion with the night
When none were near, and to the golden stars
Pour forth the silent breathings of a soul,
Bright as their beams,--and pure, as that far sky
Of deep and stainless azure, where they dwell.
And she would linger many a lonely hour
To watch the gentle Empress of the heav'ns,
Come forth, in her so graceful majesty,
Flinging the floating vapours from her path,
Which would have veil'd her loveliness--and then
Shedding the fullest lustre of her smiles
Upon the lull'd, and sleeping world below;




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


ADINE:


A FRAGMENT.


Or sometimes, as if sick'ning at the scenes
Which met her down-ward gaze retiring slow
Behind the shadow of the courtier-clouds,
Which love to throw themselves between her smiles,
And this dim earth of ours. And Adine oft
Would stand on some rude cliff to mark the war
Of the wild waters, when the raging winds
Had lash'd them into madness,-and the waves
With most impetuous, and appalling force,
Breasted the rock whereon she stood, and flung
Their foam-wreaths at her feet;--and unto her
The forked lightnings, in their angry play,
Were a delight;--and music to her ear
Dwelt in the thunder's voice: her spirit drank
The beauty of the universe, and dwelt
On its sublime magnificence, until
Each thought grew grand and glorious, and sought out,
A resting-place in regions far away !--
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


ON THE DEATH
OF
ELLEN SHARP, 1822.


"Thou sleepest!--but we do not forget thee!"
I PARTED from thee, when the glow
Of health, was warm upon thy cheek;
When thy light laugh, and smiling brow,
Of happiest feelings seem'd to speak.

I little deem'd ere next we met,
That form would cold and lifeless be;--
That ev'ry hope so soon would set,
Which long had fondly turn'd to thee.



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


ON THE DEATH
OF
ELLEN SHARP, 1822.


But, oh! when Death's destroying pow'r
Had o'er thee cast its icy chain,
I saw thee, like a faded flow'r,
Laid,--ne'er to bloom on earth again.

Affection's warmly-cherish'd child,
Thou wert all unprepared to meet
The world's rude storms--which, darkly wild,
Our purest schemes of bliss defeat.

True thou wert motherless !--but heav'n
Most richly that deep loss supplied,
And tend'rest friends to thee were giv'n,
Thy youthful steps to guard, and guide.

Here, where thy playfulness oft drew
Responsive mirth from all around,
And its gay influence o'er us threw,
Long shall thy memory fresh be found.




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


ON THE DEATH
OF
ELLEN SHARP, 1822.


Each hour in passing, to the heart
Brings some appealing thought of thee:
And tears of keen regret will start
O'er thy fate's sad reality.

Yet, though we sorrowing weep thy doom,
We know, that far most greatly blest
Are those, who earliest, through the tomb,
Ascend to God's eternal rest!





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


THAT VOICE CAME O'ER ME.


THAT voice came o'er me, like the tone
Of music, heard at Even,
From one sweet-breathing flute alone
Beneath the starlight heav'n:
So exquisitely soft--so clear--
Its murmurs sank upon mine ear!

And oh! it floats around me yet
At twilight's stilly hour,
And vainly would my soul forget
Its deep subduing pow'r:
For still, till thought, and feeling die,
Remembrance will its spell supply.






Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Oh! I am weary of a world


OH ! I am weary of a world, where vice,
Like the destroying canker-worm, doth wind
Into the bosom's core of those who bear,
The subtle, but false semblance, of a truth,
And virtue, which they know not:--smiles, warm smiles,
And kindest courtesies; and words, which wear
The mockery of tenderness;--all these,
Are but the maskings of most hollow hearts,
Where selfishness, and treachery, do league
To make, and keep their home. The things we love
Are garb'd, by Fancy, with such brilliant hues,
As the clouds borrow from the farewell beams
Of the departing sun;--but let them stand





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


Oh! I am weary of a world


Forth in their own reality--disrob'd
Of the warm colouring which our minds have flung
Round them, in rich adornment, and the soul
Will shrink to find its idols cold and dim,
As are the vapours gather'd in the West,
When the Day-God is gone!



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


IT WERE DISHONOURING NOW.


IT were dishonouring now--or I
Could weep in hopeless misery,
O'er the dark tale, which links thy name
To perfidy, and deepest shame;
But never on my cheek shall be,
The stain of one weak tear for thee;
Though wildly throb my breast and brain,
As if the very soul of pain
Were in each pulse, no drop shall fall,
Wrung forth by suff'ring, from these eyes:
I shudder e'en but to recall
The hours, when thou, unshar'd, had'st all
My bosom's fondest sympathies.--




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


IT WERE DISHONOURING NOW.


But now tis past--for ever past!--
I yet have strength to rend a part
The firmest bonds that ever clasp'd
Their fettering links around my heart;
Yes, I have pow'r at least to be
In spirit, as the Morning, free!
I'd rather live the loneliest thing
That earth upon its bosom bears,
And pass, in silent sorrowing,
A weary length of lingering years,
Than give a hope, a thought to one
Whose nobleness and truth are gone !--
And 'tis enough for me to know,
That crime hath track'd thy steps,--that thou
Hast o'er the young and happy, shed
The curse which withers life away,
And left, for fame and virtue fled,
Remorse, and wretchedness to stay;
That thou did'st, like the spoiler, come
Where peace had made her hallow'd home,



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


IT WERE DISHONOURING NOW.


And change to ruin, and despair,
All that was pure and holy there;--
That broken hearts, which bled too late,
And early years made desolate,
Have been thy fatal gifts to those,
Who dar'd upon thy faith repose.
Reproach is not for me !--thy doom,
Without it is o'er-fraught with gloom,
And grief, and bitterness--but yet,
I would that we had never met;
For ev'ry trace that's left of thee
Upon the page of Memory,
Will waken sorrow's mute excess
For thy betray'd unworthiness.--
But be our parting brief!--'tis vain
On moments such as this to dwell,
When ev'ry pause is fill'd with pain,
Until we breathe the last farewell.



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


LINES.


YES, thou art like the blasting breath,
Of that wild desert wind,
Which leaves, in its career of death,
No living thing behind;
Ne'er did the withering Upas shed
More poisonous blights on all,
O'er which its fate-fraught branches spread
Their dark, funereal pall.
Like to thyself shall be thy doom,
--No gloomier canst thou prove ,--
For thou shalt be the breathing tomb
Of honour, faith, and love!



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


SONG.

GIVE me gay music !--we will not dwell
On a thought which can pain our hearts to night;
But Pleasure shall cast her gentle spell
Around our spirits, in Fortunes' spite.

The magic of Mirth, and soul of Song
Shall lend their charm to the passing hour,
And speed old Time on his flight along,
And rob grey care of his teasing pow'r !--





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


TO THE WILD HEATH-FLOW'R.



THERE be sweet wreaths upon the brow of spring,
Thornless, as those which bloom in Paradise,
And fresh as Love's first feelings,--bright, as are
His earliest dreams, ere one cold touch of earth
Hath sullied their pure lustre. To the sun
The young, delicious, violet unfolds
Its purple beauty, 'tis the fav'rite child
Of fragrancy, and its rich breathings steal
O'er me, like music of the past, and wake
Thoughts of departed moments, which my soul
Would fain forget, they throw the present hours
Into such deep, dark shadow: Mem'ry weeps





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


TO THE WILD HEATH-FLOW'R.



As she recalls their fulness of delight!--
When these fair garlands of the year are gone,
With wild profusion, Summer's glowing hand
Flings o'er the earth her luxury of flowers.
Amidst her scented blossoms brightest shine
The radiant roses, censers of the sun,
Which, till they perish ever meet his beams
With clouds of od'rous incense. Like a bride
Rob'd in her delicate vest of stainless white,
And shrin'd within her bow'r of solitude,
The pale and peerless lily, sheds perfume
O'er the lone spots in which she loves to dwell.
Like a soft star, the twilight primrose lends
Its hue and gracefulness to charm the close
Of the still ev'ning tide;--yet even these,
The deep blue violet,--th' imperial rose,--
The valley's tintless-queen,--and faint night-flow'r,
Are to my sight less welcome far than thou,
The desert's off'ring--yet thy fairy leaves
Unfold no treasure of enchanted hues,




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


TO THE WILD HEATH-FLOW'R.



And yield no perfume to the morning ray.
Unlike the myrtle-shrub, with its young buds
Snowy as orient pearls; or,--fairer still,--
The orange-tree, whose laden blossoms bend
Heavy with their own sweetness, thou dost give
No grace to palaces: upon the wild
It is thy fate to bloom, and fade--alike
Unshaded, from the mid-day's burning beam;
Unshelter'd from the tempest's blighting breath :--
Yet falls the fresh'ning dew from heav'n for thee,
As for the loftiest cedar;--and ev'n so,
Comfort descendeth from the skies, to cheer
The world's neglected children, who, with scorn,
Wounded, despis'd, and trampled on, may find
Balm for the broken spirit, in the peace
Which is not of the earth--God's sacred gift
Unto the pure in heart:--a holy hope
Is theirs, which cannot die, and still it points
On, through this vale of suff'ring, and of tears,
Unto the dawn of Immortality!




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


FORGIVE THEE !--YES.


FORGIVE thee !--yes--when ev'ry cord
Which binds my soul to earth, is broken;
When scarce I hear the whisper'd word,
By gentlest tongues around me, spoken.

Forgive thee !--yes--thy once-lov'd name,
Shall mingle with my faltering breath,
When, fainter still, this languid frame
Shall bend, before the touch of death.

Forgive thee !--yes--when paler still
This cold and fading brow shall be,
And o'er my heart the latest chill
Comes on, of mortal agony.





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


FORGIVE THEE !--YES.



Forgive thee!--yes--but rest awhile
'Till mem'ry of the past hath perish'd;
'Till from my mind that voice, that smile,
Have pass'd, as though they ne'er were cherish'd.

Come, when each hope is rais'd to heav'n,
Which wither'd in the world's cold shade;
And thou--e'en thou--shalt be forgiv'n
The wretchedness which thou hast made.




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


STANZAS.


I LOVE in loneliness to stand afar,
When lingering twilight gently rests around;
And night is flinging from her "ebon car"
O'er earth, a shade more deep, and more profound;
While one sweet star,--a solitary gem,--
Sparkleth in Ev'ning's dark'ning diadem !

Not long alone !--for soon, with gradual glow,
A thousand diamond-lights their fires disclose,
And on the beautiful and radiant brow
Of heav'n, in rich resplendency repose:
Yet still the first is fairest--and its beam
Smiles like some young enthusiast's early dream!





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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[Man]

Poem


THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE

TO HER HUSBAND,

AFTER HIS ESCAPE FROM IMMINENT DANGER.


I TREMBLE at thy peril past!
It shakes me, like some fearful dream,
In horror's mould of madness cast,
To chill the warm heart's living stream.

