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A Green Cornfield GAMPOOL

The earth was green, the sky was blue: I saw and heard one sunny morn A skylark hang between the two, A singing speck above the corn; A stage below, in gay accord, White butterflies danced on the wing,

Cornfield His Name Is Alive

Through the fields row by row One plant at a time Down the row field by field This field will take a long time There's corn from here to night This field will take all day Twelve hours and we'll home Until

Somewhere or Other GAMPOOL

Somewhere or other, may be far or near; With just a wall, a hedge, between; With just the last leaves of the dying year Fallen on a turf grown green.

Song : She sat and sang alway GAMPOOL

She sat and sang alway By the green margin of a stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam.

Shut Out GAMPOOL

I looked between Its iron bars; and saw it lie, My garden, mine, beneath the sky, Pied with all flowers bedewed and green: From bough to bough the song-birds crossed, From flower to flower the moths

Song : When I am dead, my dearest GAMPOOL

When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And

A Birthday GAMPOOL

My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My heart is like a rainbow

A Pause GAMPOOL

there came the step upon the stair, Upon the lock the old familiar hand: Then first my spirit seemed to scent the air Of Paradise; then first the tardy sand Of time ran golden; and I felt my hair Put on a

Mirage GAMPOOL

The hope I dreamed of was a dream, Was but a dream; and now I wake, Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old, For a dream's sake.

A Summer Wish GAMPOOL

Oh that it were with me As with the flower; Blooming on its own tree For butterfly and bee Its summer morns: That I might bloom mine hour A rose in spite of thorns.

A narrow Fellow in the Grass GAMPOOL

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

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain GAMPOOL

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading – treading – till it seemed That Sense was breaking through – And when they all were seated, A Service, like a Drum – Kept beating –

A Bird, came down the Walk— GAMPOOL

A Bird, came down the Walk - He did not know I saw - He bit an Angle Worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw, And then, he drank a Dew From a convenient Grass - And then hopped sidewise to the Wall

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – GAMPOOL

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs – The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’ And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?

A Light exists in Spring GAMPOOL

A Light exists in Spring Not present on the Year At any other period – When March is scarcely here A Color stands abroad On Solitary Fields That Science cannot overtake But Human Nature feels.

It was not Death, for I stood up, GAMPOOL

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh I felt Siroccos - crawl - Nor Fire - for just my marble feet Could keep a Chancel, cool - And yet, it tasted, like them all, The Figures I have seen Set orderly, for Burial

I started Early – Took my Dog – GAMPOOL

I started Early – Took my Dog – And visited the Sea – The Mermaids in the Basement Came out to look at me – And Frigates – in the Upper Floor Extended Hempen Hands – Presuming Me to be a Mouse – Aground

Much Madness is divinest Sense – GAMPOOL

Much Madness is divinest Sense – To a discerning Eye – Much Sense – the starkest Madness – 'Tis the Majority In this, as all, prevail – Assent – and you are sane – Demur – you're straightway dangerous

My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun – GAMPOOL

My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun – In Corners – till a Day The Owner passed – identified – And carried Me away – And now We roam in Sovereign Woods – And now We hunt the Doe – And every time I speak for

There is no Frigate like a Book GAMPOOL

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

"I wish I could remember that first day" GAMPOOL

season, it might be Summer or Winter for aught I can say; So unrecorded did it slip away, So blind was I to see and to foresee, So dull to mark the budding of my tree That would not blossom yet for many a

Winter : My Secret GAMPOOL

Today’s a nipping day, a biting day; In which one wants a shawl, A veil, a cloak, and other wraps: I cannot ope to everyone who taps, And let the draughts come whistling thro’ my hall; Come bounding and

What Would I Give? GAMPOOL

What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through, Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do; Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all.

Remember GAMPOOL

Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by

Up-Hill GAMPOOL

But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn.

Because I could not stop for Death – GAMPOOL

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

Echo GAMPOOL

Come to me in the silence of the night; Come in the speaking silence of a dream; Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright As sunlight on a stream; Come back in tears, O memory, hope, love of

Wild nights – Wild nights! GAMPOOL

Futile – the winds – To a Heart in port – Done with the Compass – Done with the Chart! Rowing in Eden – Ah – the Sea! Might I but moor – tonight – In thee!

There's a certain Slant of light GAMPOOL

There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons – That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes – Heavenly Hurt, it gives us – We can find no scar, But internal difference – Where the Meanings,

"Hope" is the thing with feathers – GAMPOOL

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