404

How many Flowers fail in Wood –

Or perish from the Hill –

Without the privilege to know

That they are Beautiful –

How many cast a nameless Pod

Upon the nearest Breeze –

Unconscious of the Scarlet Freight –

It bear to Other Eyes –

405

It might be lolinier

Without the Loleliness –

I’m so accustomed to my Fate –

Perhaps the Other – Peace –

Would interrupt theDark –

And crowd the little Room –

Too scant – by Cubits – to contain

The Sacrament - of Him –

I am not used to Hope –

It might intrude upon –

It’s sweet parade – blaspheme the place –

Ordained to Suffering –

It might be easier

To fail – with Land in Sight –

That gain – My Blue Peninsula –

To perish – of Delight –

435

Much Madness is divinest Sense –

To a discerning Eye –

Much Sense – the starkest Madness –

‘Tis the Majority

In this, as all, that prevail –

Assent – and you are sane –

Demur – yu’re straightway dangerous –

And handlead with Chain – 

500

Within my Garden, rides a Bird

Upon a single Wheel –

Whose spokes a dizzy Music make

As’ twere a travelling Mill –

He never stops, but slackens

Above the Ripest Rose –

Partakes without alighting

And praises as he goes,

Till every spice is tasted –

And then his Fairy Gig

Reels in remoter atmospheres –

And I rejoin my Dog.

And He and I, perplex us

If positive, ‘twere we –

Or borethe Garden in the Brain

This Curiosity –

But He, the Best Logician,

Refers my doller – eye –

To just vibrating Blossoms!

An exquisite reply!

513

Like flowers, that heard the news of Dews –

But never deemed the dripping prize

Awaited their – low Brows –

Or Bees – that thought the summer’s name

Some rumor of Delirium,

No summer – could – for them –

Or Artic Creatures, dimly stirred –

By Tropic Hint – some Travelled Bird

Imported to the Wood –

Or Wind’s bright signal to the Hear –

Making that homely, and severe, Contented, known, before –

The Heaven - unexpected come,

To lives that thought the Worshipping

A too presumptuous Psalm – 

516

Beauty – be not caused – It Is –

Chase it, and it ceases –

Chase it not, and it abides –

Overtakes the Creases

In the Meadow – when the Wind

Runs his fingers thr’o it –

Deity will see to it

That you never do it –