A route of evanescence    With a revolving wheel;    A resonance of emerald,    A rush of cochineal;    And every blossom on the bush    Adjusts its tumbled head, —    The mail from Tunis,…

    I think the hemlock likes to stand    Upon a marge of snow;    It suits his own austerity,    And satisfies an awe     That men must slake in wilderness,    Or in…

    The grave my little cottage is,    Where, keeping house for thee,    I make my parlor orderly,    And lay the marble tea,     For two divided, briefly,    A cycle, it may…

    The grass so little has to do, —    A sphere of simple green,    With only butterflies to brood,    And bees to entertain,     And stir all day to pretty…

  Each life converges to some centre    Expressed or still;    Exists in every human nature    A goal,     Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,    Too fair    For credibility’s temerity    To dare.     Adored…

    That short, potential stir    That each can make but once,    That bustle so illustrious    ‘T is almost consequence,     Is the eclat of death.    Oh, thou unknown renown    That not a…

    After a hundred years    Nobody knows the place, —    Agony, that enacted there,    Motionless as peace.     Weeds triumphant ranged,    Strangers strolled and spelled    At the lone orthography    Of the elder dead….

    Not in this world to see his face    Sounds long, until I read the place    Where this is said to be    But just the primer to a life    Unopened,…

    The farthest thunder that I heard    Was nearer than the sky,    And rumbles still, though torrid noons    Have lain their missiles by.    The lightning that preceded it    Struck no one…

    The dying need but little, dear, —    A glass of water’s all,    A flower’s unobtrusive face    To punctuate the wall,     A fan, perhaps, a friend’s regret,    And certainly that…