Part II, Section 1:
LIFE.

I.	1

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.	5

How dreary to be somebody!

How public, like a frog

To tell your name the livelong day

To an admiring bog!

II.	10

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,	15
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	20
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.	25

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,"	30
When I at last awake.

III.

The nearest dream recedes, unrealized.
The heaven we chase
Like the June bee	35
Before the school-boy
Invites the race;
Stoops to an easy clover—
Dips—evades—teases—deploys;
Then to the royal clouds	40
Lifts his light pinnace
Heedless of the boy
Staring, bewildered, at the mocking sky.

Homesick for steadfast honey,
Ah! the bee flies not	45
That brews that rare variety.

IV.

We play at paste,
Till qualified for pearl,
Then drop the paste,	50
And deem ourself a fool.
The shapes, though, were similar,
And our new hands
Learned gem-tactics
Practising sands.	55

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	60

To races nurtured in the dark;—

How would your own begin?

Can blaze be done in cochineal,

Or noon in mazarin?

VI.	65

HOPE.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,	70

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,	75
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

VII.

THE WHITE HEAT.	80

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,	85
Its quivering substance plays
Without a color but the light
Of unanointed blaze.

Least village boasts its blacksmith,
Whose anvil's even din	90
Stands symbol for the finer forge
That soundless tugs within,

Refining these impatient ores
With hammer and with blaze,
Until the designated light	95
Repudiate the forge.

VIII.

TRIUMPHANT.

Who never lost, are unprepared
A coronet to find;	100
Who never thirsted, flagons
And cooling tamarind.

Who never climbed the weary league—
Can such a foot explore
The purple territories	105
On Pizarro's shore?

How many legions overcome?
The emperor will say.
How many colors taken
On Revolution Day?	110

How many bullets bearest?

The royal scar hast thou?

Angels, write "Promoted"

On this soldier's brow!

IX.	115

THE TEST.

I can wade grief,
Whole pools of it,—
I 'm used to that.
But the least push of joy	120
Breaks up my feet,
And I tip—drunken.
Let no pebble smile,
'T was the new liquor,—
That was all!	125

Power is only pain,
Stranded, through discipline,
Till weights will hang.
Give balm to giants,
And they 'll wilt, like men.	130
Give Himmaleh,—
They 'll carry him!

X.

ESCAPE.

I never hear the word "escape"	135
Without a quicker blood,
A sudden expectation,
A flying attitude.

I never hear of prisons broad
By soldiers battered down,	140
But I tug childish at my bars,—
Only to fail again!

XI.

COMPENSATION.

For each ecstatic instant	145
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.

For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years,	150
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears.

XII.

THE MARTYRS.

Through the straight pass of suffering	155
The martyrs even trod,
Their feet upon temptation,
Their faces upon God.

A stately, shriven company;
Convulsion playing round,	160
Harmless as streaks of meteor
Upon a planet's bound.

Their faith the everlasting troth;
Their expectation fair;
The needle to the north degree	165
Wades so, through polar air.

XIII.

A PRAYER.

I meant to have but modest needs,
Such as content, and heaven;	170
Within my income these could lie,
And life and I keep even.

But since the last included both,
It would suffice my prayer
But just for one to stipulate,	175
And grace would grant the pair.

And so, upon this wise I prayed,—
Great Spirit, give to me
A heaven not so large as yours,
But large enough for me.	180

A smile suffused Jehovah's face;

The cherubim withdrew;

Grave saints stole out to look at me,

And showed their dimples, too.

I left the place with all my might,—	185
My prayer away I threw;
The quiet ages picked it up,
And Judgment twinkled, too,

That one so honest be extant
As take the tale for true	190
That "Whatsoever you shall ask,
Itself be given you."

But I, grown shrewder, scan the skies
With a suspicious air,—
As children, swindled for the first,	195
All swindlers be, infer.

XIV.

The thought beneath so slight a film
Is more distinctly seen,—
As laces just reveal the surge,	200
Or mists the Apennine.

XV.

The soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend,—
Or the most agonizing spy	205
An enemy could send.

Secure against its own,
No treason it can fear;
Itself its sovereign, of itself
The soul should stand in awe.	210

XVI.

Surgeons must be very careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the culprit,—Life!	215

XVII.

THE RAILWAY TRAIN.

