I Never Saw a Moor

I Never Saw a Moor I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot As if the chart were given.

The Lost Jewel I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: "'T'will keep." I woke and chid my honest fingers, The gem was gone; And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own.

A Book There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands away Nor any Coursers like a Page Of prancing Poetry --- This Traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of Toll --- How frugal is the Chariot That bears the Human Soul ---

The Wind's Visit The wind tapped like a tired man, And like a host, "Come in," I boldly answered; entered then My residence within A rapid, footless guest, To offer whom a chair Were as impossible as hand A sofa to the air. No bone had he to bind him, His speech was like the push Of numerous humming-birds at once From a superior bush. His countenance a billow, His fingers, if he pass, Let go a music, as of tunes Blown tremulous in glass. He visited, still flitting; Then, like a timid man, Again he tapped 't was flurriedly And I became alone.

A Thunder-Storm The Wind begun to rock the Grass With threatening Tunes and low --- He threw a Menace at the Earth --- A Menace at the Sky. The Leaves unhooked themselves from Trees --- And started all abroad The Dust did scoop itself like Hands And threw away the Road. The Wagons quickened on the Streets The Thunder hurried slow --- The Lightning showed a Yellow Beak And then a livid Claw. The Birds put up the Bars to Nests --- The Cattle fled to Barns --- There came one drop of Giant Rain And then as if the Hands That held the Dams had parted hold The Waters Wrecked the Sky, But overlooked my Father's House --- Just quartering a Tree ---

Beclouded The Sky is low --- the Clouds are mean. A Travelling Flake of Snow Across a Barn or through a Rut Debates if it will go --- A Narrow Wind complains all Day How some one treated him Nature, like Us is sometimes caught Without her Diadem.

Summer Shower A Drop Fell on the Apple Tree --- Another --- on the Roof --- A Half a Dozen kissed the Eaves --- And made the Gables laugh --- A few went out to help the Brook That went to help the Sea --- Myself Conjectured were they Pearls --- What Necklace could be --- The Dust replaced, in Hoisted Roads --- The Birds jocoser sung --- The Sunshine threw his Hat away --- The Bushes --- spangles flung --- The Breezes brought dejected Lutes --- And bathed them in the Glee --- Then Orient showed a single Flag, And signed the Fete away ---

If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain.

A Word A word is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just Begins to live That day.

The Railway Train Boanerges, in the Victorian era, referred to loud preachers. 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 Ribs 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 ---

The Bee is Not Afraid of Me The bee is not afraid of me, I know the butterfly; The pretty people in the woods Receive me cordially. The brooks laugh louder when I come, The breezes madder play. Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists? Wherefore, O summer's day?

As Children Bid the Guest Goodnight As children bid the guest good-night, And then reluctant turn, My flowers raise their pretty lips, Then put their nightgowns on. As children caper when they wake, Merry that it is morn, My flowers from a hundred cribs Will peep, and prance again.

A Day I'll tell you how the Sun rose --- A Ribbon at a time --- The Steeples swam in Amethyst --- The news, like Squirrels, ran --- The Hills untied their Bonnets --- The Bobolinks --- begun --- Then I said softly to myself --- "That must have been the Sun"! But how he set --- I know not --- There seemed a purple stile That little Yellow boys and girls Were climbing all the while --- Till when they reached the other side, A Dominie in Gray --- Put gently up the evening Bars --- And led the flock away ---

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

The Grass The Grass so little has to do --- A Sphere of simple Green --- With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain --- And stir all day to pretty Tunes The Breezes fetch along --- And hold the Sunshine in its lap And bow to everything --- And thread the Dews, all night, like Pearls --- And make itself so fine A Duchess were too common For such a noticing --- And even when it dies --- to pass In Odors so divine --- Like Lowly spices, lain to sleep --- Or Spikenards, perishing --- And then, in Sovereign Barns to dwell --- And dream the Days away, The Grass so little has to do I wish I were a Hay ---

Perhaps You'd Like to Buy a Flower Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower? But I could never sell. If you would like to borrow Until the daffodil Unties her yellow bonnet Beneath the village door, Until the bees, from clover rows Their hock and sherry draw, Why, I will lend until just then, But not an hour more!

The Moon The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago --- And now she turns Her perfect Face Upon the World below --- Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde --- Her Cheek --- a Beryl hewn --- Her Eye unto the Summer Dew The likest I have known --- Her Lips of Amber never part --- But what must be the smile Upon Her Friend she could confer Were such Her Silver Will --- And what a privilege to be But the remotest Star --- For Certainty She take Her Way Beside Your Palace Door --- Her Bonnet is the Firmament --- The Universe --- Her Shoe --- The Stars --- the Trinkets at Her Belt --- Her Dimities --- of Blue ---

Evening The Crickets sang And set the Sun And Workmen finished one by one Their Seam the Day upon. The low Grass loaded with the Dew The Twilight stood, as Strangers do With Hat in Hand, polite and new To stay as if, or go. A Vastness, as a Neighbor, came, A Wisdom, without Face, or Name, A Peace, as Hemispheres at Home And so the Night became.

