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I like to see it lap the miles, |
And lick the valleys up, |
And stop to feed itself at tanks; |
And then, prodigious, step |
Around a pile of mountains, |
And, supercilious, peer |
In shanties by the sides of roads; |
And then a quarry pare |
To fit its sides, and crawl between, |
Complaining all the while |
In horrid, hooting stanza; |
Then chase itself down hill |
And neigh like Boanerges; |
Then, punctual as a star, |
Stop -- docile and omnipotent -- |
At its own stable door. |
XVIII. |
THE SHOW. |
The show is not the show, |
But they that go. |
Menagerie to me |
My neighbor be. |
Fair play -- |
Both went to see. |
XIX. |
Delight becomes pictorial |
When viewed through pain, -- |
More fair, because impossible |
That any gain. |
The mountain at a given distance |
In amber lies; |
Approached, the amber flits a little, -- |
And that 's the skies! |
XX. |
A thought went up my mind to-day |
That I have had before, |
But did not finish, -- some way back, |
I could not fix the year, |
Nor where it went, nor why it came |
The second time to me, |
Nor definitely what it was, |
Have I the art to say. |
But somewhere in my soul, I know |
I 've met the thing before; |
It just reminded me -- 't was all -- |
And came my way no more. |
XXI. |
Is Heaven a physician? |
They say that He can heal, |
But medicine posthumous |
Is unavailable. |
Is Heaven an exchequer? |
They speak of what we owe; |
But that negotiation |
I 'm not a party to. |
XXII. |
THE RETURN. |
Though I get home how late, how late! |
So I get home, 't will compensate. |
Better will be the ecstasy |
That they have done expecting me, |
When, night descending, dumb and dark, |
They hear my unexpected knock. |
Transporting must the moment be, |
Brewed from decades of agony! |
To think just how the fire will burn, |
Just how long-cheated eyes will turn |
To wonder what myself will say, |
And what itself will say to me, |
Beguiles the centuries of way! |
XXIII. |
A poor torn heart, a tattered heart, |
That sat it down to rest, |
Nor noticed that the ebbing day |
Flowed silver to the west, |
Nor noticed night did soft descend |
Nor constellation burn, |
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