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+{"text":" \nCopyright \u00a9 2016 by Nigel Hamilton\n\nAll rights reserved\n\nFor information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to trade.permissions@hmhco.com or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.\n\nwww.hmhco.com\n\nLibrary of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data\n\nNames: Hamilton, Nigel.\n\nTitle: Commander in chief : FDR's battle with Churchill, 1943 \/ Nigel Hamilton.\n\nDescription: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt : Boston, 2016. Includes bibliographical references and index.\n\nIdentifiers: LCCN 2015037253  \nISBN 9780544279117 (hardcover)  \nISBN 9780544277441 (ebook)\n\nSubjects: LCSH: World War, 1939\u20131945\u2014United States. | Roosevelt, Franklin D. (Franklin Delano), 1882\u20131945 | Churchill, Winston, 1874\u20131965. | World War, 1939\u20131945\u2014Diplomatic history. | Command of troops\u2014Case studies. | World War, 1939\u20131945\u2014Campaigns. | Great Britain\u2014Foreign relations\u2014United States. | United States\u2014Foreign relations\u2014Great Britain.\n\nClassification: LCC D753 .H249 2016 | DDC 940.53\/2273\u2014dc23\n\nLC record available at <http:\/\/lccn.loc.gov\/2015037253>\n\nv1.0516\n\nMaps by Mapping Specialists, Ltd.\n\nCover design by Brian Moore\n\nCover photograph \u00a9 Hulton Archive\/Getty Images\n\nThe author is grateful for permission to quote from the following: Diary of Lord Halifax, 1941\u20131942, reprinted by permission of the Borthwick Institute for Archives, University of York. Letters and diaries of Margaret Lynch Suckley, reprinted by permission of the Wilderstein Preservation, Rhinebeck, N.Y.\n_For Lady Ray_\n\n# Prologue\n\nIN _THE MANTLE OF COMMAND: FDR AT WAR, 1941\u20131942,_ I described how President Franklin Roosevelt first donned the cloak of commander in chief of the Armed Forces of the United States in war\u2014a world war stretching from disaster at Pearl Harbor to his \"great pet scheme,\" Operation Torch: the triumphant Allied invasion of North Africa in November 1942, which stunned Hitler and signified one of the most extraordinary turnabouts in military history.\n\n_Commander in Chief: FDR at War, 1943_ addresses the next chapter of President Roosevelt's war service: a year in which, moving to the offensive, the President had not only to direct the efforts of his generals but keep Prime Minister Winston Churchill, his \"active and ardent lieutenant,\" in line. Roosevelt's struggle to keep his U.S. subordinates on track toward victory, without incurring the terrible casualties that would have greeted their military plans and timetable, proved mercifully successful that fateful year, but his assumption that Churchill would abide by the strategic agreements they had made proved illusory. Thus, although Roosevelt's patient, step-by-step direction of the war led to historic victories of the Western Allies in Tunisia in the spring of 1943, and again in Sicily in August of that year\u2014results that assured the President a cross-Channel assault would be decisive when launched, in the spring of 1944\u2014the British prime minister did not agree. The President's resultant \"battle royal\" with Churchill\u2014who was in essence commander in chief of all British Empire forces\u2014became one of the most contentious strategic debates in the history of warfare.\n\nThis dramatic, repeated struggle forms the centerpiece or core of this volume, for it is not too bold to say that upon its outcome rested the outcome of World War II, and thus the future of humanity. The struggle took most of the year\u2014 _das verlorene Jahr,_ as German military historians would call it. Had Churchill prevailed in his preferred strategy, the war might well have been lost for the Allies, at least in terms of the defeat of Hitler. Even though the President won out over the impetuous, ever-evasive British prime minister, the fallout from Churchill's obstinacy and military mistakes would be profound. Not only was American trust in British sincerity severely damaged, but the need to keep the Prime Minister sweet, and loyal to the agreements he had only reluctantly made for Operation Overlord, led to dangerously naive plans for the Allied invasion of mainland Italy in September 1943\u2014plans involving an airborne landing on Rome, and a gravely compromised amphibious landing in the Gulf of Salerno, south of Naples: Avalanche.\n\nThe reality was, Winston Churchill had remained a Victorian not only in his colonial-imperialist mindset, as President Roosevelt often remarked, but in his understanding of modern war\u2014and the Wehrmacht. He grievously underestimated the Wehrmacht's determination to hold fast to the last man at the very extremity of the European mainland, giving rise to fantasies of easy Allied victory, and a possible gateway to central Europe that would make Overlord unnecessary.\n\nFortunately, the President's absolute determination in 1943 to prepare his armies for modern combat and to then stand by the Overlord assault as the decisive battle of the Western world rendered Churchill's opposition powerless. The Prime Minister's strategic blindness would prove tragically expensive in human life, but mercifully it did not lose the war for the Allies. The President may justly be said to have saved civilization\u2014but it was a near-run thing.\n\nTo a large extent the facts of this dark saga are well known to military historians. However, because President Roosevelt began to assemble but did not live to write his own account of the war's military direction, and since others did go on to recount their own parts\u2014sometimes with great literary skill\u2014the President's true role and performance as U.S. commander in chief has often gone unappreciated by general readers. Churchill, who was nothing if not magnanimous in victory, certainly attempted in his memoirs to pay tribute to Roosevelt's leadership, but in his concern to regain the prime ministership he had lost in 1945 he could not always bring himself to tell the truth. Nor was he ashamed of this. As he had boasted after the Casablanca Conference, he fully intended to tell the story of the war from his point of view\u2014and where necessary to suborn history to his own agenda: \"to wait until the war is over and then to write his impressions so that, if necessary, he could correct or bury his mistakes.\" During the war itself he had openly and publicly expressed his loyalty to President Roosevelt as the mastermind directing Allied strategy\u2014a surprise even to Joseph Goebbels\u2014but in private he nevertheless let it be known that he himself was the real directing genius. As King George VI's private secretary, Sir Alan Lascelles, noted in his diary on November 10, 1942, though in his Mansion House speech extolling the successful U.S. invasion of Morocco and Algeria the Prime Minister \"gave the credit for its original conception to Roosevelt,\" Sir Alan believed \"it belongs more truly to himself.\" By the time General Eisenhower took the surrender of all Axis forces in North Africa six months later, this notion of the Prime Minister as sole military architect of Allied strategy and performance had grown to ridiculous levels. Not only was Churchill given credit for having \"built up the 8th Army into the wonderful fighting machine that it has become\"\u2014despite Churchill's original refusal to appoint General Montgomery to command the army, and his opposition to the new military tactics Montgomery was employing\u2014but Lascelles was convinced, like King George, that \"Winston is so essentially the father of the North African baby that he deserves any recognition, royal or otherwise, that can be given to him . . . He has himself publicly given the credit for 'Torch' to Roosevelt, but I have little doubt that W. was really its only begetter.\"\n\nAided by his \"syndicate\" of researchers, civil servants, and historian-aides, Churchill was able to have his day in literary court, in his six-volume opus, _The Second World War,_ which helped win him the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1953\u2014a work that, as Professor David Reynolds has shown, was often economical with the truth. For the memory of President Roosevelt\u2014whose funeral Churchill had not even attended\u2014it was, however, near-devastating, since its magisterial narrative placed Churchill at the center of the war's direction and President Roosevelt very much at the periphery.\n\nIn many ways, then, this book and its predecessor are a counternarrative, or corrective: my attempt to tell the story of Roosevelt's exercise of high command from his\u2014not Churchill's\u2014perspective.\n\nIn my first volume I selected fourteen episodes, centering on President Roosevelt's \"great pet scheme\": his Torch invasion of Northwest Africa, and the near mutiny of his generals to stop this and plump instead for a suicidal invasion of northern France in 1942. In this new volume I have selected twelve representative episodes of 1943, beginning with the Casablanca Conference in January and ending with the invasion of Salerno in September. While this has entailed omitting many important events and aspects of Roosevelt's presidency as U.S. commander in chief\u2014some of which, like the development of the atom bomb, progress in the Pacific, and questions of saving the Jews in Europe, will be addressed in a final volume\u2014they continue to give us a clearer picture of how President Roosevelt operated when wearing, so to speak, his military mantle in World War II. By following him closely in his study, in the Oval Office and the Map Room at the White House, at his \"camp\" at Shangri-la and his family home at Hyde Park; on his historic trip abroad to Africa (the first president ever to fly in office, and the first to inspect troops on the battlefield overseas); and on his long inspection tour of military installations and training camps in the United States (during which he authorized the secret air ambush of Admiral Yamamoto), we are able to see him at last as we have previously been able to see so many of his subordinate military officers and officials of World War II\u2014that is to say, from _his_ perspective.\n\nIt will be noted that, as hostilities approach their climax in the fall of 1943, the political ramifications take on a more urgent role. Churchill may have been completely wrong in his understanding of the Wehrmacht, and a menace to Allied unity in his Mediterranean mania\u2014one that drove even his own chiefs of staff to the brink of resignation. But Churchill's understanding of the deepening rift and rivalry with the Soviets bespoke his greatness as a leader. Many thousands of miles removed from the continent of Europe, President Roosevelt needed the Prime Minister by his side not as military adviser\u2014given that Churchill's judgment and obstinacy were more millstone than help, as Churchill's doctor himself recognized\u2014but as the President's political partner in leading the Western democracies.\n\nAs the final pages of this volume demonstrate, Winston Churchill was thus invited to spend long weeks with the President in Washington and at Hyde Park, in a deeply symbolic act of unity\u2014as much in confronting Stalin as Hitler.\n\nThe degree to which President Roosevelt began to rely on Churchill's loyal political support and his political acumen in the summer and fall of 1943\u2014before the Tehran and Yalta Conferences\u2014are thus a testament to the importance of their relationship in world history. Churchill had rattled the unity of the Allies that year to the very brink of collapse by pressing for a military strategy that would arguably have lost the war for the Allies had not President Roosevelt overruled him. In political terms, however, it was to be his steadfast, statesmanlike partnership with the President of the United States that would ensure the democracies, under their combined leadership, had at least a chance of ending World War II with western Europe under safe guardianship in relation to Soviet \"Bolshevization.\"\n\nTo better understand FDR's direction of the military is thus to me important not only in terms of a greater appreciation of President Roosevelt's actions, but in understanding the foundations of the world we live in today. From boasting only the world's seventeenth-most-powerful military in 1939, the United States gradually took upon itself the successful leadership of the democratic world under Roosevelt's command\u2014and became the most powerful nation on earth, bar none. How exactly President Roosevelt directed this transformation and the operations of his armed forces across the globe\u2014with what aims, with what challenges, with what lessons\u2014is to me of abiding interest in the world we've inherited. For good or ill, America's military power under a freely elected president remains in large part the basis of the continuing role of the United States in attempting to provide leadership and world security, however imperfect.\n\nThis, then, is the record of FDR as U.S. commander in chief in the crucial year 1943\u2014a year in which the United States went on the offensive both in the West and in the East\u2014as seen from the President's point of view. Upon his leadership depended the outcome of the world war: success or failure.\nPART ONE\n\n* * *\n\n#  _A Secret Journey_\n**1**\n\n# A Crazy Idea\n\nIT WAS LATE in the evening of Saturday, January 9, 1943, when a locomotive pulling the _Ferdinand Magellan_ and four further carriages departed from a special siding beneath the Bureau of Engraving in Washington, D.C.\u2014the federal government's massive printing house for paper money, and thus a sort of Fort Knox of the capital.\n\nAboard was the President of the United States, his secretary, his White House chief of staff, his naval aide, his White House counselor, and his doctor, all traveling to Hyde Park for the weekend, as usual. Or so it seemed.\n\nThe Secret Service had insisted the President use for the first time the massive new railway carriage reconstructed for him\u2014the first such railcar to be made for the nation's chief executive since Lincoln's presidency. Boasting fifteen-millimeter armored steel plate on the sides, roof, and underside, the carriage had three-inch-thick bulletproof glass in all its windows. Best of all, it had a special elevator to raise the President, in his wheelchair, onto the platform of the car\u2014which weighed 142 tons, the heaviest passenger carriage ever used on U.S. rail track.\n\nThe car was \"arranged with a sitting room, a dining room for ten or twelve persons, a small but well arranged kitchen, and five state rooms,\" Admiral William Leahy, the President's military chief of staff, recorded in his diary. \"Dr. McIntire, Harry Hopkins, Miss Tully, and I occupied the state rooms, and Captain McCrea joined us in the dining room. Other cars accommodated the Secret Service men, the apothecary, the communications personnel, and the President's valet,\" Chief Petty Officer Arthur Prettyman.\n\nTheir luggage had been taken to the baggage car separately, an hour earlier. But was the President really going to Hyde Park? If so, why the thousand pounds of bottled water? Why clothes for two weeks away? Why the four Filipino members of the crew of the USS _Potomac,_ the presidential yacht, replacing the normal Pullman staff? Why Eleanor, the First Lady, and Louise Macy, the new wife of Harry Hopkins, bidding them goodbye at the underground siding?\n\nSomething was up\u2014something unique. Even historic.\n\nAmong the few who did know of the President's real destination, most had counseled against it. Even the President's naval aide, Captain John McCrea, opposed the idea when the President tricked McCrea into supplying information on the geography, history, and significant towns of the region of North Africa. Following the successful Torch landings in Algeria and Morocco on November 8, 1942, the President had explained to McCrea\u2014whose knowledge of the sea exceeded his knowledge of land\u2014U.S. troops would be fighting in battle, and he'd found himself, as U.S. commander in chief, sadly ignorant of the terrain. \"See if you can help me correct that deficiency,\" he'd instructed McCrea, \"by means of travel folders, etcetera, put out by travel agencies.\"\n\n_Travel agencies?_ As the President had quickly assured McCrea, \"in the planning and preparatory stages\" of Operation Torch, he hadn't wanted to draw attention to \"that area.\" \"But now that the troops are there,\" he'd added, \"that restraint is removed.\"\n\nInnocent of any ulterior motive, McCrea had assembled a raft of informative material. \"The President was pleased with it and confided: 'Just the sort of information I want.'\"\n\nSome weeks later, though, \"late one afternoon, early in December the President sent for me, sat me down at the corner of his desk and this is about the way it went.\n\n\"The Pres: 'John, I want to talk to you in great confidence and the matter about which I am talking is to be known to no one except those who need to know.' Since this was the first time the Pres. had ever spoken to me thus, naturally I was greatly curious,\" McCrea later narrated in his somewhat stilted literary style. The President had then confided, \"'Since the landing of our troops in No[rth] Africa, I have been in touch with Winston by letter. I feel we should meet soon and resolve some things and that that meeting should take place in Africa. Winston has suggested Khartoum\u2014I'm not keen on that suggestion. Marrakech and Rabat have been suggested. I'm inclined to rule out those areas, and settle for Casablanca.' And then to my amazement the President said: 'What do you think of the whole idea?'\"\n\nMcCrea had been stunned.\n\n\"As quickly as I could,\" McCrea recalled, \"I gathered my wits and proceeded about as follows. 'Right off the top of my head Mr. Pres. I do not think well of the idea. I think there is too much risk involved for you.'\"\n\nThe President had been unmoved. \"Our men in that area are taking risks, why shouldn't their Commander in Chief share that risk?\"\n\nMcCrea was a seasoned sailor\u2014an aspect he thought might be a more effective counter. \"'The Atlantic can be greatly boisterous in the winter months,'\" he had pointed out, \"'and a most uncomfortable passage is a good possibility\u2014'\n\n\"'Oh\u2014we wouldn't go by ship. We would fly,' said he.\"\n\n_Fly?_\n\nMcCrea was shocked. No U.S. president had flown while in office\u2014ever. \"This was a great surprise to me because I knew he did not regard flying with any degree of enthusiasm,\" McCrea recounted. Mr. Roosevelt had not flown in a decade, in fact, since traveling to Chicago from New York before the 1932 election. In terms of the President's safety, waging a world war, it seemed a grave and unnecessary risk\u2014especially in terms of distance, and flight into an active war zone. But the President was the president.\n\nMcCrea had therefore softened his objection. \"I quickly saw that I was being stymied and I tried to withdraw a bit.\n\n\"'Mr. Pres.,' said I, 'you have taken me quite by surprise with this proposal. I would like to give it further thought. Right off the top of my head I wouldn't recommend it.'\"\n\nWhen, the next morning, Captain McCrea went upstairs to the President's Oval Study, carrying with him some of the latest reports, secret signals, decoded enemy signals, and top-secret cables from the Map Room\u2014of which he was the director\u2014he'd recognized the futility of opposing the idea. It was a colossal risk, he still thought, but he knew the President well enough to know that, if Mr. Roosevelt had raised the matter, it was because his mind was probably already made up, and he was simply looking for the sort of reaction he would be likely to meet from others.\n\n\"He laughed lightly,\" McCrea recalled\u2014informing him that Prime Minister Churchill had already responded positively to the suggestion, in fact was gung ho for such a meeting\u2014\"'Winston is all for it.'\"\n\nMcCrea had remained concerned, though. Security would present a problem not only during the broad Atlantic crossing, he warned, but in North Africa itself. \"I still think the risk is great and if you are determined to go I will do all possible to manage that risk,\" he'd assured the President. But the risks were real. \"From what I have read in the despatches and the press,\" he'd said, for example, \"affairs in No[rth] Africa are in a state of much confusion.\" Casablanca itself was a notorious gathering place for spies and expatriates. And worse. \"I would suppose that No[rth] Africa is full of people who would take you on for $10\u2014\"\n\n_Assassination?_\n\n\"Why I said that I'll never know,\" McCrea later reflected. It was almost rude, \"\u2014but I did and at the moment, of course, I felt it. He laughed heartily.\"\n\nMcCrea was not being timorous. Several weeks later his concern was validated\u2014Admiral Fran\u00e7ois Darlan, the new French high commissioner under the Allied commander in chief in the Mediterranean, General Eisenhower, was murdered in broad daylight in Algiers.\n\nBy then, however, the trip had been prepared in great detail, and the President would hear no more attempts to dissuade him.\n\nMaintaining secrecy for the trip had not been easy, however. There was, for instance, the problem of idle gossip. The British had been making their own travel arrangements for Prime Minister Churchill. By secret cable from his \"bunker\" beneath Westminster, in London, Mr. Churchill's office had duly informed the British ambassador in Washington, D.C., Viscount Halifax. Halifax had told his wife.\n\nIt had been McCrea who had then taken the telephone call from a distraught, elderly Colonel Edmund Starling, who\u2014going back to the days of President Wilson\u2014was chief of the Secret Service detail responsible for the President's safety at the White House. \"The Colonel said it was urgent he see me at once,\" McCrea recalled. \"He came to the Map Room and we went out into the corridor, out of earshot of the Map Room personnel. This is about the way it [went]:\n\n\"Col\u2014Is anything going on here about the movements of the President of which I should be apprised?\"\n\nMcCrea had been noncommittal. \"I don't understand what you are driving at, Colonel. Could you be more specific?\" he'd responded.\n\n\"Col\u2014Well, it is this. A taxi cab driver here in Washington called the W.[hite] H.[ouse] today and told the telephone operator that he wanted to talk to someone in authority who had to do with the movements of the President.\" On being put through to Colonel Starling, he was asked to come straight to the White House. He'd left \"just a few minutes ago. His story was that he had answered a call to the British Embassy this forenoon and there he had picked up a couple of ladies and had driven them in town to a Woodward & Lothrop Dept. store. On the way in they had talked at some length and that one lady had said to the other that the President was going soon to North Africa where he would meet with Mr. Churchill. He, the driver, had no way of knowing whether or not it was so, but nevertheless if it was, he thought it was something that shouldn't be talked about.\"\n\nThis was a serious understatement.\n\nOh, the British. Often so pompous about rank and privilege\u2014and so casual with regard to high-level gossip shared in the presence of the \"servant class.\"\n\nIt hadn't boded well, but there was little McCrea had been able to do; an important summit of wartime leaders could hardly be canceled or reconvened because of an ambassador's wife's shopping trip.\n\nThe President was more amused by the incident than concerned. What he worried about was his longtime White House military aide, Major General Edwin \"Pa\" Watson. The general wouldn't be going, the President had told McCrea. \"Pa has suffered a heart attack last spring,\" the President had explained, \"and while he is now back on active duty Ron [McIntire, the President's doctor] thinks he is in no condition to stand the stress and strain of a long air trip across the Atlantic and on to Casablanca. I dread telling Pa that I have decided he should not go with us.\"\n\nMcCrea could only marvel at a president more concerned not to upset his loyal military aide than for his own safety. The President had reason to be concerned, however. \"I intentionally put off telling Pa as long as possible and when he brought the appointment list to me this morning,\" Roosevelt told McCrea on January 7, 1943, \"I broke the news to him and told him that on Ron's advice because of the considerable flying involved and his recent heart attack that I was not taking him on this trip. Pa was shocked\u2014slumped in his chair and broke into tears\u2014and remarked perhaps his usefulness around the W.H. was about at an end. I comforted him as best I could but to little avail. After a bit he recovered his composure and withdrew. Now John, I told you last evening I would enter the House Chamber [of Congress, for the upcoming State of the Union address] this noon on your arm. If I do that I think it would be a further shock to Pa. Will you please run Pa down at once and tell him that I neglected to tell him this a.m. that as usual I would enter the House Chamber this noon on his arm. That might soften the blow a bit of his not going to No. Africa with us.\"\n\nOnce again Captain McCrea had been amazed at the President's concern for the feelings of others, while directing the administration of his country in a global war. Also the President's innocence, too: for it would be the President's naval aide who would suffer the full force of General Watson's disappointment at being excluded from the North Africa trip, however much the President wished to sugar the pill.\n\nIt had not taken long. In General Watson's room next to the Oval Office, where Pa Watson acted as the President's appointments secretary, guarding all access to the Chief Executive, McCrea had endured a tirade from the general. If he himself was forbidden to travel, Watson said, why should the President\u2014who'd had his own heart problems\u2014go? Watson \"thought the Pres. was badly advised about making the trip\u2014the risk was too great for him to take. Why hadn't I informed him about the trip? 'I've always taken you in my confidence,' said he, 'and in this important instance you have not taken me into your confidence.'\n\n\"I calmed Pa down as best I could,\" McCrea related. \"I told him of the charge given me by the President that no one, absolutely no one, should know about this trip except those who needed to know\u2014and he [the President] laid great emphasis on that point. That he would tell you himself in due course that you could not make the trip and that he would tell me when he had done so.\"\n\nThis did little to solace the Army general\u2014who was, after all, still the President's military aide. The Navy had trumped him. \"There was just no comforting Pa,\" McCrea recalled. \"He was deeply disturbed and repeated over and over again that the Pres. was badly advised in the decision to make this hazardous trip. 'I hope you didn't encourage him in that,'\" he'd demanded accusingly. \"I told Pa that I had done everything I possibly could to dissuade the President\u2014but to no avail. That insofar as I knew the deal had been made with Mr. Churchill and that was it. And then Pa exclaimed with much emphasis: 'There is only one so and so around here who is crazy enough to promote such a thing, and his name is Hopkins'\"\u2014the President's White House counselor.\n**2**\n\n# Aboard the Magic Carpet\n\nGENERAL WATSON WAS wrong about Harry Hopkins. Recently married, Hopkins had no great wish to go to Casablanca. His wife said goodbye to him \"at the rear door\" of the _Ferdinand Magellan,_ Hopkins jotted in his diary that night. Eleanor had shown no emotion, but Louise had been a bag of nerves\u2014as was Hopkins, who worried about the weeks he'd be away from Washington. A survivor of stomach cancer and major intestinal surgery before the war began, Hopkins required constant medication. Above all, though, he had no wish to leave his new bride. Over Thanksgiving, at a cast party for S. N. Behrman's new play on Broadway, _The Pirate,_ he'd been heard to say to a friend, as he introduced his young consort: \"Look, Dyke,\u2014I ought to be dead\u2014and here I am married!\"\n\nA charming and pretty gadabout, Louise was a socialite who, to her discomfort, had swiftly found herself accused of impropriety after the wedding, thanks to people envious of Hopkins's proximity to the President\u2014people such as the financier Bernard Baruch, who'd failed to obtain a job in the Roosevelt war administration. \"I must say that I didn't like the idea of leaving a little bit,\" Hopkins confided to his diary before going to sleep, for \"Louise had been very unhappy all evening because of the political attacks on us.\"\n\nFor his part, Admiral Bill Leahy\u2014the President's chief of staff at the White House, but also now the chairman of the Combined Chiefs of Staff\u2014was equally reluctant to go. The sailor had suffered a bad bout of flu in recent days, and did not relish the long journey by train and then air. Nor did he savor what was awaiting him at the secret destination: a continuing international political imbroglio that in his view had been pretty much screwed up by people who didn't understand the military difficulties of the situation.\n\nThere were others, too, who were anxious. Daisy Suckley, the President's cousin and longtime confidante, had already said her goodbye the day before, and wasn't therefore at the Bureau of Engraving platform. She'd argued strenuously against such \"a long trip,\" she noted in her own diary, one \"with definite risks\" that included enemy interception, accidents, even assassination. \"But one _can't_ and _mustn't_ think of that.\" On the plus side there were, she acknowledged, exotic places the President would get to see. And people, too. \"W. Churchill first and foremost, of course,\" she'd added. Others, however, he would not. He'd asked to meet Stalin, \"but Stalin answered that he could not possibly leave Russia now\u2014One can understand that,\" she allowed, given the great winter battle still being fought to the death at Stalingrad.\n\nFala, the President's beloved Scottish terrier, was not going, either, Daisy noted. The President had asked his wife if she would look after him. Like Stalin, the First Lady had said she was too busy. The President had therefore asked Daisy, who'd originally given him the terrier, as a gift, and she'd agreed to do so.\n\n\"I wished him all the best luck on this secret trip,\" Daisy recorded the next night, after saying goodbye\u2014more devoted to him than ever. \"He is leaving as if to go north to Hyde Park,\" which was near her own baronial home, Wilderstein. \"At a certain siding,\" though, \"the train will be picked up by the regular engine & start south for Miami\u2014He goes with all one's prayers.\"\n\nAt Baltimore the locomotive was, indeed, decoupled. Instead of continuing north, a new locomotive bore it south, toward its destination a thousand miles away: through Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida, to the former Pan American Clipper terminus.\n\nFor his own part, President Roosevelt was glad to get away. Despite the winter cold, the capital was a cauldron of rumor, gossip, political rivalry, and competitive ambitions. Looked after by his valet, Petty Officer Prettyman, and his Filipino crew from the presidential yacht, the USS _Potomac,_ he ate and slept well. Rising late on Sunday, January 10, 1943, he lifted the shades of his compartment. The passengers had been instructed that, in order to maintain absolute secrecy, they were to \"keep the shades down all day,\" as he wrote Daisy that night\u2014confiding that he \"found myself waving to an engineer & fear he recognized me.\"\n\nMinor mishaps always amused FDR.\n\nAll day, as the heavy, shaded train bore on, the President went through his White House papers, dictating final letters and memoranda to Grace Tully, his secretary, who would be leaving the train in Florida before they reached Miami. He then said goodnight and retired early, knowing they would all have to rise before first light the following morning.\n\nWoken early on January 11, Hopkins donned a robe and made his way to the President's stateroom, where he \"found the President alone.\" Together they \"laughed over the fact that this unbelievable trip was about to begin. I shall always feel that the reason the President wanted to meet Churchill,\" Hopkins surmised, \"was because he wanted to make a trip.\"\n\nRoosevelt had become \"tired of having other people, particularly myself, speak for him around the world. For political reasons he could not go to England,\" Hopkins noted\u2014despite Eleanor having found her husband a nice potential apartment in London, complete with elevator, where he could stay if he chose to meet Churchill there. But the President had balked at the political ramifications. The new, potentially more hostile, isolationist Congress, elected the previous November, would have a field day, he feared. Certain members of Congress and rich, right-wing newspaper owners would accuse the President either of kowtowing to the British or colluding with foreign allies without first telling members of his visit, let alone getting their consent.\n\nLondon, then, had been out\u2014and the North African battlefield in. Roosevelt would travel as U.S. commander in chief, not as president\u2014thus permitting him to insist upon absolute secrecy, with no press correspondents following him. He \"wanted to go to see our troops,\" Hopkins noted, and \"he was sick of people telling him that it was dangerous to ride in airplanes. He liked the drama of it. But above all, he wanted to make a trip.\"\n\nWhether Hopkins was right was debatable, but the sheer drama of the President's secret getaway from Washington was\u2014like his \"escape\" from the press to Newfoundland for the Atlantic Charter meeting in 1941\u2014undeniable.\n\nGrace Tully duly disembarked to stay with relatives. Then, at Miami, the party detrained and was driven by car to the former Pan American Airways terminal by the harbor. Two huge flying boats were waiting, bobbing on the water.\n\n\"My God! Why, that's the Pres[ident]. Why didn't they let me know he was to be one of my passengers?\" the captain of the first boat, the _Dixie Clipper,_ exclaimed. \"It's somewhat of a shock to know you are flying the Pres. of the U.S.\"\n\nWith its giant 152-feet cantilevered wingspan, four fifteen-hundred-horsepower Wright Twin Cyclone engines, plus sponsons attached to both sides of its hull to provide extra lift and ease of embarkation, the Clipper\u2014leased by the U.S. Navy, and its crew given Navy rank\u2014duly took off from the predawn waters of the harbor and made first for Trinidad, in the Caribbean, fourteen hundred miles away. \"The sun came up at about 7:30,\" Roosevelt wrote to Daisy, \"& I have never seen a more lovely sunrise\u2014just your kind. We were up about a mile\u2014above a level of small pure white clouds so we couldn't even see the Bahamas on our left\u2014but soon we saw Cuba on the right & then Haiti.\"\n\nThe President had known she'd continue to worry on his account, and wanted to reassure her\u2014not only the first president to fly abroad while in office, but the first since Lincoln to visit a battlefield in war. Taking a celestial fix of sun and moon, the captain turned the forty-four-ton behemoth, like a flying carpet, southeastward. \"Then out over the Caribbean\u2014high up\u2014I felt the altitude at 8 or 9,000 feet\u2014and so did Harry and Ad. Leahy\u2014The cumulus white clouds were amazingly beautiful but every once in a while we could not go over them & had to go through one\u2014\n\n\"At last\u20145 p.m.\u2014we saw the N.E. Coast of Venezuela & then the islands of the Dragon's Mouth with Trinidad on the left\u2014The skipper made a beautiful soft landing & Ad. Oldendorf came out & took us ashore to the U.S. Naval Base\u2014one of 'my' eight which we got for the 50 destroyers in 1940. It is not yet finished but operating smoothly.\"\n\nThe U.S. naval base at Trinidad had come with a hotel, situated at Macqueripe on the north coast, \"& thither we went for the night,\" the President related. However, there had then occurred a serious hiccup, unrelated to the dinner he was served. \"Ad. Leahy felt quite ill\u2014he had flu ten days ago\u2014Ross McI[ntire] is worried as he is 68 & his temp. is over 100\u2014we will decide in the a.m.\"\n\nIn the morning, on January 12, the doctor found Admiral Leahy still feverish. \"Up at 4 a.m. This is not civilized,\" the President joked in his letter to Daisy. However, \"Leahy seemed no better & we had to leave him behind\u2014He hated to stay but was a good soldier & will go to the Naval Hospital & get good care\u2014I hope he won't get pneumonia\u2014I shall miss him as he is such an old friend & a wise counselor.\"\n\nIf the President was concerned, though, he did not show it, for he never mentioned Leahy again in his letters to Daisy, despite the fact that Leahy was to have chaired daily meetings not only of the U.S. chiefs of staff but the British chiefs of staff, in their role as the Combined Chiefs of Staff, in Casablanca. The President was on top form: confident he could manage the summit quite successfully on his own, even without Leahy's wisdom.\n\nThus the _Dixie Clipper_ flew on a further thousand miles to Brazil, filled its tanks with fuel at Bel\u00e9m, and set off for its great \"hop\" across the Atlantic, carrying its august passenger and small, slightly diminished entourage\u2014followed closely by the backup Clipper, lest the _Dixie Clipper_ experience engine trouble and have need to ditch.\n\nReflecting their earlier days as transoceanic first-class passenger planes, each Clipper boasted a lounge, a fourteen-seat dining room, changing rooms, and beds normally for thirty-six passengers\u2014with a honeymoon suite at the rear. They required considerable piloting skills, however\u2014takeoffs and landings in choppy, windswept water always an especial concern. The _Dixie Clipper_ 's sister plane, _Yankee Clipper,_ for example, would snag its wing several weeks later in Lisbon Harbor, with the loss of twenty-four lives.\n\nMeantime, landing smoothly at the old British trading post of Bathurst (later renamed Banjul) on the Gambia River on January 13, after a twenty-eight-hour flight, the _Dixie Clipper_ moored offshore. Arrangements had been made for the President to transfer to the light cruiser USS _Memphis,_ ordered up from Natal by FDR's chief of naval operations, Admiral King\u2014there to provide the President with a secure overnight stay where he would not be exposed to tsetse fly. As it was still light, however, he took the opportunity to tour the waterfront\u2014the President seated in a whaleboat as the local British naval commander acted as his guide during a forty-minute cruise amid dozens of tenders and oil tankers. Loading and unloading beneath the evening sun, their crews seemed oblivious to the fact that the upright figure seated in the midst of the whaleboat party, in his civilian clothes and hat, together with Hopkins, McIntire, and McCrea, was the President of the United States.