XXI. THE FIRST LESSON. 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, rare, upon the shelf, Clasped yet to him and me. And yet, my primer suits me so I would not choose a book to know Than that, be sweeter wise; Might some one else so learned be, And leave me just my A B C, Himself could have the skies. XXII. The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth, -- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity. XXIII. I reason, earth is short, And anguish absolute, And many hurt; But what of that? I reason, we could die: The best vitality Cannot excel decay; But what of that? I reason that in heaven Somehow, it will be even, Some new equation given; But what of that? XXIV. Afraid? Of whom am I afraid? Not death; for who is he? The porter of my father's lodge As much abasheth me. Of life? 'T were odd I fear a thing That comprehendeth me In one or more existences At Deity's decree. Of resurrection? Is the east Afraid to trust the morn With her fastidious forehead? As soon impeach my crown! XXV. DYING. The sun kept setting, setting still; No hue of afternoon Upon the village I perceived, -- From house to house 't was noon. The dusk kept dropping, dropping still; No dew upon the grass, But only on my forehead stopped, And wandered in my face. My feet kept drowsing, drowsing still, My fingers were awake; Yet why so little sound myself Unto my seeming make? How well I knew the light before! I could not see it now. 'T is dying, I am doing; but I'm not afraid to know. XXVI. Two swimmers wrestled on the spar Until the morning sun, When one turned smiling to the land. O God, the other one! The stray ships passing spied a face Upon the waters borne, With eyes in death still begging raised, And hands beseeching thrown. XXVII. THE CHARIOT. Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played, Their lessons scarcely done; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then 't is centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity. XXVIII. She went as quiet as the dew From a familiar flower. Not like the dew did she return At the accustomed hour! She dropt as softly as a star From out my summer's eve; Less skilful than Leverrier It's sorer to believe! XXIX. RESURGAM. At last to be identified! At last, the lamps upon thy side, The rest of life to see! Past midnight, past the morning star! Past sunrise! Ah! what leagues there are Between our feet and day! XXX. Except to heaven, she is nought; Except for angels, lone; Except to some wide-wandering bee, A flower superfluous blown; Except for winds, provincial; Except by butterflies, Unnoticed as a single dew That on the acre lies. The smallest housewife in the grass, Yet take her from the lawn, And somebody has lost the face That made existence home! XXXI. Death is a dialogue between The spirit and the dust. "Dissolve," says Death. The Spirit, "Sir, I have another trust." Death doubts it, argues from the ground. The Spirit turns away, Just laying off, for evidence, An overcoat of clay. XXXII. It was too late for man, But early yet for God; Creation impotent to help, But prayer remained our side. How excellent the heaven, When earth cannot be had; How hospitable, then, the face Of our old neighbor, God! XXXIII. ALONG THE POTOMAC. When I was small, a woman died. To-day her only boy Went up from the Potomac, His face all victory, To look at her; how slowly The seasons must have turned Till bullets clipt an angle, And he passed quickly round! If pride shall be in Paradise I never can decide; Of their imperial conduct, No person testified. But proud in apparition, That woman and her boy Pass back and forth before my brain, As ever in the sky. XXXIV. The daisy follows soft the sun, And when his golden walk is done, Sits shyly at his feet. He, waking, finds the flower near. "Wherefore, marauder, art thou here?" "Because, sir, love is sweet!" We are the flower, Thou the sun! Forgive us, if as days decline, We nearer steal to Thee, -- Enamoured of the parting west, The peace, the flight, the amethyst, Night's possibility! XXXV. EMANCIPATION. No rack can torture me, My soul's at liberty Behind this mortal bone There knits a bolder one You cannot prick with saw, Nor rend with scymitar. Two bodies therefore be; Bind one, and one will flee. The eagle of his nest No easier divest And gain the sky, Than mayest thou, Except thyself may be Thine enemy; Captivity is consciousness, So's liberty. XXXVI. LOST. I lost a world the other day. Has anybody found? You'll know it by the row of stars Around its forehead bound. A rich man might not notice it; Yet to my frugal eye Of more esteem than ducats. Oh, find it, sir, for me! XXXVII. If I shouldn't be alive When the robins come, Give the one in red cravat A memorial crumb. If I couldn't thank you, Being just asleep, You will know I'm trying With my granite lip! XXXVIII. Sleep is supposed to be, By souls of sanity, The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand Down which on either hand The hosts o f witness stand! Morn is supposed to be, By people of degree, The breaking of the day. Morning has not occurred! That shall aurora be East of eternity; One wit h the banner gay, One in the red array, -- That is the break of day. XXXIX. I shall know why, when time is over, And I have ceased to wonder why; Christ will explain each separate anguish In the fair schoolroom of the sky. He will tell me what Peter promised, And I, for wonder at his woe, I shall forget the drop of anguish That scalds me now, that scalds me now. XL. I never lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod; Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God! Angels, twice descending, Reimbursed my store. Burglar, banker, father, I am poor once more! I. I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there 's a pair of us -- don't tell! They 'd banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog! II. I bring an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching, next to mine, And summon them to drink. Crackling with fever, they essay; I turn my brimming eyes away, And come next hour to look. The hands still hug the tardy glass; The lips I would have cooled, alas! Are so superfluous cold, I would as soon attempt to warm The bosoms where the frost has lain Ages beneath the mould. Some other thirsty there may be To whom this would have pointed me Had it remained to speak. And so I always bear the cup If, haply, mine may be the drop Some pilgrim thirst to slake, -- If, haply, any say to me, "Unto the little, unto me," When I at last awake. III. The nearest dream recedes, unrealized. The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school-boy Invites the race; Stoops to an easy clover -- Dips -- evades -- teases -- deploys; Then to the royal clouds Lifts his light pinnace Heedless of the boy Staring, bewildered, at the mocking sky. Homesick for steadfast honey, Ah! the bee flies not That brews that rare variety. IV. We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar, And our new hands Learned gem-tactics Practising sands. V. I found the phrase to every thought I ever had, but one; And that defies me, -- as a hand Did try to chalk the sun To races nurtured in the dark; -- How would your own begin? Can blaze be done in cochineal, Or noon in mazarin? VI. HOPE. Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I 've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me. VII. THE WHITE HEAT. Dare you see a soul at the white heat? Then crouch within the door. Red is the fire's common tint; But when the vivid ore Has sated flame's conditions, Its quivering substance plays Without a color but the light Of unanointed blaze. Least village boasts its blacksmith, Whose anvil's even din Stands symbol for the finer forge That soundless tugs within, Refining these impatient ores With hammer and with blaze, Until the designated light Repudiate the forge. VIII. TRIUMPHANT. Who never lost, are unprepared A coronet to find; Who never thirsted, flagons And cooling tamarind. Who never climbed the weary league -- Can such a foot explore The purple territories On Pizarro's shore? How many legions overcome? The emperor will say. How many colors taken On Revolution Day? How many bullets bearest? The royal scar hast thou? Angels, write "Promoted" On this soldier's brow! IX. THE TEST. I can wade grief, Whole pools of it, -- I 'm used to that. But the least push of joy Breaks up my feet, And I tip -- drunken. Let no pebble smile, 'T was the new liquor, -- That was all! Power is only pain, Stranded, through discipline, Till weights will hang. Give balm to giants, And they 'll wilt, like men. Give Himmaleh, -- They 'll carry him! X. ESCAPE. I never hear the word "escape" Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude. I never hear of prisons broad By soldiers battered down, But I tug childish at my bars, -- Only to fail again!