Love -- is anterior to Life --
Posterior -- to Death --
Initial of Creation, and
The Exponent of Earth --
Friedrich von Schiller
Nowhere in the organic or sensitive world ever kindles
Novelty, save in the flower, noblest creation of life.
To my quick ear the Leaves -- conferred --
The Bushes -- they were Bells --
I could not find a Privacy
From Nature's sentinels --
In Cave if I presumed to hide
The Walls -- begun to tell --
Creation seemed a mighty Crack --
To make me visible --
It was too late for Man --
But early, yet, for God --
Creation -- impotent to help --
But Prayer -- remained -- Our Side --
How excellent the Heaven --
When Earth -- cannot be had --
How hospitable -- then -- the face
Of our Old Neighbor -- God --
Departed -- to the Judgment --
A Mighty Afternoon --
Great Clouds -- like Ushers -- learning --
Creation -- looking on --
The Flesh -- Surrendered -- Cancelled --
The Bodiless -- begun --
Two Worlds -- like Audiences -- disperse --
And leave the Soul -- alone --
How Human Nature dotes
On what it can't detect.
The moment that a Plot is plumbed
Prospective is extinct --
Prospective is the friend
Reserved for us to know
When Constancy is clarified
Of Curiosity --
Of subjects that resist
Redoubtablest is this
Where go we --
Go we anywhere
Creation after this?
It's easy to invent a Life --
God does it -- every Day --
Creation -- but the Gambol
Of His Authority --
It's easy to efface it --
The thrifty Deity
Could scarce afford Eternity
To Spontaneity --
The Perished Patterns murmur --
But His Perturbless Plan
Proceed -- inserting Here -- a Sun --
There -- leaving out a Man --
A NEWER garden of creation, no primal solitude,
Dense, joyous, modern, populous millions, cities and farms,
With iron interlaced, composite, tied, many in one,
By all the world contributed—freedom’s and law’s and thrift’s society,
The crown and teeming paradise, so far, of time’s accumulations,
To justify the past.
I dream of the silence
the day before Adam came
to name the animals,
The gold skins newly dropped
from God's bright fingers, still
implicit with the light.
A day like this, perhaps:
a winter whiteness
haunting the creation,
as we are sometimes
haunted by the space
we fill, or by the forms
we might have known
before the names,
beyond the gloss of things.
The Gentian has a parched Corolla --
Like azure dried
'Tis Nature's buoyant juices
Without a vaunt or sheen
As casual as Rain
And as benign --
When most is part -- it comes --
Nor isolate it seems
Its Bond its Friend --
To fill its Fringed career
And aid an aged Year
Abundant end --
Its lot -- were it forgot --
This Truth endear --
Fidelity is gain
Creation is o'er --
O never harm the dreaming world,
the world of green, the world of leaves,
but let its million palms unfold
the adoration of the trees.
It is a love in darkness wrought
obedient to the unseen sun,
longer than memory, a thought
deeper than the graves of time.
The turning spindles of the cells
weave a slow forest over space,
the dance of love, creation,
out of time moves not a leaf,
and out of summer, not a shade.
When she smiles she sends happiness
A million pleasant thrills of the heart
To parched souls thirsting for love
In the vast desert of human affairs.
Oh, is there in this world such a heart?
So pure in its expression of joy, smiles
I know not how to thank you dear God
For this wonderful creation of yours.
What makes Muskan’s smile so beautiful?
Is it the deep pain and hurt she is hiding?
Wringing the joys from the sadness of life
Throwing away the bland fiber and rinds.