I like to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;	220
And then, prodigious, step

Around a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of roads;
And then a quarry pare	225

To fit its sides, and crawl between,

Complaining all the while

In horrid, hooting stanza;

Then chase itself down hill

And neigh like Boanerges;	230
Then, punctual as a star,
Stop—docile and omnipotent—
At its own stable door.

XVIII.

THE SHOW.	235

The show is not the show,
But they that go.
Menagerie to me
My neighbor be.
Fair play—	240
Both went to see.

XIX.

Delight becomes pictorial
When viewed through pain,—
More fair, because impossible	245
That any gain.

The mountain at a given distance
In amber lies;
Approached, the amber flits a little,—
And that 's the skies!	250

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,	255

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	260
I 've met the thing before;
It just reminded me—'t was all—
And came my way no more.

XXI.

Is Heaven a physician?	265
They say that He can heal;
But medicine posthumous
Is unavailable.

Is Heaven an exchequer?
They speak of what we owe;	270
But that negotiation
I 'm not a party to.

XXII.

THE RETURN.

Though I get home how late, how late!	275
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.	280
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,	285
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,	290
Nor noticed that the ebbing day
Flowed silver to the west,
Nor noticed night did soft descend
Nor constellation burn,
Intent upon the vision	295
Of latitudes unknown.

The angels, happening that way,
This dusty heart espied;
Tenderly took it up from toil
And carried it to God.	300
There,—sandals for the barefoot;
There,—gathered from the gales,
Do the blue havens by the hand
Lead the wandering sails.

XXIV.	305

TOO MUCH.

I should have been too glad, I see,
Too lifted for the scant degree
Of life's penurious round;
My little circuit would have shamed	310
This new circumference, have blamed
The homelier time behind.

I should have been too saved, I see,
Too rescued; fear too dim to me
That I could spell the prayer	315
I knew so perfect yesterday,—
That scalding one, "Sabachthani,"
Recited fluent here.

Earth would have been too much, I see,
And heaven not enough for me;	320
I should have had the joy
Without the fear to justify,—
The palm without the Calvary;
So, Saviour, crucify.

Defeat whets victory, they say;	325
The reefs in old Gethsemane
Endear the shore beyond.
'T is beggars banquets best define;
'T is thirsting vitalizes wine,—
Faith faints to understand.	330

XXV.

SHIPWRECK.

It tossed and tossed,—
A little brig I knew,—
O'ertook by blast,	335
It spun and spun,
And groped delirious, for morn.

It slipped and slipped,
As one that drunken stepped;
Its white foot tripped,	340
Then dropped from sight.

Ah, brig, good-night
To crew and you;
The ocean's heart too smooth, too blue,
To break for you.	345

XXVI.

Victory comes late,
And is held low to freezing lips
Too rapt with frost
To take it.	350
How sweet it would have tasted,
Just a drop!
Was God so economical?
His table 's spread too high for us
Unless we dine on tip-toe.	355
Crumbs fit such little mouths,
Cherries suit robins;
The eagle's golden breakfast
Strangles them.
God keeps his oath to sparrows,	360
Who of little love
Know how to starve!

XXVII.

ENOUGH.

God gave a loaf to every bird,	365
But just a crumb to me;
I dare not eat it, though I starve,—
My poignant luxury
To own it, touch it, prove the feat
That made the pellet mine,—	370
Too happy in my sparrow chance
For ampler coveting.

It might be famine all around,
I could not miss an ear,
Such plenty smiles upon my board,	375
My garner shows so fair.
I wonder how the rich may feel,—
An Indiaman—an Earl?
I deem that I with but a crumb
Am sovereign of them all.	380

XXVIII.

Experiment to me
Is every one I meet.
If it contain a kernel?
The figure of a nut	385

Presents upon a tree,

Equally plausibly;

But meat within is requisite,

To squirrels and to me.

XXIX.	390

MY COUNTRY'S WARDROBE.

My country need not change her gown,
Her triple suit as sweet
As when 't was cut at Lexington,
And first pronounced "a fit."	395

Great Britain disapproves "the stars;"

Disparagement discreet,—

There 's something in their attitude

That taunts her bayonet.

XXX.	400

Faith is a fine invention

For gentlemen who see;

But microscopes are prudent

In an emergency!