I shudder but to view that fate,
Which would have rent my soul's last tie
To earth, and left me desolate,
Beyond all thought of agony.





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE

TO HER HUSBAND,

AFTER HIS ESCAPE FROM IMMINENT DANGER.


Spar'd is the blow which would have left
Within the world no breathing thing,
So utterly of hope bereft,
So crush'd by loneliest suffering;

As she, who warmly grateful now,
Pours her best orisons to heav'n,
For life, to one belov'd as thou,
In danger sav'd--in mercy giv'n.

Oh! when the battle's rage is round,
Amidst the fearful strife,--for thee,
May that protecting aid be found,
Which now restores thee safe to me!



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


"Je vais te quitter ségour aimé!"


'TIS come!--the last pale ev'ning-close
Whose shade shall sink around me here;
And unto me its deep repose,
Brings many a wildly-gushing tear.

Nay, let me dash the drops away,
Which thus, in idle sorrow shed,
A soul un nerv'd, unstrung, betray ,--
Which droops--nor will be comforted.

My quiet home, farewell!--I go
Forth to the cold bleak world again,
A wanderer mid its scenes of woe,
To seek for sheltering peace in vain.




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


"Je vais te quitter ségour aimé!"


Oh! long my heart will warmly cling
To thee, as to some hallow'd spot,
Where falshood's deadly withering,
And life's stern storms were all forgot.

And some short moments wing'd with bliss,
Pass'd o'er my spirit, like a tone
Of the air-harp, when night-winds kiss
Its chords, to music wild and lone.

My cherish'd home a long farewell!
The pangs which on my bosom press,
As on that word I ling'ring dwell
Are rous'd to keenest wretchedness!





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


GO, COLD AND FICKLE TRIFLER.


Go, cold and fickle trifler! go--
And bear thy traitor-smiles afar,
Where none, like me, too well shall know,
How hollow, and how vain, they are.
Go,--light of heart, and false of faith!
But never, till thine hour of death,
Dare with those treacherous lips profane
The sacredness of love again:--
No feeling of thy soul can claim
So sweet, so true, so pure a name--
Thine ev'ry look, and sigh, and tone,
Is vow'd to vanity alone!
I would my fortune had been cast
In some bright epoch of the past







Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


GO, COLD AND FICKLE TRIFLER.


When heroes, of high thought, and worth,
With lofty bearing trod the earth
And won, to grace a gallant name,
The guerdon of a fadeless fame:
Oh! I had bow'd in spirit then,
To god-like deeds, of god-like men;
And with the gen'rous, and the brave,
Had joy'd to find a home--and grave!
From visions of the olden time
Chivalrous--noble--and sublime--
I turn to trace thy mean career :--
Believe not thou wert ever dear!
Deem not, that I could love thee!--No!--
I have but feign'd as thou hast done,
And trifled with the trifler! --so,
Still may the mask thou wear'st be known;--
And while thy bosom's dark recess
Doth veil its subtle selfishness,
May'st thou be fated but to find,
Where'er thou go'st, a kindred mind!




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


VENICE.


"Tis ev'ning now! " --the vesper-star
With smiles of beauty glads the sky,
And breathings from the light guitar,
Are blending with the minstrel's sigh.

To stillness hush'd the purple wave
Reflects the cloudless heav'n above;
And not a sound floats o'er it, save
Sweet music from the lips of love;

And the full chorus clear, and deep,
From the gay gondoliers, who ply
Their oar's with light, and measur'd sweep,
While mingling that rich melody.



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


VENICE.


And gently o'er the glitt'ring tide,
While gales of odour round them play,
There Adria's dark-eyed daughters glide,
In pleasure's search,--away, away !




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


To those who have few ties to bind the soul to earth


To those who have few ties to bind the soul
To earth, it must be sweet to steal away
Gently, from life to death; with calm decline,
Painless but sure, to feel their pow'rs decay ;--
To know that they shall leave th' unkind and cold,
Who made existence joyless to them here,
Soon, and for ever--though they deem not so
Who are around them, nor behold the change
Of the pale cheek, and whitening lip, to hues
More bloodless yet; nor mark the falt'ring frame
Which daily bends more faint and languidly;
Nor see the visible beatings of the heart,
Which hastens to its rest. I would not die
When Spring hath wak'd the thousand melodies





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


To those who have few ties to bind the soul to earth


Of young birds mounting joyously to heav'n,
And o'er the earth her emerald vest is thrown,
Starr'd with bright blossoms, fresh, and beautiful--
'Tis sad to be the only withering thing
Amidst reviving nature !--I would fade
With the last ling'ring flow'rs, whose dirge is sung
By the wild voices of th' autumnal winds!




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


STANZAS.


GIVE me the loneliest spot on earth,
Where not a living step shall come;
And not a form of human birth
Shall break the quiet of my home.

There, canopied by Nature's sky
Unshelter'd be my breast, and brow;
There unremember'd let me die
Afar from all that wounds me now.

Oh! it were better far to be
A wand'rer on the desert thrown,
Than to pursue, thus weariedly,
The path of hopelessness alone.




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


STANZAS.


My fetter'd spirit pants to break
The bitter bonds which bind it here;
And sense, and thought, and feeling ache,
To see how firm those bonds appear.

My birth-right was a dangerous boon,--
This high, unyielding pride of heart
Which will not be subdued:--as soon
From life shall sorrow dwell apart.

For in a world like this, where gold
Must win the sunshine of our way;
Where smiles are bought, and friendships sold,
I sink beneath its silent sway.



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


COME TO MY GRAVE.


COME to my grave when I am gone,
And bend a moment there alone;
It will not cost thee much of pain
To trample on my heart again--
Or, if it would, for ever stay
Far distant from my mouldering clay:
I would not wound thy breast to prove
E'en its most deep, "remorse of love."
The grave should be a shrine of peace
Where all unkindly feelings cease;--


Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


COME TO MY GRAVE.


Though thou wilt calmly gaze on mine
I would not live the hour to see,
Which doom'd my glance to rest on thine :--
That moment's bitter agony
Would bid the very life-blood start
Back, and congeal around my heart!--


Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


NAY! TAKE THE ROSE.


NAY ! take the Rose, ere yet its grace,
Its freshness, and its bloom, are gone;
And be thy heart its resting place
Until its young, sweet life be flown;
For on that breast of honour shrin'd,
A glorious death my flow'r will find;
And it must perish soon--with thee
It will but fade less lingeringly.
Its leaves are tinted with the flush
Of summer sunsets,-- but that blush,
Radiant as Love's, will pass away
As dies in heav'n the smile of day.




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


NAY! TAKE THE ROSE.


Its breath is odour's essence ;--ne'er
Before did bud, or blossom, bear
Such soul of perfume--oh! that aught
So beautiful, should be so frail!
It wakes a tone of sad'ning thought
To dwelt upon its silent tale ;--
Not for itself--but that it is
An emblem of all human bliss.



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


TO ---- ------


WE parted--thou wert borne afar,
Through lands of loveliness to range,
Thy guide and hope, that glorious star,
Which knows no dark'ning shade of change.

We parted--I remain'd alone
Where meteor-lights around me played,
And my mind took that heartless tone,
Which pain too soon to thine convey'd.

Again we met!--thine eye was cold
As friendship's alter'd eye could be;
And well its chilling glances told
How thou wert chang'd,--at least to me.



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


TO ---- ------


I knew that I had wrong'd thee much,
But other feelings waken'd when
I saw thee,--and I deem'd that such
Might in thy breast be lingering then.

And were they not?--and shall they ne'er
In all their earlier glow revive?--
I turn me to thy smile--and there
Feel half assur'd that still they live.

"Wav'ring! "--yes !--yes !--I own it so--
But not again !--at least if aught
Can fix affection's wandering flow,
'Twill be--the lesson thou hast taught!





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


THE LAST SONG.


'TIS ruin all!--but o'er my heart
A deeper change is hast'ning on;
Its ev'ry dream will soon depart,
Its ev'ry hope from earth be won.

A little space--and o'er my breast
The Spring's young flow'rs may freshly bloom,
For I shall then in peaceful rest
Repose within the silent tomb.

Then come to this lone spot, and say,
"The Roses which she lov'd, are gone;
The violet wreaths have died away;
And e'en the minstrel-birds are flown.






Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


THE LAST SONG.


The spark'ling waters move no more
With murmuring music through the vale;
The sacred cedar's grace is o'er,
For leafless now it greets the gale.

Yet dear to her was this still scene,
Where desolation's seal is set,
As if its beauty ne'er had been,
So wildly by destruction met."




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


Where art thou Love!


WHERE art thou Love! with thine eyes wild gleam,
And thy hair which floats in the sun's bright beam,
Like a golden banner of triumph, spread
O'er the hosts of a conqueror homeward led ;--
Thy step like the bound of the light gazelle;
And thy voice more sweet than the soft lute's swell.
My beautiful one! come forth, and bless
Thy hunter who droops with weariness;
I have toil'd unresting a far, far way,
The spoils of the chase at thy feet to lay
Ah!--I hear from afar thy silver tone;--
I clasp thee now, my belov'd!--MY OWN !



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


YES LEAVE ME.


YES leave me !--I can bear it now,
For e'en while those wild words are spoken,
See I am calm, as though thy vow
Of faithfulness, had ne'er been broken.

I do not weep !--fast tears may fall
O'er transient cares, and lighter ill;
But oh! the bitterest griefs of all,
Are nurs'd in tearless anguish still.

E'en in our happiest days I felt
Thy love was but a summer-beam,
Which soon, with quick decline would melt
Away, like some dissolving dream.




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


YES LEAVE ME.


I know that round that wand'ring heart
New ties are woven--and thy will
Would rend the ling'ring bond apart,
Which seemingly unites us still.


Well, be it so !--the charm is o'er
Which long hath bound me with its spell;
My thoughts shall never waken more
In tenderness for thee--Farewell!



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


SONG.


I TURN from pleasures witching tone,
Though sweet the syren-strain may be
And wander silently, and lone,
To think, my own best love! on thee.

There's not a radiant blossom hung
On lowly stem, or lofty tree;
There's not a beam of beauty flung
Around me, but I think of thee.

And never doth the gentle ev'n
Shed her soft calm o'er earth and sea,
Lighting the golden stars of heav'n,
But tenderly I think of thee.




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A SKETCH.


WHERE is he now?--that mightiest one, whose name
Was still the spell-word of the fray,--the sound
Which led his legions on untir'd, to win
Their thousand fights ;--the man whose daring deeds
Were heralded by Fame, till Fame herself
Exhausted sank beneath th' o'er whelming task.
And is his high career of glory done?--
Can he be nothing, to whom monarchs bow'd
Their crown-encircled brows, and nations knelt
In most subservient homage, till he stood
E'en like a god above the conquer'd world?
Where is he now?--Far o'er the rolling waves,
On a most rude, and sea-surrounded rock,
Rises a simple tomb, whose whiteness gleams



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A SKETCH.