\n\nFinally, hoisted aboard the USS _Memphis,_ the President was given the flagship admiral's stateroom, \"where I've had a good supper & am about to go to bed,\" he described, delighted to be in African waters.\n\nGiven Roosevelt's childhood dream of going to naval college instead of Harvard (a hope dashed by his mother), his long love of naval history, and his nearly eight years as assistant secretary of the Navy, being piped aboard an American warship as commander in chief for the first time in World War II was inspiring for the President. Yet the sentiment paled beside thoughts of what was to come. The next morning would see him embark for a further \"1,200 mile hop in an Army plane,\" this time overland, as he wrote to Daisy\u2014bound for \"that well known spot 'Somewhere in North Africa.' _I_ don't know just where,\" he added, in self-censoring mode. \"But don't worry\u2014All is well & I'm getting a wonderful rest.\" He felt positively refreshed. \"It's funny about geography\u2014Washington seems the other side of the world but not Another Place\u2014That is way off,\" he wrote of Hyde Park, \"& also very close to\u2014\"\n\nThere Roosevelt left the sentence, however\u2014unwilling to give hostage to fortune, lest prying eyes open, or see, his letter to the distant cousin whose romantic adoration he'd encouraged, especially after his mother's death two years earlier. \"Lots of love\u2014Bless you,\" he ended.\n\nTo his wife, Eleanor, he meanwhile wrote in a similarly informative, if less tender, vein\u2014telling her he'd be seeing their son Elliott when he arrived, and signing off: \"Ever so much love and don't do too much\u2014and I'll see you soon. Devotedly, F.\"\n\nHe was almost there: not only the journey of a lifetime, but bringing the agenda of a lifetime. At Casablanca the President wished not only to map the defeat of the Axis powers in World War II, but commence discussions of the world to follow.\nPART TWO\n\n* * *\n\n#  _Total War_\n**3**\n\n# The United Nations\n\nEVEN BEFORE THE war began for the United States, the President had been thinking of the postwar world.\n\nEnlisting the help of his prot\u00e9g\u00e9, Assistant Secretary of State Sumner Welles, the President had begun drafting ideas immediately after drawing up the Atlantic Charter, in August 1941. What he wanted to create, he'd told Welles, was a postwar organization that the Americans, British, and Russians would embrace as military guardians, and that all sovereign democratic nations could subscribe to. The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor several months later had made the need for a viable postwar system all the more urgent: a new world order that would make such wars of imperial conquest difficult if not impossible. He'd therefore charged Welles with modeling the project on the twenty-six countries whose representatives he'd assembled over Christmas 1941 in Washington\u2014a group the President had decided, in a moment of inspiration, to announce to the world as \"the United Nations.\"\n\nProperly constituted, the United Nations authority would, the President determined, avoid the disaster of the League of Nations\u2014which neither the United States nor the Soviet Union had joined when it was formed. Building on the \"Declaration of the United Nations,\" which had been signed in Washington on January 1, 1942, the United Nations would, this time, have teeth: the world's \"Four Policemen,\" as the President called them.\n\nFirst, the Germans and Japanese would have to be defeated\u2014but the military might of the three foremost antifascist fighting nations could then be turned into a global peacekeeping coalition: the United States, the Soviet Union, and Britain. He had then added China, a nation that had been fighting the Japanese since 1937\u2014thereby forcing the Japanese to keep an army of more than a million men on the Chinese mainland. Once the war was won, the President proposed, this same group of the world's major military powers could be employed not only to disarm the Axis nations for all time, but to police the world thereafter on behalf of the United Nations authority, ensuring that no Hitler or Mussolini or Hirohito would ever again upset global security by force of arms or conquest.\n\nWith laudable dedication, Welles\u2014running the U.S. State Department under the sickly secretary of state, Cordell Hull\u2014had thereupon set about the business, leaving the President to focus, meantime, on the best military strategy to defeat the Axis powers.\n\nUnder the aegis of the State Department, Welles had quietly set up a host of secret committees and subcommittees, asking members to think ahead on the President's behalf and produce for Mr. Roosevelt at the White House their specific recommendations and alternatives, on a regular basis. \"What I expect you to do,\" Roosevelt had instructed Welles, \"is to have prepared for me the necessary number of baskets so that when the time comes all I have to do is to reach into a basket and fish out a number of solutions that I am sure are sound and from which I can make my own choice.\"\n\nWelles had done as ordered\u2014magnificently, in retrospect. As historians would later note, neither Britain nor the Soviet Union, the other two primary nations conducting the war against Hitler, did anything in 1942 to address the needs or opportunities of the postwar world on an international scale\u2014a \"disastrous blockage at the top\" in the case of the British. By contrast, bringing together an extraordinary cross section of the nation's foremost minds and political figures in once-weekly meetings in Washington, Welles had single-handedly, in the midst of a global war being fought from Archangel to Australia, gotten his various teams working on the political, military, economic, labor, and even social (health, drug trafficking, refugees, nutrition, etc.) blueprints the President wanted for his vision of the democratic postwar world.\n\nAn extraordinary bipartisan group of Democratic and Republican senators and congressmen from the Capitol\u2014including the chairman of the House Foreign Affairs Committee, the ranking minority member of the House Foreign Affairs Committee, a former chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, the current chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, and a senior current Republican member of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee\u2014had joined with Welles's handpicked, representative minds from the State Department, the Agriculture Department, and the Board of Economic Warfare, as well as members outside government, including individuals from the press, the Council on Foreign Relations, and the academy, to provide the President with the necessary guideposts and alternatives he wanted at hand.\n\nThough at first Welles had assumed the issues would be handled by the President in a peace conference after the conclusion of the war, as had been the case in the aftermath of World War I, the President had soon changed his mind\u2014reckoning that if the postwar system could be settled before the war's end, it could avoid the unfortunate fate of the Versailles conference of 1919. Instead, the President had asked the committees to report their interim findings, via Welles, as swiftly as possible: concerned that America's allies, too, should help him address the challenge _before,_ rather than after, the end of hostilities. By October 1942, therefore, as American troops readied for the Torch invasion of Northwest Africa\u2014a draft outline of the postwar UN organization had begun to take shape.\n\nWelles's teams, the President found, had done a grand job\u2014indeed, Welles suggested that the putative \"United Nations authoritative body\" could already start functioning during the war itself. It would comprise a General Assembly of United Nations, seating representatives of all eligible countries of the world. It would also have a small Executive Council, incorporating the four major powers to arm and lead the organization with strength and simplicity. By April 1942, in fact, after discussing the matter with Mr. Roosevelt, Welles (who had made himself chairman of the Subcommittee on Political Problems, an international organization) had suggested the way the Executive Council should be set up: the President's Four Policemen\u2014the United States, Britain, the Soviet Union, and China\u2014being given permanent seats on an Executive Council together with a small number of further, rotating seats reserved for members elected by the full United Nations authority, in order to give the council more balance and connection with the main Assembly.\n\nAs Welles's committees had advanced their confidential proposals in Washington, British Foreign Office officials in London had become anxious lest Churchill's lack of interest in postwar planning leave Great Britain out on a limb. \"His Majesty's Government have not yet defined their views on questions or made any response to Mr. Welles's expression of opinion,\" the head of the British Economic and Reconstruction Department had complained as late as September 3, 1942, only weeks before Torch.\n\nLittle was done to rectify this failure, however, in view of the Prime Minister's full-time preoccupation with Britain's military operations, and his aversion to postwar planning\u2014which would inevitably involve the continuing transformation of the British Empire into a Commonwealth of Nations rather than a colonial enterprise directed by Parliament in London. \"I hope these speculative studies will be entrusted mainly to those on whose hands time hangs heavy,\" Churchill had mocked his foreign minister's attempt to produce a British version of Welles's work, \"and that we shall not overlook Mrs. Glass's Cookery Book recipe for Jugged Hare\u2014'First catch your hare.'\"\n\nIn Moscow, too, there had been a complete lack of interest in planning for a democratic future\u2014Stalin's Soviet government simply refusing to comment on or respond to cables from its Russian ambassador in Washington, imploring the USSR to get involved in international postwar proposals.\n\nFor FDR, the failure of Joseph Stalin to participate in discussions about the postwar world was galling if perhaps inevitable, given the history of the Soviet Union since the Russian Revolution: its protracted civil war, Stalin's Great Terror and purge trials, and its ever-darkening development as a communist police state based on intimidation, arrest, torture, imprisonment, deportation, and execution. Nevertheless, as president of the world's biggest and most advanced economy, Roosevelt wanted to give the Russians\u2014who were bearing in blood the brunt of Hitler's war of conquest\u2014at least the chance to be a party to his proposals. And if Stalin, the absolute dictator of the Soviet Union, would not sit down to discuss them, then the President would begin the discussions without him\u2014in Casablanca.\n\nHitler had declared that democracy was a relic of the past. The President, working with Winston Churchill, would now show him he was wrong: that democracy was, in fact, on the move.\n\nCasablanca, then, was to be much more than a military powwow. Weeks before he left the White House on his secret journey, the President had begun to rehearse his developing vision with other world leaders such as Jan Christiaan Smuts, the prime minister of South Africa, whom he'd known since the summer of 1918.\n\nThen, too, the end of the world war had seemed at hand. Twenty-four years later, Roosevelt was \"drawing up plans now for the victorious peace which will surely come\" and hoped to discuss them with the former guerilla leader of the anti-British Boers, if Smuts could see his way to come to Washington. A more durable and effective outcome was necessary than the ill-fated Versailles Treaty. \"As you know,\" the President explained, \"I dream dreams but am, at the same time, an intensely practical person, and I am convinced that disarmament of the aggressor nations is an essential first step, followed up for a good many years to come by a day and night inspection of that disarmament and a police power to stop at its source any attempted evasion of the rules.\"\n\nThis time, then, postwar peace would not be guaranteed by treaties that could be broken with impunity, but by irresistible force\u2014on behalf of the community of nations. There were \"many other things to be worked out,\" Roosevelt had added in his letter to Smuts, such as decolonization, effected over time, but with no backsliding by the old European powers, as after World War I\u2014whether by the British, the Dutch, the French, the Belgians, the Spanish, or the Portuguese. \"Perhaps Winston has told you of my thought of certain trusteeships to be exercised by the United Nations where stability of government for one reason or another cannot at once be assured. I am inclined to think that the [colonial] mandate system\"\u2014instituted in the wake of the Versailles Treaty and the League of Nations\u2014\"is no longer the right approach, for the nation which is given the mandate soon comes to believe that it carries sovereignty with it.\"\n\nColonialism, in other words, was to be gradually but responsibly phased out in the aftermath of World War II, and a new postcolonial world ushered in.\n\nAs prime minister of a former British colony now enjoying self-government and Dominion status within the British Commonwealth, Smuts's reaction was important as Roosevelt sought to picture a viable postwar world and the problems he might encounter in getting international agreement.\n\nSmuts\u2014whose Boer countrymen had, like the Americans, risen up against British colonial rule\u2014understood the President's strong feelings on that score, but was facing a new election and could not travel. The prime minister of Canada, Mackenzie King, could, however\u2014and once more the President had asked if King could come spend a few days with him at the White House, after the Torch invasion, so that he could rehearse his notions of what would, effectively, be the endgame.\n\nArriving from Ottawa by train, King had thus made his way to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue on the morning of December 4, 1942, three weeks after Torch. Alert to the dangers of premature leaks, rumor, and outright hostility among Republican politicians and newspaper owners who still hated him for his New Deal program, the President was chary of committing thoughts to paper lest they be used against him. Thankfully, the Canadian prime minister dictated each night a careful record of his day\u2014and it is to this diary we owe our most authentic account of the President's military and political strategy for ending the war, and the peace he hoped to mold thereafter, before leaving for Africa.\n\nThe President, King had found on arrival, was \"sitting up in his bed\" on the second floor of the White House mansion, \"wearing a gray sweater,\" smoking. He'd been \"reading newspapers. Gave me a very hearty welcome. Began at once by saying he was having a [hard] time with the new Congress,\" given the loss of so many Democratic seats in the November midterm elections, \"but hoped that would go by.\"\n\nSenator Robert Taft of Ohio, the leading isolationist opponent of the New Deal in Congress and eldest son of Republican president William Howard Taft, was a particular sore, the President had remarked\u2014quoting to King an account in that day's paper. Taft was reported to be opposing the President's attempt to make a new deal with the Panamanian government over the Panama Canal area.\n\nThe President had smiled mischievously. \"Asked me,\" King recorded, \"if I knew the U.S. owned the largest red-light district anywhere.\"\n\nMackenzie King\u2014a staunch, Bible-obsessed Presbyterian who had forsworn alcohol for the duration of the war\u2014was well aware how much Roosevelt enjoyed teasing him. When King confessed his ignorance, the President had \"described how one of his ancestors,\" William H. Aspinwall, had given up hope of building a transcontinental railway across \"the isthmus of Panama, having mortgaged [his] homes in the States.\" Then suddenly he'd heard gold had been \"discovered in California. He knew at once that his railway would be a success and half a dozen offers were immediately made by wealthy men to complete his road. Later, when De Lesseps came to develop the canal, the red-light district developed in that area. The U.S. are now wishing to get control of certain parts and had to purchase this area . . .\"\n\nIt was typical of Roosevelt to use the irony of a vexing situation to render it less frustrating\u2014U.S. senators \"querulous about different things\" such as this while the President struggled to win a global war and create the basis for subsequent peace.\n\nBeneath African palms, in complete privacy and in secret, the President would soon, he told Mackenzie King, be able to discuss his vision for the world that would follow war: especially his idea of a United Nations Security Council led by the four powers.\n\nFirst, however, the war had to be won by the United Nations. Roosevelt had already explained his current strategy to the supreme commander of the Soviet Armies, Joseph Stalin, in a cable he'd dispatched from the White House on November 19, 1942. \"American and British Staffs are now studying further moves in the event that we secure the whole south shore of the Mediterranean from Gibraltar to Syria,\" the President had informed Stalin. \"Before any further step is taken, both Churchill and I want to consult with you and your Staff because whatever we do next in the Mediterranean will have a definite bearing on your magnificent campaign and your proposed moves this coming Winter.\" U.S. and British armies were not only forcing Hitler to keep substantial numbers of troops, artillery, tanks, and planes in Norway, the Netherlands, Belgium, and northern France to defend against the threat of Allied invasion in the West, but were forcing Hitler to do so in the Mediterranean now, in order to keep Italy fighting as a primary Axis partner; this would make it difficult, if not impossible, for Hitler to achieve unilateral military victory against the Russians.\n\nStalin had not immediately responded to the request, however, as the President confided to King\u2014the Russian dictator's focus having been on the Russian counteroffensive that began that day at Stalingrad. A week later, on November 25, Roosevelt cabled again. The President had congratulated Stalin on the Russian breakthrough west of Stalingrad, which threatened to cut off the German salient stretching as far east as the Volga. In order to remind his Russian counterpart that the United States was fighting a _global,_ not simply regional, war, however, he'd informed Stalin of a similar U.S. game changer in the Pacific, where the U.S. Navy had decimated the Japanese fleet attempting to reinforce the Japanese army on Guadalcanal. The Japanese had been compelled to evacuate the island, and U.S. forces were now \"sinking far more Jap ships and destroying more planes than they can build.\"\n\nThis time Stalin _had_ responded. \"As regards operations in the Mediterranean, which are developing so favorably, and may influence the whole military situation in Europe, I share your view that appropriate consultations between the Staffs of the United States, Great Britain and the USSR have become desirable,\" the Russian premier wired back to the White House on November 27, 1942. But beyond this\u2014and his congratulations on the U.S. Navy's success in the Pacific as well as American-British operations in North Africa\u2014he declined to be specific. In particular he had ignored the idea of a meeting of national leaders, not even according it a mention.\n\nFinally, on December 2, the President had decided to get to the point. In yet another cable sent from the Map Room at the White House, he'd urged Stalin to address \"the necessity for reaching early strategic decisions\" through \"an early meeting.\" This was not simply because military staffs, conferring on their own, would be unable to reach decisions \"without our approval,\" but because Roosevelt felt \"we should come to some tentative understanding about the procedures which should be adopted in the event of a German collapse\"\u2014i.e., the postwar.\n\nFor this, it would be vital to meet in person, the President had emphasized. \"My most compelling reason is that I am very anxious to have a talk with you,\" he'd written. \"My suggestion would be that we meet secretly in some secure place in Africa that is convenient to all three of us. The time, about January fifteenth to twentieth [1943]. We would each of us bring a very small staff of our top Army, Air and Naval commanders.\" He thought a rendezvous in \"southern Algeria or at or near Khartoum,\" in Egypt, would fit the bill.\n\nMackenzie King had been awed and delighted by the President's initiative\u2014touched that Roosevelt would share with him both the background and his confidential intentions: his game plan.\n\nStill waiting for Stalin's response, the President had the next day discussed with King the problem of Churchill and Great Britain\u2014to which Canada, as a Dominion of the British Empire, was constitutionally tethered. The President still deplored Churchill's stand over India and unwillingness to abide by the terms of the Atlantic Charter he'd signed up to; also Churchill's dislike of the Beveridge Plan for postwar social security in Britain. Churchill's obstinacy in pursuing the postwar revival of the \"British Empire,\" rather than inspiring and leading a new, postcolonial \"British Commonwealth of Nations,\" came under the President's caustic fire\u2014as well as Churchill's aversion to the notion of postwar United Nations trusteeships. \"When I asked him about Churchill's attitude, he said the reply which he [Churchill] had made in discussing these things was a rather sad one,\" King recorded that night. \"It was to the effect that he [Churchill] would not have anything to do with any of these questions. That when the war was over he [Churchill] would be through with public life,\" and would turn to \"writing.\"\n\nThat evening, December 5, 1942, there had been cocktails at 7:30 p.m., mixed by the President himself. (\"The President said: we will not ask Mackenzie to take any cocktails tonight. I appreciated,\" the wartime teetotaler noted, \"his anticipating my refusal.\") There was then dinner with Harry Hopkins and his wife, Louise. And several short documentary and newsreel films, in black and white and in color.\n\nLooking at the documentary footage that had been spliced together\u2014some of it \"going back to the days of his governorship in the N.Y. state,\" as well as events like Roosevelt's \"flight to Chicago at the time of the [1932] Convention\"\u2014\"reviews of troops, etcetera\"\u2014King had found himself amazed. \"It made me marvel how a man had ever stood what he did in dealing with crowds over so many years,\" the quiet Canadian had noted, given the President's physical disability and the demands of America's almost continuous electoral process, compared to the Canadian parliamentary system. \"What was the most interesting was the way in which he, from the outset, had stood for the new deal and the rights of the common man in all his addresses,\" King dictated. \"It was a real recreation and most pleasant,\" he'd added. \"As it was getting on toward 10, I asked the President if he did not think he should retire and let him rest. He said no, we want to have a talk about another matter. He had said earlier in the day: 'I want to speak particularly about Stalin tonight.'\"\n\nIn the President's Oval Study (or \"chart room,\" as King called it in the nightly diary he dictated), \"the President sat on the sofa and told me to come and sit beside him there, to get his good ear, the right ear.\n\n\"He then ordered a horse's neck for each of us: ginger ale and the rind of an orange. Harry Hopkins came in and sat down for a few minutes and then retired. The President then started in at once on what he has in mind as a post-war programme. I looked up at the clock at that moment. The hands were exactly at 10 to 10.\"\n\nA fervent believer in spiritualism as well as Christianity, King was forever watching the hands of the clock for signs of significance. Given the magnitude of the President's global problems\u2014war in the Pacific, war in China and Asia, war in the Soviet Union, war in the Mediterranean, war in the Atlantic, war in the Aleutians, preparations for eventual cross-Channel landings\u2014it had seemed extraordinary to Mackenzie King that the President of the United States could set these concerns aside, in his mind, and share his thinking on the world that would come _after_ the war was won.\n\nBefore addressing the matter of Stalin, the President had given his own views on the objectives or principles that should guide the victorious nations. \"We talked of the 4 freedoms. Two of which,\" the President remarked, \"we cannot do much about.\" Freedom of religion, Roosevelt had explained, was \"something that the people have to work out for themselves. The State cannot impose anything. The freedom of speech: that too is something that will take care of itself\"\u2014though the President wished something could be done \"to prevent exaggerated and untrue statements\" from being broadcast or printed, especially the near-treasonable articles constantly being published by \"sensational papers,\" such as Colonel McCormick's right-wing, isolationist _Chicago Tribune._\n\nThis left \"the other two\" freedoms, which were perhaps more crucial, at least in planning a postwar universe: \"freedom from fear and freedom from want.\"\n\nOf the two, the President told King, \"the first is necessarily the most important, as the second depends on it. As respects freedom from fear,\" the President had continued, \"that can only be brought about when we put an end to arming nations against each other.\" In the case of Germany and Japan, the arms treaties signed after World War I had proven useless. The German and Japanese capacity for making war must therefore be completely and irrevocably destroyed, once and for all time, he felt. This was something that could not be secured by negotiation, \u00e0 la Versailles Treaty, but only achieved by a policy of \"unconditional surrender\" to the Allies, the President explained.\n\nIt was the first time King had heard President Roosevelt use the term, and he listened most carefully as the President explained.\n\n\"My great hero in all of this today,\" Roosevelt remarked, \"is General Grant. In bringing the civil war to an end, Grant demanded to Lee unconditional surrender. He would make no agreements, no negotiated peace.\" Repeating the point, the President said: \"I think there should be no negotiated peace\" at all with the Germans and Japanese. \"It should be an unconditional surrender. After Grant had gathered in all the guns, ammunition, etc., there were quantities of horses remaining. Grant turned to Lee and said to let the horses go back to the field. For the people to use them in the cultivation of the soil, get back to the art of peace. That I think at present is what we should do with Germany. Deprive her of all right to make planes, tanks, guns, etc., but not take away any of her territories nor prevent her development in any way.\"\n\nKing had asked if the President was confident of dictating unconditional surrender to the forces of the Third Reich on that basis. \"He replied: 'yes'\"\u2014with Japan to follow: \"that he thought what should be done was to defeat Germany first; demand unconditional surrender and then for the 3 powers: Britain, U.S. and Russia to turn to Japan and say: now we demand the same of you. If you want to save human life, you must surrender unconditionally at once. If not, the 3 of us will bring all our forces to bear, and will fight till we destroy you. Russia would then be persuaded to attack Japan. It would not take a year to bring about her defeat. He was not sure the Japanese would accept any unconditional surrender, and would probably seek to fight on. However that plan of campaign would bring its results\"\u2014the world finally and definitively spared the possibility of a renascence of German or Japanese militarism\u2014ever. \"If the Japanese did not accept unconditional surrender,\" he added in a remark that would have immense significance later, \"then they should be bombed till they were brought to their knees.\"\n\nThinking of the ever-burgeoning size of America's air forces as well as the terrifying new bomb\u2014using vital Canadian minerals such as radium and uranium\u2014that he'd ordered to be developed, the President confided to King how the United States would have to push its forces to within bombing distance of Japan, while the war in Europe went on. \"At present, Russia is too busy to attack Japan, and Japan is too busy to attack Russia.\"\n\nUnconditional surrender it was, then, as the President's war aim\u2014not to placate or encourage the Russians, as some subsequently assumed, nor in punitive revenge against the Germans or the Japanese, as others did. And especially not to mollify liberals in America, who were complaining that the United States was installing former fascists, like Admiral Darlan, to administer liberated territories, instead of getting rid of them, as still others later speculated. Rather, the President saw unconditional surrender quite clearly at that moment as the basis for lasting postwar security\u2014leading to a postwar peace to be overseen by the United Nations, using the four most powerful antifascist nations: the United States, Russia, and Britain, together with China (which the United States was supporting as the most populous and potentially important nation in the Pacific)\u2014acting as the world's \"international police\" on the UN's behalf: the basis of the UN Security Council.\n\nEach of the policing powers would have its \"own air force\" to enforce the disarmament of Germany and Japan, the President explained to King\u2014able thereby to cauterize any attempt by such nations to step out of line and make war on others. Colonialist imperialism would, over time, become a thing of the past, with nations reverting to their original boundaries after Hitler's war. \"Keep everything as it was\" was how the President explained his vision\u2014territorial changes agreed only by democratic plebiscite, not war. \"Russia to develop Russia but to make an agreement not to take any territory. Not to try to change system of government of other countries by propaganda.\"\n\nWas all this a pipe dream?\n\n\"The President then said: 'to effect all this, of course, [we] would have to get Stalin to agree,'\" King recorded, careful to note Roosevelt's actual words.\n\nStalin was a dictator\u2014but a dictator more concerned with absolute rule over his own vast territory, stretching from Archangel to Vladivostok, than elsewhere: especially in a world revolution that he would find less easy to control. \"He said that he believed he [Stalin] would. That he thought Molotov was an Imperialist but he believed Stalin was less and less on those lines.\"\n\nHowever abhorrent Russian communism was, one had to be realistic. Since \"it was clear that the U.S., Britain, China could not defeat Russia\" by force of arms\u2014something even Hitler was failing to do, with more than two hundred Wehrmacht divisions and his Luftwaffe\u2014it would be futile to try. Better, he thought, to see if the Soviets could be drawn into an international system that guaranteed Russia would never be attacked by the Germans or another Hitler. Quoting a former Republican Senate leader, Jim Watson, the President said to King: \"If you cannot beat him, join him. The thing to do was to get them all working on the same lines,\" under the aegis of a supranational United Nations.\n\nCommunist or not, the President had continued, Russia was going to be, after the war, \"very powerful. The thing to do now was to get plans definitely made for disarmament\" of Germany and Japan, with Russia onboard\u2014hence his attempt to set up a secret summit with Stalin and Churchill.\n\nThe Canadian prime minister, in his diary, had acknowledged being thrilled. It was clear that, in sharing his notion of unconditional surrender both of the Third Reich and the Empire of Japan, the President was speaking without vengeance or rancor, but almost as a surgeon might, prior to taking out a tumor.\n\nPostoperatively, in the case of the Third Reich after the war's end, \"there should be put into Germany immediately a committee or commission of inspectors,\" Roosevelt said to him, \"say 3\u2014one to be chosen from Canada; one from South America, and one from China,\" on behalf of the United Nations. \"They should have their staffs, and their business would be to inspect day after day, year in and year out, all the factories of Germany to see that no war material should be manufactured. If any such were discovered, the Germans were to be told that unless that stopped within a week's time, that certain of their cities would be bombed. The cities would be named: Frankfurt, Cologne, and probably the cities where the manufacturing is taking place. If they went ahead, despite this threat, they might then be told that from now on, all imports and exports in and out of Germany would be stopped. That no trains passed out of their countries. Persons would be stopped at the borders.\" Blockaded, in other words, or \"ostracized,\" as King had reflected.\n\nYet if Mackenzie King had been impressed by the President's visionary thinking early in December, 1942\u2014less than twelve months after Pearl Harbor\u2014he'd been equally moved by the depth of Roosevelt's _moral and social_ purpose. In Britain, Winston Churchill had dismissed the Beveridge Report, which outlined possible future British social and health policies\u2014as pie in the sky: a dismissive view that was echoed by the British ambassador on Mackenzie King's visit to Washington, when King met with him. Americans were \"all much excited about the Beveridge Report,\" Lord Halifax had confided in his own diary. \"I told them all that, just as with the Malvern Conference Report, so with this, they [Americans] always know much more about it than I do!\"\n\nThe President of the United States certainly knew more than the British ambassador about the postwar social blueprint for Britain. \"The President said the Beveridge report has made a real impression in this country,\" King recorded. \"The thought of [medical and employment] insurance from the cradle to the grave. 'That seems to be a line that will appeal,'\" Roosevelt had said to King at dinner. \"You and I should take that up strongly. It will help us politically as well as being on the right lines in the way of reform\"\u2014a remark King correctly interpreted as meaning \"the President has in mind a fourth term and that he feels it will come as a result of winning the war, and the social programme to be launched.\"\n\nAs president of the United States, Mr. Roosevelt \"did not think the country will stand for socialism,\" King recorded the President's caution, but he did make clear that improving the condition of America's working people was as much a part of his vision of the postwar world as would be international security achieved through unconditional surrender of the Axis warrior nations, and disarmament closely monitored by the United Nations. \"I felt in listening to the President that he was naturally anxious to be responsible for planning the new order,\" King reflected\u2014a new order that would snatch the wind from the sails of those idly or idealistically espousing communism, since it would guarantee the well-being and security of the majority of ordinary people, without communist barbarity or oppression.\n\nAs a deeply devout Christian who read the New Testament first thing in the morning and last thing at night, Mackenzie King had thus listened to the President's _tour d'horizon_ with growing \"relief,\" he admitted\u2014the opportunity to discuss with the President of the United States \"social questions and reform, instead of these problems of war and destruction. I felt tremendously pleased. It may be that when the war is over, new force and energy will come forward toward the furtherance of these larger social aims. It was midnight when I got to bed . . . From the moment I turned out the light until waking I slept very soundly.\"\n\nThe world, after this war, was clearly going to be very different from the one bequeathed by the victors of World War I.\n**4**\n\n# What Next?\n\nWHAT HAD MOST moved Mackenzie King on his stay at the White House early in December, 1942, were the little details that went hand in hand with his discussions with the President.\n\nAfter lunch in the small dining room upstairs in the White House mansion one day, King noticed \"on the President's desk\" among the bric-a-brac, \"a little bronze of his mother,\" which touched him deeply. Fresh from her trip to England, the President's wife, the First Lady, had been present\u2014the President proud, King had happily noted, of what Eleanor had accomplished there as a spokesperson, so to speak, of American idealism.\n\nThe President's health, though, was another matter. On the afternoon of December 4, 1942, for example, King had been somewhat alarmed by Roosevelt's physical condition. \"Had tea alone with the President at 5:20 in his circular chart room [the Oval Study]. The President poured tea himself.\" The two leaders had spoken of manpower and mobilization\u2014problems common to both countries. However, \"I noticed that his hand was very, very shaky,\" King had dictated\u2014the tea in danger of spilling. The President looked \"rather tired,\" but as they talked he'd \"brightened up.\"\n\nHere again Prime Minister Mackenzie King's testimony, in the detailed diary he was keeping, would offer the most intimate clues to the President's mind in late 1942. No other war leader was exploring a postwar vision such as the President was doing; Churchill could only dream of the past; Hitler, only of the German _Volk_ and of ruthless conquest. And who knew what Stalin dreamed of? Would the President be well enough, however, to get his allies to cooperate and carry out his grand vision of the postwar world? Would Congress and the American public embrace it, or go back to isolationism? And what of the war itself?\n\nTurning to confront the President on the sofa, King had therefore asked him, face to face: \"What are the immediate plans, supposing you get complete possession of North Africa, what next?\"\n\nFrom the point of view of military strategy in order to achieve political ends, it was a most interesting question.\n\nThe President seemed glad that King had raised it. \"That of course is the next problem,\" Roosevelt replied. \"I wanted to speak of it.