Part 22

THE SNOW.

It sifts from leaden sieves, It powders all the wood, It fills with alabaster wool The wrinkles of the road.

It makes an even face Of mountain and of plain, -- Unbroken forehead from the east Unto the east again.

It reaches to the fence, It wraps it, rail by rail, Till it is lost in fleeces; It flings a crystal veil

On stump and stack and stem, -- The summer's empty room, Acres of seams where harvests were, Recordless, but for them.

It ruffles wrists of posts, As ankles of a queen, -- Then stills its artisans like ghosts, Denying they have been.

LI.

THE BLUE JAY.

No brigadier throughout the year So civic as the jay. A neighbor and a warrior too, With shrill felicity

Pursuing winds that censure us A February day, The brother of the universe Was never blown away.

The snow and he are intimate; I 've often seen them play When heaven looked upon us all With such severity,

I felt apology were due To an insulted sky, Whose pompous frown was nutriment To their temerity.

The pillow of this daring head Is pungent evergreens; His larder -- terse and militant -- Unknown, refreshing things;

His character a tonic, His future a dispute; Unfair an immortality That leaves this neighbor out.

IV.

TIME AND ETERNITY.

Let down the bars, O Death! The tired flocks come in Whose bleating ceases to repeat, Whose wandering is done.

Thine is the stillest night, Thine the securest fold; Too near thou art for seeking thee, Too tender to be told.

II.

Going to heaven! I don't know when, Pray do not ask me how, -- Indeed, I 'm too astonished To think of answering you! Going to heaven! -- How dim it sounds! And yet it will be done As sure as flocks go home at night Unto the shepherd's arm!

Perhaps you 're going too! Who knows? If you should get there first, Save just a little place for me Close to the two I lost!

The smallest "robe" will fit me, And just a bit of "crown;" For you know we do not mind our dress When we are going home.

I 'm glad I don't believe it, For it would stop my breath, And I 'd like to look a little more At such a curious earth! I am glad they did believe it Whom I have never found Since the mighty autumn afternoon I left them in the ground.

III.

At least to pray is left, is left. O Jesus! in the air I know not which thy chamber is, -- I 'm knocking everywhere.

Thou stirrest earthquake in the South, And maelstrom in the sea; Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth, Hast thou no arm for me?

IV.

EPITAPH.