XXXI.	405

Except the heaven had come so near,

So seemed to choose my door,

The distance would not haunt me so;

I had not hoped before.

But just to hear the grace depart	410
I never thought to see,
Afflicts me with a double loss;
'T is lost, and lost to me.

XXXII.

Portraits are to daily faces	415
As an evening west
To a fine, pedantic sunshine
In a satin vest.

XXXIII.

THE DUEL.	420

I took my power in my hand.

And went against the world;

'T was not so much as David had,

But I was twice as bold.

I aimed my pebble, but myself	425
Was all the one that fell.
Was it Goliath was too large,
Or only I too small?

XXXIV.

A shady friend for torrid days	430
Is easier to find
Than one of higher temperature
For frigid hour of mind.

The vane a little to the east
Scares muslin souls away;	435
If broadcloth breasts are firmer
Than those of organdy,

Who is to blame? The weaver?
Ah! the bewildering thread!
The tapestries of paradise	440
So notelessly are made!

XXXV.

THE GOAL.

Each life converges to some centre
Expressed or still;	445
Exists in every human nature
A goal,

Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,
Too fair
For credibility's temerity	450
To dare.

Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven,
To reach
Were hopeless as the rainbow's raiment
To touch,	455

Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance;

How high

Unto the saints' slow diligence

The sky!

Ungained, it may be, by a life's low venture,	460
But then,
Eternity enables the endeavoring
Again.

XXXVI.

SIGHT.	465

Before I got my eye put out,

I liked as well to see

As other creatures that have eyes,

And know no other way.

But were it told to me, to-day,	470
That I might have the sky
For mine, I tell you that my heart
Would split, for size of me.

The meadows mine, the mountains mine,—
All forests, stintless stars,	475
As much of noon as I could take
Between my finite eyes.

The motions of the dipping birds,
The lightning's jointed road,
For mine to look at when I liked,—	480
The news would strike me dead!

So safer, guess, with just my soul
Upon the window-pane
Where other creatures put their eyes,
Incautious of the sun.	485

XXXVII.

Talk with prudence to a beggar
Of 'Potosi' and the mines!
Reverently to the hungry
Of your viands and your wines!	490

Cautious, hint to any captive

You have passed enfranchised feet!

Anecdotes of air in dungeons

Have sometimes proved deadly sweet!

XXXVIII.	495

THE PREACHER.

He preached upon "breadth" till it argued him narrow,—
The broad are too broad to define;
And of "truth" until it proclaimed him a liar,—
The truth never flaunted a sign.	500

Simplicity fled from his counterfeit presence

As gold the pyrites would shun.

What confusion would cover the innocent Jesus

To meet so enabled a man!

XXXIX.	505

Good night! which put the candle out?
A jealous zephyr, not a doubt.
Ah! friend, you little knew
How long at that celestial wick
The angels labored diligent;	510
Extinguished, now, for you!

It might have been the lighthouse spark
Some sailor, rowing in the dark,
Had importuned to see!
It might have been the waning lamp	515
That lit the drummer from the camp
To purer reveille!

XL.

When I hoped I feared,
Since I hoped I dared;	520
Everywhere alone
As a church remain;
Spectre cannot harm,
Serpent cannot charm;
He deposes doom,	525
Who hath suffered him.

XLI.

DEED.

A deed knocks first at thought,
And then it knocks at will.	530
That is the manufacturing spot,
And will at home and well.

It then goes out an act,
Or is entombed so still
That only to the ear of God	535
Its doom is audible.

XLII.

TIME'S LESSON.

Mine enemy is growing old,—
I have at last revenge.	540
The palate of the hate departs;
If any would avenge,—

Let him be quick, the viand flits,
It is a faded meat.
Anger as soon as fed is dead;	545
'T is starving makes it fat.

XLIII.

REMORSE.

Remorse is memory awake,
Her companies astir,—	550
A presence of departed acts
At window and at door.

It's past set down before the soul,
And lighted with a match,
Perusal to facilitate	555
Of its condensed despatch.

Remorse is cureless,—the disease
Not even God can heal;
For 't is his institution,—
The complement of hell.	560

XLIV.

THE SHELTER.

The body grows outside,—
The more convenient way,—
That if the spirit like to hide,	565
Its temple stands alway

Ajar, secure, inviting;
It never did betray
The soul that asked its shelter
In timid honesty.	570

XLV.

