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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 |
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