\" To his great disappointment, despite the success of the President's Torch operation, which they'd opposed almost to the point of mutiny, his U.S. generals and admirals were still out of sync with their commander in chief. In fact his generals and admirals were now out of sync with each other, and the British.\n\n\"For some time past,\" Roosevelt confided to the Canadian prime minister\u2014whose country was supplying a vast amount of war material to the Allied effort, as well as significant numbers of troops, and the crucial materials for development of an atomic bomb in the United States\u2014\"we have had the Chiefs of Staff both here and in England working on the strategic side of things.\" There were \"at least 10 different places\" where the Allies _could_ advance, from northern Norway to the Balkans. \"No decision was reached as yet,\" though, Mackenzie King recorded the President's lament, since \"it was very hard,\" the President said, \"to get the different Chiefs of Staff to agree on a plan.\"\n\nHarry Hopkins had been little help in this respect. Hopkins was by nature and ability a \"fixer\"\u2014a highly intelligent man, brilliant at absorbing reports, and able to see beyond hurdles. Never having fired a gun or seen war at close quarters, however, Hopkins had erratic military judgment, to say the least. He had urged the President to declare war early in 1941, before the nation was ready to fight a one-ocean war, let alone two. Then\u2014having become convinced the Russians were not going to be defeated by the Germans in 1941\u2014he had urged throughout 1942 a cross-Channel invasion of France rather than the President's \"great pet scheme\" of Torch, believing the North African operation might actually fail. Even if successful, it would be a diversion of decisive American effort, he felt.\n\nHopkins, as a civilian, could at least be forgiven for his ignorance of military realities\u2014especially the lack of American experience in fighting an enemy as battle-hardened, ideologically driven, and professional as German troops marching to Hitler's triumphant tune. However, Hopkins's military innocence had been mirrored by most senior, professional desk generals and admirals in the U.S. War and Navy Departments in Washington. Despite the success of Torch, the U.S. chiefs were _once again_ urging, early in December, that a cross-Channel Allied invasion be mounted in the spring of 1943, or latest by the summer of '43\u2014without American soldiers or their field commanders having seen more than a few days of battle, and that only against conflicted Vichy French forces.\n\nMackenzie King was as skeptical of the chances of a cross-Channel attack succeeding in 1943 as the President\u2014indeed, more so given the \"fiasco\" of the Canadian raid on Dieppe three months earlier. Still mourning the loss of so many thousands of Canadian soldiers killed or wounded and captured on the beaches of the little French seaport on August 19, 1942\u2014almost all of them brave volunteers, sacrificed to no real purpose other than to demonstrate the futility of a premature cross-Channel assault\u2014the Canadian prime minister had been alarmed by Hopkins's views the day he arrived at the White House. The President's counselor had shared with him \"the need of a decision being fairly quickly made as to what the campaign for next year [1943] was to be. He said the military heads could not yet make up their mind but he thought that decision would have to be made at once if supplies were to be gotten in to the right place. It would seem to him it would probably have to be from England on Europe\"\u2014i.e., for a cross-Channel assault in 1943\u2014\"and that great quantity of supplies would have to be gotten across immediately.\"\n\nThe notion that Allied forces could defeat the Wehrmacht simply by _supplies_ had seemed to the Canadian premier unbelievably optimistic. To King's profound relief the President, however, declared he didn't agree with Hopkins\u2014or with his U.S. War Department staff. He reminded King how it was only through his own and Churchill's combined efforts that the Allied war against Hitler had been saved from disaster that year, 1942, by insisting on Operation Gymnast (which was then renamed Torch). \"It is a good thing Winston and I kept it out [on the table] as we did,\" the President had remarked of the invasion of Northwest Africa\u2014for \"during early 1941, army and navy were all for direct attack across the Channel in the spring of 1942.\" The plans for a Second Front invasion \"kept taking longer and longer, after spring of 1942. Then it was to be on in the summer.\" Again, this had proved impossible, at least in sufficient force to assure success. \"Could not get ships, etc. Then the next plan was that they would try in the spring of 1943.\" At that prospect, the President had, in the summer of 1942, finally drawn the line as U.S. commander in chief, convinced that U.S. forces would have to gain actual combat experience fighting the Wehrmacht if a difficult cross-Channel invasion were to have any chance of success. \"The President then said that he and Winston [had decided they] would get together in June\" of 1942, to work out a new strategy. Tobruk's fall, and the failure of the British to halt Rommel's advance in Libya, had put the kibosh on any hopes of British-American success across the English Channel, where twenty-five German divisions were awaiting their arrival. \"The President then said he had told Churchill: 'I go back to my first love, which is to attack via North Africa.'\" Such a strategic blow would secure the Atlantic port of Dakar and, in terms of lines of communication and resupply, enable the Allies to use \"the short route from Britain to Africa, and short route from U.S. to Africa.\" Torch would coincide with the British, reinforced with U.S. tanks and air groups, getting \"control of North Egypt and with good luck\" lead to \"control of the Mediterranean.\"\n\n\"I felt the soft place was Southern Europe,\" Roosevelt had reminded King\u2014who'd been staying with him at the White House the previous spring, when the strategic debate had burned fiercely. Side by side with that southern European\/North African strategy, the President had meanwhile wanted \"a strong hitting force pointed at Germany from the North\" as a permanent threat\u2014forcing Hitler to keep his twenty-five or thirty German divisions stationed along the North Sea and Atlantic coasts of Europe, well away from Russia.\n\nIt was in the Mediterranean, however, that U.S. forces could best actually fight and gain crucial command and battle experience, the President had explained to King\u2014at the very extremity of German lines of communication and resupply. The campaign in Northwest Africa was already drawing huge Axis military forces to the Southern Front, across the Mediterranean, forcing Germany and Italy to meet the Allies in combat there\u2014the Germans using vital, battle-hardened and battle-worthy troops, planes, and military resources that could not, as a result, be sent to reinforce their war on the Eastern Front.\n\nThe Mediterranean thus offered the U.S. Army, Air Forces, and Navy a priceless opportunity: namely to rehearse and perfect the command and combat skills they would need in fighting ruthless, highly disciplined, strongly motivated German forces in Europe, _before_ being expected to undertake anything as daunting as a contested cross-Channel invasion\u2014an operation of war that had not been successfully attempted, after all, in almost a thousand years, since the time of William the Conqueror.\n\nBattle experience, then, was the crux of the matter: the reason why the President so profoundly disagreed with Hopkins; with Secretary of War Henry Stimson; with General George Marshall, U.S. Army chief of staff; and with all the voices in Washington baying again for an immediate cross-Channel Second Front. As U.S. commander in chief he, President Roosevelt, had a responsibility to ensure the nation did not embark on a course of military action that would fail\u2014especially when there was no need to do so, as he confided to Mackenzie King in another talk on December 6, 1942, as King prepared to return to Canada. He had, \"this afternoon, sent word to the Chiefs of Staff in Washington and also to the joint staffs in England to ask exactly what they had thus far decided about the next moves, and what were the points they were still debating. He said when you think it took from January till June before we settled on Africa and definite plans for the campaign, you see it is time we get the next step settled or next move determined.\" As president and commander in chief, however, he had his own view\u2014which he now shared with King.\n\n\"In many ways,\" the President confided, \"he wished for nothing more than let the fighting continue in Africa indefinitely. We are able to get supplies across, so much easier to Africa than to any other place. We can wear down the Germans there by a process of attrition\"\u2014just as U.S. forces were doing in the Pacific, in the Solomon Islands, while learning the art of modern combat. \"He said: I feel the same about the Japs. As long as we can go on the wearing down in the one place, we are coming nearer to certain victory in the end.\"\n\nMackenzie King, as prime minister of Canada, had breathed a sigh of relief. When asked by the President if his Canadian generals were also pressing for an immediate Second Front, King responded that, unlike the generals in Washington, the Canadian generals \"felt it was better to keep a strong hitting force pointed at Germany from the North,\" but _not_ to launch such an actual invasion before there was a reasonable chance it would succeed. The President \"said he felt that very strongly\" too, King recorded.\n\n\"It would be a great mistake,\" Roosevelt had remarked, \"to do anything which would take away the German armies that are now concentrated in occupied France and in the North\u2014anything which would make them less fearful of an enemy invasion,\" in terms of threat. Beyond that potent menace, however, the President had explained to King, he had no actual wish to launch a D-day landing any time soon across the English Channel, with forces and commanders still inexperienced in combat. \"He thought that what the Canadians had done at Dieppe\"\u2014where almost a thousand men were slaughtered in a matter of a few hours, and two-thirds of their forces were killed, wounded, or captured by the Germans, without even getting off the beaches\u2014\"was a very necessary part of the campaign,\" for it had \"made clear how terribly dangerous the whole business of invasion across the Channel was.\"\n\nThese had been the President's own words. They explained why the President was so determined to stop his top military staff from insisting upon a suicidal assault in the wrong place, at the wrong time. The Second Front should be kept as a _threat_ \u2014but no actual cross-Channel invasion be launched until 1944, when U.S. mass production could ensure superiority in arms; more important still, it would be a time by which Allied forces in Africa and the Mediterranean would have learned the lessons of modern combat: how to defeat the Germans in battle. Only then would it be fair to ask huge numbers of American sons\u2014perhaps two million\u2014to land across the defended beaches of northern France and fight their way to Berlin.\n\nMackenzie King thus set off to return to Ottawa that evening, December 6, 1942, deeply relieved: knowing the President would do nothing rash before the military forces of the Western Allies\u2014Canada, the United States, and Britain\u2014had proven themselves in combat and were ready: preferably in 1944, unless by some miracle the Germans collapsed. In the meantime, the President hoped, he confided to King, that Stalin would cease parrying his appeals for a summit, and would help start an international dialogue on the postwar world\u2014with history at stake.\n**5**\n\n# Stalin's _Nyet_\n\nFINALLY, ON DECEMBER 6, 1942, shortly after Mackenzie King left Washington, the President heard back from Stalin. Although the Russian dictator \"welcomed the idea of a meeting of the leaders of the Governments of the three countries to determine a common line of military strategy,\" he himself would \"not be able to leave the Soviet Union. I must say that we are having now such a strenuous time that I cannot go away even for a day.\" Around Stalingrad, he explained, \"we are keeping encircled a group of German troops and hope to finish them off.\"\n\nThe question of postwar agreements was not even mentioned.\n\nGiven the amount of aid\u2014more than 10 percent of Russia's war needs\u2014that the United States was supplying the Russians, the President cabled back that he was \"deeply disappointed that you feel you cannot get away for a conference with me in January.\" Stalin was known never to have gone near the Russian front.\n\nThe President urged Stalin to reconsider. The date proposed was still five weeks in the future. \"There are many matters of vital importance to be discussed between us. These relate not only to vital strategic decisions but also to things we should talk over in a tentative way in regard to emergency policies we should be ready with if and when conditions in Germany permit. These would include also other matters relating to future policies about North Africa and the Far East which cannot be discussed by our military people alone.\" If Stalin could not see a way to leave Moscow in January, what about \"meeting in North Africa about March first\"?\n\nTo this plea, however, there was no response from Moscow for a week. When the reply came, it was only to say Stalin regretted \"it is impossible for me to leave the Soviet Union either in the near future or even at the beginning of March. Front business absolutely prevents it, demanding my constant presence near our troops.\"\n\nAbout this patent untruth the President could only shake his head, knowing Stalin never went anywhere near his brave Russian troops. The rest of Stalin's message\u2014asking what exactly were the \"problems which you, Mr. President, and Mr. Churchill intended to discuss at our joint conference,\" and wondering if these could not be dealt with \"by correspondence\"\u2014had been similarly disappointing, despite the Russian dictator's assurance \"there will be no disagreement between us.\"\n\nThe chances of that, Roosevelt knew, were slim\u2014especially given Stalin's hope that \"the promises about the opening of a second front in Europe given by you, Mr. President, and by Mr. Churchill in regard of 1942 and in any case in regard of the spring of 1943, will be fulfilled, and that a second front in Europe will be actually opened by the joint forces of Great Britain and the United States of America in the spring of next year.\"\n\nThat hope\u2014as the President had confided to Prime Minister Mackenzie King\u2014was pie in the sky. Unless the Germans showed signs of collapse in 1943, he was simply not going to approve such a strategy until U.S. forces and commanders were battle-hardened in the Mediterranean that year\u2014just as was taking place in New Guinea and the Solomon Islands in the South Pacific, at the extremity of Japanese lines of communication.\n\nIt was Stalin who would inevitably be disappointed, then, once he learned of Roosevelt's implacable decision. Though the President's own generals and admirals, his war secretary, his counselor Hopkins, and even his ambassador to London, John Winant, might echo Stalin's appeals for an immediate cross-Channel assault, the President was simply not going to authorize mass American\u2014and Canadian\u2014suicide. Each day, by contrast, the President was more confident of \"certain victory in the end\"\u2014if the Allies made no more mistakes.\n\nWith Stalin still saying _nyet_ to a summit meeting, however\u2014whether in January or in March, 1943\u2014the President had cabled Churchill on December 14, 1942, to say they should go ahead without him. In Casablanca, as he confided to Captain McCrea.\n\nBefore he left, however, the President decided he must do two important things. First, get the nation behind him. And second, his generals.\n**6**\n\n# Addressing Congress\n\nAS THE SEVENTY-EIGHTH Congress prepared to reassemble with a much-diminished Democratic majority, the President decided to use his annual State of the Union address, on January 7, 1943, not only to review the past year but to share something of his vision of the future.\n\nThe speech went through no fewer than nine full iterations over \"many days,\" starting before Christmas and extending beyond the New Year, Judge Rosenman (the President's primary speechwriter, together with the playwright Robert Sherwood and Harry Hopkins) later recalled. Finally, at noon on January 7, the President was driven to the Capitol to deliver his \"sermon.\"\n\n\"The past year,\" the President began boldly, \"was perhaps the most crucial for modern civilization. The Axis powers knew that they must win the war in 1942\u2014or eventually lose everything. I do not need to tell you,\" he added to loud cheers, \"that our enemies did not win the war in 1942.\"\n\nStep by step the President reminded members of Congress and those listening on radios at work, or in their homes, of the year's most significant military actions. \"In the Pacific area our most important victory in 1942 was the air and naval battle off Midway Island. That action is historically important because it secured for our use communication lines stretching thousands of miles in every direction. In placing this emphasis on the Battle of Midway, I am not unmindful of other successful actions in the Pacific, in the air and on land and afloat, especially those on the Coral Sea and New Guinea and in the Solomon Islands. But these actions were essentially defensive. They were part of the delaying strategy that characterized this phase of the war. During this period we inflicted steady losses upon the enemy\u2014great losses of Japanese planes and naval vessels, transports and cargo ships. As early as one year ago, we set as a primary task in the war of the Pacific a day-by-day and week-by-week and month-by-month destruction of more Japanese war materials than Japanese industry could replace. Most certainly, that task has been and is being performed by our fighting ships and planes. And a large part of this task has been accomplished by the gallant crews of our American submarines who strike on the other side of the Pacific at Japanese ships\u2014right up at the very mouth of the harbor of Yokohama. We know that as each day goes by, Japanese strength in ships and planes is going down and down, and American strength in ships and planes is going up and up. And so I sometimes feel that the eventual outcome can now be put on a mathematical basis. That will become evident to the Japanese people themselves when we strike at their own home islands, and bomb them constantly from the air\"\u2014just as Japan had begun the war with aerial bombing.\n\nJapan was not the nation's first priority, however. Nazi Germany was\u2014and would remain so, in terms of global American strategy, as long as Roosevelt remained president. \"Turning now to the European theater of war,\" the President explained, \"during this past year it was clear that our first task was to lessen the concentrated pressure on the Russian front by compelling Germany to divert part of her manpower and equipment to another theater of war. After months of secret planning and preparation in the utmost detail, an enormous amphibious expedition was embarked for French North Africa from the United States and the United Kingdom in literally hundreds of ships. It reached its objectives with very small losses, and has already produced an important effect upon the whole situation of the war. It has opened to attack what Mr. Churchill well described as 'the underbelly of the Axis,' and it has removed the always dangerous threat of an Axis attack through West Africa against the South Atlantic Ocean and the continent of South America itself. The well-timed and splendidly executed offensive from Egypt by the British 8th Army was a part of the same major strategy of the United Nations. Great rains and appalling mud and very limited communications have delayed the final battles of Tunisia. The Axis is reinforcing its strong positions. But I am confident that though the fighting will be tough, when the final Allied assault is made, the last vestige of Axis power will be driven from the whole of the south shores of the Mediterranean.\n\n\"I cannot prophesy,\" he added sternly. \"I cannot tell you when or where the United Nations are going to strike next in Europe. But we are going to strike\u2014and strike hard. I cannot tell you whether we are going to hit them in Norway, or through the Low Countries, or in France, or through Sardinia or Sicily, or through the Balkans, or through Poland\u2014or at several points simultaneously. But I can tell you that no matter where and when we strike by land, we and the British and the Russians will hit them from the air heavily and relentlessly. Day in and day out we shall heap tons upon tons of high explosives on their war factories and utilities and seaports. Hitler and Mussolini will understand now the enormity of their miscalculations\u2014that the Nazis would always have the advantage of superior air power as they did when they bombed Warsaw, and Rotterdam, and London and Coventry. That superiority has gone forever. Yes,\" he concluded his strategic survey, \"the Nazis and the Fascists have asked for it\u2014and they are going to get it.\"\n\nTo reinforce this message the President announced with pride that, \"after only a few years of preparation and only one year of warfare, we are able to engage, spiritually as well as physically, in the total waging of a total war.\"\n\nThe phrase, for the United States, meant complete focus on war production on a scale that dwarfed anything ever done before\u2014exceeding the production figures of America's enemies combined. In the past year the United States had manufactured \"48,000 military planes\u2014more than the airplane production of Germany, Italy, and Japan put together,\" as well as \"56,000 combat vehicles, such as tanks and self-propelled artillery\"\u2014figures that would double again in 1943. \"I think the arsenal of democracy is making good,\" the President congratulated America. \"These facts and figures that I have given will give no great aid and comfort to the enemy,\" he explained his reason for releasing such numbers. \"On the contrary, I can imagine that they will give him considerable discomfort. I suspect that Hitler and Tojo will find it difficult to explain to the German and Japanese people just why it is that 'decadent, inefficient democracy' can produce such phenomenal quantities of weapons and munitions\u2014and fighting men.\" For, along with the \"miracle of production, during the past year our armed forces have grown from a little over 2,000,000 to 7,000,000\" men in uniform.\n\nSeven _million?_ And that figure rising?\n\nThough the figures were astounding, and though the strategic initiative was now in the President's hands (his personal secretary noting how the \"President becomes more and more the central figure in the global war, the source of initiative and authority in action, and, of course, responsibility\"), the President was clearly unwilling, it became clear, to leave matters there. \"In this war of survival we must keep before our minds not only the evil things we fight against,\" he asked his audience, \"but the good things we are fighting _for._ We fight to retain a great past\u2014and we fight to gain a greater future.\" With that, he proceeded to outline the terms on which he proposed to end the war. And what to do after the war was won.\n\n\"We, and all the United Nations, want a decent peace and a durable peace. In the years between the end of the first World War and the beginning of the second World War, we were not living under a decent or a durable peace. I have reason to know that our boys at the front are concerned with two broad aims beyond the winning of the war; and their thinking and their opinion coincide with what most Americans here back home are mulling over. They know, and we know, that it would be inconceivable\u2014it would, indeed, be sacrilegious\u2014if this nation and the world did not attain some real, lasting good out of all these efforts and sufferings and bloodshed and death.\"\n\nThe good he wanted was, he proceeded to explain, a sort of renewed New Deal:\n\n> The men in our armed forces want a lasting peace, and, equally, they want permanent employment for themselves, their families, and their neighbors when they are mustered out at the end of the war.\n\n> Two years ago I spoke in my annual message of four freedoms. The blessings of two of them\u2014freedom of speech and freedom of religion\u2014are an essential part of the very life of this nation; and we hope that these blessings will be granted to all men everywhere.\n\n> The people at home, and the people at the front, are wondering a little about the third freedom\u2014freedom from want. To them it means that when they are mustered out, when war production is converted to the economy of peace, they will have the right to expect full employment\u2014full employment for themselves and for all able-bodied men and women in America who want to work.\n\n> They expect the opportunity to work, to run their farms, their stores, to earn decent wages. They are eager to face the risks inherent in our system of free enterprise,\n\nthe President allowed. On the other hand,\n\n> They do not want a postwar America which suffers from undernourishment or slums\u2014or the dole. They want no get-rich-quick era of bogus \"prosperity\" which will end for them in selling apples on a street corner, as happened after the bursting of the boom in 1929.\n\n> When you talk with our young men and our young women, you will find they want to work for themselves and for their families; they consider that they have the right to work; and they know that after the last war their fathers did not gain that right.\n\n> When you talk with our young men and women, you will find that with the opportunity for employment they want assurance against the evils of all major economic hazards\u2014assurance that will extend from the cradle to the grave. And this great government can and must provide this assurance.\n\n> I have been told that this is no time to speak of a better America after the war. I am told it is a grave error on my part.\n\n> I dissent.\n\n> And if the security of the individual citizen, or the family, should become a subject of national debate, the country knows where I stand.\n\n> I say this now to this 78th Congress, because it is wholly possible that freedom from want\u2014the right of employment, the right of assurance against life's hazards\u2014will loom very large as a task of America during the coming two years.\n\n> I trust it will not be regarded as an issue\u2014but rather as a task for all of us to study sympathetically, to work out with a constant regard for the attainment of the objective, with fairness to all and with injustice to none.\n\nThese were the fighting words of a president who, quite clearly, was intending to stand for a fourth term, as Mackenzie King had inferred.\n\nNot content with this domestic sally, however, the President then waded into national security on an international scale\u2014national security that would require the end of American isolationism. \"We cannot make America an island in either a military or an economic sense,\" he pointed out. \"Hitlerism, like any other form of crime or disease, can grow from the evil seeds of economic as well as military feudalism. Victory in this war is the first and greatest goal before us. Victory in the peace is the next. That means striving toward the enlargement of the security of man here and throughout the world\u2014and, finally, striving for the fourth freedom\u2014freedom from fear.\" However, to attain freedom from fear meant taking a new role as peacekeeper in a \"shrinking\" globe, thanks to the \"conquest of the air.\" It was fruitless to imagine the clock could be turned back, once the war was won.\n\n> Undoubtedly a few Americans, even now, think that this nation can end this war comfortably and then climb back into an American hole and pull the hole in after them.\n\n> But we have learned that we can never dig a hole so deep that it would be safe against predatory animals. We have also learned that if we do not pull the fangs of the predatory animals of this world, they will multiply and grow in strength\u2014and they will be at our throats again once more in a short generation.\n\n> Most Americans realize more clearly than ever before that modern war equipment in the hands of aggressor nations can bring danger overnight to our own national existence or to that of any other nation\u2014or island\u2014or continent.\n\n> It is clear to us that if Germany and Italy and Japan\u2014or any one of them\u2014remain armed at the end of this war, or are permitted to rearm, they will again, and inevitably, embark upon an ambitious career of world conquest. They must be disarmed and kept disarmed, and they must abandon the philosophy, and the teaching of that philosophy, which has brought so much suffering to the world.\n\nStep by step the President was leading his audience, and radio listeners, toward his notion of a United Nations authority.\n\n> After the first World War we tried to achieve a formula for permanent peace, based on a magnificent idealism. We failed. But, by our failure, we have learned that we cannot maintain peace at this stage of human development by good intentions alone.\n\n> Today the United Nations are the mightiest military coalition in all history. They represent an overwhelming majority of the population of the world. Bound together in solemn agreement that they themselves will not commit acts of aggression or conquest against any of their neighbors, the United Nations can and must remain united for the maintenance of peace by preventing any attempt to rearm in Germany, in Japan, in Italy, or in any other nation which seeks to violate the Tenth Commandment\u2014\"Thou shalt not covet.\"\n\nThe President's words, clearly, were not only directed against isolationists in America, but were a preview of what he would announce internationally in the next few weeks. An announcement, to be given from the podium of a global stage, that would make public the fact that the United States was stepping up to the plate; would not this time back off, following victory, but was going to embrace a new, world-historical role as a leader of the democratic nations\u2014if he could get those nations to support his vision.\n**7**\n\n# A Fool's Paradise\n\nREACTION TO ROOSEVELT'S ambitious State of the Union address was, somewhat to the President's surprise, decidedly positive.\n\nThe British ambassador, certainly, was impressed. Viscount Halifax had spent almost an hour at the dentist before going to the Capitol, where he was \"herded on to the floor\" with other diplomats \"where we had good places. The President's speech was forceful and well-delivered and well-received,\" he recorded that night in his diary, remarking on the \"very warm personal reception both at the beginning and end. The warmth of applause for China as compared with Russia and ourselves was very noticeable,\" he'd added\u2014with understandable concern. The President, however, had spoken \"with great confidence. I thought what he said on the domestic side was pretty strong and likely to be provoking to his domestic critics, as it seemed to be 'Let us have as much unity as we can, but I am going to go ahead with my social policy, and if you don't like it, let the country judge, and I know what their verdict will be,' but the general impression of it seems to have been that it was conciliatory. The informality of all Congress proceedings on these occasions is striking,\" he'd reflected, \"by contrast with our affairs at home\"\u2014the ambassador amazed when, in reelecting its Speaker, Sam Rayburn, the day before, \"the House [of Representatives] sang 'Happy birthday to you'!\"\n\nIf the President was delighted by the reception, however, he had little time to bask in it. Following a quick lunch at the Capitol, he returned to the White House\u2014there to face in the Oval Office a smaller but equally critical audience he'd summoned: the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, who would be flying to Casablanca that very evening, ahead of the President, aboard C-54 transport planes.\n\nAdmiral Leahy had warned the President that there had been no breakthrough in the Joint Chiefs' continuing dissension over U.S. global strategy. They were at loggerheads not only about whether to launch a cross-Channel invasion that year, but what to do in the Pacific.\n\nThe ringleaders of the continuing argument against a Mediterranean strategy in 1943 were\u2014as had been the case throughout the previous year\u2014the President's Republican secretary of war, Henry Stimson, and General Marshall. Colonel Stimson had openly bet the President that his \"great pet scheme\"\u2014the Torch invasion\u2014would fail. When it didn't\u2014in fact proved a triumphant success\u2014Stimson had found himself embarrassed. On November 20, 1942, for example, former ambassador William Bullitt, who had been U.S. envoy to Russia and France and who was currently working for Secretary Frank Knox at the Navy Department on Constitution Avenue, had rubbed salt in Stimson's wounded pride. He'd asked Stimson \"how I liked to be a mere housekeeper of the War Department now that the President had taken over all relations with the military men.\"\n\nStimson had been infuriated by the remark. \"I told him that so long as I was constitutional adviser to the President, he would not do it,\" Stimson had countered. \"But Bullitt's remark,\" he confessed in the privacy of his diary, \"irritated and annoyed me.\"\n\nFortunately the President was nothing if not sensitive to people's feelings. Some days later he'd spoken with Stimson on the phone. They'd had \"a talk on the situation and on my duties as Secretary of War. I told him then of Bill Bullitt's recent fresh visit to me and his remark asking me how I liked being merely a housekeeper for the Army. The President said 'What!' and made it very clear that he was going to use me for a great deal more than that. He said Bullitt was always a problem child.\" This was \"very reassuring and satisfactory and balm to my soul after the troubles and suspicions,\" Stimson had confessed, \"that I had been through for the last two or three days.\"\n\nThe President's solace, however, hadn't stopped the elderly war secretary from working behind the scenes to question the President's military strategy in the Mediterranean\u2014which he still thought utterly misguided.\n\nOn December 12, 1942, for example, Stimson had recorded he'd had a \"long talk\" with General Marshall and also Jack McCloy, the assistant secretary of war, as to \"what we are going to do after the North African campaign and what it is going to lead to; and from this talk and other talks that I have had with Marshall and particularly the talk which I had with the President last evening, I am very much more relieved because the trend is now to get back onto the sound line of an attack up in the originally planned route\"\u2014namely the possibility of a cross-Channel attack \"next summer.\"\n\nSummer '43?\n\nAs the President had confided to Mackenzie King, as president and commander in chief he did not favor a cross-Channel attack until U.S. forces had had ample time, in the Mediterranean, to first learn the arduous business of how to defeat the Wehrmacht in combat\u2014which might well take all of 1943, given that the English Channel became too rough to cross by September.\n\nClearly the secretary was not listening. Inviting General Stanley Embick, the former deputy U.S. Army chief of staff, to his office at the Pentagon two days later, on December 14, 1942, Stimson had been determined not to be seen as a mere War Department housekeeper. Embick had been requested to report not to General Marshall but directly to Stimson on \"the question of what we shall do after the African adventure.\"\n\nThe relationship between the two men went back decades\u2014Embick having attended the Command and General Staff College with Stimson in World War I. At age sixty-four, he was now \"head of our elder statesmen in military matters and has been made the head of a board of strategy together with Admiral Wilson of the Navy,\" Stimson noted. \"I knew that he had always been very skeptical about the North African adventure,\" the war secretary added\u2014anxious to know if the general had changed his mind.\n\nEmbick hadn't. \"His position was very much the same as mine,\" Stimson had recorded with satisfaction in his diary, \"and I found it was confirmed today. We both feel that the North African adventure has done a great deal of good,\" he allowed\u2014though only because of luck, he maintained. As a result, \"we have thus far gotten through without being knocked out by a great many of the perils that we might very well have had fall upon us and spoil the whole expedition.\" Among these \"perils\" was German forces being ordered to invade or granted passage through Spain and shipped across the Mediterranean into Spanish Morocco\u2014there to strike American forces in the flank. \"Embick laid great stress on keeping the gate open [to Tunisia] and not impairing the forces that were under George Patton in Casablanca for that [defensive] purpose\"\u2014i.e., denying Patton the chance to fight in Tunisia rather than guarding U.S. lines of communication running back from Tunisia to Casablanca. Morocco, both Stimson and Embick felt, should be kept well supplied and protected by large numbers of U.S. troops, to guard against a mythical German riposte through Spain, across the Mediterranean, and then across Spanish Morocco. \"We regard that as the sine qua non of the whole adventure,\" Stimson dictated in his diary.\n\n\"Embick was strongly of the opinion that it would be impossible to go any further in adventures in Sardinia or Sicily after we are successful in Tunis,\" Stimson noted frankly\u2014though making sure to exclude such passages from his later memoirs. \"Our shipping absolutely forbids that,\" he asserted, \"and the line of supplies has become so long that it would be intolerable. So his thought is that after Tunis is cleaned out, if it is, if there is any surplus of American troops left over, we should send them up to Great Britain to be ready for the next attack there,\" Stimson recorded, together with his own approval. In fact the secretary had called in the head of the War Department's Operations Division, General John Hull, to join the discussion; \"I found that he was in complete accord with both Embick and myself.