Through the low-bending branches of the tree,
Which droops, in seeming mournfulness, above
The marble monument it shadows o'er.
'Tis there an Emp'ror sleeps! and on that isle
Which his foes made his dwelling-place, he pin'd
Like a cag'd eagle, till he perish'd there,
Tortur'd by petty tyranny, and bow'd
By low, mean insults. Was it not enough
To wrest away the kingdoms he had won,
His diadem,--his sword,--his child,--and she,
Th' imperial mother of his princely boy ?--
To bind him down on that so desolate spot
A prison'd exile from the land he lov'd,
His own bright, fertile France? A fallen foe
Cast on the mercy of his vanquishers
Had met from gen'rous minds a nobler doom.
He was our enemy !--and he had been
The scourge of human-kind--and if for this
His blood had been required, they had done well
To shed it quickly; not to drain his life



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A SKETCH.



By slow sure means, far worse than death itself.
'Tis a stern lesson which his fate holds forth
To after-votaries at ambition's shrine.
Pois'd on the proudest pinnacle of pow'r,
He fell, as doth the breath-stirr'd avalanche,
With fearful, and appalling suddenness,
Yet spreading less of desolation round
Than doth the mountain-terror :--he had done
The work of ruin, ere his star was bow'd
Before the vengeful Genius of the earth,
Whom he had dar'd too far.



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


LINES.


WHEN the beautiful star of the West moves on,
A lonely gem, through the fields of air;
When the last faint flush of the sun-light's gone
And no beams but her own are shining there;
Steal through the shades of the twilight love!
The spell of that gentlest hour to prove.

It sinks on the spirit like some sweet balm,
Shed o'er us from brighter, and happier spheres;
And in suffering bosoms its touching calm
Awakens the source of delicious tears;
While dark and passionate thoughts, to rest
Are hush'd in the haughty, and erring breast.



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


REVENGE.


I WOULD not, in the wildness of revenge,
Give poison to mine enemy, nor strike
My dagger to his heart, but I would plant
Love--burning--hopeless--and unquenchable--
Within the inmost foldings of his breast,
And bid him die the dark, and ling'ring death,
Of the pale victims, who expire beneath
The pow'r of that deep passion. Earth can show
No bitterness like this !--The shroud of thought
Which gathers round them, gloomy as the grave;--
The wasting, but unpitied pangs, which wear
The frame away, and make the tortur'd mind
Almost a chaos in its agony;--


Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[sweet.aishwarya]

too good yaar but i cant understand ki y isn't anybody commenting on this?

[Man]

Poem


REVENGE.


The writhings of the spirit, doom'd to see
A rival bless'd;-and utter, cold, despair :-
These are its torments !-Are they not enough
To satisfy the most remorseless hate ?


Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


SONG.


THOU shalt know my love by his eagle-eye,
And his lofty brow,
Where in richness the dark curls clust'ring lie
On the forehead's snow!
Look where the brave, and the beautiful meet;
Search where the proud sons of chivalry greet;
Glance o'er the guests of the feudal hall,
Where princes are holding their festival;
And turn to the field, where the battle-word,
Is follow'd by death from the flashing sword.
Brightest, mid all that is lordly, and gay;
Dauntless, and first, in the deadliest fray;
Graceful, and gifted, all others above,
Such shalt thou find him--my own gallant love!




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


ON SEEING

A ROSE IN A GLASS OF WATER,

WITH THE MOTTO

"Je vis,--mais dans les larmes!"
Such is the heart whose treasur'd store
Of sweet, and early hope is gone:
It withers to revive no more,
Or lives, like thee, in tears alone!



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A shadow, dark as death


A SHADOW, dark as death, o'er shrouds the beams
Of my pale birth-star !--it so long hath hung
Between the light of happiness, and me,
That I am chill'd with its cold gloominess
E'en to the heart. Oh! I have watch'd in vain,
With hope's most deep intensity, to catch
The bursting forth of but one glorious gleam
Of joy's blest sunshine, through that envious veil.--
Tis there !--still there !--and will not pass away !
Like the black banner of despair, 'tis spread
O'er the dim planet of my destiny !--



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


I LOVE THEE.


I LOVE thee, as I love the calm
Of sweet, star-lighted hours!
I love thee, as I love the balm
Of early jes'mine flow'rs.

I love thee, as I love the last
Rich smile of fading day,
Which lingereth, like the look we cast,
On rapture pass'd away.

I love thee as I love the tone
Of some soft-breathing flute
Whose soul is wak'd for me alone,
When all beside is mute.



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


I LOVE THEE.

I love thee as I love the first
Young violet of the spring;
Or the pale lily, April-nurs'd,
To scented blossoming.

I love thee, as I love the full,
Clear gushings of the song,
Which lonely--sad--and beautiful--
At night-fall floats along,

Pour'd by the bul-bul forth to greet
The hours of rest and dew;
When melody and moonlight meet
To blend their charm, and hue.

I love thee, as the glad bird loves
The freedom of its wing,
On which delightedly it moves
In wildest wandering.




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I LOVE THEE.


I love thee as I love the swell,
And hush, of some low strain,
Which bringeth, by its gentle spell,
The past to life again.

Such is the feeling which from thee
Nought earthly can allure:
'Tis ever link'd to all I see
Of gifted--high--and pure!






Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



LE TRISTE ADIEU.


OFT have we parted Love! before
With prospects darkly shadow'd o'er,
But never have we sunder'd yet,
With such wild hopelessness as now,
Since first by fate's caprice we met,
Since first upon each heart was set,
Too powerful love's recorded vow.
Oh! absence were enough to bear
Without the death-spell of despair!
There is no joy on earth to me
Where thou art not,--I sigh to hear
That voice of tend'rest melody
Still breathe its sweetness to mine ear;




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



LE TRISTE ADIEU.


And words from other lips than thine
Pass, like the winds, unheeded by;
They cannot cheer this breast of mine,
Which ev'n in palaces would pine,
For thy dear tone's soft witchery.
Smiles, beautiful as thought can paint,
To me would seem but pale and faint
If I must vainly seek the one,
Whose brightness o'er my soul hath shone;
And eyes of richest light, might beam
Like stars upon me, when their gleam,
Hath pour'd upon the midnight sky,
Its fulness of resplendency;
But dim to me would seem their ray,
If thine were distant :--I should turn
From sunniest looks in grief away,
O'er our divided lot to mourn.
Thou think'st my heart is colder grown
Amidst the storms we both have known;
No, thou dost wrong me, dearest!--still
Throbs its warm life-pulse but for thee,



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



LE TRISTE ADIEU.


With most intense devotion's thrill,
Nor gloomiest hours of gath'ring ill,
Can shake its deep fidelity.
Wilt thou, with truth as holy, keep
Affection's glow, unchang'd, and pure?
Shall no dim cloud upon it creep,
When wealth's gay scenes thy steps allure


[The following three lines connected by large right brace. This is represented here by a smaller right brace at the end of each line so connected.]

In Pleasure's halls, a welcome guest, }
Thou wilt be courted, and carest, }
And smil'd on by the loveliest! }
And wilt thou not too greatly prize
The world's bewildering flatteries,
To dwell, with gentle thoughts, on one,
Whose best, and happiest days, are gone;
And o'er whose path-way tempests throw
The threat'nings of their angry wing,
Whose ambush'd thunder, soon below
May burst, in bolts of suffering.
THY web of destiny was wrought,
In colours from the rainbow caught;



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



LE TRISTE ADIEU.


And golden threads were blended there,
With silken lines of promise fair,
Mine, was the woof of sadden'd grey,
Unmix'd with aught of brilliant hue;
Fram'd in its varyings to display
No tints, but those to sorrow true.
And thou perhaps would'st break the chain,
Entwin'd around us, ere we knew
How heavily its weight of pain,
Would oft thy mind's repose subdue :--
Let not the cares which round me cling,
Obscure one moment's bliss for thee ;--
But sever fearlessly the string--
The lingering cord--which will but bring
Grief!--if it link thee still to me !
Go!--shine where tears are never shed,
And leave me to my lonely doom:
Soon will my love with life be fled,
And rest will greet me,-in the tomb!




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



STANZAS.


I SAW the worthless and the vile,
By Pleasure's light surrounded,
And wond'ringly I mark'd the while,
Their joy and bliss unbounded.

For Friendship's clasp was warm for them,
And Love's sweet smiles unshrouded;
And fav'ring Fortune's talisman
Preserv'd their sky unclouded.

And I beheld the proud,-- the free,--
A passing homage render;
And lofty genius bend the knee
Before their painted splendour.



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



STANZAS.


Their footsteps, ev'n in Honours halls
Were hail'd with courteous greeting,
And welcom'd at the festivals
Where princely men were meeting.

No word of bitterness, or strife,
A hostile mood revealing,
Came o'er the sunshine of their life
To freeze the fount of feeling;

While purer spirits pin'd away
By mental suff'ring faded,
'Twas theirs to keep a thornless way,
With hearts and minds degraded.

"What spell of pow'r is theirs," I cried,
"To blind the worlds discerning?"--
"'Tis gold !--'tis gold "--stern Truth replied,
With shame and sorrow burning!--



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



LINES


WRITTEN ABROAD.

I HAVE but left my pleasant home
And native vales, to die!--
Ah wherefore did the wish to roam,
So wildly o'er my spirit come,
And urge so temptingly !

My Mother !--thou wilt hope in vain,
Thy wandering one's return:--
'Twould calm the bitterness of pain,
If once on thy dear face again
My parting glance might turn.




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



LINES


WRITTEN ABROAD.

But sever'd thus by land, and wave,
From tenderness, and thee,
And all whose love, might sooth, or save,
I perish here-and ev'n my grave
In stranger-earth must be !


May, 1826



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


MANY a graven gem, beset
With gold, is worn as an amulet
In the far-off climes of the East,--a charm
To preserve the bosom from grief and harm.
Within thy breast a spirit dwells,
More powerful ev'n than Arab-spells :--
'Tis Love!--oh, keep it pure--and still
'Twill be thy shield 'gainst many an ill!




------------------------------


PLUCK, in the depth of the midnight hour,
Buds of the beautiful Passion-flow'r;


*These cards are designed to be formed into a pack, for the amusement of an evening circle. [E. A.]

Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


Take the young Rose of the snowy vest,
The purest one, and the loveliest
With the twilight Primrose,--and let them be,
Blended with braids of the Sensitive tree:
Pillow thy head on that star-light wreath,
And the balmy spell of its dewy breath
Will cause such dreams o'er thy sleep to steal,
As shall the future to thee unseal,
And show thee, in visions of curtain'd rest,
The one, who shall cherish, and love thee best!



