1127
Soft as the massacre of Suns
By Evening’s Sabres slain
1133
The snow that never drifts –
The transient, frag(r)ant snow
That comes a single time a Yer
Is softly driving niw –
So thorough in the Tree
At night bebeath the star
That it was Febuary’Foot
Experience could swear –
Like Winter as a Face
We stern and former knew
Repaired of all but Loleliness
By Natures’Alibi –
Were every sorm so spice
The Value could not be –
We buy with contrast – Pang is good
As near as memory –
1155
Distance – is not the Realm of Fox
Nor By Relay of Bird
Abated – Distance is
Until thyself, Beloved.
1158
Best Withcraft is Geometry
To the magician’s mind –
His ordinary acts are feats
To thinking of mankind
1159
Greats Streets of silenc led away
To Neighborhoods of Pause –
Here was no Notice – no Dissent
No Universe – no Laws –
By Clocks, ’Twas Morning, and for Night
The Bells at Distance called –
But Epoch had no basis here
For Period exhaled.
1212
A word is dead
When it is said
Some say.
I Say it just
Begins to live
That day.
1242
To flee from memory
Had we the Wings
Many Would fly
Inured to slower things
Birds with dismay
Would scan the mighty van
Of men escaping
From the mind of man
1247
To pile like Thunder to it’s close
Then crumble grand away
While Everything created hid
This – would be Poetry –
Or Love – the two coeval come –
We both and neither prove –
Experience either and consume –
For None see God and live –
1253
Had this one Day not been,
Or could it cease to be
How smitten, how superfluous,
Were every other Day!
Lest Love should value less
What Loss would value more
Had in the stricken privilege,
It cherishes before.
1259
A Wind that rose
Though not a Leaf
In any Forest stirred
But with itself did cold engage
Beyond the Realm of Bird –
A Wind that woke a lone Delight
Like separation’s Swell
Restored in Arctic Confidence
To the Invisible –
1266
When memory is full
Put on the perfect Lid –
This Morning’s finest syllable
Presumptuous Evening said –
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