\"\n\nInterrupted by visitors\u2014a senator and governor from Idaho there to discuss the equipping of the National Guard in Idaho\u2014Stimson had then returned to his office, where talk of the \"next attack\" across the English Channel in the summer of 1943 moved yet deeper into fantasy\u2014in fact, seemed even more reckless than what Stimson had promoted in 1942. \"Both Embick and Hull feel that the next step after we get back on the rails again up in Great Britain,\" he'd confided in his diary, \"and are prepared to go forward, is not an attack on one of the peninsulas\"\u2014i.e., Brittany or Normandy\u2014\"but an attack on the flat coast near Havre and the port of Calais, landing in a large number of places.\"\n\nThe problem of first gaining experience in battle and amphibious operations against the German Wehrmacht\u2014the President's main objection to launching a cross-Channel attack prematurely\u2014was thus simply ignored by Stimson and the senior officers of the War Department. The name Dieppe was simply never mentioned in Stimson's diary. Or the savage lessons of the 1942 disaster, only four months earlier.\n\nStimson was seventy-five years old; Embick, sixty-five.\n\nIn younger men, such ill-considered ardor could perhaps have been forgiven. But for two individuals who had enjoyed distinguished military careers and had themselves served in war, albeit in a different age, to task tens of thousands of inexperienced U.S. servicemen and their field commanders with a perilous invasion across the English Channel, at the most heavily defended area\u2014the Pas-de-Calais\u2014was willful fixation. The tragic slaughter of so many Canadian troops at Dieppe was well known in Washington professional military circles, despite attempts by the British to cover up the appalling number of Canadian casualties. To imagine U.S. forces would, without more experience in amphibious operations, do better than brave Canadians in invading the fortified Pas-de-Calais area of northern France was pure hubris\u2014the secretary and his colleagues at the Pentagon steadfastly refusing to see the Mediterranean as a necessary proving ground for the armed forces of the United States.\n\nThe first serious encounter-battles after Torch had, after all, begun to take place already in the last days of November and early in December, 1942, in the Medjerda Valley, outside Tunis. There, Eisenhower's U.S. and British forces, including amphibious units and paratroopers, had gotten a rude shock. The sheer professionalism of German armored and infantry units, backed by Mark IV panzers with long-barreled 75mm guns as well as deadly 88mm antiaircraft artillery used in an antitank role, had stunned the inexperienced Allied forces. Aware it could take months before he could break through to Tunis\u2014especially since General Marshall insisted that a whole U.S. army be kept back, guarding against the improbable threat of a German attack out of Spanish Morocco\u2014General Eisenhower had therefore begun plotting an alternative end-run further south, which in theory could strike through the thinly held German flank in Tunisia. If successful this would, the young commander in chief of Allied forces in the western Mediterranean hoped, reach the Mediterranean coast, east of Tunis, before the Germans could be reinforced by Rommel's Panzerarmee Afrika, retreating from Libya. Eisenhower had wanted to use George Patton for the job. He was overruled by General Marshall, who, with Secretary Stimson, remained obsessed with Patton being kept in the rear, defending the Allied flank.\n\nQuite how, if Stimson, Marshall, and Embick, together with a whole cohort of planners and operations officers at the Pentagon, so feared a German counteroffensive via Spain, they could seriously imagine a cross-Channel invasion by virgin U.S. troops against twenty-five or thirty German divisions in northern France would magically succeed was something the President found hard to comprehend.\n\nFor the moment, however, the President had not interfered: trusting that, as American troops met German forces in Tunisia and the penny dropped, they would see sense. The British, after all, had taken three years of war to find a combat commander and the troops who could, at Alamein, defeat the Wehrmacht in battle. How on earth did Marshall, Stimson, Hull, and Embick imagine American forces would do so overnight?\n\nNot even reports of mounting casualties and the need for reinforcements in Tunisia\u2014not Morocco\u2014seemed to dent Stimson's obsession, however. Indeed, by early January, 1943, Stimson seemed to be living in a fool's paradise in his huge new office suite inside the vast 2.3-million-square-foot Pentagon building, on the south side of the Potomac River, completed only a week after the Torch landings.\n\nStimson had not been invited to the Casablanca meeting, but learning that the President wanted the Joint Chiefs of Staff to assemble for a briefing at the White House after his State of the Union address on January 7, 1943, before they left for Africa by plane, Stimson had decided he must have a \"long talk with General Marshall this morning on the subject of the future strategy of the war. There are some conferences impending between the war leaders of America and Britain,\" he anxiously noted in his diary\u2014wisely withholding the location.\n\nStimson was relieved to hear that Marshall and the senior officers of the War Department opposed further operations in the Mediterranean that year, once Tunis was reached. \"Our people are adhering to their old [cross-Channel] line\u2014the one I have approved throughout\u2014and Marshall said that thus far they had the backing of the President,\" he noted\u2014erroneously. \"In a word, it is that just as soon as the Germans are turned out of Tunisia and the north coast of Africa is safely in the hands of the Allies we shall accumulate our forces in the north and prepare for an attack this year upon the north coast of France\u2014preferably one of the two northwest peninsulas\"\u2014Cherbourg and Brittany.\n\nAt least the notion of landings in the Pas-de-Calais had been dropped\u2014even the War Department's most gung ho planners conceding that the Pas-de-Calais might be tough. \"The one is selected,\" Stimson noted of Brittany, \"but I do not care to mention it yet. We think that we can probably hold such a lodgment but even if we don't, even if our forces should be finally dislodged, it would be at such a terrible cost to Germany as to cripple her resistance for the following year.\"\n\nAn amphibious cross-Channel invasion of France\u2014the Brittany peninsula\u2014in the summer of 1943, on the open acceptance it might fail and require its survivors to be evacuated, like the British at Dunkirk in 1940? An invasion that would nevertheless \"cripple\" the Germans, in order to facilitate a United States relaunch of the invasion the following year, 1944?\n\nIt was small wonder Admiral Leahy had noted that \"no agreement could be reached by the opposing elements\" on December 28, 1942\u2014Stimson and Marshall's discussions at the Pentagon epitomizing, sadly, the complete lack of realism exhibited in the higher echelons of the U.S. War Department, only hours before the U.S. chiefs were due to leave to meet their British opposite numbers in Casablanca.\n\nThe President, however, was not of like mind. And was about to correct them, in the nicest way he knew how.\n**8**\n\n# Facing the Joint Chiefs of Staff\n\nAT 3:00 P.M. on January 7, 1943, Admiral Leahy and the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, as well as the secretary of the Joint Chiefs, General John Deane, sat down beside the President in the Oval Office to discuss the strategic impasse.\n\nMr. Roosevelt proceeded to run the two-hour meeting in his inimitable manner: refusing to follow an agenda but rather, with the greatest friendliness, asking each of the chiefs to present the case as they saw it: once Tunis was secured, where next? \"At the conference the British will have a plan, and stick to it,\" the President warned. Were they all, he asked innocently, \"agreed that we should meet the British united in advocating a cross-Channel operation?\"\n\nThey were, they said. But _when?_ And _where?_\n\nTo his credit, General Marshall, on behalf of the chiefs, was too honest to lie. All were not agreed about the timing, he confessed. Somewhat sheepishly, he explained to the Commander in Chief \"that there was not a united front on that subject, particularly among our planners\"\u2014especially his own chief Army planning officer, Brigadier General Albert Wedemeyer.\n\n\"The Chiefs of Staff themselves regarded an operation in the north\"\u2014i.e., across the English Channel\u2014\"more favorably than one in the Mediterranean\" once Tunis was secured, \"but the question was still an open one,\" he admitted. \"He said that to him the issue was purely one of logistics; that he was perfectly willing to take some tactical hazards or risks but that he felt we had no right to take logistical hazards. He said that the British were determined to start operations,\" after Tunisia, \"in the Mediterranean\"\u2014leaving \"Bolero [an early code name for a cross-Channel invasion] for a later date. He said the British pressed the point that we must keep the Germans moving. They lay great stress on accomplishing the collapse of Italy which would result in Germany having to commit divisions not only to Italy but also to replace Italian divisions now in other occupied countries,\" regions such as southern France, Corsica, the Balkans, and the Eastern Front.\n\nThe advantage for the British, Marshall continued, would be a secure Allied sea route to Suez and India, and a base for major operations in southern Europe\u2014not only knocking Italy out of the war but holding out the possibility that Turkey might abandon its neutrality and join the United Nations. In this scenario, were it to be selected, the island of Sicily, Marshall said, was considered by him to be the best target of assault, once the campaign in Tunisia was completed: \"a more desirable objective\" than Sardinia, he explained, but one that, in terms of amphibious assault, \"would be similar to an operation across the Channel,\" since the \"Germans have been in Sicily longer,\" and \"there were many more and much better airfields for them than in Sardinia.\"\n\nSicily, then, was the British preference. An amphibious assault on the island dominating the Mediterranean would offer a kind of rehearsal for a future cross-Channel invasion\u2014certainly a better one than Sardinia. But should the United States consent to further operations in the Mediterranean at all? By continuing offensive operations in the northern Mediterranean, whether in assaulting Sardinia or Sicily, Allied forces would be subject to \"air attack from Italy, southern France, Corsica, possibly Greece, as well as a concentrated submarine attack,\" Marshall argued, which could lead to a loss of 20 percent of Allied ships. To this logistical nightmare the general \"also pointed out the danger of [neutral] Spain becoming hostile, in which case we would have an enemy in possession of a defile [across the Mediterranean] on our line of communications.\"\n\nFear of superior German forces in the Mediterranean and scarcity of Allied shipping thus led General Marshall to \"personally favor,\" instead of further difficult operations in the Mediterranean, \"an operation against the Brest peninsula\"\u2014i.e., the Brittany coast of northern France, across the widest part of the English Channel. \"The losses there will be in troops,\" Marshall acknowledged, according to the minutes of the meeting, taken by General Deane, the secretary of the committee, \"but he said that, to state it cruelly, we could replace troops whereas a heavy loss in shipping\" incurred in further operations in the Mediterranean against Sardinia or Sicily, \"might completely destroy any opportunity for successful operations against the enemy [across the English Channel] in the near future.\"\n\nThe President was shocked\u2014as historians would be, years later, when the minutes of the meeting were published. Taking vast U.S. casualties in order to hit the ports or beaches of northern France that year, rather than waiting until commanders and men had successful battle experience in the Mediterranean?\n\nWhat was the hurry? Landing as yet completely inexperienced U.S. forces\u2014commanders and infantry\u2014across the widest part of the English Channel, to be set upon by upwards of twenty-five German divisions? Why invite such a potential disaster when they did not have to? Very politely, the President \"then asked General Marshall what he thought the losses would be in an operation against the Brest Peninsula.\"\n\nMarshall, placed on the spot, had \"replied that there would of course be losses but that there were no narrow straits on our lines of communication\" like Gibraltar\u2014both in terms of reinforcement or evacuation\u2014\"and we could operate with fighter protection from the United Kingdom.\"\n\nThe President could only rub his eyes. No mention of the _two hundred miles_ that Allied fighters would have to fly before they, like the assault ships, even reached the heavily defended invasion points, nor the proximity of twenty-five all-German infantry and armored divisions already stationed in western France, waiting and in constant training to repel an assault on its Atlantic coast, as they had done at Dieppe. No mention of the ease with which Germans could reinforce their Wehrmacht troops there, using short lines of communication from the Reich\u2014and further armored forces they could quickly commit to battle. No mention, either, of the Luftwaffe's ability to use French airfields to attack the invading forces. Above all, no mention of the Canadian catastrophe at Dieppe the previous August, only four months ago. Merely a heartless disdain for the U.S. casualties that would be suffered, in comparison with landing craft\u2014and a deeply, deeply questionable assumption that the invasion would, as Marshall had assured Stimson that morning, be at such \"terrible cost to Germany as to cripple her resistance for the following year.\"\n\nMarshall's presentation of the strategy he recommended the United States should best adopt, as chief of staff of the U.S. Army, was thus lamentable\u2014as even Marshall himself seemed aware, once forced to defend his position.\n\nThe President, however, was a model of tact\u2014unwilling to humble Marshall before his fellow chiefs. How, exactly, he then questioned Marshall, was such a landing at Brest to be actually mounted by U.S. forces\u2014and how did Marshall expect the Germans to respond?\n\nMarshall twisted in the wind. \"The President had questioned the practicability of a landing on the Brest Peninsula,\" General Deane noted in the minutes of the meeting; \"General Marshall replied that he thought the landing could be effected but the difficulties would come later in fighting off attacks from German armored units\"\u2014though \"U.S. airplanes, flown from the United States, could give the troops help.\"\n\nAgain, the President was amazed. U.S. air power such as U.S. Army Air Forces were giving U.S. and British ground forces in Tunisia, in the battles of Medjez-el-Bab and Longstop Hill\u2014where American casualties were reported as heavy, and the Allies were just beginning to learn how tough it was to defeat the Germans in battle? Tellingly, the President therefore \"asked why,\" if Marshall thought a cross-Channel invasion was the best course, \"the British opposed the Brest Peninsula operation?\"\n\nEmbarrassed, Marshall had to concede \"he thought they feared that the German strength would make such an operation impracticable.\"\n\nTo Admiral Leahy's equally direct question as to when Marshall thought such a U.S. invasion of the Brest Peninsula could be \"undertaken,\" Marshall had responded: \"some time in August.\"\n\nAugust 1943.\n\nIt was clear to both President Roosevelt and Admiral Leahy that General Marshall had not done his homework. Above all, the Army chief of staff had no practical idea how a U.S. cross-Channel assault could possibly succeed that very year\u2014in six months' time.\n\nAmerican armed forces currently had only eight weeks' battlefield experience\u2014and most of this fighting ill-armed Vichy French forces, not German troops. How, then, were they to miraculously produce by August of that year the commanders and warriors capable of mounting a successful contested Allied landing in German-occupied Brittany, so close to the German Reich, and then hold out against\u2014let alone defeat\u2014Hitler's concentration of dozens of German infantry and panzer divisions stationed in northern France? And was Marshall really contemplating\u2014as he'd said to Stimson that morning\u2014the possible, even likely, defeat of U.S. armies on the field of battle, and a Dunkirk-like evacuation from Brest? How would the public at home in America\u2014who in any case favored winning the war against Japan over the difficulties of war in Europe\u2014react to that?\n\nThe President had not been impressed. Choosing, by contrast, to back further operations in the Mediterranean, where the Allies had \"800,000 or 900,000 men\" and were currently in the ascendant, would furnish U.S. forces with a good opportunity to gain tough, amphibious battle experience against retreating German troops, far from the Reich, and in a relatively safe theater of war. U.S. operations in the South Pacific were, after all, providing such experience at the very extremity of Japanese lines of communication and resupply, on the other side of the world. With half a million troops that \"might be built up in the United Kingdom for an attack on either Brest or Cherbourg,\" in Normandy, there was certainly every reason to consider a plan for their commitment to battle, if the Germans showed signs of collapse\u2014but the President saw no reason to rush such a decision. He therefore asked whether \"it wouldn't be possible for us to build a large force in England and leave the actual decision\" as to its use \"in abeyance for a month or two.\"\n\nGeneral Marshall took the point\u2014saying he \"would have a study prepared as to the limiting dates before which a decision must be made.\"\n\nGeneral Henry \"Hap\" Arnold, the Army Air Forces commanding officer, did not dare say a word\u2014and Admiral King, embarrassed, very few.\n\nThere would, then, be no immediate decision on a U.S. Second Front in France that year\u2014leaving the chiefs ample opportunity to discuss, with the British at Casablanca, the question of whether to assault Sardinia or Sicily if they crossed the Mediterranean after securing Tunis.\n\nThis left only the overall politico-military strategy of the war to be addressed. Which, without further ado, the President now rehearsed. \"The President said he was going to speak to Mr. Churchill about the advisability of informing Mr. Stalin that the United Nations were to continue on until they reach Berlin,\" the minutes of the meeting recorded, \"and that their only terms would be unconditional surrender.\"\n\nIn the months and years that followed, wild claims would be made that, at Casablanca, the President had thoughtlessly and unilaterally announced a misguided war policy that \"naturally increased the enemy's will to resist and forced even Hitler's worst enemies to continue fighting to save their country,\" as the chief planner on Marshall's team at Casablanca put it. Moreover, that it was a policy his own staff vainly disagreed with, and that neither Churchill, his staff, nor his government had had any idea of it, prior to the President's announcement.\n\nLike so much popular history, this allegation lacked substance. Not only had the President discussed the matter with Prime Minister Mackenzie King a month prior to the White House meeting with the U.S. Chiefs of Staff, but the President's determination to pursue unconditional surrender of the Axis powers had been widely discussed by Sumner Welles's committees when conceptualizing the United Nations authority and end-of-war requirements\u2014which were in turn shared with senior British government officers. In speaking of it to his generals on January 7, 1943, the President made clear his wish that the chiefs factor this objective into their discussions on military strategy with the British at Casablanca. Thanks to Torch, the war against Germany and Japan was no longer one of defense against Axis attack, but of Allied offense\u2014offense that would not stop until Berlin was reached, and then Tokyo.\n\nNo negotiations. No ifs and buts. No concessions, or anything that could later be revoked. Nothing but _complete and unconditional_ surrender of the Germans and Japanese, and their \"disarmament after the war,\" as the President put it to his Joint Chiefs of Staff, sharing with them as well his notion of a four-nation postwar policing force on behalf of the United Nations, which they, as the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, would have to lead.\n\nAs for the cross-Channel invasion, he would, the President said, follow the Combined Chiefs' advice on the timing \"as they thought best.\" For himself, he was anxious to hammer out with America's allies not only the matter of German and Japanese postwar disarmament but other \"political questions\" that he would discuss with Mr. Churchill at Casablanca\u2014and hopefully then at another \"meeting between Mr. Churchill, the Generalissimo [Chiang Kai-shek], Mr. Stalin and himself some time next summer,\" perhaps at the port of Nome, in Alaska, which was also the final stop for planes flying Lend-Lease supplies to the Soviet Union.\n\nThe Joint Chiefs did not demur. With that\u2014save for a brief discussion of planes for Russia, and French sovereignty versus U.S. military government in North Africa\u2014the meeting ended. The Commander in Chief had spoken, and the chiefs had been given their orders. They would depart that very evening for North Africa, where the President was to join them on January 14, if all went well.\nPART THREE\n\n* * *\n\n#  _Casablanca_\n**9**\n\n# The House of Happiness\n\nEARLY ON THE morning of January 14, 1943, the President and his party boarded a four-engine Douglas C-54 Skymaster of U.S. Air Transport Command about twenty miles outside Bathurst. \"Normally, the air route from Bathurst to Casablanca would be entirely over land,\" Captain McCrea later recalled. \"On this occasion,\" however, \"a swing to seaward was made in order to afford the President an aerial view of Dakar and St. Louis, Senegal, French West Africa.\"\n\nThe route would allow the President to see the coastline he'd studied for over a year, when thinking about a possible U.S. invasion of Northwest Africa\u2014especially Dakar. First occupied by tribal Africans, then Portuguese, Dutch, British, and finally French slave traders, Dakar was a fabled port. Following the French surrender at Compi\u00e8gne in 1940, it had posed the danger that, if occupied by the Germans, it could become an impregnable African base for German naval and U-boat operations in the southern Atlantic. Thanks to Torch, however, it was now under American control\u2014the port and fortress having been ceded by its governor-general to General Eisenhower and his French commissioner, Admiral Darlan, on December 7, 1942.\n\nPassing over Dakar, \"the French Battleship _Richelieu_ was clearly observed alongside a seawall as were several other ships at anchor in the harbor,\" McCrea noted. There was a special reason, also, that Roosevelt wished to see the battleship, for it symbolized both the challenge and the success of Torch. With its eight fifteen-inch guns, eighty-five-hundred-mile cruising range, and fifteen-hundred-man crew, the _Richelieu_ had been the first modern battleship built by the French since the 1922 Naval Treaty. Completed in 1940, too late to defend France against the Nazis, it had nevertheless helped defeat France's former allies and anti-Nazis\u2014Major General Charles de Gaulle's ill-fated attempt to seize the seaport on behalf of the Free French having been ignominiously repelled that year. For two years the _Richelieu_ had then stood sentinel against the Allies, on behalf of the Vichy government and in accordance with the terms of Mar\u00e9chal Philippe P\u00e9tain's capitulation to the Third Reich.\n\nAn hour later, two hundred miles further north, at the mouth of the Senegal River, the C-54 flew over \"the very old French port\" of Saint-Louis as well\u2014giving the Allies two American-controlled ports which, thanks to their strategic importance on the Atlantic seaboard, were to be of inestimable significance to the Allies for the remainder of the war. \"Then inland over the desert,\" the President described his route in a letter he penned that night to Daisy.\n\nOn the early-morning drive to the Bathurst airfield, Roosevelt had been upset by the extreme poverty of the people\u2014which said very little for the British and their colonial rule over Gambia, despite having suppressed the slave trade in 1833. Now, over the West African desert, there were no people at all. \"Never saw it before\u2014worse than our Western Desert\u2014Not flat at all & not as light as I had thought,\" he described to Daisy, \"\u2014more a brown yellow, with lots of rocks and wind erosion.\"\n\nThe Skymaster, with its wingspan of 117 feet and space for forty-nine troops, was not nearly as luxurious as the Pan American Clipper. For five hours they flew at six thousand feet, until at last they caught sight, inland, of \"a great chain of mountains\u2014snowy top,\" Roosevelt recorded\u2014explaining that the \"Atlas run from the Coast in Southern Morocco East and North, then East again till they lose themselves in Tunis\": the goal of General Eisenhower's current campaign.\n\n\"In approaching the Atlas mountains the cruising altitude was gradually increased from 8,000 feet to 12,000 feet,\" Captain McCrea remembered the flight\u2014adding his own vivid recollection of how he'd persuaded the President to take oxygen for the first time. \"The President was seated amidships, on the starboard side of the plane,\" he recalled\u2014ever the naval officer. \"I was seated directly across the aisle from him, & Ron McIntire was seated immediately in front of me. Harry Hopkins was seated well forward in the plane. Both Ron and I were quickly aware that the pilot was increasing altitude gradually. Ron suggested that I enquire from our pilot as to how much altitude he was going to level off at. This I did.\" Told that the pilot expected to cruise at about twelve thousand feet, \"I squared away in my seat,\" and the President's doctor, \"turning outboard, addressed me in a low tone of voice over his shoulder. 'John,' said he, 'how about putting on your oxygen mask? I want the President to put his on but if I suggest it to him he will no doubt make a fuss. If he sees you put on your mask he no doubt will follow.' In a few seconds I reached for my mask and proceeded to adjust it. Sure enough when the Pres. saw me putting on my mask he started to fumble with his. I promptly moved across the aisle, straightened out his mask harness and adjusted it for him.\" The doctor then put his own mask on, as did Hopkins\u2014\"And thus we were all set when shortly thereafter we reached 12,000 feet\u2014an altitude which [was] maintained while crossing the Atlas Mountains.\"\n\n\"We flew over a pass at 10,000 ft. & I tried a few whiffs of oxygen,\" the President wrote that night to Daisy. In truth he was more interested in the terrain than the air. \"North of the Mts. we suddenly descended over the first oasis of Marrakesh\u2014a great city going back to the Berbers even before the Arabs came\u2014We may go there if Casablanca is bombed.\"\n\nThey were approaching the battlefield.\n\nIn Washington the President had done his homework on the Berbers\u2014Lieutenant George Elsey, in the Map Room, managing to get Lieutenant Commander S. E. Morison, a distinguished naval scholar from Harvard, a fifteen-minute interview with the President, \"who asked questions I was unable to answer,\" as Morison subsequently wrote Elsey. Morison had therefore researched a \"brief memorandum\" on the subject of the Berbers for the President. In this, the historian had pointed out that the Berbers, according to Egyptian inscriptions, dated as far back as 1700 B.C., and were \"an entirely distinct race from the Phoenecian [ _sic_ ] Carthaginians, who are comparative newcomers in Africa.\" The Berbers, by contrast, were \"the aborigines of North Africa, with a distinct language and writing,\" and possibly the original inhabitants of the Iberian Peninsula. \"They are a 'white' or 'Nordic' race, brown or hazel eyed, and no darker than the North American Indians in complexion.\"\n\nMorison's report had only whetted the President's curiosity aboard the C-54 Skymaster as they approached Casablanca\u2014which, despite air raid sirens going off at various times, was not in fact targeted by long-range German bombers from Tunisia. For all their vaunted efficiency, it seemed the Germans had no idea the President was planning to meet Churchill there, let alone intending to stay almost two weeks\u2014Goebbels recording, afterward, his near-disbelief that the _Sicherheitsdienst_ of the great Third Reich had actually intercepted enemy phone calls, yet had taken the name Casablanca to be Casa Blanca, or White House, Washington, D.C.\n\nThose \"in the know\" at the real White House, however, had remained on tenterhooks lest the President, whose leadership of the Allies seemed so crucial to winning the war, fall victim to accident or assassination.\n\nIn particular, Mike Reilly, head of the White House Secret Service detail, had furiously objected to the idea of such a well-known venue\u2014fears that had only increased when he arrived in Casablanca in advance of the President. Concerned the city was full of agents, assassins, and former Vichy officials of dubious reliability, Reilly had instantly tried to have the summit moved to Marrakesh, several hours' drive further south. Told that only the President could order this, he'd nevertheless persuaded the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, who'd arrived on January 12, not to go meet the U.S. Commander in Chief in person on his arrival at Medouina airport on the afternoon of January 14, lest they attract unwarranted attention.\n\nLanding at the airfield, the President was not in the least put out. Filming of a new Hollywood movie called _Casablanca_ had, by complete coincidence, recently been completed in Los Angeles, and had been flown to Washington and shown to the President at the White House on Christmas Eve. The film\u2014starring Humphrey Bogart, Paul Henreid, and Ingrid Bergman\u2014had charmed him, and the climax at the faux-Medouina airport (\"Round up the usual suspects!\") had made him much more interested in the fabled city, its kasbah, its \u00e9migr\u00e9s and spies, than in presidential protocol. \"At last at 4 p.m. Casablanca & the ocean came in sight\u2014I was landed at a field 22 miles from the town,\" he recorded in his letter to Daisy. \"Who do you suppose was at the airport?\" he wrote rhetorically. Not the U.S. chiefs but Lieutenant Colonel Elliott Roosevelt, his second son, standing beside Mike Reilly! And \"looking very fit & mighty proud of his D.F.C. [Distinguished Flying Cross]\"\u2014awarded for dangerous low-level reconnaissance missions, flown both before and during the Torch invasion.\n\nAs Roosevelt proudly told his son when they got into the camouflaged car, this trip marked the first time he'd flown in a decade. And with that the President shared with Elliott his amazement at the progress in air travel in only a few decades. There had been some flights in his early career that had been positively hair-raising, he recounted, when he was assistant secretary from 1913 to 1920. \"In naval airplanes. Inspection trips. The kind of flying,\" he chuckled, thinking of the open biplane cockpits, \" _you'll_ never know.\" By contrast, this, his first transatlantic trip, had given him a dramatic idea of \"what so many of our flyers are doing, the sort of thing aviation's going through these days, and developments of flying. Gives me,\" he'd told Elliott\u2014who knew this far better than his father\u2014\"a perspective.\"\n\nFather and son were then \"driven under heavy guard & in a car with soaped windows\" not to Rick's Caf\u00e9, the President wrote Daisy, but to \"this delightful villa belonging to a Mme. Bessan whose army husband is a prisoner in France\u2014She & her child were ejected as were the other cottage owners & sent to the hotel in town.\"\n\nHe had, in short, arrived.\n\nSelection of the villa, indeed of the city, had only been made a few weeks earlier by Eisenhower's chief of staff, Walter Bedell Smith, and Churchill's military assistant, Brigadier Ian Jacob.\n\nJacob had judged Casablanca a far better location than Fedala, further north and also on the ocean. The Villa Dar es Saada, in particular, had \"the most magnificent drawing room leading out on to a large verandah,\" plus a dining room at one end, and a \"principal bedroom complete with private bathroom\" at the other, on the same floor. There were two further rooms upstairs. Along with thirteen other villas it was situated in a \"garden suburb\" of Casablanca known as Anfa: an area a mile wide, built \"on a knoll about a mile inland and 5 miles south-west of the center of town.\" There was a large forty-room hotel nearby for the Combined Chiefs of Staff and their staffs, with a \"view out over the Atlantic, or overland to Casablanca\" that was \"truly magnificent,\" as Jacob noted in an account he wrote at the time. \"The dazzling blue of the water, the white of the buildings in Casablanca, and the red soil dotted with green palms and bougainvillea and begonia,\" he recorded, \"made a beautiful picture in the sunlight\"\u2014bounded, by the time the President arrived, with hastily erected barbed wire, antiaircraft guns, and an entire U.S. infantry battalion restricting all access to a single checkpoint.\n\nAlthough elaborate steps, Elliott Roosevelt later recalled, had been taken to keep news of the President's impending arrival quiet, the heavily guarded compound could have fooled no one\u2014least of all the \"French fascists\" left behind by the hastily departing French-German 1940 armistice team. Such individuals were armed, as Elliott caustically put it, \"with German money in their pockets.\" After several air raid alarms\u2014though no German planes\u2014Mike Reilly had certainly had enough, however. Having persuaded the U.S. Chiefs of Staff not to greet the President at the airport, or even at his villa, he now begged them to use their collective military influence, once they did see the President, to get him to change his plans and move south to safer quarters in Marrakesh.\n\nWarned of this, Roosevelt dismissed the very idea. As president he was U.S. commander in chief. He felt on top form\u2014even without his chief of staff, who he'd counted on to keep his Joint Chiefs of Staff in line. Casablanca was the scene of recent battle, and one of the largest artificial ports in the world. Having spent four days and nights getting to the city in a succession of trains, floatplanes, tenders, transport aircraft, and limousines, he was \"'agin' it,\" and \"said so, often enough and forcefully enough,\" Elliott remembered, \"to carry the day.\"\n\nIn the meantime he wanted to see where he'd sleep.\n\n\"When Father got his first look,\" Elliott remembered, \"he whistled.\"\n\nThe bedroom's d\u00e9cor reminded the President of a French brothel. \"Now all we need is the madam of the house,\" he laughed, throwing back his head. \"Plenty of drapes, plenty of frills,\" Elliott recalled. \"And a bed that was\u2014well, perhaps not all wool, but at least three yards wide. And his bathroom featured one of those sunken bathtubs, in black marble.\"\n\nThe plumbing, too, worked fine. Wheeling his father around the house, Elliott found him more at home than he could have imagined possible. Guarded by a battalion of U.S. troops, in an area of Morocco under American rather than French or British military command, the Villa Dar es Saada\u2014meaning \"House of Happiness\"\u2014was the finest private residence in the suburb. It boasted almost twenty-eight-foot-high ceilings, steel-shuttered windows, and looked out over a beautifully terraced garden with vine-covered trellis. The two rooms upstairs could be used as bedrooms\u2014one for Hopkins, and one for Elliott.\n\nAnother of the President's sons, Lieutenant Franklin Roosevelt Jr., would also be coming\u2014unannounced. His destroyer, the USS _Mayrant,_ had covered the Torch invasion and was still stationed offshore. Learning of this and having once served as a midshipman with the regional naval commander (the brilliant Rear Admiral John L. Hall), Captain McCrea immediately arranged for FDR Jr. to be brought the next day to Anfa, without being told the reason. \"He sighted me and burst out 'My God, Captain, is Pa here?\" McCrea recalled humorously. \"I told him his suspicion was correct and I took him across the street\"\u2014telling him to be \"prepared for a surprised parent. The Pres. indeed was surprised, and father and son indulged in fond embrace\"\u2014followed by \"an invitation to stay for lunch which, of course, Franklin did.\"\n\nAll in all the Villa Dar es Saada was a house of happiness, thanks to Brigadier Jacob: the President's pro tempore White House and his family residence, established in an American realm, guarded by American soldiers\u2014not a British colony or quasi-colony, such as Khartoum or Cairo, the two cities Churchill had recommended.\n\nOnce installed, the President asked Harry Hopkins to go fetch Churchill, whose villa, the Mirador, was only \"fifty yards away,\" as Hopkins recorded. It would be the first time they'd seen each other since Churchill's fateful visit to Washington at the time of the British surrender of Tobruk, seven months before. The President could only marvel at how times had changed.\n\nChurchill, for his part, was equally excited\u2014in fact had arrived two days early to prepare for the arrival of the \"Boss.\" In his speech at the Mansion House in London on November 10, 1942, announcing the success of Torch, Churchill had openly revealed that the \"President of the United States, who is Commander in Chief of the armed forces of America, is the author of this mighty undertaking and in all of it I have been his active and ardent lieutenant.\"\n\nReading the text of the speech, Hitler's Reichsminister f\u00fcr Propaganda had been fascinated. Churchill, Goebbels had noted in his diary, was not only openly ascribing the Allied victories to the huge superiority now enjoyed by American arms, but \"he also admits that the whole invasion plan came from Roosevelt's brain, and that he is only a loyal servant to Roosevelt's plans.