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


THY steps shall press a foreign shore,
But thou shalt tread thine own no more;
And thou wilt sigh, but sigh in vain,
To view thy native isle again:
In stranger-land thine eyes shall close;--
In stranger-earth thy dust repose :--
Yet one,--thine own belov'd shall be
Parted, by death alone from thee!




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


THOU shalt win wealth, if wealth can bless,
And fame, if fame be dear;
Or pass in humble happiness,
The years allowed thee here,
Choose !--but forget not woe, and strife
Are link'd unto ambition's life;--
That envyings follow high renown;--
That riches press the spirit down
With low, mean, cares--but thou art free,
To make, or mar thy destiny!



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


THY fairest hopes shall perish;
Thy dearest dreams depart;
The love which thou wilt cherish
Will feed upon thy heart;
Thy brow shall be o'er shaded
By darkness, and despair,
And thy pleasant smile be faded
Before the frown of care;



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


Unless from Pleasure's trance thou wake,
And Error's wildering paths forsake.




--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


IF Spring should bring no bliss to thee,
And Summer should as joyless be,
The Autumn's close will find thee blest,
With all that makes life happiest;
And wintry storms shall shed their wrath
In vain upon thy shelter'd path,
Where Hope's sweet hymn shall still beguile,
And Fortune's sunshine warmly smile!





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


DARK eyes are steep'd in tears for thee,
And blue ones lose their lustrous light;
While thine, with careless gaiety,
Shine on for ever calmly bright.
Revenge will come !--and thou, in turn,
Shalt lose the looks which charm the many;




--------------------------------------




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


And long the cold disdain shalt mourn,
Of one, who ne'er has smil'd on any!



------------------------------


THE clear, warm, waves, which smiling lie
In rest, beneath the summer-sky;--
The sail, in safety wafted on
By light, and perfum'd gales, alone;
The sweetness of the air-harp's sigh
When soft winds wake its melody ;--
A cloudless heav'n;--and thornless flow'rs--
Are emblems of thy coming hours !








Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


THY lips are doom'd awhile to press
The o'erflowing cup of bitterness;
But only for awhile !--the draught
Of suff'ring will be quickly quaff'd,
And sweeter will the future be
For that one taste of ill to thee,





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


Drain'd and forgotten soon: thy years
Will then be free from grief and tears,
And to thy spirit shall be known
The pleasantness of life alone !--








Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


WHEN Roses bloom on Hecla's brow,
And Violets vein the sunless snow;
When birds of Paradise can bear
Unchill'd, Siberia's desert-air;
When man's weak voice shall charm to sleep
The wild, and tempest-shaken deep:--
Then thou shalt win the seeming good,
Thou hast, in vain, so long pursued.










Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


THOU dwellest within the changeless thought
Of one, whose lightest looks to thee,
Are far more precious, than perfumes brought
From the sun-bright land of Araby.










Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


Richer, than star-like gems, which shed
Their lustrous rays round a royal head,
Is the treasure which true love keeps for thee,
To reward thy prov'd fidelity !--







Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


BEWARE the full of the next May-moon;
But more beware thou, the Ides of June;
Touch no flow'r that the shade falls on;
Move not in dance till the sun's gone down;
Drink not the juice of Oporto's vine;
Pluck not the treacherous Eglantine;
Taste not the fruit of the Orange-grove;
Read not the Mintrel's songs of love;
And thou shalt be prosperous, wealthy, and gay,
Ere a year, and a month have pass'd away!


--------------------------------


A BIRD, which droops its wounded wing;
A young flow'r, fading in its spring;







Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


A broken lyre, whose ev'ry tone
Of joy and harmony is gone;
A lonely leaf, whose blighted hue
But mocks alike the beam, and dew,
Of sunny April's glowing sky;--
A ruin'd fountain, moss'd, and dry;--
A shatter'd gem ;--a sinking star,
The mirrors of thy fortune are!








Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


REST thee here !--securely rest,
In thine island sojourn blest.
Safety dwells within thy home;
Danger warns thee not to roam,
For afar, on earth, and sea,
Ten-fold perils lurk for thee.
Friendship's smile, and love's caress,
Here shall form thy happiness :--
Rest thee then,--securely rest
In thine island sojourn blest!






Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


THY brow is bright, and sweet thy smile;
Thy heart, thy heart, is fill'd with guile;
And though thy softly beaming eye
Affects such gentle sympathy,
Thy heart, thy heart is cold as stone,
And feels but for itself alone :--
For this, thou ever more shalt prove,
That those who know thee, cannot love !









Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


MISTS, from the hand of Sorrow flung,
The planet of thy birth o'er hung;
And round it giant-clouds of shame,
In dark'ning masses, clust'ring came,
While that sweet star grew pale to see
Such threat'nings of deep misery.
But yet despond not!--soon the ray
Of Peace shall chase that gloom away,
And ten-fold happiness shall shine
For evils past, o'er thee, and thine!












Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


BEWARE the hand whose daring grasp
Hath wav'd the death-sword in its clasp,
Though fondly to thine own it cling,
With seeming friendship's lingering.
A soldier's hand shall make thy fate,
As Arab-desert desolate,
If thou should'st yet, with daring pride,
On one of war's wild sons confide:
Oh! sadly wilt thou sorrow then
O'er long-past warnings, breath'd in vain.












Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


BELIEVE not all the flatt'ring things,
Some eyes have said to thee;
Nor heed the tender whisperings,
Of love, though sweet they be!
The look and tone alike deceive,
And subtle is the web they weave
For thy poor heart--but thou shalt yet
Their pow'r defy, their charm forget,









Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


And in a true, and gen'rous breast
Thy hopes shall find a happier rest!




-------------------------------


SMILE on!--thou wert not form'd for tears;
And if their trace hath been
Upon thy cheek, in those bright years,
When life's first hopes were green;
They were but as the fost'ring dew
Upon the young flow'r's bloom,
Which nourisheth its grace of hue,
And richness of perfume !--
Smile on !--for blest shall be thy lot,
And brilliant thy career :--
Oh! sure the world can offer not
A fairer promise here!--


-------------------------


WHEN next the Rose on its bough shall bloom,
And the soft Lily bursts from its silken tomb,





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


The star of thy destiny brighter shall shine
Than it e'er hath done yet--and a glow divine,
Of pure, and fadeless joy, shall be
The gift of the smiling fates to thee.




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


THOU dost pursue a fleeting shade
Which soon will pass away,
Swiftly as morning mist-wreath's fade
Before the Fire-God's ray:
Then to her long-deserted rest,
Within thy warm, but wearied breast,
Peace, like the nestling dove, shall come
To make, and keep, once more her home!





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


WAND'RING winds, still roving on;
Rainbow-tints, just seen and gone;
Butterflies with painted wing
Mid young spring-flow'rs hovering;--





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


Meteor-gleams, whose changing ray
Is flown, ere we can mark its play;
All these things resemble thee,
Capricious !--light !--yet fancy-free!




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


YES, there was one, to whom thy name
Like breathing's of sweet music came;
One who beheld in thee a star
Of guiding light, though seen afar;
And turn'd to thee with love intense,
Yet pure as early innocence.
Thou hast dispell'd that dream but ne'er
Another in thy heart shall share :--
Though many flatter, more caress,
Thy doom is--lasting loneliness!




---------------------


THRICE happy !--no sorrow thy breast shall know
Till our land's bright roses in dust lie low;





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


Till trampled and torn by the foe-man's tread,
On our glorious banners disgrace is shed;
Till our soldiers turn from the fight to flee,
And ocean is freed from our mastery;
Till a tyrant's chain, or a hero's grave,
Is all that is left for the true and brave;
And foreign standards are planted o'er,
The free-born breasts of our native shore !--




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


OH! banish the thoughts which enchain thee,
As if by enchantment,--ere yet
The probe of reality pain thee
With pangs thou may'st never forget!
Awake from thy passionate dreaming,
While now for a moment thou'rt free;
And turn thee from false visions teeming,
With death, to thy fortunes, and thee.
Thou shalt gain what the world cannot render
Of peace, and delight, and repose;






Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


And a warm heart's devotion shall tender
Affections soft balm for thy woes!




--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


GENTLE and pure, shall the happiness be,
Shed over thy dwelling, and centred in thee!
Dear as the Music of days that are gone;
Soft as a beautiful vision that's flown;
Soothing and calm as the moon's silver ray,
When she smilingly chases the night clouds away
Tender and sweet as the nightingale's song,
Borne on the flower-scented breezes along;
Precious as home to the wanderer's heart,
And enduring as Truth--it shall only depart
When the chill of the grave o'er each feeling is thrown,
And the darkness of death o'er thy spirit comes on!



DARKLY, darkly, Misfortune's wing
Is o'er thee rolling its heavy cloud;




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


Slowly, slowly, 'tis gathering,
Cold, and gloomy, as pleasure's shroud.
Brightly, brightly, the bursting beams
Of courage and hope shall struggle through,
Sweetly, sweetly, the silent gleams
Of happiness chase its raven hue:
Firmly, firmly, sustain thy lot--
That passing shadow shall harm thee not.




Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


PAUSE!--'ere thy choice hath clasp'd the chain
Which may not be unloos'd again;
For though of gold the links may be
They will not press less painfully.
Nor will the fetters bound by pride
The aching of thy bosom hide.
An empire's wealth would ill atone
For feelings crush'd, and peace o'erthrown ;--
Nor might a despot's pow'r repay
The spirit's sunshine pass'd away!





Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


HAST thou e'er seen a moonlight path
Upon the wild waves thrown,
Binding their peacefulness or wrath
As with a silvery zone,
And shining, 'mid the darkness there
More bright than it could gleam elsewhere?
Ev'n such in life thy way shall be!
A moonlight track o'er sorrow's sea!--







Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


BEWARE thou the voice of the stranger,
Though gentle its accents may be,
For sorrow, beguiling, and danger,
Will dwell in its music for thee.
And be not thou too much believing
In eyes that with tenderness shine,
Or bitter will be their deceiving
Of feelings reflected in thine,







Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


CARDS OF FORTUNE.*


And smiles in whose eloquent beaming,
Live sweetness, and beauty, and light,
Will mock thee with treacherous seeming,
Then leave thee to Misery's night !--



Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



WITH
A FEW LINES BY MR. ADDISON TO A NIECE.


"Perhaps kind heaven in mercy dealt the blow,
Some saving truth my roving soul to teach,
To wean my heart from grov'lling views below,
And point out bliss beyond misfortune's reach."




BY

MRS. ADDISON:




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



TO A YOUTH ON TAKING
A Glove.


Sir, you at tea the other day,
A glove from me did take,
And on your honour you did say,
You would return it back.



The day is past, and I the same
Have not as yet receiv'd,
I find your honour's but a name,
And must not be believ'd,



Then Sir, I say to you once more,
And think me not too bold,
My glove--the promis'd glove restore
For fear my arm take cold.





