This is my letter to the world

That never wrote to Me–

The simple News that Nature told–

With tender Majesty

Her message is committed

To Hands I cannot see–

For love of her–Sweet–countrymen–

Judge tenderly–of Me

Hope is the thing with feathers–

That perches in the soul–

And sings the tune without the words–

And never stops–at all –

And sweetest–in the Gale–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 crumb–of Me.

Success is counted sweetest

By those who ne’er succeed.

To comprehend a nectar

Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host

Who took the Flag today

Can tell the definition

So clear of Victory

As he defeated–dying–

On whose forbidden ear

The distant strains of triumph

Burst agonized and clear!

The Soul selects her own Society–

Then–shuts the Door–

To her divine Majority–

Present no more–

Unmoved–she notes the Chariots–pausing–

At her low Gate–

Unmoved–an Emperor be kneeling

Upon her Mat–

I’ve known her–from an ample nation–

Choose one–

Then–close the Valves of her attention–

Like Stone–

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?

The Feet, mechanical, go round–

Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –

A Wooden way

Regardless grown,

A Quartz contentment, like a stone –

This is the Hour of Lead–

Remembered, if outlived,

As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow–

First–Chill–then Stupor–then the letting go –

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant–

Success in Circuit lies

Too bright for our infirm Delight

The Truth’s superb surprise

As Lightening to the Children eased

With explanation kind

The Truth must dazzle gradually

Or every man be blind –

For each ecstatic instant

We must an anguish pay

In keen and quivering ratio

To the ecstasy.

For each beloved hour

Sharp pittance of years–

Bitter contest farthings–

And Coffers heaped with Tears!

The Brain–is wider than the Sky–

For–put them side by side–

The one the other will contain

With ease–and You–beside–

The Brain is deeper than the sea–

For–hold them–Blue to Blue–

The one the other will absorb–

As sponges–Buckets–do–

The Brain is just the weight of God–

For–Heft them–Pound for Pound –

And they will differ–if they do–

As Syllable from Sound–

I can wade Grief–

Whole Pools of it–

I’m used to that–

But the least push of Joy

Breaks up my feet –

And I tip–drunken–

Let no Pebble–smile –

‘Twas the New Liquor–

That was all!

Power is only Pain –

Stranded, thro’ Discipline,

Till Weights–will hang–

Give Balm–to Giants–

And they’ll wilt, like Men–

Give Himmaleh–

They’ll Carry–Him!

There is a pain–so utter–

It swallows substance up–

Then covers the Abyss with Trance–

So Memory can step

Around–across–upon it–

As one within a Swoon–

Goes safely–where an open eye–

Would drop Him–Bone by Bone.