\"\n\nHitherto, Goebbels had assumed from British newspaper articles that Churchill was the brains behind Allied operations in the European theater\u2014something he'd found \"comforting,\" as he'd noted cynically, \"since all previous military operations he's been behind have ended up as disasters.\" Churchill's public acknowledgment that the U.S. president was now in charge heralded something different\u2014indeed, alarming.\n\n\"The Americans are now out of the starter's block. Their next target is Tripoli,\" Goebbels had recorded; in fact, idle armchair strategists in America and England were assuming the Allies would soon clear Axis forces from North Africa entirely. \"They already imagine themselves invading Italy and foresee themselves invading Germany via the Brenner Pass. All this, of course, a very simple and plausible calculation,\" Goebbels had added sarcastically, \"\u2014if it weren't for us being there!\"\n\nThis was the crux of the matter\u2014for the quality of armed German resistance was something the prognosticators of whom Goebbels spoke, whether in the United States or Britain, seemed incapable of appreciating. Tunisia was to be the key to thwarting Allied strategic ambitions, Goebbels had been told by the F\u00fchrer\u2014who saw the battle for Tunis becoming a new Verdun. \"If we hang on to Tunis, then nothing is lost in North Africa,\" he'd recorded. And already, as General Eisenhower and his invasion forces attempted to come to terms with the business of real combat with real Germans\u2014as opposed to ill-armed Vichy defenders\u2014Hitler was being proven right, on the field of battle rather than in the print of newspaper columnists.\n\nWinston Churchill had been educated as a soldier at Sandhurst and boasted a lifetime's military experience, from the North-West Frontier to the Sudan and South Africa. Like so many commentators in the press, he had visualized a swift Allied advance\u2014by Montgomery's Eighth Army marching from the east and by Eisenhower's First Army from the west. \"I never meant the Anglo-American Army to be stuck in North Africa,\" the Prime Minister had chided his British chiefs of staff on November 15, 1942, only a week after the Torch invasion\u2014irritated by the celerity with which Hitler had reinforced his meager forces in Tunisia by air, and the slowness of British and American ground troops spearheading Eisenhower's thrust from Algeria. In one of his instantly memorable turns of phrase, the Prime Minister had berated them, saying the Torch invasion was \"a springboard, and not a sofa.\"\n\nIt became a classic Churchillian metaphor, oft repeated. In truth, though, it masked a huge difference between Allied and German soldiery. For the simple fact was, whether volunteers or conscripts, Allied soldiers were not like the Germans or the Japanese. As Roosevelt had confided in 1942 to Field Marshal John Dill, the British liaison to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Allied troops did not have, for the most part, the kind of ruthless, even fanatical obedience to orders and discipline that characterized German and Japanese forces. Only by adopting a careful, step-by-step approach to war, evading ventures that posed unnecessary risks; only by undertaking offensive operations within the capabilities of Allied troops; only by applying the advantages of U.S. mass production; and only by pursuing global military strategies that built upon Allied strengths\u2014fusing air, naval, and ground forces\u2014could the Allies actually defeat the Wehrmacht and the Japanese. Not by prime ministerial exhortation, however inspiring.\n\nChurchill's bon mot reflected an aging yet still wonderfully indefatigable English leader. At heart he remained a dashing young cavalryman, as on the North-West Frontier in his early days of service, or in the Sudan fighting the self-proclaimed Mahdi at the turn of the century, in 1898. Half a century later, his \"Action this day\" tags\u2014the red stickers he would attach to his brilliantly written memos demanding immediate response by his staff\u2014were a tribute to his abiding energy as he approached seventy: spearing lethargy and electrifying traditional British bureaucratic pen-pushers, sclerotic after centuries of imperial paperwork. However, they masked a profound flaw in the Prime Minister's makeup as his country's quasi\u2013commander in chief in 1943: the irreconcilable difference between his grand strategic ideas and his too-often ill-considered opportunism\u2014a difference affecting tens of thousands of soldiers' lives.\n\nAfter the war the former prime minister would go to great lengths to cast himself, in his six-volume epic _The Second World War,_ not only as a lonely oracle but architect of war. Inasmuch as he saw better than any of his contemporaries the ebb and flow of military history, necessitating that Britain withstand the predations of Hitler's Third Reich until it could be rescued, he was by 1943 being proven right. He had, after all, lost every battle against the Germans since 1940, yet with his U.S. partner in war was helping to force Hitler, thanks to Torch, onto the defensive. Once Tunis fell, the Allies would possess a springboard for eventual victory in Europe, he felt\u2014provided the Russians continued to face the brunt of Hitler's Wehrmacht in the East. But beyond that his military strategy did not go, since he did not believe a cross-Channel attack could possibly succeed. In reality he had no idea how, in fact, the Third Reich could be defeated, beyond constant peripheral pressure and air attack.\n\nAs the two Allied leaders met at 6:00 p.m. at the President's villa on January 14, 1943, there was thus, behind the bonhomie and goodwill, a distinct divergence of opinion. The Prime Minister's agenda was how to placate the United States, defer operations against Japan, and by \"closing the ring\" around the Third Reich\u2014sheering off its allies, such as Italy, as they went, and hoping to get the peoples of occupied Europe to rise up against the Germans\u2014engender Hitler's fall, followed by that of Hirohito. Thence to return the world, as he saw it, to its former European imperialist setup, before the F\u00fchrer, the Duce, and Tojo's gang of admirals and generals had upset the balance of power.\n\nThe President, for his part, had a quite different vision. Not only a vision of the future, but how to achieve that future: the endgame. Their clash of objectives in Casablanca, behind the scenes, thus promised to be historic.\n**10**\n\n# Hot Water\n\nKNOWING VIA Field Marshal Dill, in Washington, that the U.S. chiefs of staff did not favor a delay in launching a Second Front that year, Churchill had told his British chiefs they would have to do again what they had done the previous spring: show willing, while stringing the Americans along, in order to pursue a more opportunistic course in the Mediterranean. The chiefs of staff were thus merely to pretend to be agreeable to closing down \"the Mediterranean activities by the end of June with a view to 'Round-up'\"\u2014an Allied 1943 cross-Channel invasion\u2014\"in August.\" The final decision on a Second Front, however, would be made, he instructed them, \"on the highest levels\"\u2014i.e., by himself and the President. For Mr. Roosevelt, he was sure, would agree with him it was impossible: the Germans, in northern France, were just too strong in the number of divisions they had there.\n\nWith this in mind Churchill had made haste to set off for Casablanca on January 11, together with a huge retinue of staff officers and clerks. Bad weather threatened to vitiate his plan\u2014but had not stopped it.\n\nServing as Churchill's military assistant, Brigadier Ian Jacob had been wary of the contingent the Prime Minister was taking, instead of the small staff the President had requested. \"I was rather horrified at the size of the party which had been gotten together,\" Jacob wrote in his contemporary account. \"The whole added up to a pretty formidable total.\" Some members of the party could, of course, be concealed and housed onboard the communications ship that was being sent out, HMS _Bulolo,_ he recognized. \"But knowing as I did from conversations with Beetle [Bedell] Smith that the Americans would bring a very modest team, I was rather afraid that the President or the Chiefs of Staff might take offense at the size of our party, & that the success of the conference might be endangered. I put this point to the P.M. on Sunday morning before I left Chequers [the prime ministerial retreat], & he said the party was to be cut down. However, when we went into the question on Monday with the Chiefs of Staff we found that there were few if any people who could be discarded, & it was decided that the best policy would be to take a full bag of clubs, leaving some of them concealed as it were in the locker\u2014i.e. the ship.\"\n\nDespite bad weather delaying the takeoff of the main Boeing Clipper, Churchill had insisted the primary team fly still on January 13 using land-based aircraft. The staff were thus farmed out among four RAF American-built Liberator (B-24) planes, each of which could normally take only seven \"passengers.\" As a result the Prime Minister had found himself cramped in a bomb bay bunk, flying without heat, which had not left him in the best of moods. This had not improved when, after asking his manservant, Sawyers, to run him a bath on arrival at the Villa Mirador, he had found it neither hot nor deep enough. \"You might have thought the end of the world had come,\" Jacob described. \"Everyone was sent for in turn, all were fools, and finally the P.M. said he wouldn't stay a moment longer, & would move into the hotel [Anfa] or to Marrakesh\"\u2014where he'd spent a pleasant month in 1932.\n\nIn the event, food and drink\u2014drink especially\u2014had \"had its mellowing influence,\" as the Prime Minister lunched with General Marshall and the Fifth U.S. Army commander, Lieutenant General Mark Clark, and \"the excitement died down. Plumbers were assembled from all directions, and somehow or other the water was kept hot in the future.\"\n\nBath or no bath, Churchill did, however, take great pains to be amenable to Marshall and Clark\u2014reporting to the British chiefs of staff on the evening of their first day's work in Casablanca, on January 13, that \"some kind\" of cross-Channel \"Sledgehammer\" operation in Brittany would have to be undertaken that very year, if only to support U.S. efforts. \"Only in this way should we be taking our fair share of the burden of the war,\" he'd told them at their first meeting with him, at 4.30 p.m.\n\nBrigadier Jacob also noted, however, the Prime Minister's openness to undertaking different operations. The son of a field marshal, Jacob was a first-class administrator, with a crystal-clear mind, fair judgment, loyalty to his superiors, and a talent for lucid exposition, which the Prime Minister particularly valued. A U.S. agenda had been lined up and sent from Washington, which \"contained a list of every topic under the sun, but the most important thing,\" the military assistant noted, \"was to get settled in broad outline our combined strategy for 1943, and then to get down to brass tacks and decide how exactly to carry it out. One couldn't decide in detail what to do unless one knew what one's strategic aim was to be. At the same time one could hardly fix one's strategic aims unless one examined in detail what operations we were capable of carrying out and what we were not.\"\n\n\"Not\" meant a cross-Channel invasion that year.\n\nJacob did try to see the problem from a U.S. perspective, however, asking Sir John Dill's view as the British representative on the Combined Chiefs of Staff in Washington\u2014and was not surprised when Dill warned that there was a \"general fear of commitments in the Mediterranean, and secondly, a suspicion that we did not understand the Pacific problem and would not put our backs into the work there once Germany had been defeated. Thus although the Americans were honestly of the opinion that Germany was the primary enemy, they did not see how quite to deal with her, especially as they felt there were urgent and great tasks to be done in Burma and the Pacific.\" These tasks involved logistical and operational struggles between General MacArthur and Admiral Nimitz\u2014the Army versus the Navy in terms of distribution of resources\u2014and the right combination of those forces and campaign strategy. They had already led to much infighting, as well as uneven effort, such as at Guadalcanal, \"where the U.S. Marines were thrown ashore, and then it was found that there was no follow-up, no maintenance organization, and no transport.\"\n\nAlong with the British chiefs of staff, the Prime Minister also interrogated Dill, who repeated his assessment of U.S. positions and problems. Delighted that he'd come early to the conference, Churchill was sure he could handle the President. The Prime Minister's \"view was clear,\" Jacob recorded Churchill's approach, expressed now in front of Dill and the British chiefs of staff. \"He wanted to take plenty of time. Full discussion, no impatience\u2014the dripping of water on a stone.\" The big British contingent was to methodically wean the small American team away from its fixation on a major cross-Channel assault that year to more gradual, peripheral operations in the Mediterranean, with a smaller operation in Brittany, perhaps, to get a toehold at least on the continent. \"In the meantime,\" while the chiefs met their opposite numbers in the daily Combined Chiefs of Staff meetings at the Anfa Hotel, \"he would be working on the President, and in ten days or a fortnight,\" Churchill was confident, \"everything would fall into place. He also made no secret of the fact that he was out to get agreement on a programme of operations for 1943 which the Military people might well think beyond our powers, but which he felt was the least that could be thought worthy of two great powers.\"\n\nTo the alarm of the British chiefs, then, the Prime Minister was all for action, on multiple fronts. To start with, he \"wanted the cleansing of the North African shore to be followed by the capture of Sicily. He wanted the reconquest of Burma, and he wanted the invasion of Northern France, on a moderate scale perhaps. Operations in the Pacific should not be such as to prevent fulfilment of his programme. The Chiefs of Staff were dismissed on this note, and the rest of the evening,\" before the President's arrival the next day, \"was given up to ice-breaking dinner parties.\"\n**11**\n\n# A Wonderful Picture\n\nPRESIDENT ROOSEVELT, for his part, was all for icebreaking. \"I marveled at the way the Army just moved in and took charge and ran the whole operation,\" even Captain McCrea later noted\u2014speaking as a sailor.\n\nBrigadier Jacob, who had reconnoitered and recommended the venue, was equally delighted by the U.S. Army's efforts, especially the catering: \"certainly excellent, mostly U.S. Army rations, too. Of course it was supplemented with local produce,\" including oranges, which\u2014\"large and juicy, with the best flavor of any oranges in the world\"\u2014formed \"a part of every meal.\" The \"cooking too was good, and as again the whole thing was free, a genial warmth spread over our souls,\" he recorded.\n\nMcCrea agreed. \"So well was this done that on the first evening of our arrival the President was able to entertain at dinner Prime Minister Churchill and the Combined Chiefs of Staff (both the U.S. Joint Chiefs and British Chiefs of Staff), plus Col. Roosevelt and Averell Harriman\u2014some twelve persons in all.\"\n\nChurchill had hurried over with Hopkins at around 7:00 p.m. No formal notes were made of what was said between the President and Prime Minister, but the \"three of us had a long talk over the military situation,\" Hopkins wrote in his notes that night. The winter weather in the mountains had slowed the campaign in Tunisia, and Montgomery had yet to take Tripoli and advance toward Tunisia, but the plan of campaign was that the two Allied pincers would eventually trap the German and Italian forces in the Cape Bon Peninsula: forcing them either to attempt a Dunkirk-style evacuation or surrender. It was what would happen thereafter\u2014locally, regionally, and internationally\u2014that was the biggest problem to be resolved in the coming days.\n\nThe Combined Chiefs of Staff had been having cocktails at the Anfa Hotel when Hopkins arrived with the presidential summons. Dutifully, the bevy of generals and admirals\u2014Generals Marshall and Arnold, Admiral King, General Alan Brooke, Admiral Dudley Pound, Air Marshal Charles Portal, Admiral Louis Mountbatten, as well as the Lend-Lease administrator, Averell Harriman\u2014trooped over.\n\nThe dinner, in the President's villa, went rather well. \"People were tired, that first night,\" Elliott recalled, \"but it didn't stop anybody from enjoying himself\"\u2014particularly as there was no attempt to limit the consumption of wine or liquor. General Hap Arnold recounted how he had just been down to the harbor to see the damage inflicted on the brand-new French battleship _Jean Bart_ during the Torch invasion\u2014the airman delighted to see that American thousand-pound bombs had smashed \"holes in bow and stern large enough to take a small bungalow.\" Others gave their own impressions of the city and its kasbah.\n\nAdmiral King \"became nicely lit up towards the end of the evening,\" Brooke scrawled in his diary that night. \"As a result\" the admiral became \"more and more pompous, and with a thick voice and many gesticulations explained to the President the best way to organize the Political French organization for control of North Africa!\"\u2014something King would never have dared do when sober. \"This led to arguments with PM who failed to appreciate fully the condition King was in. Most amusing to watch.\"\n\nThe dinner was certainly a far cry from life at Hitler's headquarters in East Prussia, where the F\u00fchrer had ceased to dine with his senior military staff. He'd stopped listening even to music at night, refused to go near the battle front or to make any public pronouncements\u2014and was still demanding that no mention be made in the Nazi media of the increasingly catastrophic situation around Stalingrad.\n\n\"I busied myself filling glasses,\" Elliott Roosevelt later recalled. \"After dinner, Father and Churchill sat down on a big, comfortable couch that had been set back to the big windows. The steel shutters were closed. The rest of us pulled up chairs in a semicircle in front of the two on the couch.\" \"Many things discussed,\" Arnold noted in his diary\u2014including their leaders' safety. \"Everyone tried to keep President and Prime Minister from making plans to get too near front,\" given that both men \"seemed determined\" to go, and \"could see no real danger.\"\n\n\"We have come many miles and must stay long enough to solve very important problems,\" Arnold finished his nightly jotting\u2014aware how much responsibility the President carried, for good or ill. And he quoted the British prime minister, whose words had the sober ring of history, despite the immense quantity of alcohol the Prime Minister had imbibed. \"Churchill: 'This is the most important meeting so far. We must not relinquish initiative now that we have it. You men are the ones who have the facts and who will make plans for the future.'\"\n\nAn air raid siren then wailed, bringing the postprandial get-together almost to a close. \"At about 1:30 a.m. an alarm was received,\" General Brooke noted in green ink in his own leather-bound diary, \"lights were put out, and we sat around the table with faces lit by 6 candles. The PM and President in that light and surroundings would have made,\" he scribbled, \"a wonderful picture.\"\n\nRembrandt might have painted it, but sadly, no photographs were taken that evening\u2014though other, iconic photos would be, at the climax of the conference, ten days later. None could fail to be aware, however, just how symbolic was the meeting: the leaders of the two main Western democracies, gathering together with their chiefs of staff on the still-scarred battlefield of a foreign land, there to plan the further strategy and military operations against Hitler's Germany, Mussolini's Italy, and Hirohito's Japan. There would clearly be problems, especially political; but the new, dominating role of the United States was unmistakable\u2014visible not only in the planes, tanks, artillery, and equipment factories were churning out at an ever-increasing rate across North America but their presence now in Northwest Africa, thousands of miles from American shores, barely eight weeks since the huge and successful amphibious U.S. invasion.\n\nNot all was positive in the House of Happiness, however.\n\n\"Well after midnight, the P.M. took his leave,\" Elliott later recalled. The President \"was tired but still in a talkative mood\"\u2014and talk he did to his son. To Elliott the President confided his continuing distrust not only of the French, in regard to their tottering colonial empire, but of Churchill, too, in that respect. This might well complicate his dream of a United Nations authority committed to the principles of the Atlantic Charter, after the war. \"The English mean to maintain their hold on their colonies. They mean to help the French maintain _their_ hold on _their_ colonies. Winnie is a great man for the status quo,\" the President said sadly to Elliott. \"He even _looks_ like the status quo, doesn't he?\"\n\nElliott's version of events was considered suspect by some, but Prime Minister Mackenzie King's contemporary record of his stay at the White House the previous month, as well as the diary kept by Daisy Suckley, the President's cousin, would lend credence to the overall veracity of Elliott's account, published immediately after the war's end. The President had disliked Admiral Darlan\u2014but that did not mean he approved of de Gaulle, who harbored dictatorial ambitions. \"Elliott,\" the President said to his son, \"de Gaulle is out to achieve one-man government in France\"\u2014and was committed to the revival of its colonial empire. \"I can't imagine a man I would distrust more. His whole Free French movement is honeycombed with police spies\u2014he has agents spying on his own people. To him, freedom of speech means freedom from criticism . . . of him.\"\n\nWhich led the President to turn to \"the problem of the colonies and the colonial markets, the problem of which he felt was at the core of all chances for future peace\" across the globe. \"'The thing is,' he remarked thoughtfully, replacing a smoked cigarette in his holder with a fresh one, 'the colonial system means war. Exploit the resources of an India, a Burma, a Java; take all the wealth out of those countries, but never put anything back into them, things like education, decent standards of living, minimum health requirements\u2014all you're doing is storing up the kind of trouble that leads to war. All you're doing is negating the value of any kind of organizational structure for peace before it begins.\" And with that he'd chortled: \"The look that Churchill gets on his face when you mention India!\"\n\nTo Elliott the President then explained his notion of trusteeships: that \"France should be restored as a world power, then to be entrusted with her former colonies as a trustee. As trustee, she was to report each year on the progress of her stewardship, how the literacy rate was improving, how the death rate declining, how disease being stamped out, how . . .\"\n\nPhased decolonization, under the aegis of the United Nations, in other words.\n\n\"Wait a minute,\" Elliott had countered, \"Who's she going to report all this to?\"\n\nAnd with that his father had set out\u2014to Elliott's amazement\u2014his vision of the \"United Nations\" postwar \"organization.\" Also his notion of policemen: the \"big Four\u2014ourselves, Britain, China, the Soviet Union\u2014we'll be responsible for the peace of the world\"\u2014once the war was won. \"It's already high time for us to be thinking of the future, building for it,\" Roosevelt remarked.\n\n\"Three-thirty, Pop,\" his son pointed out.\n\n\"Yes. Now I _am_ tired,\" the President acknowledged. \"Get some sleep yourself, Elliott.\"\n\nAnd with that the eve of the defining conference of World War II came to a close.\n**12**\n\n# In the President's Boudoir\n\nELLIOTT OVERSLEPT. When he staggered downstairs for breakfast on January 15, it was to find the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff already assembled in his father's boudoir.\n\nIt was 10:00 a.m.\u2014and the President was listening to what had transpired at the preliminary Combined Chiefs of Staff meeting the previous day, at the Anfa Hotel.\n\nIn insisting the conference take place in American-held Morocco, the President had chosen wisely\u2014for it was vital the U.S. chiefs be exposed to the actual Torch battlefield in Northwest Africa. Instead of concocting strategy and operations thousands of miles away, in the safety and comfort of the Pentagon and the Mall, they would have a chance to meet the men and commanders on the ground who were fighting Germans now, not Vichy French troops. It was also crucial that the U.S. chiefs be separated for a time from their dangerously irresponsible planners, who had very little idea of modern hostilities in facing the Wehrmacht\u2014or the fanatical Japanese. In the many documents accumulating in his Map Room at the White House\u2014U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff minutes, Combined Chiefs of Staff minutes, Joint Strategic Survey minutes, Joint Intelligence Committee minutes, Joint Staff Planners Reports, recommendations and analyses of the differences between British and U.S. strategic views since November 1942\u2014he had never seen a single mention of the need for American combat experience.\n\nThe plethora of paper evinced dutiful, unstinting research and statistical evidence gathered in Washington\u2014but no common sense. That the Western Allies were holding half of the Luftwaffe's entire operational strength on the Western and Mediterranean Fronts was calculated down to the nearest plane; the number of Wehrmacht divisions capable of offensive and defensive operations was tallied and enumerated; the amount of German naval vessels and U-boats estimated. Yet the need for American battle _experience_ \u2014and lessons\u2014in matching up to professional German foes had seemed a closed book to such bureaucrats and staffers.\n\nAt the time of Casablanca\u2014as well as after the war\u2014there would thus be righteous indignation over the President's decision to allow only a handful of staff officers to accompany the U.S. chiefs on the trip to North Africa. Led by the War Office's chief planning officer, Brigadier General Albert Wedemeyer\u2014who was one of the few permitted to travel with General Marshall to Casablanca\u2014these men would complain they had been thrown to English wolves: a British prime minister taking with him a vast retinue of planners and operations officers and clerks committed to a vague British, rather than an Allied, military strategy for 1943.\n\nWedemeyer, in particular, would complain they'd been duped; that the President had made a terrible mistake; had through naivet\u00e9 brought a military team simply too small to confront the host of staff officers accompanying the wily Churchill. Moreover, that the British had tricked the American contingent into abandoning their preferred Second Front invasion that summer, 1943. The British staff officers, Wedemeyer would complain, had been backed by yet _more_ staffers aboard HMS _Bulolo,_ anchored for their special use in Casablanca Harbor. Using this communications ship, the British planners were able to cable London and put their hands on any fact or figure they needed to support their alternative British plans, and thus defeat American counterproposals; whereas the U.S. contingent, despite being in a U.S. compound in a U.S. military area guarded by U.S. artillery and antiaircraft guns, was virtually captive in terms of British bureaucratic firepower.\n\n\"They swarmed upon us all like locusts,\" Wedemeyer lamented in a letter from North Africa to General Thomas Handy, the assistant chief of staff in the War Department's Operations Division (OPD) in Washington, and \"had us on the defensive practically all the time\"\u2014backed by \"a plentiful supply of planners and various other assistants, with prepared plans to insure that they not only accomplished their purpose but did so in stride and with fair promise of continuing in the role of directing strategy the whole course of the war.\"\n\nGeneral Wedemeyer was certainly not alone in perceiving a British conspiracy to subvert the swifter course of World War II. General Handy, who received Wedemeyer's letter in Washington and passed it on to other generals at the Pentagon, was of like mind, bewailing afterward that \"the British on the planning level just snowed them under.\"\n\nYet another U.S. planner later recalled how \"we were overwhelmed by the large British staff.\"\n\nBrigadier General J. E. Hull, heading up the OPD at the Pentagon, was even more embarrassed than Wedemeyer and Handy by the U.S. unpreparedness for paper battle. \"The British had come down there in droves,\" he later recalled, \"and every one of them had written a paper about something that was submitted by the British Chiefs of Staff to the American chiefs of Staff for agreement.\"\n\nIn sum, \"We came, we listened,\" Wedemeyer recoined Caesar's famous epigram, \"and we were conquered.\"\n\nAll this was true\u2014bearing out Brigadier Jacob's nervousness at the size of the British team Churchill insisted should be flown to Casablanca. Yet in terms of the Allied strategy that President Roosevelt was now to lay down at Casablanca, it completely missed the point. For the reality was: Wedemeyer and his colleagues were still living in a fool's paradise. And the moment of truth\u2014not only the President's truth, but truth on the ground\u2014had arrived.\n\nInexperienced U.S. planning officers like Brigadier General Wedemeyer were the real problem\u2014not the British.\n\nThe U.S. War Department's final planning document, produced by the Joint Strategic Survey Committee and sent over to the White House Map Room for the President to review before he departed from Washington, had said it all: stating baldly that once Tunisia and Libya were secured, the Allies' Mediterranean Front should be closed down. Mussolini's Italy, in the planning committee's view, could be forced to surrender by air bombing alone. All U.S. Army forces should be switched to Britain \"for a land offensive against Germany in 1943\"\u2014without gaining any further amphibious experience, or campaign lessons in facing and fighting German forces.\n\nThankfully the President had confided to Mackenzie King, in early December, his unwillingness to tackle a cross-Channel invasion before American commanders and troops were blooded and had the measure of their opponents\u2014which could best be done in the Mediterranean, where this could be achieved, as he said, without risking a major setback. His interrogation of General Marshall at the White House before the chiefs left for Casablanca on January 7 had only convinced him more deeply that a premature invasion of northern France would be a disaster\u2014and he had insisted no decision should therefore be made for several months. It was thus with decided relief that President Roosevelt found, at midmorning in his bedroom on his first full day in Casablanca, January 15, 1943, that the penny had finally dropped, at least among his chiefs of staff.\n\nMaking his chiefs fly to Casablanca had, he found, already worked\u2014without British intervention. Once in Morocco, Marshall had finally talked to Allied commanders on the battlefield. As Marshall now confessed in the villa's bordello-like bedroom, he had spoken not only to Admiral Mountbatten\u2014the British chief of Combined Operations, who'd been responsible for the disastrous Dieppe landings\u2014but at great length with General Mark Clark. Clark had been Eisenhower's deputy in the Torch invasion, and had just been promoted to command the U.S. Fifth Army in Morocco, both to defend against mythical German invasion across the Mediterranean and prepare for future offensive operations. General Clark had informed the chief of staff of the U.S. Army that there was no chance of a cross-Channel operation succeeding in the summer of 1943.\n\nNo chance whatever.\n\nThis was music to the President's ears\u2014for he had half-expected to have to do battle once again against his own team, lest in the interval since their meeting in the Oval Office on January 7 they revert to their insistence on a cross-Channel invasion in 1943.\n\nGeneral Clark's battlefield testimony, however, had applied the necessary dose of cold reality. Clark\u2014a man who certainly did not lack courage, having fetched General Henri Giraud from Vichy-held southern France in person by submarine to assist in the Torch invasion\u2014had been emphatic. To Marshall he'd explained that \"there must be a long period of training before any attempt is made to land against determined resistance\"\u2014especially Wehrmacht resistance of the kind that would meet a cross-Channel invasion. In particular he'd \"pointed out many of the mishaps that occurred in the landing in North Africa which would have been fatal had the resistance been more determined,\" as Marshall now relayed to the President. In fact, General Clark had himself undergone a Pauline conversion. In London, the previous summer, he'd deplored the idea of landings in Northwest Africa as an unnecessary \"sideshow.\" Now, however, he felt American amphibious operations in 1943 \"could be mounted more efficiently from North Africa\"\u2014and certainly with less loss of life\u2014than from the British Isles and the United States, across the English Channel.\n\nHitler's Atlantic Wall, the fighting general had made clear to Marshall, was no joke. The American military was not up to such a gargantuan task, he'd realized\u2014and was backed by the latest British planning reports. The British, it seemed, had done the numbers that Marshall's team had failed to appreciate in Washington. They looked formidable. As General Brooke had pointed out in his first presentation on January 14, the day before, at the Anfa Hotel, \"the rail net in Europe would permit the movement of seven [German] divisions a day from east to west which would enable them to reinforce their defenses of the northern coast of France rapidly.\"\n\n_A day?_\n\nBy contrast, Marshall now acknowledged to the President, in the Mediterranean theater the Germans \"can only move one division from north to south each day, in order to reinforce their defense of southern Europe.\"\n\nIf the U.S. armies were to acquire the combat experience necessary to assault Hitler's Atlantic Wall, then it would best be gained in the Mediterranean, at the extremity of German lines of communication. Northern France was, by contrast, the very closest to the German border. General Clark thus favored a continuation of the war in the Mediterranean, Marshall admitted to the President, where \"the lines of communication\" for the Allies would be \"shorter,\" and where the \"troops in North Africa have had experience in landing operations.\" Not only did the Allies already possess sufficient American and British forces in the Mediterranean\u2014naval, air, and ground\u2014to knock Italy out of the war that year by invading Sardinia or Sicily \"once the Axis had been forced out of Tunisia,\" but, as Clark had pointed out, the Mediterranean offered the opportunity for U.S. units to gain the battle exposure they needed, in a relatively secure environment where even local setbacks would not be disastrous to Allied strategy. This was something that could not be said for a premature cross-Channel assault.\n\nLest there be any misunderstanding, the necessary \"training\" for eventual combat against tough German defenders of the West Wall, Clark had repeated to Marshall, would be infinitely \"more effective if undertaken in close contact with the enemy,\" in current combat. Not in the United States or Britain, Clark had insisted, but in real time, in the Mediterranean.\n\nIn the strangest of venues, then, reality had finally set in. The Mediterranean, not northern France, should be the proving ground for as-yet-untested U.S. troops, Marshall now agreed\u2014not only in terms of combat but in developing effective coalition command in 1943\u2014operations involving British, Canadian, French, and other forces, on a front where the Allies could steadily improve their fighting skills, however much the Russians would, doubtless, complain. Not to mention Marshall's Pentagon team.\n\nHeaded by Brigadier General Wedemeyer, Marshall's operations planners would be devastated, the President was aware\u2014as would the secretary of war, Mr. Stimson. But Wedemeyer and Stimson were suffering from delusion\u2014dangerous delusion. However doggedly they urged a cross-Channel attack that year, it was not their lives that would be on the line, but the lives of tens of thousands of Americans\u2014facing a Wehr- macht whose true fighting ability they had not even begun to measure.\n\nIt was, as Captain McCrea recalled, a \"long conference in the President's bed room\" and one that only \"broke up well past noon.\"\n\nThis was, in retrospect, the turning point of the war, in terms of the Allied military struggle against the Axis powers\u2014clinching not only the strategy but the timing of America's game plan in conducting World War II. Mass American suicide in a premature Second Front would once again be avoided that year, thanks to the President's military realism. Instead, mercifully, the United States military would back only those operations that promised success: success that would boost morale at home and validate the President's step-by-step strategy for prosecuting the war.\n\nVictory rather than disaster: this would now be the order of the day.\n\nAs General Clark had now recommended, U.S. forces would be instructed to learn their deadly trade on the periphery of Europe that year, before meeting the deadliest challenge in 1944: one that even Hitler had balked at attempting in 1940, when Britain was on its knees: a massive cross-Channel invasion. Finally, after thirteen months of war, the Commander in Chief and his chiefs of staff were on the same page.\n\nGeneral Marshall's belated recognition, on January 15, that the President's strategy was probably right would now cement the methodical, stone-by-stone U.S. progress in World War II. The question of \"What next?\" after Tunisia was, effectively, over\u2014before the first plenary session of the Combined Chiefs of Staff meetings began at the Anfa Hotel that afternoon.\n\nAmerican grand strategy for 1943 was clear: attritional warfare at the extremity of the enemy's lines of communication, enabling U.S. forces to learn how to defeat the Wehrmacht in battle.