BY

MRS. ADDISON:




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



WRITTEN
FOR A SCHOOL-PIECE.


Why is the Ass so stubborn grown !
How many mount and then are thown !
Oh say ! that men forget, alas !
Their Saviour rode upon an Ass .



These humble animals alone,
Despis'd, and treated are with scorn:
Unfeeling men forget, alas !
Their Saviour rode upon an Ass .



The cruel treatment they receive,
Would make one often to believe,
That Christians had forgot, alas!
Their Saviour rode upon an Ass .



No other animals beside,
I like so well upon to ride:
And though men smile as I do pass !
My Saviour rode upon an Ass .




BY

MRS. ADDISON:




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



To you who long have found it right

To Mrs. M----k who charged Mrs. Addison with a want of religion, because not belonging to the same religious denomination of christians with which she was united.
To you who long have found it right
To serve the Lord, and those invite
Who seem to go astray;
Success attend your warm appeal,
T'incline their hearts to love and zeal,
To find the better way.



Perfection is beyond the grave,
And you, I doubt, your failings have--
'The want of charity,'
To think that I am void of grace
Because I don't frequent your place;
But use my liberty .



I have the Bible for my guide,
An inward Monitor beside,
To these I do attend;
Nor doubt, when that Great Morn shall rise,
To meet the faithful in the skies,
And join my bosom friend.



'Tis true all cannot think the same,
Yet they who bear the christian name.


In love should still agree;
Then try to act a nobler part,
And show the goodness of your heart,
By scorning bigotry.




BY

MRS. ADDISON:




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



ADVICE TO A YOUTH.


Dear Trebor, in these lines I send
The admonition of a friend,
So anxious for your peace:
The pleasing change which I regard,
Will meet, I trust, it's due reward,
And every discord cease:



Yet one thing still I would advise,
As much as in your power lies,
Your father's love to gain;
And as for trifles never mind,
This consolation you will find,
Reflection without pain.



And may sweet hope your steps attend,
Be your companion and your friend;
Then trials you will bear;
And for your tender mother's sake,
Some little sacrifices make,
And strive her heart to cheer.


If truly happy you would be,
The one thing needful you must see,
To make this blessing sure;
That better part which Mary chose,
Like her to keep and never lose,
But to the end endure.




BY

MRS. ADDISON:




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



PARTING WITH A FRIEND.


Dear friend adieu ! to-morrow is the day
That bids us part and hurries you away;
The word farewell ! I now repeat with pain,
Yet hope on earth, we still shall meet again;
Meanwhile believe my earnest secret prayer,
That my young friend be Heaven's peculiar care.
If e'er your tender faithful heart should prove
That happiness is near allied to love,
Oh ! may you find, till life shall have an end,
A kind companion, and a faithful friend.
May we but meet on that eternal shore,
Where all is peace, and friends shall part no more;
Our joy and friendship there will be complete,
When round God's Throne we worship at His feet.







BY

MRS. ADDISON:




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



TO A
FRIEND ON VALENTINE DAY.


Hail gentle Friend ! this bliss be thine,
A kind and faithful Valentine,
A kindred soul and join'd above,
A heart replete with virtuous love;
And like my friend that bliss acquire,
Which few possess, but all admire,
That steady friendship, firm and true,
Which for eight years, I've found in you;
And when you've pass'd this vale of tears,
And done with all your hopes and fears,
May your freed souls together fly,
To brighter worlds beyond the sky.





BY

MRS. ADDISON:




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



TO HER HUSBAND ON HIS
Birth-Day.


Again returns the grateful morn,
On which my Addison was born;
With joy I celebrate this day,
And bless the happy Third of May



My tender husband ! dearest friend !
These lines in gratitude I've penn'd;


Yet all the kindness I can show,
Fall short of what to you I owe.



From the kind hour I gave my hand,
A pattern for your sex you stand,
And in that light the world may view
Th' Apostle's charge, perform'd by you.



My grateful thanks ascend on high
To Him who rules above the sky,
That from my youth I can declare
I have been His peculiar care.



When pain and sickness did assail,
And ev'ry med'cine seem'd to fail,
This blessed sound I oft did hear,
'The Lord is with thee--do not fear.'



My dearest partner, kindest friend !
May ev'ry blessing you attend;
Long may you live to see this day,
This pleasing, happy, Third of May.




BY

MRS. ADDISON:




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



DEAR FRANCES,


How happy are the pious dead,
Who living in the Lord,
Have from their earthly sufferings fled,
To gain a sure reward !



From sickness, sorrow, grief, and pain,
Their spirits are made free:
Nor shall they ever weep again,
Through all eternity.



They now behold with clearest sight,
The dark bewilder'd road,
Which led them to the plains of light,
To heav'n, their bright abode.



The bitter cup and anguish keen,
Tasted beneath the skies,
Are now explain'd, and clearly seen
Were blessings in disguise.
What skilful hand can e'er portray
The pangs of those who're left !
When dearest friends are torn away,
Oh ! pity the bereft.



What mingled feelings still assail


BYThe sorely troubled mind,




When all our best endearments fail,
Endearments once so kind !



Vain is the effort to rehearse
Those joys; ah me ! no more;
They baffle all attempts in verse,
Their losses to explore.



The mind that's felt their poignant smart,
Will quickly comprehend,
The sorrows of a feeling heart,
A husband, wife, or friend.



Why mourns my heart--why droops my soul,
As those of hope depriv'd !
Religion can my fears controul,
My spirits are reviv'd:



Come then thou healing sovereign balm,
Thou good divinely fair,
My soul of all it's fears disarm,
And grant me quiet here.



Protection from my various foes
Give me, and peace divine;
The mystery of thy will disclose,
And ever keep me thine:




MRS. ADDISON:




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



DEAR FRANCES,


That when this mortal strife is o'er,
I may unite above,
With those dear friends who're gone before
To sing of sacred love;



To him that wash'd us in his blood,
And brought us there to see
The heavenly Host, the Throne of God,
Eternal glory be.




R. ADDISON. Bridlington,
March, 1812.








--> Man

[Man]

Poem


ODE TO SPRING.

Awake my Soul & with the genial Spring,
Thy grateful tributary perfume bring;
Soar as the warbling minstrels of the Sky,
Praise in each note, & Heav'n in thine eye!






BY ELIZA.









--> Man

[Man]

Poem


STANZAS ON MUSIC.

I.
There's not a passion that the bosom feels
Of mighty, gentle, or exalted kind,
But captive may be led by music's charms--
Subdued, augmented, soften'd, or refined.

II.

Music excites, by its enchanting pow'r,
The loftiest thoughts that can inspire the heart;
Joys that are holy, delicate, and pure,
That of existence form the brightest part.

III.

The patriot's heart by music may be nerved
To firmness, for his well lov'd "country's weal;"
To bravely fight for all her cherish'd rights,
And with his blood, her pride and glory seal.








Carter, Mary Ann.








--> Man

[Man]

Poem


STANZAS ON MUSIC.

IV.

The soldier, when in battle's gory field,
Surrounded by the deaf'ning din of war,
Feels in his breast heroic ardour burn,
While martial strains are pealing from afar.

V.

There's not a sound the elements produce,
From gale's soft whisper, to the tempest's roar,
But music most correctly can express,
And all its grandeur on our spirits pour.

VI.

The murmur of the ocean in a calm--
In storm its majesty and furious swell--
The streamlet's ripple--and the cascade's fall--
Music's descriptive pow'rs distinctly tell.

VII.

By it Jehovah's judgments are described
With such resistless force, such thrilling pow'r,
We feel to tremble at the wrath of Heav'n,
And fancy 'tis destruction's awful hour.





Carter, Mary Ann.








--> Man

[Man]

Poem


STANZAS ON MUSIC.

VIII.

As with a tongue, it can proclaim the groans,
The shrieks, the agony, the pains of those
Who meet a hero's death upon the field,
Or fall less glorious 'neath as bitter woes.

IX.

The sounds of victory its strains can swell,
And from the vanquish'd echo back despair;
Can renovate the fainting breast with hope,
And down the sternest cheek can draw the tear.

X.

There's not a joy in life but it augments,
No sorrow but it lessens or subdues,
No feeling but it renders more intense,
No pleasure that is past but it renews.

XI.

It wakes our sympathy, and melts our hearts,
Infuses tenderness, and love, and peace;
Bids sensibility adorn our breasts,
And all tumultuous, angry passions cease.



Carter, Mary Ann.








--> Man

[Man]

Poem


STANZAS ON MUSIC.

XII.

When in the social circle we behold
The smiling faces of our well lov'd friends,
We feel affection's glow, and higher joy,
As on our ears sweet harmony descends.

XIII.

When meekly in the house of God we bow,
To offer adoration to His name,
Its sounds inspiring animate the soul,
And fan devotion's embers to a flame.

XIV.

And Heav'n itself with harmony is fill'd--
With angels' joyful and melodious lays:
There ransom'd saints in ceaseless anthems harp,
To God and Christ, their everlasting praise.



Carter, Mary Ann.








--> Man

[Man]

Poem


Sonnet

Love is not all: It is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain,
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
and rise and sink and rise and sink again.
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
pinned down by need and moaning for release
or nagged by want past resolutions power,
I might be driven to sell you love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It may well be. I do not think I would.




Edna St. Vincent Millay 1892–1950

Love is not all, but who could live with the lack of it?









--> Man

[Man]

Poem


The Wind didn't come from the Orchard—today


316

The Wind didn't come from the Orchard—today—
Further than that—
Nor stop to play with the Hay—
Nor joggle a Hat—
He's a transitive fellow—very—
Rely on that—

If He leave a Bur at the door
We know He has climbed a Fir—
But the Fir is Where—Declare—
Were you ever there?

If He brings Odors of Clovers—
And that is His business—not Ours—
Then He has been with the Mowers—
Whetting away the Hours
To sweet pauses of Hay—
His Way—of a June Day—

If He fling Sand, and Pebble—
Little Boys Hats—and Stubble—
With an occasional Steeple—
And a hoarse "Get out of the way, I say,"
Who'd be the fool to stay?
Would you—Say—
Would you be the fool to stay?






Emily Dickinson









--> Man

[Man]

Poem


The wind trapped like a tired man,


The wind tapped like a tired man,
And like a host, 'Come in,'
I boldly answered; entered then
My residence within

A rapid, footless guest,
To offer whom a chair
Were as impossible as hand
A sofa to the air.

No bone had he to bind him,
His speech was like the push
Of numerous humming-birds at once
From a superior bush.

His countenance a billow,
His fingers, if he pass,
Let go a music, as of tunes
Blown tremulous in glass.

He visited, still flitting;
Then, like a timid man,
Again he tapped--'t was flurriedly--
And I became alone.




