Just for a space I met her –
Just for a day in the train!
It began when she feared it would wet her,
That tiniest spurtle of rain:
I INTENDED an Ode,
And it turn'd to a Sonnet
It began a la mode,
I intended an Ode;
Fame is a food that dead men eat,-
I have no stomach for such meat.
In little light and narrow room,
They eat it in the silent tomb,
Rose kissed me to-day.
Will she kiss me tomorrow?
Let it be as it may,
HERE in this sequester'd close
Bloom the hyacinth and rose,
Here beside the modest stock
Flaunts the flaring hollyhock;
King Philip had vaunted his claims;
He had sworn for a year he would sack us;
With an army of heathenish names
When Spring comes laughing
By vale and hill,
By wind-flower walking
'More Poets yet!'-I hear him say,
Arming his heavy hand to slay;-
'Despite my skill and 'swashing blow,'
They seem to sprout where'er I go;-
Look at his pretty face for just one minute !
His braided frock and dainty buttoned shoes,
His firm-shut hand, the favorite plaything in it,
YES; when the ways oppose—
When the hard means rebel,
Fairer the work out-grows,—
More potent far the spell.