\n\nAnd to make sure this policy had a good chance of succeeding, the President said he wanted to see the general commanding the Allies in the Mediterranean from his headquarters in Algiers: young General Dwight D. Eisenhower.\n\nEisenhower seemed to the President to be a bit \"jittery\" as, shortly before 4:00 p.m. on January 15, the two men sat down by the picture window in the President's villa, Dar es Saada.\n\nIt was for a good reason. General Dwight Eisenhower, or Ike, as he was familiarly known, had undergone a hair-raising flight from Algiers to see the President and the chiefs of staff. Two of his Flying Fortress's engines had conked out, and he'd been told he must get ready to parachute from the aircraft. This he'd begun to do\u2014chiding, as he did so, his naval aide for the time it was taking him to refasten one of his general's shoulder pins, which had been accidentally knocked out. \"Haven't you ever fastened a star before?\" Ike had barked at the hapless officer, whose hands were shaking uncontrollably. \"Yes, sir, but never with a parachute on,\" the aide had squeaked.\n\nFortunately the pilot had nursed the surviving two engines long enough to land at Medouina airport, and Eisenhower had immediately been driven to the Anfa Hotel to appear before the Combined Chiefs of Staff.\n\nDissatisfied by Allied progress\u2014or lack of progress\u2014in Tunisia, the Combined Chiefs of Staff had treated the young general roughly, expressing frank disappointment at his failure to seize Tunis at the very start of the campaign, and also at the German rebuff given to his second attempt, earlier that month.\n\nEisenhower's logistical excuses had seemed somewhat lame to the chiefs, more than two months after the Torch landings. On paper, after all, he possessed more than three hundred thousand soldiers under his command in Northwest Africa, ranged against \"only\" sixty-five thousand German troops in Tunisia. His latest plan for an end run\u2014an armored right-hook thrusting out of the Tunisian mountains toward the sea at Sfax, designed to carve a wedge between von Arnim's army in Tunisia and Rommel's retreating army in Libya\u2014sounded ill-conceived to General Brooke, who'd had actual battle experience against German forces in the spring and summer of 1940. Ultra decrypts that very day had shown Rommel to be dispatching the veteran Twenty-First Panzer Division from Libya to deal with just such an Allied threat. Instead of dividing and conquering the German forces in North Africa, the Anglo-American forces might themselves be split apart. Where was the doctrine of concentration of force rather than dispersion of effort\u2014dispersion that could only encourage the Germans to see their chance to counterattack and defeat the Allies in detail?\n\n\"Eisenhower is hopeless!\" Brooke had noted in frustration in his diary, in late December, reflecting that the American general \"submerges himself in politics and neglects his military duties, partly, I'm afraid, because he knows little if anything about military matters.\"\n\nBrooke was not alone in his criticism of Eisenhower. While \"spying out the land\" for the President and Prime Minister's visit, Brigadier Jacob, too, had been appalled by Eisenhower's Allied headquarters. \"The chief impression I got was of a general air of restless confusion, with everyone trying their best in unnatural conditions. I was assured on all sides that there was no Anglo-American friction at all. But the simple fact of having a mixed staff is quite enough to reduce the overall efficiency by at least a half . . . The British members of the staff, who occupy many of the key positions, have to work with U.S. officers who are entirely ignorant and inexperienced, and have to operate on a system which is quite different from the one to which they are accustomed. They find their task harassing and irritating in the extreme. Many are inclined to doubt whether a combined Allied Staff is a practical arrangement, and think the experiment should not be repeated, and should be brought to an end as soon as possible.\"\n\nEmerging from his interrogation by the chiefs at the Anfa Hotel, Eisenhower suspected his number might be up as coalition commander in chief in the theater. \"His neck is on the noose, and he knows it,\" even his naval aide, Lieutenant Commander Harry Butcher, noted in his diary. At his headquarters in town General Patton recorded the same. \"He thinks his thread is about to be cut,\" Patton would scribble, after talking with Ike\u2014urging Eisenhower to \"go to the front\" instead of returning to the huge Allied headquarters in Algeria, many hundreds of miles behind the fighting.\n\nRoosevelt, however, saw things differently\u2014very differently. From the President's point of view, Eisenhower had done extremely well\u2014indeed, given the friction that would arise between de Gaulle and General Giraud over control of French anti-Vichy forces, Ike had achieved miracles in planting the American flag across Vichy-held Algeria and Morocco in only a few weeks, leaving no real chance the Germans could strike the Allies in the flank, as Secretary Stimson and General Marshall feared.\n\nThe fact remained: whether General Brooke liked it or not, only an American supreme commander was going to be able to direct the campaign. For good or ill, a system of workable coalition command, in combat, had still to be developed\u2014and it was a blessing that the President had journeyed, as U.S. commander in chief, to see Eisenhower in person, in the active theater of war, whatever might be the disappointments of the British and American chiefs of staff.\n\nHaving first put the young general at ease, the President thus listened with interest as Dwight Eisenhower explained what the Allies were up against in advancing across the same mountain range the President had overflown in Morocco, as well as the atrocious mud and winter weather conditions in Tunisia. Hitler had managed to get sixty-five thousand German troops across the Mediterranean from Italy, together with high-quality equipment, including new Panther and Tiger tanks\u2014the latter armed with 88mm guns\u2014but he had been aided, too, by French pusillanimity, the French forces in Tunisia failing to fire a single shot to delay, let alone stop, the Germans.\n\nEven that French timidity had been outweighed by the political and military leadership problems with which the French had confronted Eisenhower as Allied commander in chief in Northwest Africa. General Giraud had succeeded Admiral Darlan as French commissioner, but was proving a disappointment\u2014a \"good Division Commander,\" possibly, but wholly lacking in \"political sense\" and with \"no idea of administration. He was dictatorial by nature and seemed to suffer from megalomania,\" Eisenhower had already explained to the chiefs\u2014a view he now repeated to the President. \"In addition,\" Giraud \"was very sensitive and always ready to take offense. He did not seem to be a big enough man to carry the burden of civil government in any way. It had been far easier,\" Eisenhower remarked candidly, \"to deal with Admiral Darlan,\" despite Darlan's record as a P\u00e9tainite Nazi appeaser.\n\nThe President laughed. If only his many critics in America knew! Feckless French troops were deserting by the hundreds, in the field, rather than risk their lives against the ruthless Wehrmacht. So much for coalition fighting. Getting the French to stop squabbling amongst themselves over currency, supplies, pensions, and administrative aspects of the U.S. occupation had also proven a minefield\u2014permitting Eisenhower, as the general himself acknowledged, too little time to focus properly on the battlefront, where progress had been painfully slow. The Wehrmacht forces facing U.S. troops in the Gafsa and T\u00e9bessa sectors were, Eisenhower made clear, first class. The \"opposition was tough,\" Elliott Roosevelt\u2014who was acting as his father's aide-de-camp\u2014recorded, \"while we were just beginning to learn about war first hand.\"\n\nThis was exactly the kind of honest appraisal the President wanted to hear, from the lips of the top U.S. commander in the theater\u2014confirming what General Clark had told General Marshall.\n\n\"No excuses, I take it,\" the President commented.\n\n\"No, sir. Just hard work.\" Or fighting.\n\nIn which case, the President raised the next question, what was the general's estimate of how long it would take to clear North Africa of Axis forces?\n\nAt the White House in late November, 1942, General Bedell Smith, Eisenhower's chief of staff, had personally assured the President that fighting would be over by mid-January 1943. It was now mid-January.\n\n\"What about it? What's your guess?\" the President pressed Ike. \"How long'll it take to finish the job?\"\n\n\"Can I have one 'if,' sir?\"\n\nThe President chuckled, Elliott remembered, and bade him give his best estimate.\n\n\"With any kind of break in the weather, sir, we'll have 'em all either in the bag or in the sea by late spring.\"\n\n\"What's late spring mean? June?\"\n\n\"Maybe as early as the middle of May. June at the latest.\"\n\nElliott recalled being surprised by the young general's cautious estimate, as this\u2014five months of further campaigning\u2014would make a switch of naval, air, and army forces to England, in order to mount a massive amphibious invasion of France across the English Channel that summer, almost impossible. The notorious fall weather would preclude a late-summer amphibious assault\u2014as Hitler, too, had similarly decided in the summer of 1940, after the Luftwaffe had been rebuffed in the Battle of Britain.\n\n\"Father looked satisfied,\" Elliott clearly remembered\u2014and summoned the Combined Chiefs of Staff, once again, to his villa, at 5:30 p.m.\n\nThe President asked Winston Churchill to attend the meeting at the Villa Dar es Saada, too\u2014for the session would be, in effect, a presidential briefing, backed by the President's \"active and ardent lieutenant.\"\n\nOne by one the generals and admirals\u2014Marshall, King, Arnold, Brooke, Pound, Dill\u2014entered, together with Air Marshal Arthur Tedder, Admiral Mountbatten, General Hastings Ismay, and Harry Hopkins. Once seated, the President asked General Eisenhower to give yet another presentation of \"the situation on his front\"\u2014an indication that, as President, he was fully behind his prot\u00e9g\u00e9.\n\nThe President then briefly reviewed the outlook with the assembled chieftains\u2014and made clear to them his own preference. As Brooke noted in his diary, \"we did little except that President expressed views favouring operations in the Mediterranean.\"\n\nAware that General Marshall might feel he'd lost face among the Combined Chiefs of Staff after arguing so hard for an end to Mediterranean operations and a switch to the U.K. for a cross-Channel attack that year, the President asked Marshall to stay behind and have dinner with him. He also invited Eisenhower.\n\nElliott made old-fashioneds (sugar, bitters, and whiskey) for the generals\u2014and, joined by Franklin Jr., the five men sat down in the President's dining room for a first-class Moroccan meal.\n\nTypically, Roosevelt wanted Marshall to feel he was respected, even if his advice had been wrong. He therefore deliberately raised again his wish to inspect troops not only in Morocco but closer to the frontline, near the Tunisian border.\n\n\"Out of the question, sir,\" Marshall stated unequivocally. Even with a fighter escort, the President's slow C-54 could be attacked by Luftwaffe planes\u2014\"it would just draw attackers,\" Eisenhower added frankly, \"like flies to honey.\"\n\nThe President reluctantly backed off the idea\u2014allowing Marshall to feel he had won at least a tactical victory.\n\nSatisfied, Marshall and Eisenhower departed the villa after dinner and the President then spent quality time with his sons, talking about the family. \"Father got to bed early that night: before midnight,\" Elliott recalled.\n\nThe President had cause to feel the conference was off to a good start. The flight to North Africa had been historic. But so, too, had been the President's first full day in Casablanca. By its end he'd ensured that the great Allied military conference would result in compromise and cooperation, _not contention_ \u2014thus injecting not only unity of Allied military purpose but a transfusion of realism into the veins of the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, who were, in all truth, more green regarding modern warfare than Eisenhower.\n\nInstead of insisting upon mass American slaughter on the beaches of northern France that August, the U.S. chiefs could now set about mapping a detailed course of operations that year that would, above all, be _within the capabilities_ of the Western Allies\u2014whatever Stalin might plead, when eventually informed.\n\nBesides: if the Russian dictator had wanted to argue for a Second Front in Europe that year, he should have taken the trouble to show up.\n\nWith that, having bidden his guests goodnight, the President retired and went to sleep, confident that, though the Allies had much to learn in combat, they would do so in the coming months, and that all would be well\u2014with 1944 the year when the coup de gr\u00e2ce could be given and the Third Reich brought to an ignominious end.\n\nHow difficult it would be to steer his coalition partners, however, remained to be seen. If the British were difficult, how much more so were the French. Moreover, how to keep the Russians happy with such a timetable, when they were facing two-thirds of the Wehrmacht on the Eastern Front, would be tougher still.\nPART FOUR\n\n* * *\n\n#  _Unconditional Surrender_\n**13**\n\n# Stimson Is Aghast\n\nAT THE PENTAGON, Secretary Stimson was aghast on hearing the \"bad news\" from General McNarney.\n\nJoseph McNarney was the U.S. Army deputy chief of staff, standing in for General Marshall. His news related to \"how the British were forcing us to do some more in the Mediterranean\" after Tunis, rather than switching U.S. forces to a cross-Channel invasion, to be launched from England that year. In Washington, D.C., however, the secretary of war could do nothing.\n\nTwo days later Stimson's heart sank still further with the \"somber news that I had been getting yesterday from the conference in Africa where it seems to be clear that the British are getting away with their own theories,\" he recorded, \"and that the President must be yielding to their views as against those of our own General Staff and the Chief of Staff. So it looks as if we were in for further entanglements in the Mediterranean, and this seems to me a pretty serious situation unless the Germans are very much less strong than I think we should assume.\"\n\nStimson's continuing lack of realism was deplorable, given the lack of U.S. experience in mounting an operation as vast and serious as a cross-Channel invasion would be, if undertaken that year. At the same time, the war secretary's fear of \"perfidious Albion\" was well warranted. Could British assurances they would eventually participate in a Second Front honestly be believed? The answer was clearly no.\n\nFor all their criticisms of Eisenhower's tardiness in Tunisia, the British were not actually willing or able to say how the Third Reich could be _defeated_ , rather than surrounded. As Admiral King reported to the President when the U.S. chiefs of staff came to the Villa Dar es Saada the following evening, January 16, for a two-hour session with Mr. Roosevelt, \"the Joint Chiefs of Staff have been attempting to obtain the British Chiefs of Staff concept of how the war should be _won_ \"\u2014and had had little luck. It seemed the British had no idea.\n\nIn his diary General Sir Alan Brooke, after his own experience in battle against German forces in 1940, remained implacably opposed to a cross-Channel attack unless the Wehrmacht was first weakened and brought to its knees elsewhere. He complained, in his diary, at the \"slow tedious process\" it was to get the U.S. team to accept his \"proposed policy.\" In a postwar annotation to the diary, he would even pen a diatribe against General Marshall. Among \"Marshall's very high qualities he did not possess those of a strategist,\" Brooke (by then Lord Alanbrooke of Brookeborough) would claim. \"It was almost impossible to make him grasp the true concepts of a strategic situation. He was unable to argue out a strategic situation and preferred to hedge and defer decisions until such time as he had to consult his assistants\"\u2014assistants who were \"not of the required calibre.\"\n\nBrooke was being disingenuous\u2014for Marshall, like Admiral King, was an excellent strategist; what he lacked was the ability to see how important it was to match U.S. strategy to reality. Neither general properly understood the need to create armies and army commanders who could defeat the Wehrmacht _in battle_ \u2014irrespective of wearing down German forces on other fronts.\n\nHour after hour Marshall thus pressed Brooke and the British to explain how exactly a further campaign in the Mediterranean would, in itself, _defeat the Third Reich_ \u2014something neither Brooke nor his colleagues Admiral Pound (who was suffering from an undiagnosed brain tumor) and Air Marshal Portal could answer. Brooke's assertions that the Germans would thereby be \"worn down\" to a point where they could not send reinforcements to northern France seemed particularly lame, given the likelihood that, if the Allies fought on in Italy, as Brooke envisioned, it would be the Allies who would be worn down rather than the Germans.\n\nMarshall and Brooke thus went at each other hammer and tongs. Almost five hours of discussion at the Anfa Hotel\u2014however irritating to Brooke\u2014did at least permit the American team to challenge and rehearse the different possible military alternatives for 1943 with relentless honesty within the framework of overall war strategy.\n\nThe result was a consensus: there were no alternatives. If forced to fight on that year in the relative safety of the Mediterranean theater, the U.S. chiefs accepted, then it would be best to tackle Sicily, once North Africa was cleared\u2014giving the Allies the amphibious-assault-landing experience necessary for a 1944 cross-Channel invasion.\n\nThe President had been right, they reluctantly agreed as they went over the requirements for a successful Second Front with their British opposite numbers. General Brooke had pointed to forty German divisions available in or close to France\u2014and a Luftwaffe that was still a potent weapon of war. By contrast, after the expected capture of Tunis in the spring of 1943, the Allies would have but twenty-one to twenty-four divisions ready to assault northern France even by the fall\u2014and as Admiral Pound, the British navy chief, pointed out, \"this was too late since the weather was liable to break in the third week of September and it was essential to have a port by then.\" August 15, 1943, would be the cutoff date, weatherwise, were a cross-Channel invasion to be undertaken that year\u2014moreover, according to the commander of the British amphibious forces, Vice Admiral Mountbatten, it would take all of three months to get the necessary landing craft from the Mediterranean to the United Kingdom. Any hope that the RAF or USAAF could interdict German air forces over Brest were scotched by Air Marshal Portal, the RAF chief, \"since it was out of range.\" Even if the Cherbourg-Normandy area was chosen, \"with limited air facilities in the [Cherbourg] Peninsula we should possibly find ourselves pinned down at the neck of the Peninsula by ground forces whose superiority we should be unable to offset by the use of air,\" Portal pointed out. And once the Germans realized the Allies were not actually going to attack Italy and southern Europe from North Africa, they would \"quickly bring up their air forces from the Mediterranean, realizing that we could not undertake amphibious operations on a considerable scale both across the Channel _and_ in the Mediterranean.\"\n\nThe simple fact, then, was: \"no Continental operations on any scale were in prospect before the spring of 1944,\" General Arnold concluded.\n\nIf the Combined Chiefs were agreed on 1944 for a major cross-Channel assault, at what point should \"further operations\" in the Mediterranean be halted, though? How exploit Allied strength in the Mediterranean, once achieved, without risking stalemate requiring more and more reinforcements\u2014thus vitiating the success of the cross-Channel campaign planned for 1944? As General Marshall memorably put it, the Mediterranean could become a dangerous \"suction pump\" on American manpower and arms. What Marshall therefore wanted from Brooke, Pound, and Portal, as a strategist, was an acknowledgment of that danger: an agreement that, if operations in the Mediterranean became stalled or an expensive dead end, the very combat experience the Allies were seeking would thereby be wasted, and a successful cross-Channel invasion in 1944 be rendered impossible.\n\nThis danger General Brooke refused to validate, as only an owl-eyed, intelligent, but obstinate Ulsterman could\u2014while paying lip service to the notion of an eventual cross-Channel attack in 1944.\n\nWould Brooke keep his word, though, the U.S. team wondered? Would the British even undertake an offensive to reopen the Burma Road they had lost to the Japanese in 1942, which was vital in order to supply United Nations forces in China?\n\nMarshall had to hope they would. The British, after all, were America's primary allies in the global war. At the Villa Dar es Saada Marshall therefore reported to the President on January 16 his understanding that, after the amphibious invasion of Sicily that summer, \"the British were not interested in occupying Italy, inasmuch as this would add to our burdens without commensurate returns.\"\n\nThese were famous last words\u2014or hopes.\n\nThe President was as concerned as Marshall over getting bogged down in Italy, and \"expressed his agreement with this view.\" Between them, however, they would have to make the British back off such a potential dead end\u2014the President working on Churchill, Marshall on Brooke. Neither of them had any idea of the nightmares ahead, though, in this regard.\n\nIn the meantime, crediting British good faith, the chiefs moved on to other strategic concerns. By Monday, January 18, in fact, Roosevelt had been able to get outline agreement on pretty much all he had wanted at Casablanca. The Combined Chiefs had agreed to his strategy for 1943: further operations in the Mediterranean, after the capture of Tunis, targeted on Sicily, with simultaneous preparations for a cross-Channel assault to be made earliest in late 1943, if there were signs of sudden German collapse; otherwise a full-scale assault early in 1944 on the Cherbourg Peninsula, targeted on Berlin. In Asia there was to be a 1943 British offensive in Burma to open the overland supply route to China. And in the Pacific, further advances that would take the Allies closer to the Japanese mainland\u2014which would be ultimately bombed into submission, or subjected to land assault if required, after the defeat of Nazi Germany.\n\nIn this respect the President had invited Churchill to lunch with him privately at the Villa Dar es Saada on the eighteenth, before the afternoon meeting he'd convened with the chiefs of staff\u2014for he wanted something of major importance from Churchill: formal agreement to his \"unconditional surrender\" policy.\n\nChurchill raised no objection whatever\u2014in fact the Prime Minister found himself positively inspired by the President's proposals for prosecuting the war to the bitter end, gaily promising not only that the British would launch their offensive into Burma (Operation Anakim) under General Wavell that year but would \"enter into a treaty,\" if necessary, to assure him that Britain would fight alongside the United States to ensure the ultimate \"defeat of Japan.\" In reporting the day's deliberations to his cabinet that night, Churchill informed his colleagues in London that the Combined Chiefs of Staff in Casablanca were \"now I think unanimous in essentials about the conduct of the war in 1943,\" and that in respect of the strategy decided upon at the meeting held in the President's villa with the Combined Chiefs, \"Admiral Q [FDR] and I were in complete agreement.\" Moreover, Churchill cabled, he and the President were in agreement that, at the conclusion of the conference, there would be a public \"declaration of firm intention of the United States and the British Empire to continue the war relentlessly until we have brought about the 'unconditional surrender' of Germany and Japan.\"\n\nHistorians would later argue over the merits and demerits of such a war policy, but the fact that neither the U.S. chiefs of staff nor the British prime minister and his War Cabinet in London opposed the President's \"unconditional surrender\" policy gives some idea of how much in control of such war strategies was the President. Time would tell how it would go down once announced to the world, but in the meantime Mr. Roosevelt had come too far to remain closeted in the Anfa camp. He had chosen as his _nom de plume_ Admiral Q, in prior secret communications with Churchill\u2014a humorous reference to his Spanish literary hero, Don Quixote. (Hopkins was \"Mr. P.\" for Sancho Panza.) Whether he was tilting at windmills in seeking unconditional surrender of the Axis nations would only become clear in the fullness of time\u2014and war. In the meanwhile he wanted to get out and visit with his commanders and the troops in the field, like Lincoln.\n\nOn the evening of January 19, the President went to dine with General Patton at his palatial headquarters in Casablanca\u2014listening with fascination and amusement to the cavalryman as, in his distinctive high-pitched voice, he described his recent landings under French fire, and expounded upon the primacy of the tank in modern warfare.\n\nTwo days later, at 9:20 a.m., the President left Casablanca by car with Patton \"for an inspection of the United States Army forces stationed in the vicinity of Rabat, some 85 miles to the northeast,\" as Captain McCrea recorded. U.S. troops lined the entire route as the fifteen cars in the cavalcade made their way north, covered by a U.S. Air Force umbrella.\n\nRecalled General Clark, the President \"started asking questions, and I don't think he stopped all day. He transferred to a jeep at Rabat, where Major-General E. N. Harmon, commanding the Second Armored Division, was introduced and joined us for that part of the trip. The President was driven within a few feet of the front rank of the troops, which were lined with their vehicles.\" Then on to review the men of the Third Infantry Division. \"A stiff wind made the flags and banners stand out smartly, and the outfits were polished and alert, so that the President had a fine time, seemed pleased with what he saw, and showed his pride for what they had accomplished.\" And in the afternoon, the Ninth U.S. Infantry Division, commanded by Major-General Manton Eddy.\n\n\"I went 'up the line' this a.m. beyond Rabat,\" the President wrote Daisy that night, and \"reviewed about 30,000 Am[erican]. Troops,\" followed by a visit to Fort Mehdia\u2014\"a very stirring day for me & a complete surprise to the Troops.\"\n\nGiven his paralysis, driving in an army jeep caused the President intense pain, but he bore it with equanimity: pleased as punch to review combat-readying soldiers on the battlefield\u2014the brim of his soft Panama hat turned up as he held onto the jeep's guardrail.\n\nOne British staffer, witnessing the inspection, later recalled how \"fortunate\" he was \"in being invited by an American colonel to watch President Roosevelt inspecting an American battalion. I was the only British officer present and I was told it was an historic occasion\u2014the first time a President of the United States had ever inspected an American unit on foreign soil. Instead of the parade receiving the visiting officer with a general salute, being inspected and then marching past, the President arrived first and took up his seat (in his jeep because of course he was paralyzed) at the saluting base. Then the photographers got busy, taking him from all angles, from above and below\"\u2014the brigadier disgusted by the photographers \"who buzzed round the commanding officer and the leading ranks like flies round a horse's ears. They put down wooden boxes to stand on and photographed the leading ranks from above; they lay on the ground and photographed them from the snake's eye view, rolling out of the way to avoid being kicked. Even I, on the touch line, wanted to kick them. The proceedings were most undignified. Then the battalion formed up in line and the President, with two fierce and heavily armed detectives on his jeep and four others, one looking to each point of the compass, in a following jeep, drove down the line. Finally he decorated a soldier and then drove off.\"\n\nBrigadier Davy had been a highly decorated commander and then staff officer in Egypt, but like so many British colleagues he had simply no understanding of America: of its immigrant history, or the miracle by which ethnically and socially disparate citizens were being molded into a world power based on democratic principles and the President's four freedoms. No picture was ever taken indicating the President's paralysis, but press photographers were aware the whole nation would respond to images of the U.S. commander in chief out in Africa, inspecting his troops. Moreover, from the point of view of public opinion in America, where the majority of people favored dealing with Japan before Germany, such patriotic images were of inestimable importance.\n\nTelling his son Elliott about the trip that evening, the President certainly brimmed with pride and excitement. \"I wish you could have seen the expression on the faces of some of those men in the infantry division. You could hear 'em say, 'Gosh\u2014it's the old man himself!' And Father roared with laughter,\" Elliott recalled. He'd eaten field rations there with Generals Clark and Patton. And Harry Hopkins. \"Harry!\" he now called upstairs. \"How'd you like that lunch in the field, hunh?\"\n\nHopkins, running a bath, thought for a moment. Then he called back down that, although the food had been somewhat Spartan, he'd loved the music. \"'Oh yes,' said Father. ' _Chattanooga Choo-Choo,_ _Alexander's Rag-Time Band,_ and that one about Texas, where they clap their hands, _you_ know . . .'\n\n\"' _Deep in the Heart of Texas?_ '\n\n\"'That's right. And some waltzes.'\" The President paused. \"'Elliott, tell me,'\" he continued: \"'Would any army in the world but the American army have a regimental band playing songs like that while the Commander-in-Chief ate ham and sweet potatoes and green beans right near by? Hmmm?\" He even showed Elliott the mess kit he'd eaten lunch out of, which he'd brought back with him. When Elliott said he would surely have been able to obtain one in America, if he wanted, the President was appalled. \"But I _ate_ out of _this_ one, at Rabat,\" he told his son with childlike pride, \"the day I saw three divisions of American soldiers, who are fighting a tough war. It's a good souvenir. I'll take it home with me.\"\n\nThe President had also visited Port Lyautey, he told Elliott, and seen the sunken warships. He'd laid a wreath at the American section of the local cemetery\u2014and had looked at the graves of the French who'd opposed them.\n\nIn a world at war, the Commander in Chief wanted to do right by those men\u2014and if it was hubris to imagine he could in person get America's allies to combine in effecting his two-part vision of the world war and the postwar, then that was a designation the \"Emperor of the West\"\u2014as Eisenhower's British political adviser, Harold Macmillan, described him\u2014accepted. Inspecting three entire U.S. divisions in the theater of combat, he felt his vision was at least grounded in America's burgeoning emergence as a world power: a power that would soon become capable, with its allies, of slaying the Nazi monster, _unconditionally_ \u2014and the Japanese demon thereafter. For this he would need, however, not only the Prime Minister, but the Emperor of the East: Joseph Stalin. Also, probably, the two rivals for leadership of the French empire: Generals Henri Giraud and Charles de Gaulle\u2014the latter due to arrive the next day.\n**14**\n\n# De Gaulle\n\nGETTING Major General de Gaulle to appear in Casablanca had been a trial from the start. \"On our arrival at Casablanca at the first military meeting with the Pres.,\" Captain McCrea later recalled, \"the Prime Minister informed the Pres. that General De Gaulle, despite his invitation to the Casablanca conference by the P.M., had decided not to attend.\"\n\nSince Major General de Gaulle was the leader of the Free French movement in London, it was considered vital to get him and General Giraud, the French high commissioner under Eisenhower, to meld the forces under one authority, if they were to contribute to the liberation not only of North Africa and France but of Europe.\n\nDe Gaulle's refusal to come to Casablanca had thus been a nasty shot across the President's bows. Roosevelt was \"greatly\" annoyed, McCrea recalled. \"The Pres. told the P.M. rather sternly, I thought, that it was up to the P.M. to get De Gaulle there. At this the P.M. took off on De Gaulle about as follows: 'I tell you Mr. President, Gen. De Gaulle is most difficult to handle. We house him. We feed him. We pay him and he refuses to raise a finger in support of our war effort. He states vigorously every time he gets a chance to do it that he is entitled to military command. I ask you Mr. President what sort of a military command could either of us give him?'\n\n\"The Pres. acknowledged that no doubt De Gaulle was hard to handle and there continued about as follows: 'Winston, this is a shotgun marriage'\u2014referring of course to the hoped-for collaboration between De Gaulle and Giraud\u2014and continued, 'We have our party here, referring to Giraud, and I feel it is up to you to get _your_ party here.' I inwardly squirmed a bit,\" McCrea confessed, \"at the bluntness of the Pres. remarks, but he, of course, put a light touch on the proceedings with a hearty laugh. I felt easier.\"\n\nThis was typical FDR. Whether it was wise was another matter. It bespoke, however, Roosevelt's urgency\u2014for it was vital, in his mind, for the Western Allies to retain the cohesion of their military coalition if they were to persuade the Soviets to go on fighting the Wehrmacht on the Eastern Front. Especially once the time came to inform Stalin that the Allies were _not_ going to launch a Second Front in 1943 unless the Germans collapsed that summer\u2014which seemed unlikely.\n\nDay after day Churchill had duly attempted to get de Gaulle to fly out to Casablanca. \"De Gaulle refused Churchill's invitation to come from London,\" the President himself wrote Daisy with a mixture of amusement and irritation. \"He has declined a second invitation\u2014says he will not be 'duressed' by W.S.C. & especially by the American President\u2014Today I asked W.S.C. who paid De Gaulle's salary\u2014W.S.C. beamed\u2014good idea\u2014no come\u2014no pay!\"\n\nThe next day Roosevelt heard that de Gaulle had finally consented. \"De Gaulle will come! Tomorrow!\" the President wrote Daisy in excitement on January 21. But if the President thought that by bringing de Gaulle and Giraud together, he could achieve a genuine marriage, he was to be profoundly mistaken. By contrast Winston Churchill, who had been dealing with the quirky, proud, and imperious Major General de Gaulle for two and a half years, knew exactly what was to be expected.\n\nQuite why the President would take personal charge of negotiations with the senior French leaders and officials was a mystery to the British prime minister\u2014who possessed a far deeper understanding of political realities on the European side of the Atlantic than the President.\n\nAmerican political policy in Northwest Africa seemed disastrously amateur, even the U.S. vice consul at Marrakesh acknowledged. From public relations to economics and intelligence, the various Washington agencies \"who came to North Africa were at loggerheads with State Department policy,\" Kenneth Pendar afterward recorded. \"The heads of all the agencies cooperated, but their subordinates left the French feeling that we, as Americans, had no clear policy or ideology of any kind.\"\n\nThis was all too true. It was also inevitable, perhaps, as the United States emerged from its long isolationist slumber and felt its way as the world's foremost military power. Early in the twentieth century the United States had considered, then balked at, becoming an empire; now, however, it had little alternative, whether that empire was to be territorial or post-territorial. And this exposed a major weakness in the American system of government\u2014for though the President might make military decisions as U.S. commander in chief, political decisions were another matter. Not only Congress but the free media of the country were entitled to \"weigh in\"\u2014making unity of approach virtually impossible. Secretary Hull was even more skeptical of de Gaulle than the President. He was equally opposed to the restoration of France's colonial empire in the postwar world save as trusteeships\u2014for how could American sons be expected to give their lives merely to reestablish a colonial yoke they themselves had thrown off in 1783?\n\nThe President\u2014like General Eisenhower\u2014was thus faced with an awkward military task: harnessing British and French forces to the yoke of the Western Allies, without committing the United States to restitution of their colonial empires.\n\nNot even Roosevelt's personal representative at Eisenhower's headquarters, Robert Murphy, had had any idea of the President's long-range political plans when preparing the Torch invasion: namely, that \"Roosevelt was planning to encourage extensive reductions in the French empire,\" as the diplomat delicately put it in his memoirs. Once he met with the President at the Villa Dar es Saada, however, Murphy had been quickly brought up to speed\u2014and recognized the postwar agenda the President was seeking. Having congratulated Murphy on the \"Darlan deal\" that had brought such quick Vichy surrender, the President had then looked reproachfully at his emissary. \"But you overdid things a bit in one of the letters you wrote to Giraud before the landings, pledging the United States Government to guarantee the return to France of every part of her empire. Your letter may make trouble for me after the war.\" Without further ado, the President had gone on to discuss \"with several people, including Eisenhower and me, the transfer of control of Dakar, Indochina, and other French possessions, and he did not seem fully aware how abhorrent his attitude would be to all empire-minded French including De Gaulle and also those with whom I had negotiated agreements.