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


The Winters are so short


403

The Winters are so short—
I'm hardly justified
In sending all the Birds away—
And moving into Pod—

Myself—for scarcely settled—
The Phoebes have begun—
And then—it's time to strike my Tent—
And open House—again—

It's mostly, interruptions—
My Summer—is despoiled—
Because there was a Winter—once—
And al the Cattle—starved—

And so there was a Deluge—
And swept the World away—
But Ararat's a Legend—now—
And no one credits Noah—





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


The Woodpecker


His bill an auger is,
His head, a cap and frill.
He laboreth at every tree,--
A worm his utmost goal.



Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


The World—feels Dusty


715

The World—feels Dusty
When We stop to Die—
We want the Dew—then—
Honors—taste dry—

Flags—vex a Dying face—
But the least Fan
Stirred by a friend's Hand—
Cools—like the Rain—

Mine be the Ministry
When they Thirst comes—
And Hybla Balms—
Dews of Thessaly, to fetch—





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


The World—stands—solemner—to me


493

The World—stands—solemner—to me—
Since I was wed—to Him—
A modesty befits the soul
That bears another's—name—
A doubt—if it be fair—indeed—
To wear that perfect—pearl—
The Man—upon the Woman—binds—
To clasp her soul—for all—
A prayer, that it more angel—prove—
A whiter Gift—within—
To that munificence, that chose—
So unadorned—a Queen—
A Gratitude—that such be true—
It had esteemed the Dream—
Too beautiful—for Shape to prove—
Or posture—to redeem!





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


The Zeroes—taught us—Phosphorous


689

The Zeroes—taught us—Phosphorous—
We learned to like the Fire
By playing Glaciers—when a Boy—
And Tinder—guessed—by power
Of Opposite—to balance Odd—
If White—a Red—must be!
Paralysis—our Primer—dumb—
Unto Vitality!


Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


Their Height in Heaven comforts not


696

Their Height in Heaven comforts not—
Their Glory—nought to me—
'Twas best imperfect—as it was—
I'm finite—I can't see—

The House of Supposition—
The Glimmering Frontier that
Skirts the Acres of Perhaps—
To Me—shows insecure—

The Wealth I had—contented me—
If 'twas a meaner size—
Then I had counted it until
It pleased my narrow Eyes—

Better than larger values—
That show however true—
This timid life of Evidence
Keeps pleading—"I don't know."





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


There are two Ripenings—one—of sight


332

There are two Ripenings—one—of sight—
Whose forces Spheric wind
Until the Velvet product
Drop spicy to the ground—
A homelier maturing—
A process in the Bur—
That teeth of Frosts alone disclose
In far October Air.





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


There came a Day at Summer's full


322

There came a Day at Summer's full,
Entirely for me—
I thought that such were for the Saints,
Where Resurrections—be—

The Sun, as common, went abroad,
The flowers, accustomed, blew,
As if no soul the solstice passed
That maketh all things new—

The time was scarce profaned, by speech—
The symbol of a word
Was needless, as at Sacrament,
The Wardrobe—of our Lord—

Each was to each The Sealed Church,
Permitted to commune this—time—
Lest we too awkward show
At Supper of the Lamb.

The Hours slid fast—as Hours will,
Clutched tight, by greedy hands—
So faces on two Decks, look back,
Bound to opposing lands—

And so when all the time had leaked,
Without external sound
Each bound the Other's Crucifix—
We gave no other Bond—

Sufficient troth, that we shall rise—
Deposed—at length, the Grave—
To that new Marriage,
Justified—through Calvaries of Love—






Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


There came a Wind like a Bugle


There cam 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
The 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!






Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


There is a finished feeling


856

There is a finished feeling
Experienced at Graves—
A leisure of the Future—
A Wilderness of Size.

By Death's bold Exhibition
Preciser what we are
And the Eternal function
Enabled to infer.




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


There is a flower that Bees prefer


380

There is a flower that Bees prefer—
And Butterflies—desire—
To gain the Purple Democrat
The Humming Bird—aspire—

And Whatsoever Insect pass—
A Honey bear away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her—capacity—

Her face be rounder than the Moon
And ruddier than the Gown
Or Orchis in the Pasture—
Or Rhododendron—worn—

She doth not wait for June—
Before the World be Green—
Her sturdy little Countenance
Against the Wind—be seen—

Contending with the Grass—
Near Kinsman to Herself—
For Privilege of Sod and Sun—
Sweet Litigants for Life—

And when the Hills be full—
And newer fashions blow—
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy—

Her Public—be the Noon—
Her Providence—the Sun—
Her Progress—by the Bee—proclaimed—
In sovereign—Swerveless Tune—

The Bravest—of the Host—
Surrendering—the last—
Nor even of Defeat—aware—
What cancelled by the Frost—





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


There is a June when Corn is cut


930

There is a June when Corn is cut
And Roses in the Seed—
A Summer briefer than the first
But tenderer indeed

As should a Face supposed the Grave's
Emerge a single Noon
In the Vermilion that it wore
Affect us, and return—

Two Seasons, it is said, exist—
The Summer of the Just,
And this of Ours, diversified
With Prospect, and with Frost—

May not our Second with its First
So infinite compare
That We but recollect the one
The other to prefer?






Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


There is a Languor of the Life


396

There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain—
'Tis Pain's Successor—When the Soul
Has suffered all it can—

A Drowsiness—diffuses—
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness—
As Mists—obliterate a Crag.

The Surgeon—does not blanch—at pain
His Habit—is severe—
But tell him that it ceased to feel—
The Creature lying there—

And he will tell you—skill is late—
A Mightier than He—
Has ministered before Him—
There's no Vitality.






Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


There is a morn by men unseen


24

There is a morn by men unseen—
Whose maids upon remoter green
Keep their Seraphic May—
And all day long, with dance and game,
And gambol I may never name—
Employ their holiday.

Here to light measure, move the feet
Which walk no more the village street—
Nor by the wood are found—
Here are the birds that sought the sun
When last year's distaff idle hung
And summer's brows were bound.

Ne'er saw I such a wondrous scene—
Ne'er such a ring on such a green—
Nor so serene array—
As if the stars some summer night
Should swing their cups of Chrysolite—
And revel till the day—

Like thee to dance—like thee to sing—
People upon the mystic green—
I ask, each new May Morn.
I wait thy far, fantastic bells—
Unto the different dawn!






Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


There is a pain—so utter


599

There is a pain—so utter—
It swallows substance up—
Then covers the Abyss with Trance—
So Memory can step
Around—across—upon it—
As one within a Swoon—
Goes safely—where an open eye—
Would drop Him—Bone by Bone.







Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


There is a Shame of Nobleness


551

There is a Shame of Nobleness—
Confronting Sudden Pelf—
A finer Shame of Ecstasy—
Convicted of Itself—

A best Disgrace—a Brave Man feels—
Acknowledged—of the Brave—
One More—"Ye Blessed"—to be told—
But that's—Behind the Grave—




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




There is a word


8

There is a word
Which bears a sword
Can pierce an armed man—
It hurls its barbed syllables
And is mute again—
But where it fell
The saved will tell
On patriotic day,
Some epauletted Brother
Gave his breath away.

Wherever runs the breathless sun—
Wherever roams the day—
There is its noiseless onset—
There is its victory!
Behold the keenest marksman!
The most accomplished shot!
Time's sublimest target
Is a soul "forgot!"









Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




There is an arid Pleasure


782

There is an arid Pleasure—
As different from Joy—
As Frost is different from Dew—
Like element—are they—

Yet one—rejoices Flowers—
And one—the Flowers abhor—
The finest Honey—curdled—
Is worthless—to the Bee—




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




There is another sky


2

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields—
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



There is no frigate like a book


There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



There's a certain Slant of light (258)


There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes--

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us--
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are--

None may teach it--Any--
'Tis the Seal Despair--
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air--

When it comes, the Landscape listens--
Shadows--hold their breath--
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death--






Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


There's been a death in the opposite house


There's been a death in the opposite house
As lately as to-day.
I know it by the numb look
Such houses have alway.

The neighbors rustle in and out,
The doctor drives away.
A window opens like a pod,
Abrupt, mechanically;

Somebody flings a mattress out,--
The children hurry by;
They wonder if It died on that,--
I used to when a boy.

The minister goes stiffly in
As if the house were his,
And he owned all the mourners now,
And little boys besides;

And then the milliner, and the man
Of the appalling trade,
To take the measure of the house.
There'll be that dark parade

Of tassels and of coaches soon;
It's easy as a sign,--
The intuition of the news
In just a country town.





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


There's something quieter than sleep


45

There's something quieter than sleep
Within this inner room!
It wears a sprig upon its breast—
And will not tell its name.

Some touch it, and some kiss it—
Some chafe its idle hand—
It has a simple gravity
I do not understand!

I would not weep if I were they—
How rude in one to sob!
Might scare the quiet fairy
Back to her native wood!

While simple-hearted neighbors
Chat of the "Early dead"—
We—prone to periphrasis
Remark that Birds have fled!





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


These are the days when Birds come back


130

These are the days when Birds come back—
A very few—a Bird or two—
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies resume
The old—old sophistries of June—
A blue and gold mistake.

Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee—
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear—
And softly thro' the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.

Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze—
Permit a child to join.

Thy sacred emblems to partake—
They consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem


These tested Our Horizon


886

These tested Our Horizon—
Then disappeared
As Birds before achieving
A Latitude.

Our Retrospection of Them
A fixed Delight,
But our Anticipation
A Dice—a Doubt—




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



These—saw Visions


758

These—saw Visions—
Latch them softly—
These—held Dimples—
Smooth them slow—
This—addressed departing accents—
Quick—Sweet Mouth—to miss thee so—

This—We stroked—
Unnumbered Satin—
These—we held among our own—
Fingers of the Slim Aurora—
Not so arrogant—this Noon—

These—adjust—that ran to meet us—
Pearl—for Stocking—Pearl for Shoe—
Paradise—the only Palace
Fit for Her reception—now—




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



They ask but our Delight


868

They ask but our Delight—
The Darlings of the Soil
And grant us all their Countenance
For a penurious smile.





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



They called me to the Window, for


I only saw a Sapphire Farm—
And just a Single Herd—

Of Opal Cattle—feeding far
Upon so vain a Hill—
As even while I looked—dissolved—
Nor Cattle were—nor Soil—

But in their stead—a Sea—displayed—
And Ships—of such a size
As Crew of Mountains—could afford—
And Decks—to seat the skies—

This—too—the Showman rubbed away—
And when I looked again—
Nor Farm—nor Opal Herd—was there—
Nor Mediterranean—


Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



They dropped like flakes


They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,
Like petals from a rose,
When suddenly across the lune
A wind with fingers goes.