Autumn The morns are meeker than they were --- The nuts are getting brown --- The berry's cheek is plumper --- The Rose is out of town. The Maple wears a gayer scarf --- The field a scarlet gown --- Lest I should be old fashioned I'll put a trinket on.

The Butterfly's Day From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged --- a Summer Afternoon --- Repairing Everywhere --- Without Design --- that I could trace Except to stray abroad On Miscellaneous Enterprise The Clovers --- understood --- Her pretty Parasol be seen Contracting in a Field Where Men made Hay --- Then struggling hard With an opposing Cloud --- Where Parties --- Phantom as Herself --- To Nowhere --- seemed to go In purposeless Circumference --- As 'twere a Tropic Show --- And notwithstanding Bee --- that worked --- And Flower --- that zealous blew --- This Audience of Idleness Disdained them, from the Sky --- Till Sundown crept --- a steady Tide --- And Men that made the Hay --- And Afternoon --- and Butterfly --- Extinguished --- in the Sea ---

Fringed Gentian God made a little Gentian --- It tried --- to be a Rose --- And failed --- and all the Summer laughed --- But just before the Snows There rose a Purple Creature --- That ravished all the Hill --- And Summer hid her Forehead --- And Mockery --- was still --- The Frosts were her condition --- The Tyrian would not come Until the North --- invoke it --- Creator --- Shall I --- bloom?

The Snow It sifts from Leaden Sieves --- It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road --- It makes an Even Face Of Mountain, and of Plain --- Unbroken Forehead from the East Unto the East again --- It reaches to the Fence --- It wraps it Rail by Rail Till it is lost in Fleeces --- It deals Celestial Vail To Stump, and Stack --- and Stem --- A Summer's empty Room --- Acres of Joints, where Harvests were, Recordless, but for them-- It Ruffles Wrists of Posts As Ankles of a Queen --- Then stills its Artisans --- like Ghosts --- Denying they have been ---

The Sea An Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.

Forbidden Fruit "Heaven" --- is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree --- Provided it do hopeless --- hang --- That --- "Heaven" is --- to Me! The Color, on the Cruising Cloud --- The interdicted Land --- Behind the Hill --- the House behind --- There --- Paradise --- is found! Her teasing Purples --- Afternoons --- The credulous --- decoy --- Enamored --- of the Conjurer --- That spurned us --- Yesterday!

The Woodpecker His Bill an Auger is His Head, a Cap and Frill He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.

Hope "Hope" is the thing with feathers --- That perches in the soul --- And sings the tune without the words --- And never stops --- at all --- 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 --- And on the strangest Sea --- Yet --- never --- in Extremity, It asked a crumb --- of me.

May-flower Pink --- small --- and punctual --- Aromatic --- low --- Covert --- in April --- Candid --- in May --- Dear to the Moss --- Known to the Knoll --- Next to the Robin In every human Soul --- Bold little Beauty Bedecked with thee Nature forswears Antiquity ---

Old-Fashioned "Arcturus" is his other name --- I'd rather call him "Star." It's very mean of Science To go and interfere! I slew a worm the other day --- A "Savant" passing by Murmured "Resurgam" --- "Centipede"! "Oh Lord --- how frail are we"! I pull a flower from the woods --- A monster with a glass Computes the stamens in a breath --- And has her in a "class"! Whereas I took the Butterfly Aforetime in my hat --- He sits erect in "Cabinets" --- The Clover bells forgot. What once was "Heaven" Is "Zenith" now --- Where I proposed to go When Time's brief masquerade was done Is mapped and charted too. What if the poles should frisk about And stand upon their heads! I hope I'm ready for "the worst" --- Whatever prank betides! Perhaps the "Kingdom of Heaven's" changed --- I hope the "Children" there Won't be "new fashioned" when I come --- And laugh at me --- and stare --- I hope the Father in the skies Will lift his little girl --- Old fashioned --- naught --- everything --- Over the stile of "Pearl."

Have You Got a Brook in your Little Heart Have you got a brook in your little heart, Where bashful flowers blow, And blushing birds go down to drink, And shadows tremble so? And nobody knows, so still it flows, That any brook is there; And yet your little draught of life Is daily drunken there. Then look out for the little brook in March, When the rivers overflow, And the snows come hurrying from the hills, And the bridges often go. And later, in August it may be, When the meadows parching lie, Beware, lest this little brook of life Some burning noon go dry!