\"\n\nIt was the President's long-term political agenda that set the cat among the pigeons, rather than his modest military expectations. And late on the evening of Friday, January 22, 1943, after a delightful meal with the Sultan of Morocco at the Villa Dar es Saada, the President realized he was playing with fire.\n\nCaptain McCrea remembered the fateful night in Casablanca vividly. He had hand-delivered the President's invitation to the Sultan at his palace near Rabat the day before. \"No Hollywood director could have put on a more colorful spectacle,\" McCrea recalled. \"The Court Yard ankle deep in white sand,\" the cavalry \"dressed in colorful costumes, the white horses draped in red blankets\"\u2014and the Sultan asking if he might bring with him his young teenage son, the Crown Prince, to meet the President.\n\nAt 7:40 p.m. on the twenty-second, the Sultan had duly arrived with his \"entourage\"\u2014\"magnificently attired in white silk robes\" and \"bearing several presents\u2014a gold-mounted dagger for the President in a beautiful inlaid teakwood case, and two golden bracelets and high golden tiara for Mrs. Roosevelt.\" In return, the Sultan was given a signed photograph of the President in a heavy silver frame, engraved with the presidential seal.\n\nIt was hardly a fair exchange\u2014yet the Sultan of Morocco and his son were delighted, for the evening was historic: it was the first time the Sultan had ever been allowed to meet the head of any foreign state other than France.\n\nSeating the Sultan on his right, the President had proceeded to lay out, verbally over dinner, a magic table of postcolonial dreams for the country. Morocco, after all, had only been colonized by the French early in the twentieth century, becoming a \"protectorate\" in 1912; it could become a sovereign country once again, in the war's aftermath.\n\nChurchill, seated on the President's left, had grown \"more and more disgruntled,\" Elliott Roosevelt recalled, as the President discussed living standards for the nation's Muslims, better education, and \"possible oil deposits\" in the country. \"The Sultan eagerly pounced on this; declared himself decidedly in favor of developing any such potentialities, retaining the income therefrom; then sadly shook his head as he deplored the lack of trained scientists and engineers among his countrymen, technicians who would be able to develop such fields unaided,\" Elliott wrote. \"Father suggested mildly that Moroccan engineers and scientists could of course be educated and trained under some sort of reciprocal educational program with, for instance, some of our leading universities in the United States.\"\n\nGeneral Charles Nogu\u00e8s, who as the French resident general had also been invited to the dinner but had been placed further down the table, \"had devoted his career to fortifying the French position in Morocco,\" according to Robert Murphy's account, and \"could not conceal his outraged feelings\" at Roosevelt's talk of postcolonial development and American investment. At the end of dinner \"the Sultan assured Father,\" Elliott recalled, \"he would petition the United States for aid in the development of his country. His face glowed. 'A new future for my country!'\"\n\nIt was also a new approach to decolonization: discussion, both at table and beyond. As word spread, in the days and weeks afterward, the story of the dinner would become legendary among Moroccans as a \"proof of our sincerity in the Atlantic Charter,\" another American official remembered\u2014almost every Arab in Morocco feeling \"he knew the whole story of this _diffa_ and everything that was said, just as if he had been there.\"\n\n\"It was a delightful dinner, everybody\u2014with one exception\u2014enjoying himself immensely,\" Elliott later recalled.\n\nThe exception was not General Nogu\u00e8s, however; Elliott meant Mr. Churchill. For his part, Robert Murphy remembered the Prime Minister, thanks to his \"rare abstinence,\" being \"unnaturally glum throughout the evening\"\u2014as well as uncomfortable at the mention of the end of colonial empires. Captain McCrea, however, recalled Churchill's clever solution to the alcohol problem.\n\n\"As to no alcoholic beverage being served [in deference to the Sultan],\" the President's naval aide recalled, \"the P.M. I think was taken by surprise. At any rate he started to glower, the glower being more pronounced during the small talk which preceded the dinner. The Pres. noted this and I think was rather amused.\" In the meantime, \"directly dinner was announced seats were taken,\" and shortly after dinner started, an \"amusing incident took place. One of our Secret Service men entered the dining area and whispered to me that a Royal Marine, the P.M.'s orderly, wanted to speak to me . . . He informed me that a most important message had been received at the P.M.'s nearby villa which required immediate attention. I indicated where the P.M. was seated and told the Marine to so inform the P.M.\" This he did. \"The P.M. after a word with the Pres, withdrew. In about twenty minutes or thereabouts the P.M. returned. No doubt the message referred to was urgent,\" McCrea allowed, \"but on his return it was evident that the P.M. had taken time out to have a quickie or so while handling the urgent dispatch. After dinner and when the guests had departed the Pres. had a good laugh about it all, remarking 'Winston did not tell me what the message was about. Do you suppose he can have arranged it?'\"\n\nIt was already 10:00 p.m. \"The Sultan obviously wanted to stay and discuss more specifically and with loving emphasis some of the points Father had raised during the dinner,\" Elliott recounted, \"but Father's work for the evening was cut out for him. A signal to Captain McCrea then, to stay and take notes; one to Robert Murphy and Harry Hopkins; one to me to hold myself in readiness to act as Ganymede\u2014and all the others left. The stage was set for Charles de Gaulle.\"\n\nIt had been Theodore Roosevelt's dictum\u2014using a supposed West African proverb\u2014that a successful leader should \"speak softly and carry a big stick.\" Franklin Roosevelt preferred, however, to keep his stick well concealed, relying on the force of his personality, his high intelligence, his self-confidence, and his passionate interest in the future to steer people in what he considered the right direction. Even the generally dismissive General Patton, who despised politicians, had been won over by him.\n\nGeneral Marshall had disappointed Patton when dining with him at Casablanca on arrival\u2014\"Never asked a question,\" Patton had noted in his diary. The President, by contrast, never stopped asking questions. Patton had spent one and a half hours with him on January 16\u2014the President (whom Patton referred to as A-1) \"most affable and interested. We got on fine.\" The next day Patton had seen the President again, and \"we all talked over one and one-quarter hours, then went to see B-1 \"\u2014Churchill.\n\nChurchill, the general had sniffed in his diary, \"speaks the worst French I have ever heard, his eyes run, and he is not at all impressive.\" On January 18 Patton had again ridden in the President's car for an inspection of the battalion guarding the Anfa enclave. Then on January 19 he'd invited the President to dinner at his headquarters\u2014the President afterward asking Patton to sit and talk with him, alone, \"in car while P.M waited, for about 30 minutes. He really appeared as a great statesman,\" Patton jotted in his diary\u2014and on January 21 the President asked Patton once again to ride with him in his car, together with General Clark, following lunch and his inspection of the three U.S. divisions at Rabat. \"Coming back we talked history and armor about which he knows a lot,\" Patton recorded. \"F.D.R. says that in Georgia,\" in the Soviet Union, \"there are Crusaders' Castles intact and that hundreds of suits of armor exist. Then he got on to politics\"\u2014with somewhat withering remarks about Vice President Henry Wallace as his potential heir, or even Harry Hopkins; \"neither of them had any personality,\" he claimed, which would rule out any hope of their winning election. Even Churchill drew the President's less-than-complimentary appraisal in terms of empire and future global security. \"He also discussed the P.M. to his disadvantage. Says India is lost and that Germany and Japan must be destroyed.\" Above all, however, the President listened\u2014especially to Patton's military judgment. The general pointed out how green American forces still were, in terms of fighting. \"People speak of Germany and Japan as defeated,\" the general warned sagely, but \"we have never even attacked them with more than a division.\"\n\nChurchill's ill grace at dinner with the Sultan particularly irritated Patton\u2014who claimed the Sultan had \"especially asked\" to see the President in private, \"before Churchill arrived,\" as he did not seem to like the Prime Minister. Already on arrival the Prime Minister appeared, it had seemed to Patton, \"in a very bad temper . . . No wine, only orange juice and water. Churchill was very rude, the President was great, talking volubly in bad French and really doing his stuff,\" Patton recorded that night. The tanker had personally driven the Sultan home. \"On way Sultan said, 'Truly your President is a very great man and a true friend of myself and my people. He shines by comparison with the other one\"\u2014the \"boor\" Churchill.\n\nPatton was being unfair, however\u2014for neither he nor Captain McCrea had any idea of the real cause of Churchill's distemper.\n\nThe President did. After the Sultan's departure, the Prime Minister quickly explained. De Gaulle had just visited him, before dinner, at the Villa Mirador\u2014and had scotched any prospect that his arrival would lead to the unification of the Free French movement in London and the French Imperial Council in Algiers, under Giraud.\n\nDe Gaulle had been not only intransigent, but rude to the point of insult\u2014\"a very stony interview,\" as Churchill described it to the President. The Prime Minister thus begged the President not to see de Gaulle that night, but to put off the meeting to the next day, when de Gaulle would have had more time to simmer down.\n\nThe President, however, insisted de Gaulle be brought straight to him. Thus did the Free French major general arrive at the Villa Dar es Saada, along with two aides, at 10:20 p.m., \"with black clouds swirling around his high head and with very poor grace\" according to the President's son: there to meet the U.S. commander in chief whose troops had \"liberated\" Algeria and Morocco.\n**15**\n\n# An Acerbic Interview\n\nIN A CABLE to his secretary of state, the President had explained just why he was attempting to accomplish a \"shotgun\" wedding of the Free French leader from London, where anti-Vichy feeling was high, and the French high commissioner under General Eisenhower from Algiers, where former Vichy administrators and officers still predominated. Though Roosevelt claimed it to be for unity of the French cause, the truth was, the President felt he must give critics of his use of former Vichy personnel in North Africa a sign\u2014a symbol not just of reconciliation but proof that though the United States had acted out of expedience, it was fully resolved to defeat fascism in all its forms.\n\nDe Gaulle, unhappily, was loath to oblige\u2014raising serious questions about what kind of \"liberation\" the Americans were intending to bring to Europe. \"It had been my hope that we could avoid political discussions at this time,\" the President cabled to Hull, in part to explain why he hadn't thought to bring the secretary of state to Casablanca, \"but I found on arrival that American and British newspapers had made such a mountain out of a rather small hill that I should not return to Washington without having achieved settlement of this matter.\"\n\nKnocking de Gaulle's and Giraud's heads together, he imagined with presidential hubris, he would show the free world there was a good, just, fair, and effective alternative to Nazi rule, illustrated by men of goodwill coming together to make democracy work once again, as the Nazis were forced to retreat.\n\nSitting on the large sofa in the villa's drawing room, the President thus bade de Gaulle sit beside him, and attempted, in his best conversational French, to apply salve to the major general's wounded pride as a Frenchman summoned to appear before an American on what de Gaulle had always thought of as French soil: the President beginning by explaining how he'd come to Casablanca, as U.S. commander in chief, to discuss military operations against the Axis powers in the Mediterranean for the coming year. Mr. Stalin had been invited, but had been unable to leave the Stalingrad front. The purpose of the Casablanca meeting was, therefore, to \"get on with the war,\" and answer the question \"Where do we go from here?\"\n\nIn this context, the President elaborated, he appreciated there were different political views on how North Africa, once liberated from the Nazi yoke, should fare, but the war was not yet won; the \"problem of North Africa should be regarded,\" therefore, \"as a military one and that the political situation should be entirely incident to the military situation.\" How to bring \"as much pressure as possible to bear on the enemy at the earliest possible moment\" in Tunisia was the order of the day, he claimed; Admiral Darlan, for all his faults, had done his best to make this happen, and General Giraud, his successor, was doing the same. Surely, by moving his London Free French committee to Algiers and fusing it with Giraud's organization, the war could be won more swiftly than if the French war effort were to be hobbled, right at the beginning, by political dissension?\n\nDe Gaulle, however, seemed to be a man from a different planet. That American forces had come thousands of miles, and suffered a thousand deaths at the hands of French troops while attempting to roll back the Axis tide and evict the Germans in North Africa as the first step toward the defeat of Hitler was\u2014at least at that moment\u2014a matter of complete indifference to the French general. He'd hoped, rather, for an invitation to come to Washington to meet with the President as the leader of the Free French movement, and for security reasons (Free French headquarters was reputed to leak like a proverbial sieve) had not been told of the Casablanca Conference\u2014just as he had not been told beforehand of the Torch invasion. Feeling insulted, he'd therefore resisted Churchill's invitation to fly out to Casablanca, not only out of pique, but because he foresaw matters of political importance being decided and would have no time to prepare for such discussions, he claimed. Forced nevertheless to present himself, on pain of the Free French movement being stripped of all funds and support in London, he'd reluctantly agreed to travel\u2014promising nothing, however. His arrival at Medouina airport had then given him an indication how low he was on the American totem pole: no band playing \"La Marseillaise\"; the windows of the car taking him to Anfa soaped lest he be recognized; American troops and sentries everywhere\u2014and in a country he considered a part of France, not a protectorate.\n\nInterrupting Roosevelt, de Gaulle \"made some remark to the President with reference to the sovereignty of French Morocco,\" Captain McCrea wrote in his notes of the meeting that night\u2014having been asked to stand outside while the President and the general talked. It was, he added, \"a relatively poor point of vantage\u2014a crack in a door slightly ajar,\" and with the Frenchman's voice so low \"as to be inaudible to me.\"\n\nMoroccan sovereignty was not what the President was prepared to discuss with the somewhat mad major general from London, however\u2014especially after spending the evening with Morocco's rightful ruler. Morocco had become a French protectorate only in 1912, barely thirty years ago; it could not by any stretch of the imagination be considered \"French\" soil, in the President's eyes, and de Gaulle's assumption that the country was to be reestablished as part of the \"French Empire,\" thanks to American blood and courage, aroused Roosevelt's deepest anticolonial feelings.\n\nReestablishing imperial French sovereignty over colonized peoples promised a hiding to nothing, whereas the opportunity to get \"advanced\" Western nations to embrace the notion of responsible development in former colonies, encouraging global trade and education, would offer, he felt, mutual benefits. Above all, it would give moral _purpose_ to the postwar democracies, especially if the struggle between capitalism and communism worsened. The President therefore dismissed de Gaulle's remarks over French sovereignty over Morocco, \"stating that the sovereignty of the occupied territories\"\u2014territories occupied now by U.S. forces of liberation\u2014\"was not under consideration.\" Moreover, he stated, it would be up to the occupied countries\u2014like mainland France, once liberated\u2014to elect their own postwar governments to help decide such matters, not jump the gun and be saddled with decisions made by warring factions in exile; in fact, \"none of the contenders for power in North Africa had the right to say that he, and only he, represented the sovereignty of France,\" Roosevelt claimed\u2014neither Giraud nor de Gaulle. \"The President pointed out,\" McCrea recorded, \"that the sovereignty of France, as in our country, rested with the people, but that unfortunately the people of France were not now in a position to exercise that sovereignty. It was, therefore, necessary for the military commander in the area [General Eisenhower] to accept the political situation as he found it and to collaborate with those in authority in the country at the time that the occupation took place so long as those in authority chose to be of assistance to the military commander. The President stated that any other course of action would have been indefensible.\"\n\nNor did Roosevelt stop there. It was not, he said, simply a matter of temporary accommodation and practicality. With the whole of mainland France now under German occupation and no legitimate or elected French government in exile, it was the task of the Allies\u2014the United Nations\u2014\"to resort to the legal analogy of 'trusteeship,'\" not committees of self-appointed exiles. It was the President's view \"that the Allied Nations fighting in French territory at the moment were fighting for the liberation of France and that they should hold the political situation in 'trusteeship' for the French people. In other words, the President stated that France is in the position of a little child unable to look out and fend for itself and that in such a case, a court would appoint a trustee to do the necessary.\" He pointed out that General Giraud understood this very well, and wanted only \"to get on with the war\"\u2014namely, the \"urgent task of freeing French territory of the enemy.\" Only then could questions of sovereignty, empire, and the like be addressed. \"The President stated that following the Civil War in our home country, there was conflict of political thought and that while many mistakes were made, nevertheless, the people realized that personal pride and personal prejudices must often be subordinated for the good of the country as a whole, and the contending French leaders could well follow such a program. The only course of action that could save France, said the President, was for all her loyal sons to unite to defeat the enemy, and that when the war was ended, victorious France could once again assert the political sovereignty which was hers over her homeland and her empire. At such time all political considerations would be laid before the sovereign people themselves and that by the use of the democratic processes inherent throughout France and its empire, political differences would be resolved.\"\n\nDe Gaulle looked stunned by such paternalistic American arrogance. He'd endured, he felt, one insult after another that day. \"No troops presented honors,\" he later recalled of his arrival at Medouina, \"although American sentries maintained a wide periphery around us.\" Instead, some American cars had driven up to the plane. \"I stepped into the first one,\" he recorded\u2014as well as his shame when Brigadier General William Wilbur, \"before getting in with me, dipped a rag in the mud and smeared all the windows. These precautions were taken in order to conceal the presence of General de Gaulle and his colleagues in Morocco,\" de Gaulle lamented, using the third person. Once inside the barbed-wire compound, moreover, he'd felt even more insulted. \"In short, it was captivity,\" he remembered feeling\u2014a giraffe incarcerated in an American zoo. \"I had no objection to the Anglo-American leaders' imposing it on themselves, but the fact that they were applying it to me, and furthermore on territory under French sovereignty, seemed to me a flagrant insult.\" Meeting five-star General Giraud, his former commander from 1940, that afternoon, de Gaulle\u2014though a mere major general\u2014blamed Giraud for not feeling similarly aggrieved. \"What's this? I ask you for an interview four times over and we have to meet in a barbed-wire encampment among foreign powers? Don't you realize,\" de Gaulle sneered, \"how odious this is from a purely national point of view?\"\n\nGiraud didn't. In fact, given that U.S. troops had now liberated Morocco from Nazi control, as laid down under the 1940 armistice agreement, he considered de Gaulle the one who was odious and insulting, especially when de Gaulle had pulled from his pocket a copy of Giraud's letter of loyalty to Marshal P\u00e9tain, written the previous spring after his escape from a German prison in Germany and seeking safety from the Nazis in Vichy France. Once Hitler had ordered the occupation of the whole of metropolitan France, Giraud had immediately revoked his letter, and had consented to be brought by Allied submarine to Algeria to take military command of the anti-Axis forces. He'd found it typical of de Gaulle to commence discussions of French unity by producing a copy of such a past document from his pocket; with de Gaulle, you were either subordinate to him or against him. Worst of all, de Gaulle's main opponent seemed neither Hitler nor even Giraud, but the U.S. president.\n\n\"Franklin Roosevelt was governed by the loftiest ambitions,\" de Gaulle allowed later\u2014but not the sort of ambitions of which de Gaulle approved. \"His intelligence, his knowledge and his audacity gave him the ability, the powerful state of which he was the leader afforded him the means, and the war offered him the occasion to realize them. If the great nation he directed had long been inclined to isolate itself from distant enterprises and to mistrust a Europe ceaselessly lacerated by wars and revolutions, a kind of messianic impulse now swelled the American spirit and oriented it toward vast undertakings,\" the major general described in his haughty prose\u2014undertakings, at any rate, that were antithetical to de Gaulle and to the reconstitution of the French Empire under him. Once America had \"yielded\" to \"that taste for intervention in which the instinct for domination cloaked itself,\" he recorded\u2014ignoring France's capitulation to Hitler, Japan's attack at Pearl Harbor, and Hitler's declaration of war on the United States\u2014\"from the moment America entered the war, Roosevelt meant the peace to be an American peace, convinced that he must be the one to dictate its structure, that the states that had been overrun should be subject to his judgment, and that France in particular should recognize him as its savior and arbiter.\"\n\nThis was not far from the truth. The fact that Americans, not Frenchmen, were being asked by their president and commander in chief to die, if necessary, to liberate de Gaulle's country\u2014a country that had put up the most feeble fight against the Germans in 1940, and had submitted to an abject armistice with almost no protest ever since, indeed had attempted to prevent U.S. forces from landing in Morocco and Algeria while not lifting a finger to stop the Germans from occupying Tunisia\u2014was of zero interest to de Gaulle, who deprecated Roosevelt as \"a star actor\" unwilling to share the limelight de Gaulle craved. \"In short, beneath his patrician mask of courtesy,\" de Gaulle wrote, \"Roosevelt regarded me without benevolence.\"\n\nAt 10:55 p.m. the interview came to an end. The \"Frenchman unfolded his complete height,\" Elliott recalled, \"and marched with formality and no backward glance to the door.\"\n\nThe President was as put out as was de Gaulle. A seminal political encounter of the war had taken place, pitting American progressive political ideas against recalcitrant French imperialist ideology. There had certainly been no meeting of minds. What it showed was that the President's views on postwar world democracy, as enshrined in the Atlantic Charter, were going to be very, very difficult to apply.\n\nChurchill then came back to the Villa Dar es Saada and, together with Harry Hopkins, Robert Murphy, and Harold Macmillan, they rehashed the evening's discussions and their implications.\n\nOutwardly, the President seemed unconcerned. \"Father seemed unperturbed by the mighty sulk to which de Gaulle treated him,\" Elliott recalled, as well as his father's philosophical attitude. \"The past is past, and it's done,\" the President pronounced, attempting to be positive. \"We've nearly solved this thing now. These two:\"\u2014meaning Generals Giraud and de Gaulle\u2014\"equal rank, equal responsibility in setting up the Provisional Assembly. When that's done, French democracy is reborn. When that Provisional Assembly starts to act, French democracy takes its first steps. Presently French democracy will be in a position to decide for itself what is to become of Giraud, or of de Gaulle. It will no longer be our affair.\" A democratically elected French government would decide.\n\nIn his own mind, however, Roosevelt was far from happy. He was already worried whether his notion of global postwar democracy, based on the Atlantic Charter, would be honored in Europe, once the Russians began pushing back the Germans on the Eastern Front.\n\nThe Soviets were a major concern. His brief interview with de Gaulle had indicated all too clearly, though, just how obstinately the old imperial powers would seek to reestablish and then hang on to their colonial possessions\u2014the \"unity of her vast Empire,\" as de Gaulle proudly called it\u2014rather than pursue the ideal of postwar, postimperial commonwealths of sovereign countries bound by history and culture, not the gunboat. And in this respect, Churchill was little different from de Gaulle.\n\nHow, though, persuade those dying empires to embrace the _future_ rather than the past? How encourage them to join in creating a new world order, not reestablish the tottering colonial empires that had doomed Europe and the Far East after World War I?\n\nWhen Churchill finally left the House of Happiness at half past midnight, the President went to bed but asked Elliott to sit with him, and in the quiet of his Casablanca villa, he unburdened his soul.\n\nThough he'd said to Churchill they must move on with the prosecution of the war and not permit themselves to be sidetracked by French factionalism, the President was in truth deeply affected by his contretemps with de Gaulle.\n\n\"We've talked, the last few days,\" the President told his son, \"about gradually turning the civil control of France over to a joint Giraud\u2013de Gaulle government, to administer as it is liberated. An interim control, to last only until free elections can again be held . . . but how de Gaulle will fight it!\" he snorted. Not only did de Gaulle speak of himself as a sort of Joan of Arc, but his dream was the restoration of France on the back of its colonies. \"He made it quite clear that he expects the Allies to return all French colonies to French control immediately upon their liberation. You know,\" Roosevelt confided to his son, \"quite apart from the fact that the Allies will have to maintain military control of French colonies here in North Africa for months, maybe years, I'm by no means sure in my own mind that we'd be right to return France to her colonies at all, ever, without first obtaining in the case of each individual colony some sort of pledge, some sort of statement of just exactly what was planned, in terms of each colony's administration\"\u2014much as Congress had done with regard to the Philippines in 1932.\n\nElliott was amazed. \"Hey, listen, Pop. I don't quite see this. I know the colonies are important\u2014but after all, they _do_ belong to France . . . how come we can talk about not returning them?\"\n\nRoosevelt's retort was instant. \" _How_ do they belong to France?\" he countered. \"Why does Morocco, inhabited by Moroccans, belong to France? Or take Indo-China. The Japanese control that colony now. Why was it a cinch for the Japanese to conquer that land? The native Indo-Chinese have been so flagrantly downtrodden that they thought to themselves: Anything must be better, than to live under French colonial rule! Should a land belong to France?\" he demanded. \"By what logic and by what custom and by what historical rule?\"\n\n\"I'm talking about another war, Elliott,\" the President told his son, \"his voice suddenly sharp,\" Elliott recalled. \"I'm talking about what will happen to our world, if after _this_ war we allow millions of people to slide back into the same semi-slavery.\"\n\nHe looked deadly serious. \"Don't think for a moment, Elliott, that Americans would be dying in the Pacific tonight, if it hadn't been for the shortsighted greed of the French and the British and the Dutch. Shall we allow them to do it all, all over again?\"\n\nIt would be hard enough to revive the battered economies of the world and guard against the insidious, antidemocratic ideology of communism, but how much harder it promised to be if Britain, France, and the Netherlands committed themselves to huge military and financial outlays to perpetuate imperialism. They would then be, he predicted, sucked into vain efforts to stop calls for self-government and self-determination in their former colonies\u2014a recipe for postwar disaffection, revolt, and wars.\n\n\"One sentence, Elliott. Then I'm going to kick you out of here. I'm tired. This is the sentence: When we've won the war, I will work with all my might and main to see to it that the United States is not wheedled into the position of accepting any plan that will further France's imperialist ambitions, or that will aid or abet the British Empire in _its_ imperial ambitions.\"\n\nAnd with that the President pointed to the door\u2014and the light switch.\n\nBefore he returned to his photoreconnaissance unit in Algiers, Elliott Roosevelt had one more talk with his father. It was clear de Gaulle's determination to reassert French imperialism still enervated the President. De Gaulle had at least been open about his aims, however\u2014to the point of outright rudeness. Churchill was, by contrast, keeping his own counsel for later. The President therefore interrogated Elliott as to opinion among U.S. troops and airmen\u2014what did they, who were risking their lives, think?\n\nBefore Elliott could respond, his father launched into another deeply felt articulation of his views. \"You see, what the British have done, down the centuries, historically, is the same thing. They've chosen their allies wisely and well. They've always been able to come out on top, with the same reactionary grip on the peoples of the world and the markets of the world, through every war they've ever been in.\n\n\" _This_ time,\" his father continued, \" _we're_ Britain's ally. And it's right we should be. But . . . first at Argentia, later in Washington, now here at Casablanca,\" the President reminded Elliott, \"I've tried to make it clear to Winston\u2014and the others\u2014that while we're their allies, and in it to victory by their side, they must never get the idea that we're in it just to help them hang on to the archaic, medieval Empire ideas.\"\n\nElliott agreed, but his father wasn't done. \"I hope they realize they're not senior partner.\" America was\u2014and would be more and more so, as the war progressed and the postwar world took shape. The United States was \"not going to sit by, after we've won, and watch their system stultify the growth of every country in Asia and half the countries in Europe to boot,\" he warned. Britain had \"signed the Atlantic Charter\" at Argentia, and \"I hope they realize the United States government means to make them live up to it.\"\n\nThese were perhaps the most impassioned words Elliott had ever heard his father say\u2014spoken after inspecting thirty thousand young Americans preparing for imminent combat, and having visited the cemetery of those who had already fallen. They also helped explain his father's determination to insist upon unconditional surrender of the Axis powers, precluding any possibility of negotiated armistice with nations simply too dangerous to be allowed ever to rearm.\n\nOperation Symbol had been the code name given to the Casablanca Conference. The biggest symbol of Roosevelt's intent to end German, Italian, and Japanese military empires and establish a completely new, postimperialist global order would be, the President had planned, his forthcoming announcement to the world, on the field of battle, of his implacable condition for ending the war.\n\nHour after hour the President had hoped that de Gaulle would make at least a tentative agreement to work with General Giraud\u2014one that could be announced at the President's looming press conference.\n\nDe Gaulle refused, however, to make any accommodation with his French rival. In particular he turned down a draft communiqu\u00e9 drawn up by Robert Murphy and Harold Macmillan, Eisenhower's British political adviser\u2014declaring he would not be party to any solution to French political matters \"brought about by the intervention of a foreign power, no matter how high and how friendly.\"\n\nThe President, with a kind of bemused amazement, breathed another sigh of vexation. \"Finished the staff conferences\u2014all agreed\u2014De Gaulle a headache\u2014said yesterday he was Jeanne d'Arc & today that he is Georges Clemenceau,\" he scribbled to Daisy\u2014for de Gaulle now insisted on a compact with Giraud in which he, Major General de Gaulle, would be the French political leader in exile, while Giraud would be merely the French military commander in chief\u2014whom de Gaulle could dismiss. Giraud, who had come to hate de Gaulle with Gallic venom over the past few days, refused. There would thus be no unification of the Free French and Algiers committees\u2014and with that, de Gaulle prepared to leave Casablanca.\n\nThe President was disappointed, but tried not to be unduly concerned.\n\nDe Gaulle, for his part, believed he'd made his point: proving to the President of the United States and the world that he, on behalf of _La France,_ was not going to toady to American wishes, or dollars. He certainly seemed to have no idea how rude he'd been, or how small he appeared, in the President's eyes, despite his six-foot-six-inch height. History had given him the chance to lead a great reconciliation of neutral, Vichy, and Free French nationals in the struggle to defeat the Axis powers and to usher in a new world. Instead, he'd pursued the politics of personal ambition and an implacable view of French honor. However laudable the latter, it was sheer obstructionism in terms of the war against the Third Reich\u2014something de Gaulle seemed unable to comprehend. To his aide, Hettier de Boislambert, he confided, the night he'd met the President at the Villa Dar es Saada: \"You see, I have met a great statesman today, I think we got along and understood each other well\"\u2014but the truth was the very opposite.\n\nFor his part, Churchill was dumbfounded. Learning that de Gaulle was refusing to sign the proposed communiqu\u00e9, prior to the President's press conference, \"he was beside himself with rage,\" the historian of the Churchill\u2013de Gaulle relationship later chronicled. \"General de Gaulle's farewell visit to the Prime Minister was therefore uncommonly animated, even by Churchillian standards; the latter chose to omit any reference to it in his memoirs. Not so General de Gaulle,\" Fran\u00e7ois Kersaudy chronicled.\n\nKersaudy was not exaggerating. De Gaulle's account, recording how Churchill had threatened to \"denounce\" him \"in the Commons and on the radio\" unless he signed the communiqu\u00e9, pulled no punches. The Prime Minister was \"free to dishonor himself,\" de Gaulle had retorted. \"In order to satisfy America at any cost, he was espousing a cause unacceptable to France, disquieting to Europe, and regrettable to England.\"\n\nChurchill was apoplectic, but in one sense de Gaulle was right. The President was a true statesman, and even if he disliked de Gaulle for making difficulties, he understood him, for all his foibles, as a statesman in the making. Thus at the Villa Dar es Saada shortly before noon on January 24, Roosevelt accepted that de Gaulle would simply not sign an interim communiqu\u00e9 or agreement of a three-man Committee for the Liberation of France\u2014and did not turn away from Charles d'Arc, so to speak. Instead, in his inimitable fashion, the President asked for at least a _symbol_ of French purpose in fighting the Nazis. \"In human affairs the public must be offered some drama,\" Roosevelt said to the general. \"The news of your meeting with General Giraud in the midst of a conference in which both Churchill and I are taking part, if it were to be accompanied by a joint declaration of the French leaders\u2014even only a theoretical agreement\u2014would produce the dramatic effect required.\"\n\nThe President's almost Olympian approach and charm moved de Gaulle, as Churchill's did not. \"'Let me handle it,'\" de Gaulle later recalled his response. \"'There will be a communiqu\u00e9, even though it cannot be yours.' Thereupon I presented my [French] colleagues to the President and he introduced me to his.\"\n\nThe press conference was due to take place at midday, but Harry Hopkins, mistaking de Gaulle's sudden graciousness, rushed out and grabbed General Giraud, asking him and Churchill to enter, in the hope that, if he could get \"the four of them into a room together,\" then \"we could get an agreement.\"\n\nThis was silly, in view of de Gaulle's stalwart refusal to allow a \"foreign power\" to dictate French agreements. Moreover, Churchill's renewed \"diatribe and his threats against me, with the obvious intention of flattering Roosevelt's disappointed vanity,\" as de Gaulle put it in his memoirs, only made matters worse. But Roosevelt would not have been Roosevelt, the leader of the United Nations and a man of almost heartbreaking humanity, if he had not attempted a different approach. He therefore made one last request of de Gaulle, \"on which he had set his heart,\" as de Gaulle recalled.