They perished in the seamless grass,--
No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
Can summon every face


Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




They have a little Odor—that to me


785

They have a little Odor—that to me
Is metre—nay—'tis melody—
And spiciest at fading—indicate—
A Habit—of a Laureate—


Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





They have not chosen me, he said,


"They have not chosen me," he said,
"But I have chosen them!"
Brave—Broken hearted statement—
Uttered in Bethlehem!

I could not have told it,
But since Jesus dared—
Sovereign! Know a Daisy
They dishonor shared!




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





They leave us with the Infinite


350

They leave us with the Infinite.
But He—is not a man—
His fingers are the size of fists—
His fists, the size of men—

And whom he foundeth, with his Arm
As Himmaleh, shall stand—
Gibraltar's Everlasting Shoe
Poised lightly on his Hand,

So trust him, Comrade—
You for you, and I, for you and me
Eternity is ample,
And quick enough, if true.






Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





They put Us far apart


474

They put Us far apart—
As separate as Sea
And Her unsown Peninsula—
We signified "These see"—

They took away our Eyes—
They thwarted Us with Guns—
"I see Thee" each responded straight
Through Telegraphic Signs—

With Dungeons—They devised—
But through their thickest skill—
And their opaquest Adamant—
Our Souls saw—just as well—

They summoned Us to die—
With sweet alacrity
We stood upon our stapled feet—
Condemned—but just—to see—

Permission to recant—
Permission to forget—
We turned our backs upon the Sun
For perjury of that—

Not Either—noticed Death—
Of Paradise—aware—
Each other's Face—was all the Disc
Each other's setting—saw—






Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





They say that 'time assuages,


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.






Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





They Shut Me Up in Prose


They shut me up in Prose --
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet --
Because they liked me "still" --

Still! Could themself have peeped --
And seen my Brain -- go round --
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason -- in the Pound --

Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Abolish his Captivity --
And laugh -- No more have I --









Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





They won't frown always—some sweet Day


874

They won't frown always—some sweet Day
When I forget to tease—
They'll recollect how cold I looked
And how I just said "Please."

Then They will hasten to the Door
To call the little Girl
Who cannot thank Them for the Ice
That filled the lisping full.




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





This Bauble was preferred of Bees


805

This Bauble was preferred of Bees—
By Butterflies admired
At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances—
Was justified of Bird—

Did Noon—enamel—in Herself
Was Summer to a Score
Who only knew of Universe—
It had created Her.



Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life


858

This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life
I mention it to you,
When Sunrise through a fissure drop
The Day must follow too.

If we demur, its gaping sides
Disclose as 'twere a Tomb
Ourself am lying straight wherein
The Favorite of Doom.

When it has just contained a Life
Then, Darling, it will close
And yet so bolder every Day
So turbulent it grows

I'm tempted half to stitch it up
With a remaining Breath
I should not miss in yielding, though
To Him, it would be Death—

And so I bear it big about
My Burial—before
A Life quite ready to depart
Can harass me no more—




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





This Consciousness that is aware


822

This Consciousness that is aware
Of Neighbors and the Sun
Will be the one aware of Death
And that itself alone

Is traversing the interval
Experience between
And most profound experiment
Appointed unto Men—

How adequate unto itself
Its properties shall be
Itself unto itself and none
Shall make discovery.

Adventure most unto itself
The Soul condemned to be—
Attended by a single Hound
Its own identity.




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





This Dust, and its Feature


936

This Dust, and its Feature—
Accredited—Today—
Will in a second Future—
Cease to identify—

This Mind, and its measure—
A too minute Area
For its enlarged inspection's
Comparison—appear—

This World, and its species
A too concluded show
For its absorbed Attention's
Remotest scrutiny—





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





This heart that broke so long


145

This heart that broke so long—
These feet that never flagged—
This faith that watched for star in vain,
Give gently to the dead—

Hound cannot overtake the Hare
That fluttered panting, here—
Nor any schoolboy rob the nest
Tenderness builded there.






Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





This is a Blossom of the Brain


945

This is a Blossom of the Brain—
A small—italic Seed
Lodged by Design or Happening
The Spirit fructified—

Shy as the Wind of his Chambers
Swift as a Freshet's Tongue
So of the Flower of the Soul
Its process is unknown.

When it is found, a few rejoice
The Wise convey it Home
Carefully cherishing the spot
If other Flower become.

When it is lost, that Day shall be
The Funeral of God,
Upon his Breast, a closing Soul
The Flower of our Lord.






Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





This is my letter to the world,


This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me,--
The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.

Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!



Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



This is the land the sunset washes,


This is the land the sunset washes,
These are the banks of the Yellow Sea;
Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
These are the western mystery!

Night after night her purple traffic
Strews the landing with opal bales;
Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
Dip, and vanish with fairy sails.



Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



This Merit hath the worst


979

This Merit hath the worst—
It cannot be again—
When Fate hath taunted last
And thrown Her furthest Stone—

The Maimed may pause, and breathe,
And glance securely round—
The Deer attracts no further
Than it resists—the Hound—




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



This Quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies


This quiet dust was gentlemen and ladies
And lads and girls;
Was laughter and ability and sighing,
And frocks and curls;

This passive place a summer's nimble mansion,
Where bloom and bees
Fulfilled their oriental circuit,
Then ceased like these.




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



This that would greet—an hour ago


778

This that would greet—an hour ago—
Is quaintest Distance—now—
Had it a Guest from Paradise—
Nor glow, would it, nor bow—

Had it a notice from the Noon
Nor beam would it nor warm—
Match me the Silver Reticence—
Match me the Solid Calm—







Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



This was a Poet—It is That


448

This was a Poet—It is That
Distills amazing sense
From ordinary Meanings—
And Attar so immense

From the familiar species
That perished by the Door—
We wonder it was not Ourselves
Arrested it—before—

Of Pictures, the Discloser—
The Poet—it is He—
Entitles Us—by Contrast—
To ceaseless Poverty—

Of portion—so unconscious—
The Robbing—could not harm—
Himself—to Him—a Fortune—
Exterior—to Time—




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



This was in the White of the Year


995

This was in the White of the Year—
That—was in the Green—
Drifts were as difficult then to think
As Daisies now to be seen—

Looking back is best that is left
Or if it be—before—
Retrospection is Prospect's half,
Sometimes, almost more.





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



This World is not Conclusion


501

This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond—
Invisible, as Music—
But positive, as Sound—
It beckons, and it baffles—
Philosophy—don't know—
And through a Riddle, at the last—
Sagacity, must go—
To guess it, puzzles scholars—
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown—
Faith slips—and laughs, and rallies—
Blushes, if any see—
Plucks at a twig of Evidence—
And asks a Vane, the way—
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit—
Strong Hallelujahs roll—
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul—





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



This—is the land—the Sunset washes


266

This—is the land—the Sunset washes—
These—are the Banks of the Yellow Sea—
Where it rose—or whither it rushes—
These—are the Western Mystery!

Night after Night
Her purple traffic
Strews the landing with Opal Bales—
Merchantmen—poise upon Horizons—
Dip—and vanish like Orioles!





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Tho' I get home how late—how late


207

Tho' I get home how late—how late—
So I get home - 'twill compensate—
Better will be the Ecstasy
That they have done expecting me—
When Night—descending—dumb—and dark—
They hear my unexpected knock—
Transporting must the moment be—
Brewed from decades of Agony!

To think just how the fire will burn—
Just how long-cheated eyes will turn—
To wonder what myself will say,
And what itself, will say to me—
Beguiles the Centuries of way!




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Tho' my destiny be Fustian


163

Tho' my destiny be Fustian—
Hers be damask fine—
Tho' she wear a silver apron—
I, a less divine—

Still, my little Gypsy being
I would far prefer,
Still, my little sunburnt bosom
To her Rosier,

For, when Frosts, their punctual fingers
On her forehead lay,
You and I, and Dr. Holland,
Bloom Eternally!

Roses of a steadfast summer
In a steadfast land,
Where no Autumn lifts her pencil—
And no Reapers stand!









Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Those fair—fictitious People


499

Those fair—fictitious People—
The Women—plucked away
From our familiar Lifetime—
The Men of Ivory—

Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—
Who stay upon the Wall
In Everlasting Keepsake—
Can Anybody tell?

We trust—in places perfecter—
Inheriting Delight
Beyond our faint Conjecture—
Our dizzy Estimate—

Remembering ourselves, we trust—
Yet Blesseder—than We—
Through Knowing—where We only hope—
Receiving—where we—pray—

Of Expectation—also—
Anticipating us
With transport, that would be a pain
Except for Holiness—

Esteeming us—as Exile—
Themself—admitted Home—
Through easy Miracle of Death—
The Way ourself, must come—




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Those who have been in the Grave the longest


922

Those who have been in the Grave the longest—
Those who begin Today—
Equally perish from our Practise—
Death is the other way—

Foot of the Bold did least attempt it—
It—is the White Exploit—
Once to achieve, annuls the power
Once to communicate—





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Three times—we parted—Breath—and I


598

Three times—we parted—Breath—and I—
Three times—He would not go—
But strove to stir the lifeless Fan
The Waters—strove to stay.

Three Times—the Billows tossed me up—
Then caught me—like a Ball—
Then made Blue faces in my face—
And pushed away a sail

That crawled Leagues off—I liked to see—
For thinking—while I die—
How pleasant to behold a Thing
Where Human faces—be—

The Waves grew sleepy—Breath—did not—
The Winds—like Children—lulled—
Then Sunrise kissed my Chrysalis—
And I stood up—and lived—



Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Through lane it lay—through bramble


9

Through lane it lay—through bramble—
Through clearing and through wood—
Banditti often passed us
Upon the lonely road.

The wolf came peering curious—
The owl looked puzzled down—
The serpent's satin figure
Glid stealthily along—

The tempests touched our garments—
The lightning's poinards gleamed—
Fierce from the Crag above us
The hungry Vulture screamed—

The satyr's fingers beckoned—
The valley murmured "Come"—
These were the mates—
This was the road
Those children fluttered home.



Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Through the Dark Sod—as Education


Through the Dark Sod—as Education—
The Lily passes sure—
Feels her white foot—no trepidation—
Her faith—no fear—

Afterward—in the Meadow—
Swinging her Beryl Bell—
The Mold-life—all forgotten—now—
In Ecstasy—and Dell—




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Through the strait pass of suffering


792

Through the strait pass of suffering—
The Martyrs—even—trod.
Their feet—upon Temptations—
Their faces—upon God—

A stately—shriven—Company—
Convulsion—playing round—
Harmless—as streaks of Meteor—
Upon a Planet's Bond—

Their faith—the everlasting troth—
Their Expectation—fair—
The Needle—to the North Degree—
Wades—so—thro' polar Air!








Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Tie the strings to my life, my Lord,


Tie the strings to my life, my Lord,
Then I am ready to go!
Just a look at the horses --
Rapid! That will do!

