than those of the earth, I henceforth no more ignore them than I ignore my own life, Or the lives of the earth arrived as far as mine, or waiting to arrive.
O I see now that life cannot exhibit all to me, as the day cannot, I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited by death.
Thought
As I sit with others at a great feast, suddenly while the music is playing, To my mind, (whence it comes I know not,) spectral in mist of a wreck at sea, Of certain ships, how they sail from port with flying streamers and wafted kisses, and that is the last of them, Of the solemn and murky mystery about the fate of the President, Of the flower of the marine science of fifty generations founder’d off the Northeast coast and going down—of the steamship Arctic going down, Of the veil’d tableau—women gather’d together on deck, pale, heroic, waiting the moment that draws so close—O the moment! A huge sob—a few bubbles—the white foam spirting up—and then the women gone, Sinking there while the passionless wet flows on—and I now pondering, Are those women indeed gone? Are souls drown’d and destroy’d so? Is only matter triumphant?
The Last Invocation
At the last, tenderly, From the walls of the powerful fortress’d house, From the clasp of the knitted locks, from the keep of the well-closed doors, Let me be wafted.
Let me glide noiselessly forth; With the key of softness unlock the locks—with a whisper, Set ope the doors O soul.
Tenderly—be not impatient, (Strong is your hold O mortal flesh, Strong is your hold O love.)