To make a prairie
It takes clover and one bee
One clover, and a bee, and revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.
The Path of Life
Because I could not stop for Death-
He kindly stopped for me-
The Carriage held but just Ourselves-
And Immortality.
We slowly drove- He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For his Civility-
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess- in the Ring-
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain-
We passed the Setting Sun-
Or rather- He passed Us-
The Dews drew quivering and chill
For only Gossamer, my Gown-
My Tippet- only Tulle-
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground-
The Roof was scarcely visible-
The Cornice- in the Ground-
Since then- ’tis Centuries-and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity-
When I Died
I Heard a Fly buzz – when I died –
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air –
Between the Heaves of Storm –
The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset – when the King
Be witnessed – in the Room –
I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable – and then it was
There interposed a Fly –
With Blue – uncertain stumbling Buzz –
Between the light – and me –
And then the Windows failed – and then
I could not see to see –
Maya
To fill a Gap
Insert the Thing that caused it –
Block it up
With Other – and ’twill yawn the more –
You cannot solder an Abyss
With Air.