Put me in on the firmest side,
So I shall never fall;
For we must ride to the Judgment,
And it's partly down hill.

But never I mind the bridges,
And never I mind the sea;
Held fast in everlasting race
By my own choice and thee.

Good-by to the life I used to lives,
And the world I used to know;
And kiss the hills for me, just once;
Now I am ready to go!






Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Till Death—is narrow Loving


907

Till Death—is narrow Loving—
The scantest Heart extant
Will hold you till your privilege
Of Finiteness—be spent—

But He whose loss procures you
Such Destitution that
Your Life too abject for itself
Thenceforward imitate—

Until—Resemblance perfect—
Yourself, for His pursuit
Delight of Nature—abdicate—
Exhibit Love—somewhat—





Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Time feels so vast that were it not


802

Time feels so vast that were it not
For an Eternity—
I fear me this Circumference
Engross my Finity—

To His exclusion, who prepare
By Processes of Size
For the Stupendous Vision
Of his diameters—




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



'Tis Anguish grander than Delight


984

'Tis Anguish grander than Delight
'Tis Resurrection Pain—
The meeting Bands of smitten Face
We questioned to, again.

'Tis Transport wild as thrills the Graves
When Cerements let go
And Creatures clad in Miracle
Go up by Two and Two.




Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem



'Tis customary as we part


440

'Tis customary as we part
A trinket—to confer—
It helps to stimulate the faith
When Lovers be afar—

'Tis various—as the various taste—
Clematis—journeying far—
Presents me with a single Curl
Of her Electric Hair—




Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem



'Tis good—the looking back on Grief


660

'Tis good—the looking back on Grief—
To re-endure a Day—
We thought the Mighty Funeral—
Of All Conceived Joy—

To recollect how Busy Grass
Did meddle—one by one—
Till all the Grief with Summer—waved
And none could see the stone.

And though the Woe you have Today
Be larger—As the Sea
Exceeds its Unremembered Drop—
They're Water—equally—



Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem




'Tis little I—could care for Pearls


466

'Tis little I—could care for Pearls—
Who own the ample sea—
Or Brooches—when the Emperor—
With Rubies—pelteth me—

Or Gold—who am the Prince of Mines—
Or Diamonds—when have I
A Diadem to fit a Dom—
Continual upon me—



Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem





'Tis not that Dying hurts us so


335

'Tis not that Dying hurts us so—
'Tis Living—hurts us more—
But Dying—is a different way—
A Kind behind the Door—

The Southern Custom—of the Bird—
That ere the Frosts are due—
Accepts a better Latitude—
We—are the Birds—that stay.

The Shrivers round Farmers' doors—
For whose reluctant Crumb—
We stipulate—till pitying Snows
Persuade our Feathers Home.



Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem



'Tis One by One—the Father counts


545

'Tis One by One—the Father counts—
And then a Tract between
Set Cypherless—to teach the Eye
The Value of its Ten—

Until the peevish Student
Acquire the Quick of Skill—
Then Numerals are dowered back—
Adorning all the Rule—

'Tis mostly Slate and Pencil—
And Darkness on the School
Distracts the Children's fingers—
Still the Eternal Rule

Regards least Cypherer alike
With Leader of the Band—
And every separate Urchin's Sum—
Is fashioned for his hand—



Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem



'Tis Opposites—entice


355

'Tis Opposites—entice—
Deformed Men—ponder Grace—
Bright fires—the Blanketless—
The Lost—Day's face—

The Blind—esteem it be
Enough Estate—to see—
The Captive—strangles new—
For deeming—Beggars—play—

To lack—enamor Thee—
Tho' the Divinity—
Be only
Me—



Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem



'Tis so appalling—it exhilarates


281

'Tis so appalling—it exhilarates—
So over Horror, it half Captivates—
The Soul stares after it, secure—
A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more—

To scan a Ghost, is faint—
But grappling, conquers it—
How easy, Torment, now—
Suspense kept sawing so—

The Truth, is Bald, and Cold—
But that will hold—
If any are not sure—
We show them—prayer—
But we, who know,
Stop hoping, now—

Looking at Death, is Dying—
Just let go the Breath—
And not the pillow at your Cheek
So Slumbereth—

Others, Can wrestle—
Yours, is done—
And so of Woe, bleak dreaded—come,
It sets the Fright at liberty—
And Terror's free—
Gay, Ghastly, Holiday!






Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem




'Tis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy!


172

'Tis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I,
Have ventured all upon a throw!
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so—
This side the Victory!

Life is but Life! And Death, but Death!
Bliss is, but Bliss, and Breath but Breath!
And if indeed I fail,
At least, to know the worst, is sweet!
Defeat means nothing but Defeat,
No drearier, can befall!

And if I gain! Oh Gun at Sea!
Oh Bells, that in the Steeples be!
At first, repeat it slow!
For Heaven is a different thing,
Conjectured, and waked sudden in—
And might extinguish me!





Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem




'Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast Thou


908

'Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast Thou
No Station in the Day?
'Twas not thy wont, to hinder so—
Retrieve thine industry—

'Tis Noon—My little Maid—
Alas—and art thou sleeping yet?
The Lily—waiting to be Wed—
The Bee—Hast thou forgot?

My little Maid—'Tis Night—Alas
That Night should be to thee
Instead of Morning—Had'st thou broached
Thy little Plan to Die—
Dissuade thee, if I could not, Sweet,
I might have aided—thee—





Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem




'Tis true—They shut me in the Cold


538

'Tis true—They shut me in the Cold—
But then—Themselves were warm
And could not know the feeling 'twas—
Forget it—Lord—of Them—

Let not my Witness hinder Them
In Heavenly esteem—
No Paradise could be—Conferred
Through Their beloved Blame—

The Harm They did—was short—And since
Myself—who bore it—do—
Forgive Them—Even as Myself—
Or else—forgive not me—





Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem




To be alive—is Power


677

To be alive—is Power—
Existence—in itself—
Without a further function—
Omnipotence—Enough—

To be alive—and Will!
'Tis able as a God—
The Maker—of Ourselves—be what—
Such being Finitude!





Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem




To die


To die--takes just a little while--
They say it doesn't hurt--
It's only fainter--by degrees--
And then--it's out of sight--

A darker Ribbon--for a Day--
A Crape upon the Hat--
And then the pretty sunshine comes--
And helps us to forget--

The absent--mystic--creature--
That but for love of us--
Had gone to sleep--that soundest time--
Without the weariness--




Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




To die—takes just a little while


To die—takes just a little while—
They say it doesn't hurt—
It's only fainter—by degrees—
And then—it's out of sight—

A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
A Crape upon the Hat—
And then the pretty sunshine comes—
And helps us to forget—

The absent—mystic—creature—
That but for love of us—
Had gone to sleep—that soundest time—
Without the weariness—





Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem




To fight aloud, is very brave


126

To fight aloud, is very brave—
But gallanter, I know
Who charge within the bosom
The Cavalry of Woe—

Who win, and nations do not see—
Who fall—and none observe—
Whose dying eyes, no Country
Regards with patriot love—

We trust, in plumed procession
For such, the Angels go—
Rank after Rank, with even feet—
And Uniforms of Snow.







Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem





To fill a Gap


546

To fill a Gap
Insert the Thing that caused it—
Block it up
With Other—and 'twill yawn the more—
You cannot solder an Abyss
With Air.






Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem





To hang our head—ostensibly


105

To hang our head—ostensibly—
And subsequent, to find
That such was not the posture
Of our immortal mind—

Affords the sly presumption
That in so dense a fuzz—
You—too—take Cobweb attitudes
Upon a plane of Gauze!






Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem





To hear an Oriole sing


526

To hear an Oriole sing
May be a common thing—
Or only a divine.

It is not of the Bird
Who sings the same, unheard,
As unto Crowd—

The Fashion of the Ear
Attireth that it hear
In Dun, or fair—

So whether it be Rune,
Or whether it be none
Is of within.

The "Tune is in the Tree—"
The Skeptic—showeth me—
"No Sir! In Thee!"





Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem






To interrupt His Yellow Plan


591

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—



Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem






To Know just how He suffered—would be dear


622

To know just how He suffered—would be dear—
To know if any Human eyes were near
To whom He could entrust His wavering gaze—
Until it settle broad—on Paradise—

To know if He was patient—part content—
Was Dying as He thought—or different—
Was it a pleasant Day to die—
And did the Sunshine face his way—

What was His furthest mind—Of Home—or God—
Or what the Distant say—
At news that He ceased Human Nature
Such a Day—

And Wishes—Had He Any—
Just His Sigh—Accented—
Had been legible—to Me—
And was He Confident until
Ill fluttered out—in Everlasting Well—

And if He spoke—What name was Best—
What last
What One broke off with
At the Drowsiest—

Was He afraid—or tranquil—
Might He know
How Conscious Consciousness—could grow—
Till Love that was—and Love too best to be—
Meet—and the Junction be Eternity



Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem







To learn the Transport by the Pain


167

To learn the Transport by the Pain
As Blind Men learn the sun!
To die of thirst—suspecting
That Brooks in Meadows run!

To stay the homesick—homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore—
Haunted by native lands, the while—
And blue—beloved air!

This is the Sovereign Anguish!
This—the signal woe!
These are the patient "Laureates"
Whose voices—trained—below—

Ascend in ceaseless Carol—
Inaudible, indeed,
To us—the duller scholars
Of the Mysterious Bard!





Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem




To lose one's faith—surpass


377

To lose one's faith—surpass
The loss of an Estate—
Because Estates can be
Replenished—faith cannot—

Inherited with Life—
Belief—but once—can be—
Annihilate a single clause—
And Being's—Beggary—





Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem







To love thee Year by Year


434

To love thee Year by Year—
May less appear
Than sacrifice, and cease—
However, dear,
Forever might be short, I thought to show—
And so I pieced it, with a flower, now.






Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem




To make a prairie (1755)


To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.






Emily Dickinson




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Poem




To make One's Toilette—after Death


485

To make One's Toilette—after Death
Has made the Toilette cool
Of only Taste we cared to please
Is difficult, and still—

That's easier—than Braid the Hair—
And make the Bodice gay—
When eyes that fondled it are wrenched
By Decalogues—away—







Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem



To my quick ear the leaves conferred;


To my quick ear the leaves conferred;
The bushes they were bells;
I could not find a privacy
From Nature's sentinels.

In cave if I presumed to hide,
The walls began to tell;
Creation seemed a mighty crack
To make me visible.





Emily Dickinson




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[Man]

Poem



To my quick ear the Leaves—conferred


To my quick ear the Leaves—conferred—
The Bushes—they were Bells—
I could not find a Privacy
From Nature's sentinels—

In Cave if I presumed to hide
The Walls—begun to tell—
Creation seemed a mighty Crack—
To make me visible—








Emily Dickinson




--> Man