Dawn Not knowing when the Dawn will come, I open every Door, Or has it Feathers, like a Bird, Or Billows, like a Shore ---

A Service of Song Some keep the Sabbath going to Church --- I keep it, staying at Home --- With a Bobolink for a Chorister --- And an Orchard, for a Dome --- Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice --- I just wear my Wings --- And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church, Our little Sexton --- sings. God preaches, a noted Clergyman --- And the sermon is never long, So instead of getting to Heaven, at last --- I'm going, all along.

Who Has Not Found the Heaven Below Who has not found the Heaven --- below --- Will fail of it above --- God's residence is next to mine His furniture is love ---

Proof That I did always love I bring thee Proof That till I loved I never lived --- Enough --- That I shall love alway --- I argue thee That love is life --- And life hath Immortality --- This --- dost thou doubt --- Sweet --- Then have I Nothing to show But Calvary ---

I'm Nobody! Who Are You? I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you --- Nobody --- too? Then there's a pair of us! Don't tell! they'd advertise --- you know. How dreary --- to be --- Somebody! How public --- like a Frog --- To tell one's name --- the livelong June --- To an admiring Bog!

Nature is What we See "Nature" is what we see --- The Hill --- the Afternoon --- Squirrel --- Eclipse --- the Bumble bee --- Nay --- Nature is Heaven --- Nature is what we hear --- The Bobolink --- the Sea --- Thunder --- the Cricket --- Nay --- Nature is Harmony --- Nature is what we know --- Yet have no art to say --- So impotent Our Wisdom is To her Simplicity.

Sweet is the Swamp With its Secrets Sweet is the swamp with its secrets, Until we meet a snake; 'T is then we sigh for houses, And our departure take At that enthralling gallop That only childhood knows. A snake is summer's treason, And guile is where it goes.

The Duties of the Wind are Few The duties of the Wind are few-- To cast the ships at Sea, Establish March, the Floods escort, And usher Liberty.

The Robin is the One The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried --- few --- express Reports When March is scarcely on --- The Robin is the One That overflow the Noon With her cherubic quantity --- An April but begun --- The Robin is the One That speechless from her Nest Submit that Home --- and Certainty And Sanctity, are best

How Still the Bells in Steeples Stand How still the Bells in Steeples stand Till swollen with the Sky They leap upon their silver Feet In frantic Melody!

A Slash of Blue A slash of Blue -- A sweep of Gray -- Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky -- A little purple -- slipped between -- Some Ruby Trousers hurried on -- A Wave of Gold -- A Bank of Day -- This just makes out the Morning Sky.

The Saddest Noise, the Sweetest Noise The saddest noise, the sweetest noise, The maddest noise that grows, -- The birds, they make it in the spring, At night's delicious close. Between the March and April line -- That magical frontier Beyond which summer hesitates, Almost too heavenly near. It makes us think of all the dead That sauntered with us here, By separation's sorcery Made cruelly more dear. It makes us think of what we had, And what we now deplore. We almost wish those siren throats Would go and sing no more. An ear can break a human heart As quickly as a spear, We wish the ear had not a heart So dangerously near.

This Is My Letter To the World This is my letter to the World That never wrote to Me --- The simple News that Nature told --- With tender Majesty Her Message is committed To Hands I cannot see --- For love of Her --- Sweet --- countrymen --- Judge tenderly --- of Me

Morning Will there really be a "Morning"? Is there such a thing as "Day"? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they? Has it feet like Water lilies? Has it feathers like a Bird? Is it brought from famous countries Of which I have never heard? Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor! Oh some Wise Men from the skies! Please to tell a little Pilgrim Where the place called "Morning" lies!

The Hummingbird A Route of Evanescence With a revolving Wheel --- A Resonance of Emerald --- A Rush of Cochineal --- And every Blossom on the Bush Adjusts its tumbled Head --- The mail from Tunis, probably, An easy Morning's Ride ---

The Snake A narrow Fellow in the Grass Occasionally rides --- You may have met Him --- did you not His notice sudden is --- The Grass divides as with a Comb --- A spotted shaft is seen --- And then it closes at your feet And opens further on --- He likes a Boggy Acre A Floor too cool for Corn --- Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot --- I more than once at Noon Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash Unbraiding in the Sun When stooping to secure it It wrinkled and was gone --- Several of Nature's People I know, and they know me --- I feel for them a transport Of cordiality --- But never met this Fellow, Attended, or alone Without a tighter breathing And Zero at the Bone ---

Indian Summer These are the days when Birds come back --- A very few --- a Bird or two --- To take a backward look. These are the days when skies resume The old --- old sophistries of June --- A blue and gold mistake. Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee --- Almost thy plausibility Induces my belief. Till ranks of seeds their witness bear --- And softly thro' the altered air Hurries a timid leaf. Oh Sacrament of summer days, Oh Last Communion in the Haze --- Permit a child to join. Thy sacred emblems to partake --- They consecrated bread to take And thine immortal wine!