Your reason is a snowdrift reason,
icy in and out of season,
cold and sharded frost with flakes
in which no grace or fervor wakes --
but what of reason's South Sea isles,
flush and warm with native smiles?
Golden-hearted breeze-winds sway
to charge the night and warm the day
as by the currents warm and clear
joys go dancing without fear
and on the beach-sand, wet and fair,
the sunrise gilds the scented air.
Crown of Matins
A crown of matins circled her brow,
auroral halo flourishing;
but she was quiet,
you did not see her.
Where were you in the morning's morning,
yestermorrow's morn, so redly dawning?
Or where were you when Tempus killed Caelus
and all-devouring Time began to devour,
when Space began to bubble and surge
to foam up Attraction that rules the stars
in unending Ocean, bent around without shore?
The white clouds have a dark lining
where night crowds in, stark, divine;--
the glowering grows, wind builds;--
and now the throes descend on fields,
the day is hidden, suddenly shy,
as its rays are bid from the thudding sky;--
and all creation lies worried, waiting
for fall unabated, flurry unsated,
of gale unfurling
to assail the world.