Works -- Part 5: The Single Hound

Part Five: The Single Hound

One sister have I in our house Adventure most unto itself The Soul that has a Guest Except the smaller size, no Lives are round Fame is a fickle food The right to perish might be thought Peril as a possession When Etna basks and purrs Reverse cannot befall that fine Prosperity To be alive is power Witchcraft has not a pedigree Exhilaration is the Breeze No romance sold unto If what we could were what we would Perception of an No other can reduce The blunder is to estimate My Wheel is in the dark There is another Loneliness So gay a flower bereaved the mind Glory is that bright tragic thing The missing All prevented me His mind, of man a secret makes The suburbs of a secret The difference between despair There is a solitude of space The props assist the house The gleam of an heroic act Of Death the sharpest function Down Time’s quaint stream I bet with every Wind that blew The Future never spoke Two lengths has every day The Soul’s superior instants Nature is what we see Ah, Teneriffe! She died at play ‘Morning’ means ‘Milking’ to the Farmer A little madness in the Spring I can’t tell you, but you feel it Some Days retired from the rest Like Men and Women shadows walk The butterfly obtains Beauty crowds me till I die We spy the Forests and the Hills I never told the buried gold The largest fire ever known Bloom upon the Mountain, stated March is the month of expectation The Duties of the Wind are few The Winds drew off I think that the root of the Wind is Water So, from the mould The long sigh of the Frog A cap of lead across the sky I send two Sunsets Of this is Day composed The Hills erect their purple heads Lightly stepped a yellow star The Moon upon her fluent route Like some old-fashioned miracle Glowing is her Bonnet Forever cherished be the tree The Ones that disappeared are back Those final Creatures,—who they are Summer begins to have the look A prompt, executive Bird is the Jay Like brooms of steel These are the days that Reindeer love Follow wise Orion In winter, in my room Not any sunny tone For Death,—or rather Dropped into the This quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies ’T was comfort in her dying room Too cold is this I watched her face to see which way To-day or this noon I see thee better in the dark Low at my problem bending If pain for peace prepares I fit for them Not one by Heaven defrauded stay The feet of people walking home We should not mind so small a flower To the staunch Dust we safe commit thee Her ‘Last Poems’ Immured in Heaven! What a Cell! I ’m thinking of that other morn The overtakelessness of those The Look of Thee, what is it like? The Devil, had he fidelity Papa above! Not when we know Elijah’s wagon knew no thill ‘Remember me,’ implored the Thief To this apartment deep Sown in dishonor? Through lane it lay, through bramble Who is it seeks my pillow nights? His Cheek is his Biographer ‘Heavenly Father,’ take to thee The sweets of Pillage can be known The Bible is an antique volume A little over Jordan Dust is the only secret Ambition cannot find him Eden is that old-fashioned House Candor, my tepid Friend Speech is a symptom of affection Who were ‘the Father and the Son’ That Love is all there is The luxury to apprehend The Sea said ‘Come’ to the Brook All I may, if small Love reckons by itself alone The inundation of the Spring No Autumn’s intercepting chill Volcanoes be in Sicily Distance is not the realm of Fox The treason of an accent How destitute is he Crisis is sweet and, set of Heart To tell the beauty would decrease To love thee, year by year I showed her heights she never saw On my volcano grows the grass If I could tell how glad I was Her Grace is all she has No matter where the Saints abide To see her is a picture So set its sun in thee Had this one day not been That she forgot me was the least The incidents of Love A little overflowing word Just so, Jesus raps—He does not weary Safe Despair it is that raves The Face we choose to miss Of so divine a loss The healed Heart shows its shallow scar Give little anguish To pile like Thunder to its close The Stars are old, that stood for me All circumstances are the frame I did not reach thee