More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
35 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, ’T was the new liquor, — That was all! Power is only pain, Stranded, through discipline, Till weights will hang. Give balm to giants, And they’ll wilt, like men. Give Himmaleh, — They’ll carry him!
And so, upon this wise I prayed, — Great Spirit, give to me A heaven not so large as yours, But large enough for me.
A heaven large enough for me
41 The soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, — Or the most agonizing spy An enemy could send. Secure against its own, No treason it can fear; Itself its sovereign, of itself The soul should stand in awe.
88 Heaven is what I cannot reach! The apple on the tree, Provided it do hopeless hang, That “heaven” is, to me. The color on the cruising cloud, The interdicted ground Behind the hill, the house behind, — There Paradise is found!
99 There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of toll; How frugal is the chariot That bears a human soul!