Undue significance a starving man attaches
To food
Far off; he sighs, and therefore hopeless,
And therefore good.	575

Partaken, it relieves indeed, but proves us

That spices fly

In the receipt. It was the distance

Was savory.

XLVI.	580

Heart not so heavy as mine,

Wending late home,

As it passed my window

Whistled itself a tune,—

A careless snatch, a ballad,	585
A ditty of the street;
Yet to my irritated ear
An anodyne so sweet,

It was as if a bobolink,
Sauntering this way,	590
Carolled and mused and carolled,
Then bubbled slow away.

It was as if a chirping brook
Upon a toilsome way
Set bleeding feet to minuets	595
Without the knowing why.

To-morrow, night will come again,
Weary, perhaps, and sore.
Ah, bugle, by my window,
I pray you stroll once more!	600

XLVII.

I many times thought peace had come,
When peace was far away;
As wrecked men deem they sight the land
At centre of the sea,	605

And struggle slacker, but to prove,

As hopelessly as I,

How many the fictitious shores

Before the harbor lie.

XLVIII.	610

Unto my books so good to turn

Far ends of tired days;

It half endears the abstinence,

And pain is missed in praise.

As flavors cheer retarded guests	615
With banquetings to be,
So spices stimulate the time
Till my small library.

It may be wilderness without,
Far feet of failing men,	620
But holiday excludes the night,
And it is bells within.

I thank these kinsmen of the shelf;
Their countenances bland
Enamour in prospective,	625
And satisfy, obtained.

XLIX.

This merit hath the worst,—
It cannot be again.
When Fate hath taunted last	630
And thrown her furthest stone,

The maimed may pause and breathe,
And glance securely round.
The deer invites no longer
Than it eludes the hound.	635

L.

HUNGER.

I had been hungry all the years;
My noon had come, to dine;
I, trembling, drew the table near,	640
And touched the curious wine.

'T was this on tables I had seen,
When turning, hungry, lone,
I looked in windows, for the wealth
I could not hope to own.	645

I did not know the ample bread,

'T was so unlike the crumb

The birds and I had often shared

In Nature's dining-room.

The plenty hurt me, 't was so new,—	650
Myself felt ill and odd,
As berry of a mountain bush
Transplanted to the road.

Nor was I hungry; so I found
That hunger was a way	655
Of persons outside windows,
The entering takes away.

LI.

I gained it so,
By climbing slow,	660
By catching at the twigs that grow
Between the bliss and me.
It hung so high,
As well the sky
Attempt by strategy.	665

I said I gained it,—
This was all.
Look, how I clutch it,
Lest it fall,
And I a pauper go;	670
Unfitted by an instant's grace
For the contented beggar's face
I wore an hour ago.

LII.

To learn the transport by the pain,	675
As blind men learn the sun;
To die of thirst, suspecting
That brooks in meadows run;

To stay the homesick, homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore	680
Haunted by native lands, the while,
And blue, beloved air—

This is the sovereign anguish,
This, the signal woe!
These are the patient laureates	685
Whose voices, trained below,

Ascend in ceaseless carol,
Inaudible, indeed,
To us, the duller scholars
Of the mysterious bard!	690

LIII.

RETURNING.

I years had been from home,
And now, before the door,
I dared not open, lest a face	695
I never saw before

Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business,—just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there?	700

I fumbled at my nerve,

I scanned the windows near;

The silence like an ocean rolled,

And broke against my ear.

I laughed a wooden laugh	705
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
But never quaked before.

I fitted to the latch
My hand, with trembling care,	710
Lest back the awful door should spring,
And leave me standing there.

I moved my fingers off
As cautiously as glass,
And held my ears, and like a thief	715
Fled gasping from the house.

LIV.

PRAYER.

Prayer is the little implement
Through which men reach	720
Where presence is denied them.
They fling their speech

By means of it in God's ear;
If then He hear,
This sums the apparatus	725
Comprised in prayer.

LV.

I know that he exists
Somewhere, in silence.
He has hid his rare life	730
From our gross eyes.

'T is an instant's play,
'T is a fond ambush,
Just to make bliss
Earn her own surprise!	735

But should the play

Prove piercing earnest,

Should the glee glaze

In death's stiff stare,

Would not the fun	740
Look too expensive?
Would not the jest
Have crawled too far?