A word is dead
When it is said,
I say it just
Begins to live
That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.
Success is counted sweetest by those who ne’er succeed.
One need not be a chamber to be haunted;
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
I’ll tell you how the sun rose a ribbon at a time.
Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell.
Topics: Last Words
I argue thee that love is life. And life hath immortality.
How the old mountains drip with sunset,
And the brake of dun!
How the hemlocks are tipped in tinsel
By the wizard sun!
How the old steeples hand the scarlet,
Till the ball is full,—
Have I the lip of the flamingo
That I dare to tell?
Then, how the fire ebbs like billows,
Touching all the grass
With a departing, sapphire feature,
As if a duchess pass!
How a small dusk crawls on the village
Till the houses blot;
And the odd flambeaux no men carry
Glimmer on the spot!
Now it is night in nest and kennel,
And where was the wood,
Just a dome of abyss is nodding
These are the visions baffled Guido;
Titian never told;
Domenichino dropped the pencil,
Powerless to unfold.
The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
Faith is the pierless bridge supporting what we see unto the scene that we do not.
This is the Hour of Lead—
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow—
First—Chill—then Stupor—then the letting go—.
I dwell in Possibility
A fairer House than Prose
More numerous of Windows
Of Chambers as the Cedars
Impregnable of Eye
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky
Of Visitors—the fairest
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise
A letter always seemed to me like Immortality, for is it not the Mind alone, without corporeal friend?
Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb—or Dome of Worm—or Porch of Gnome—or some Elf’s Catacomb?
Great Spirit, give to me a heaven not so large as yours but large enough for me.
A little madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King.
Assent—and you are sane—, demur—you’re straightway dangerous—, and handled with a Chain—.
Sunrise: day’s great progenitor.
I hope you love birds, too. It is economical. It saves going to Heaven.
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