The Pallid Wreath
Somehow I cannot let it go yet, funeral though it is, / Let it remain back there on its nail suspended,
Soon shall the winter's foil be here;
Soon shall these icy ligatures unbind and melt--A little while,
And air, soil, wave, suffused shall be in softness, bloom and
growth--a thousand forms shall rise
From these dead clods and chills as from low burial graves.
Thine eyes, ears--all thy best attributes--all that takes cognizance
of natural beauty,
Shall wake and fill. Thou shalt perceive the simple shows, the
delicate miracles of earth,
Dandelions, clover, the emerald grass, the early scents and flowers,
The arbutus under foot, the willow's yellow-green, the blossoming
plum and cherry;
With these the robin, lark and thrush, singing their songs--the
flitting bluebird;
For such the scenes the annual play brings on.
Somehow I cannot let it go yet, funeral though it is, / Let it remain back there on its nail suspended,
Darest thou now O soul, / Walk out with me toward the unknown region,
Aboard at a ship's helm, / A young steersman steering with care.
Of Equality--as if it harm'd me, giving others the same chances and / rights as myself--as if it were not indispensable to my own