57
To venerate the simple days
Which lead the seasons by,
Needs but to remember
That from you or I,

566
A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink—
I hunted all the Sand—
I caught the Dripping of a Rock
And bore it in my Hand—

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few - love at all.

If you were coming in the fall,
I’d brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spum,
As housewives do a fly.
If I could see you in a year,

787
Such is the Force of Happiness—
The Least—can lift a Ton
Assisted by its stimulus—
Who Misery—sustain—

I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.
Nor had I time to love; but since

616
I rose’—because He sank’—
I thought it would be opposite’—
But when his power dropped’—
My Soul grew straight.

542
I had no Cause to be awake—
My Best—was gone to sleep—
And Morn a new politeness took—
And failed to wake them up—

The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
Is aristocracy.

The heart asks pleasure first
And then, excuse from pain–
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;
And then, to go to sleep;