\n\n\"Would you agree to [at least] being photographed beside me and the British Prime Minister, along with General Giraud?\" he asked, in \"the kindest manner.\"\n\n\"By all means,\" de Gaulle responded, \"for I have the highest regard for this great soldier.\"\n\n\"Would you go so far as to shake General Giraud's hand in our presence and in front of the camera?\"\n\n\"My answer, in English, was, 'I shall do that for you.' Whereupon Mr. Roosevelt, delighted, had himself carried into the garden where four chairs had been prepared beforehand, with innumerable cameras trained on them and several rows of reporters lined up with their pens poised.\"\n**16**\n\n# The Unconditional Surrender Meeting\n\n\"CASABLANCA, FRENCH MOROCCO,\" the AP reporter (once his report was cleared for release) described, was \"probably the most important gathering of leaders of two great nations in history.\" It was also, the reporter maintained, even more extraordinary for the setting\u2014the results \"disclosed in the most informal press conference ever held.\"\n\nThe picture, in the midst of a global war, was certainly unique\u2014the scene a \"garden of a villa on the outskirts of Casablanca,\" where \"the entire area for blocks around was full of troops, anti-aircraft equipment and barbed wire. The correspondents were told they would have a conference at noon. They assembled in the rear garden of the villa, which is a luxurious gleaming white home with many windows overlooking the Atlantic. In the garden were two white leather chairs. A microphone was in front of them for newsreel camera men. Red flowers were in profusion. Inside, reporters could see Harry A. Hopkins and his son, who is now a corporal, rushing around making arrangements. Then Lieut. Colonel Elliott Roosevelt appeared at the rear door carrying two more chairs. The President appeared. He wore a gray business suit and a black tie, and, as usual was smoking a cigarette in a long holder. A minute later Prime Minister Churchill walked out with a cigar in his mouth.\"\n\nThe two giant, giraffe-like French generals in their kepis were also brought out. \"Some photographers called out, 'Generals shake hands!'\" Captain McCrea recounted\u2014and, as agreed with de Gaulle, when the President said, \"Why not? You two Frenchmen are loyal to your country and that warrants a handshake anytime,\" they did so\u2014not only once but twice, since cameramen complained they'd failed, in their surprise, to get a good photo the first time.\n\n\"The four actors put on their smiles,\" de Gaulle later recorded\u2014in a chapter of his memoirs that he titled \"Comedy.\" \"The agreed-upon gestures were made. Everything went off perfectly! America would be satisfied, on such evidence, that the French question had found its _deus ex machina_ in the person of the President.\"\n\nGiraud was as sniffy of the proceedings as de Gaulle, but for the opposite reason: to wit, his profound hostility to de Gaulle, a mere major general who had only minimal support from Frenchmen in Northwest Africa, appearing on the same stage\u2014especially after having been so rude to him ever since he'd arrived. The very suggestion the two Frenchmen might work amicably together seemed to him dishonest, however noble its intention. \"Excellent photos that will be transmitted across the world, and be seen as documentary evidence of irrefutable veracity,\" he recalled sarcastically several years later. \"That,\" he added, \"is how public opinion is fashioned.\"\n\nIt was\u2014unabashedly, since Allied unity was as important a weapon in the war as military arms. Even the President's naval aide was amazed. \"The pictures went all over the world and I would suppose contributed to French unity in all parts of the globe,\" McCrea reflected, for even he had not foreseen the power of such simple imagery. \"The President literally cajoled the two proud and greatly different persons into making a gesture of friendship\u2014and did it well, indeed. The generals bade farewell to the President and the Prime Minister and then withdrew\u2014forthwith,\" leaving the President to explain to reporters from across the world the purpose of the summit that had just concluded.\n\nIn his business suit and tie, sitting with his long legs crossed, the President \"invited the assembled newsmen to seat themselves on the lawn and make themselves comfortable for the discussion which was to follow,\" the AP reporter described. \"It was a beautiful day\u2014brilliant sunshine and with these two heads of state the correspondents heard a complete description of the purpose and the reasons of bringing the British and our own Chiefs of Staff together in North Africa for discussions necessary for further prosecution of the war.\"\n\nThe President certainly looked the picture of confidence and good health. Referring to Torch, he began by reminding his audience how the current campaign in North Africa had begun. \"This meeting,\" he explained, \"goes back to the successful landing operations last November, which as you all know were initiated as far back as a year ago, and put into definite shape shortly after the Prime Minister's visit to Washington in June.\n\n\"After the operations of last November,\" the President went on, \"it became perfectly clear, with the successes, that the time had come for another review of the situation, and a planning for the next steps, especially steps to be taken in 1943.\" It was for this reason he'd arranged for Churchill to come to Casablanca, \"and our respective staffs came with us, to discuss the practical steps to be taken by the United Nations for prosecution of the war. We have been here about a week.\"\n\nFor the journalists who had been kept in the dark since the President's State of the Union address on January 7 in Washington, D.C., two weeks before, this was something of a bombshell. The very fact that the two leaders of the Western democratic alliance could have spent _an entire week_ on the recent field of battle without anyone knowing was a shock\u2014the more so as no American president had ever previously traveled abroad in wartime, or even flown in an airplane while in office. Yet here he was, in bright Moroccan sunlight, addressing them\u2014largely extempore and in person.\n\n> I might add, too, that we began talking about this after the first of December [1942], and at that time we invited Mr. Stalin to join us at a convenient meeting place. Mr. Stalin very greatly desired to come, but he was precluded from leaving Russia because he was conducting the new Russian offensive against the Germans along the whole line. We must remember that he is Commander in Chief [of the Soviet armies], and that he is responsible for the very wonderful detailed plan which has been brought to such a successful conclusion since the beginning of the offensive.\n\nKnowing the Russians had cornered the German Sixth Army at Stalingrad, the President had felt certain the surviving Germans would now be killed or forced to surrender\u2014whatever Hitler might order to the contrary. It was a tremendous Soviet victory in the making, after months of the most lethal, often hand-to-hand, combat of the war, involving vast casualties. Soon the Western Allies would be achieving a similar, momentous victory, however, the President implied. \"In spite of the fact that Mr. Stalin was unable to come, the results of the staff meeting have been communicated to him, so that we will continue to keep in very close touch,\" Roosevelt assured the reporters. Meantime, with regard to the many meetings and discussions between the U.S., British, and French generals, the President expressed his great satisfaction as U.S. commander in chief. What had taken place was different, he said, from, say, Lincoln's visits to his generals in the field, or those of Allied leaders in World War I. This was now _coalition_ warfare, on a global scale, but with the leaders and their military staffs working in the closest cooperation and harmony:\n\n> I think it can be said that the studies during the past week or ten days are unprecedented in history. Both the Prime Minister and I think back to the days of the first World War when conferences between the French and British and ourselves very rarely lasted more than a few hours or a couple of days. The [U.S. and British] Chiefs of Staffs have been in intimate touch; they have lived in the same hotel. Each man has become a definite personal friend of his opposite number on the other side.\n\n> Furthermore, these conferences have discussed, I think for the first time in history, the whole global picture. It isn't just one front, just one ocean, or one continent\u2014it is literally the whole world; and that is why the Prime Minister and I feel that the conference is unique in the fact that it has this global aspect.\n\n> The Combined Staffs, in these conferences and studies during the past week or ten days, have proceeded on the principle of pooling all of the resources of the United Nations. And I think the second point is that they have reaffirmed the determination to maintain the initiative against the Axis powers in every part of the world.\n\nOver the past ten days, the President explained, the talks had examined how the Western Allies were to keep \"the initiative during 1943,\" moreover to keep sending \"all possible material aid to the Russian offensive, with the double object of cutting down the manpower of Germany and her satellites, and continuing the very great attrition of German munitions and materials of all kinds which are being destroyed every day in such large quantities by the Russian armies. And, at the same time, the Staffs have agreed on giving all possible aid to the heroic struggle of China\u2014remembering that China is in her sixth year of the war\u2014with the objective, not only in China but in the whole of the Pacific area, of ending any Japanese attempt in the future to dominate the Far East.\"\n\nIt was at this point that the President, looking down at his notes, came to the crux of his outdoor statement\u2014its historic import belied by the lush surroundings. \"Another point,\" he began:\n\n> I think we have all had it in our hearts and our heads before, but I don't think that it has ever been put down on paper by the Prime Minister and myself, and that is the determination that peace can come to the world only by the total elimination of German and Japanese war power.\n\n> Some of you Britishers know the old story\u2014we had a General called U.S. Grant. His name was Ulysses Simpson Grant, but in my, and the Prime Minister's, early days he was called \"Unconditional Surrender\" Grant.\n\n> The elimination of German, Japanese, and Italian war power means _the unconditional surrender_ by Germany, Italy, and Japan. That means a reasonable assurance of future world peace. It does not mean the destruction of the population of Germany, Italy, or Japan, but it does mean the destruction of the philosophies in those countries which are based on conquest and the subjugation of other people.\n\nIn order to give extra emphasis to the announcement, the President now declared: \"This meeting is called the 'unconditional surrender meeting.'\"\n\nUnconditional surrender. No negotiation or acceptance of a compromise peace or armistice. And an implacable aim that would be pursued West and East.\n\n> While we have not had a meeting of all of the United Nations, I think that there is no question\u2014in fact we both have great confidence that the same purposes and objectives are in the minds of all of the other United Nations\u2014Russia, China, and all the others.\n\n> And so the actual meeting\u2014the main work of the Conference\u2014has been ended. Except for a certain amount of resultant paper work, it has come to a successful conclusion. I call it a meeting of the minds in regard to all military operations, and, thereafter, that the war is going to proceed against the Axis powers according to schedule, with every indication that 1943 is going to be an even better year for the United Nations than 1942.\n\nThe fifty journalists in the garden of the Villa Dar es Saada were stunned. So, too, was Churchill.\n\nTrue, the Prime Minister had agreed to the unconditional-surrender policy and even recommended it be part of the President's final pronunciamento, at the conclusion of the conference. Yet he seemed visibly surprised at the emphasis the President had placed upon it, as Captain McCrea vividly recalled. \"I was standing nearby and when the President made that remark the P.M. snapped his head toward the Pres., giving the impression, to me at least, that the phrase came as a surprise to him.\"\n\nPondering this in later years, McCrea could not quite explain the Prime Minister's body language\u2014\"I shall never forget,\" he wrote, \"the quick turn of the head by the P.M. when the Unconditional Surrender of the Axis Forces was announced as to how the war would end.\"\n\nThe fifty journalists, for their part, sat mesmerized. If they found themselves disappointed that the President was not willing to be more specific in terms of actual, forthcoming military operations, the Prime Minister followed up the President's statement by asking them to understand why the enemy should not be told in advance what the Allies would undertake that year\u2014and why the Allies could be grateful for what had already happened, now that the United States was in command. \"Tremendous events have happened. This enterprise which the President has organized\u2014and he knows I have been his active Lieutenant since the start\u2014has altered the whole strategic aspect of the war . . . We are in full battle, and heavy action will impend.\" He asked reporters therefore to convey to the world at home \"the picture of unity, of thoroughness, and integrity of the political chiefs.\" The Allies were going to win the war. \"Even when there is some delay there is design and purposes,\" he insisted, \"and as the President has said, the unconquerable will to pursue this quality,\" he sought to find a quotable phrase, \"until we have procured the unconditional surrender of the criminal forces who plunged the world into storm and ruin.\"\n\nUnconditional surrender, then, it was\u2014the news soon flashing across the world, once the two leaders were out of harm's way.\n\nReports and images of the \"unconditional surrender meeting\" and the President's trip sent shockwaves across the Third Reich.\n\nThe President and Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces of the United States: Inspecting his troops on the battlefield. Ten days of U.S.-British military discussions\u2014and with the French, too. Every battlefront of the globe examined, and its needs factored into the Allies' strategy for the prosecution of a global, offensive war\u2014a war not only to win against the Axis powers, but to permit no compromise, no negotiated armistice, no agreement save unconditional surrender. And the President seated in the sun on a Moroccan lawn, speaking with such naturalness and confidence regarding the inevitable defeat of the Third Reich that those who'd experienced the German victories of the previous summer\u2014the fall of Tobruk, the second massive German offensive toward the Volga and the Caucasus\u2014could only rub their eyes in wonder. \"F.D.R.'s 'unconditional surrender' pronouncement\" had swept \"practically all other news from today's newspapers . . . It will, no doubt, prove to be,\" predicted King George VI's private secretary, \"one of the most momentous of all such conferences since that of Lucca\"\u2014when in 56 B.C. Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus had renewed their triumvirate.\n\nIn the wake of Torch the tide had truly turned. In Berlin, Reichsminister Goebbels\u2014who had been busy preparing the final touches for a forthcoming address of his own\u2014was literally speechless.\n\nAt first Goebbels could scarcely believe what he read and saw in newsreel film being distributed throughout the neutral countries. In his diary Goebbels expressed utter consternation\u2014especially at the failure of the German intelligence services to learn the whereabouts of a ten-day, top-level enemy conference involving the political leaders of the Western world, together with the chiefs of staff of their air, ground, and naval forces. Even on January 26, 1943, two days after the conclusion of the actual press conference and departure of the principals, Goebbels had been idly noting\u2014alongside secret reports that the terrible battle of attrition at Stalingrad was \"reaching its end\"\u2014that it seemed \"pretty certain that Churchill is in Washington.\"\n\nThe next day Goebbels noted that the rumors of a parley between Roosevelt and Churchill were gaining strength, \"only we still don't know where these gangster bosses are meeting.\"\n\nGoebbels, ever skeptical, had made nothing of the speculation. His own attention was locked on the approaching tenth anniversary of the Nazis' assumption of power, when he would make his own grand announcement at a huge, mass rally of Nazi Party stalwarts in the Sportpalast\u2014urging them with all the declamatory zeal he could summon to devote themselves to their fresh task: to make available to the F\u00fchrer the men, materiel, and conviction necessary for Germany to embark on a third, this time successful, great offensive on the Eastern Front . . . _totaler Krieg:_ total war _._\n\nGoebbels was thus floored by the seemingly authentic reports that finally reached Berlin on January 28, 1943. \"The sensational event of the day, is the news that Churchill and Roosevelt have met in Casablanca,\" the Reichsminister dictated in his diary. He made no effort to conceal his amazement. \"So the discussions have not, as we assumed, been taking place in Washington but on the hot coals of Africa. Once again our intelligence services have completely failed\u2014unable even to identify the place where the talks were taking place,\" he fulminated. \"They've been held now for almost a fortnight, and they're being heralded by the enemy press as the gateway to victory.\"\n\nEver anxious to see signs of Allied dissension, Goebbels had assumed Churchill and Roosevelt, if they were meeting in Washington, might well be sparring over which man should take the reins of the Allied offensive war effort. Reading the transcript of the Roosevelt-Churchill press conference in Casablanca, the Reichsminister became aware, however, that the earth had shifted. \"It's worth noting,\" he reflected in his diary, \"that Churchill officially designates himself now as Roosevelt's adjutant; no such humiliation has probably been seen in British history.\"\n\nHumiliation or not, the threat was becoming daily more real. Not only were the anti-Axis armies targeting Nazi Germany, Goebbels was aware, but so were their political leaders, Roosevelt, Churchill, and Stalin\u2014leaders who, like Hitler, had taken command of their country's armed forces, and were now coordinating those forces against the Third Reich\u2014in complete contrast to the motley democratic forces of the late 1930s.\n\nBarely a year since Pearl Harbor and the F\u00fchrer's ill-considered declaration of war on the United States, the President's appearance in Casablanca was a startling turnaround\u2014his \"unconditional surrender meeting\" all the more disturbing to Goebbels, since it made clear there would be no peace feelers or possibility of a negotiated settlement with the leaders of the Third Reich. Along with the imminent extinction of von Paulus's Sixth Army at Stalingrad, Goebbels knew, Hitler's dreams of conquest and declaration of war on the United States now looked not only an unwise gamble, but raised the specter of the Thousand Year Reich\u2014so gloriously proclaimed in the 1930s\u2014being crushed in the nearest future, unless the Nazi Party, under their once victorious F\u00fchrer, found some way to turn the tables.\n\nSince the F\u00fchrer still refused to appear in public at such a fateful time\u2014he had not been seen in Berlin since the previous September\u2014his propaganda minister recognized that he, Joseph Goebbels, would have to work the harder to rally the German nation at home.\n\nAccepting that the battle of Stalingrad would now end in utter defeat\u2014the F\u00fchrer confiding to Goebbels he'd had to sacrifice General Paulus's army lest the whole extended German frontline in Russia be broken\u2014the Reich minister had intended to use the approaching German catastrophe in Russia to new advantage: namely as a wake-up call to the German Volk, once the battle of Stalingrad ended. The fate of so many hundreds of thousands of German soldiers would illustrate, as nothing else could, the mortal threat of Bolshevism\u2014and the need for supreme, self-sacrificing heroism on the part of the loyal German soldier if they were to survive the struggle against Soviet communism.\n\nThe news from the Western (in fact, Southern) Front, however, eclipsed even Stalingrad. Coming after what the President had revealed in his State of the Union address on January 7, that the United States was on course to outmanufacture the collective output of the Axis powers several times over, the Casablanca declaration by the leaders of the world's foremost capitalist democracies\u2014democracies working with the Soviet Union\u2014now deprived Goebbels of his \"anti-Bolshevist\" German master card.\n\nEvery day there was more news in neutral countries about Casablanca. Film, photographs, newspaper stories\u2014and discussion of what the conference would now presage for Nazi Germany. It completely turned the world's attention to the _Western,_ not Eastern, Front, Goebbels lamented\u2014removing the primary fear of Bolshevism. Overnight, in short, the communist threat had been replaced, thanks to Casablanca, by a dramatically announced determination of the Western democratic powers to destroy all vestige of Nazism as a danger to, and scourge of, mankind\u2014far worse, in effect, than the dangers of communism.\n\nThe very words _unconditional surrender_ \u2014following the President's use of _total war_ in his State of the Union address to Congress\u2014infuriated Goebbels as a master of propaganda. Curt and harsh, they gave no hint of dissension or disunity among the United Nations now lined up against the Third Reich\u2014unsettling Goebbels's ever-maneuvering assumptions, since it showed just \"how confident the enemy now feels, or claims to feel, and how much we'll have to do,\" he noted, \"to counter their machinations.\"\n\nFor the second time that month, then, the President of the United States had beaten Goebbels to the punch. Instead of the Reich minister's still-undelivered declaration of total war surprising the world and striking fear in the hearts of Germany's enemies, his _totaler Krieg_ speech, if Hitler authorized it, would now be viewed outside Nazi circles as a desperate effort, at best, of an unashamedly totalitarian regime to meet the prospect of defeat; at worst a sort of glorified willingness to countenance the complete destruction of the German nation rather than sparing it by surrender.\n\nTo make matters worse for Dr. Goebbels, however, the F\u00fchrer had declined to make him the sole director of the _totaler Krieg_ initiative, lest the Reich minister (and gauleiter of Berlin) become too powerful in Germany. Instead, Hitler had agreed only to a triumvirate of mediocrities to steer the extended mobilization program, enjoying circumscribed powers\u2014with Goebbels granted a \"watching brief.\" Isolated, ill, frustrated, depressed, and blaming others rather than himself for the Wehrmacht's failure on the Eastern Front, the F\u00fchrer even rejected Goebbels's renewed appeals that Hitler return to the capital and rally the nation at such a time of crisis both on the Eastern and Southern Fronts.\n\nFor Goebbels as Reichsminister f\u00fcr Propaganda, this made Roosevelt's dramatic appearance in Morocco especially galling: the U.S. president seen by photographers, cameramen, and reporters so relaxed in the garden of a sunlit villa in Casablanca, while the F\u00fchrer remained unseen by anybody: hiding out of sight at his freezing headquarters in East Prussia, moaning helplessly as he surveyed on his tabletop maps the sharp arrows of Russian advances, lancing into his besieged remaining forces at Stalingrad . . .\n\nIt was in this context that Goebbels had been heard to say\u2014by Albert Speer, the Reich armaments minister, no less\u2014that Germany did not have a leadership crisis, but a \"Leader crisis.\"\n\nGoebbels was not alone in thinking this\u2014though few if any dared say so aloud. Goebbels was especially disturbed by reports from the _Sicherheitsdienst_ concerning new anti-Nazi graffiti appearing on the walls of German cities. Some of these openly accused the F\u00fchrer of mass murder\u2014not of Jews, but of German soldiers, in forcing the Sixth Army to fight to the death at Stalingrad rather than allowing the men to retreat. There were even rumors circulating that Hitler was either dead or suffering mortal sickness in Prussia.\n\nHowever hard Dr. Goebbels tried, then, it seemed impossible to \"counter\" the sensational international effect of the Casablanca Conference. In his diary the minister thus cursed the way he and the F\u00fchrer had been outmaneuvered.\n\nThe very lack of military specifics in the President's Casablanca press conference\u2014or even in the final official conference communiqu\u00e9 issued after _weeks_ of military discussions held by the most senior Allied generals and admirals\u2014aroused still further concern in Goebbels's suspicious, ever-calculating, yet in many ways brilliant mind. \"They're trying to conceal the real decisions they've made at the conference,\" he dictated in his diary, \"clearly to lull us into complacency. But there's no possible doubt in my mind the Anglo-Saxons are planning to invade the mainland of Europe when it suits them. We'll have to prepare for surprises,\" he noted on January 28. \"From week to week,\" he added, \"the war is moving into a bitter, ruthless stage.\" And two days later, at the stated request of the absent F\u00fchrer, Goebbels delivered before an audience of invited Nazis in the Berlin Sportpalast\u2014and on German radio\u2014Hitler's tenth-anniversary proclamation, celebrating the Nazis' seizure of power in 1933.\n\nCompared with the President's Casablanca announcement, the proclamation was a dud.\n\nWithout new victories to boast of, indeed with the Russians erasing the last pockets of resistance in Stalingrad, Hitler had been reduced in the proclamation to a vague catalog of Nazi \"achievements\" over the past decade, as well as an assertion that National Socialism would \"inspire everybody to fulfill his duty.\" If not, the F\u00fchrer warned, woe betide the slacker. The Nazi Party \"will destroy whoever attempts to shirk his duty,\" he'd written\u2014having agreed with Goebbels on the phone that the most savage measures, including execution, were to be taken against any who dared contest the increased mobilization measures that would now be enacted.\n\nThanks to the F\u00fchrer and his accomplices, the war\u2014Hitler's war\u2014would indeed move now \"into a bitter, ruthless stage.\"\n\nThree weeks thereafter Dr. Goebbels would, finally, be permitted by the F\u00fchrer to deliver, in person, his long-awaited _totaler Krieg_ speech at the Berlin Sportpalast.\n\nGoebbels was careful, in the days before, to pass word around that he'd be issuing more than a proclamation. One Goebbels biographer later described it as \"the most important mass meeting\" of Goebbels's egregious life. Ignoring the President's recent reference to Germany's war of conquest and its subjugation of other peoples, Goebbels intended instead to portray Germany's struggle as a noble European battle, waged by the Third Reich and its allies against \"international Jewry,\" and a fight to vanquish the forces of Jewish-sponsored chaos and aggression.\n\n\"Behind the Soviet divisions storming toward us we see the Jewish liquidation commandos, and behind them the specter of terror, mass hunger, and complete anarchy,\" Goebbels described. The goal of Bolshevism, he declared, \"is Jewish world revolution. The Jews want to spread chaos across the Reich and Europe, so that in the resultant despair and hopelessness they can establish their international, Bolshevist, concealed-capitalist tyranny.\" International Jewry, he sneered, was an \"evil fermentation of decomposition\"\u2014a threat that \"finds its cynical pleasure in plunging the world into chaos, and thereby bringing about the fall of thousand-year-old cultures to which it has contributed nothing.\"\n\nConsidering Jews had made German culture and science world famous, and that the Jewish percentage of Germany's population in 1933 had been less than 1 percent, Goebbels's claims were not only preposterous, but malevolent beyond belief\u2014masking, sadly, the real truth: the SS liquidation teams that Hitler and Heinrich Himmler had unleashed when attacking the Soviet Union, as well as the deliberate extermination of innocent Jewish civilians across Europe. Yet before an audience of fifteen thousand Nazi stalwarts, Goebbels's newsreel cameramen \"captured extraordinary scenes of emotion,\" his biographer would describe. \"Within minutes the audience was leaping to its feet, saluting, screaming, and chanting\"\u2014their cries of \"F\u00fchrer command! We obey!\" foreshadowing the shrill madness of Orwell's _Animal Farm._\n\n\"The orgiastic climax was reached by the question: 'Do you want total war? Do you want war more total, if need be, and more radical than we can even begin to conceive of today?' And then, almost casually, 'Do you agree that anybody who injures our war effort should be put to death?'\"\n\n\"The bellow of assent each time was deafening,\" Goebbels's biographer would record\u2014the Reich minister's speech interrupted more than two hundred times by literally hysterical applause. Not least would be the climax, when Goebbels reached his frenzied, rhetorical \"masterpiece,\" modeled on Hitler's earlier \"masterpieces.\"\n\n\"Nun, Volk, steh auf, und Sturm, brich los!\"\u2014\"Now, people of Germany, rise up\u2014and storm: _break loose!_ \"\nPART FIVE\n\n* * *\n\n#  _Kasserine_\n**17**\n\n# Kasserine\n\nSHORTLY AFTER THE President's return to Washington, the last pocket of forty thousand starving soldiers of the German Sixth Army at Stalingrad raised the white flag\u2014knowing their chances of survival as prisoners of war were dim.\n\nThe SS and Wehrmacht had ruthlessly conquered, murdered, executed, pillaged, and despoiled too much, too mercilessly, since the launch of Operation Barbarossa to expect much mercy. Of the 113,000 German soldiers taken prisoner in the battle for the Russian city of Stalingrad, few would ever return to their Vaterland. \"I'm not cowardly, just sad that I can give no greater proof of my bravery,\" one soldier had written in his last, despairing letter home, \"than to die for such pointlessness, not to say crime.\"\n\nFor the Soviet armies, Stalingrad, not Torch, was the turning point of the war. Russian forces had been fighting the Wehrmacht and its Romanian, Hungarian, Finnish, Italian, Dutch, and other Axis assault forces relentlessly since June 1941. In those seventeen months, the Soviets had taken phenomenal casualties before finally learning how to halt and defeat Germans in battle. Americans had been in battle barely a few weeks.\n\nThe campaign in Tunisia against predominantly German forces would now evidence the same learning process, if on a considerably smaller scale.\n\nAs Allied units began to meet German rather than Vichy French forces in combat, the situation suddenly resembled chaos in Russia at the start of Barbarossa. Even as Roosevelt presided over the conference at Casablanca, in fact, armored German forces struck at the Allied line in the Eastern Dorsal region of the Atlas Mountains, manned by poorly armed French troops. Some thirty-five hundred troops immediately surrendered; the rest ran for their lives. \"The French began showing signs of complete collapse along the front as early as the seventeenth,\" Eisenhower jotted in his diary on January 19, 1943. \"Each day the tactical situation has gotten worse.\"\n\nThe President, who seldom if ever interfered in tactical dispositions, had urged while at Casablanca that another well-armed U.S. division be sent up the line from northern Morocco, but Marshall and Stimson's obsession with a possible German counterinvasion via Spain and Spanish Morocco had tied Eisenhower's hands. Transportation was a further fetter. \"We've had our railroad temporarily interrupted twice,\" Ike lamented. \"I'm getting weary of it, but can't move the troops (even if I had enough) to protect the lines.\" Wisely waiting for better weather and more troops, he wanted to hold fast until Montgomery's British Eighth Army drew closer from Libya, and a proper, integrated Allied offensive could be readied within the capabilities of largely green troops.\n\nThe Germans, however, would not oblige. On January 30, 1943, five days after the President's departure from Morocco, the Twenty-First Panzer Division \"struck Faid Pass in a three-pronged attack as precise as a pitchfork,\" campaign historian Rick Atkinson aptly described\u2014killing almost a thousand French defenders in a day. Then, luring counterattacking U.S. armored forces into a trap, the Germans decimated both U.S. infantry and tanks\u2014leaving Wehrmacht forces, backed by Stuka dive-bombers, in control of Fa\u00efd Pass and the Eastern Dorsal.\n\nThis, however, was just the beginning. On February 14 the Germans launched a Valentine's Day massacre. Warned that German armor was on the move, Eisenhower wanted to withdraw fifty-nine-year-old Lloyd Fredendall's II Corps to safer positions in the Grand Dorsal, but General Fredendall resisted, and Eisenhower felt too much of a tenderfoot to insist, especially since Fredendall was a prot\u00e9g\u00e9 of General Marshall's. The result would soon be a bloodbath\u2014this time American.\n\nA German officer \"could not help wondering whether the officers directing the American effort knew what they were doing.\" They didn't. Their forces were dispersed and were mutually unsupporting, as well as lacking effective air cover. They were, in short, completely unprepared for the two German armored contingents about to hit them: General von Arnim's _Fr\u00fchlingswind_ assault through the Fa\u00efd Pass to Sidi Bou Zid, and Field Marshal Rommel's attack further south: _Morgenluft._ \"We are going to go all out for the total destruction of the Americans,\" Field Marshal Kesselring, the German commander in chief South, declared.\n\n\"You're taking too many trips to the front,\" General Marshall had criticized Eisenhower at Algiers, after flying there from Casablanca. \"You ought to depend more on reports,\" he'd advised\u2014obtusely. Patton had counseled the opposite.\n\nEisenhower's deference to Marshall's authority pretty much condemned the Allies to defeat\u2014Eisenhower still too young to defy the U.S. Army chief of staff. \"Absolute priority\" alerts had been sent out, once Ultra intelligence decrypts of German signals recognized something big was up, but it was too late. As German forces smashed their way forward with the latest Tiger tanks, new Nebelwerfer multiple-nozzled mortars, and Stuka ground-attack dive-bombers dovetailing with the Wehrmacht advance, American officers began openly yelling at their men to flee for their lives. In less than twelve hours von Arnim and Rommel's pincers had closed, having seized the high spine of the central Dorsal and threatening to end run the entire Allied line in Tunisia.\n\nAbsolute pandemonium characterized the initial U.S. response\u2014followed once again by brave American tankers, ordered to counterattack, being lured into German 88mm mobile-artillery traps: almost a hundred American tanks destroyed with their crews, twenty-nine artillery guns, seven half-tracks, and sixteen hundred casualties suffered at Sidi Bou Zid alone. And this was just the start. Open Allied radio communications allowed the Germans to know American whereabouts and moves without difficulty. Huge Allied gasoline and ammunition dumps were blown up or surrendered, as were three U.S. airfields. The German 88s and Tiger tanks had a field day. The battle became a rout as American troops retreated, pell-mell. Fredendall abandoned his laboriously carved subterranean hideout, far behind the frontlines. By February 17 his corps had been thrown back fifty miles\u2014in three days. On February 19 Rommel then attacked at Kasserine. Panic ensued, with the British First Army commander of the overall Tunisian front ordering \"no further withdrawal,\" and to \"fight to the last man.\" Or last American, wags sneered.\n\nFredendall even began moving his headquarters back to Constantine\u2014more or less where Torch had begun, in November.\n\nConcerned that he had not sufficient supplies or reserves to fight much beyond Kasserine, Rommel was satisfied with what he'd achieved; he obtained grudging consent to withdraw, sowing forty-three thousand mines as he did, and blowing up all bridges. He had given the Allies a \"bloody nose\"\u2014inflicting six thousand casualties, destroying almost 220 tanks and over 200 artillery guns, for less than a thousand German casualties, and had set back the Allied timetable for advance by months.\n\nJoseph Goebbels, ecstatic at the reception given to his _totaler Krieg_ speech, was further delighted by the news of German victory in Tunisia, which went some way to overcome public despondency when word of the surrender of Stalingrad was finally released.\n\nOnce again German troops had proven they were the best soldiers in the world and could not be beaten, even by numerically larger forces. \"The Americans have made a really terrible showing,\" Goebbels noted in his diary\u2014\"absolutely awful. Which is reassuring, in the event the Americans try to mount an invasion of continental Europe against German troops. They will probably be so smashed up,\" he commented, \"they won't know what hit them.\"\n\nThe next day, still savoring the news from Tunisia, he reflected: \"This U.S. defeat gives us an excellent insight into American fighting ability in case of an American invasion of Europe. I think our soldiers would sooner rip their throats out than let them into Germany. At any rate, the spirit here among the German people is hard to beat.\"\n\nHitler was _au\u00dferordentlich zufrieden_ with Rommel\u2014extraordinarily pleased, Goebbels added, after speaking with the F\u00fchrer.\n**18**\n\n# Arch-Admirals and Arch-Generals\n\nIN WASHINGTON, NEWS of the American defeat at Kasserine was met with disbelief.\n\nThe secretary of war and senior officers in the War Department who had urged the President to mount a cross-Channel invasion in the summer of 1943, as soon as Tunisia was cleared of enemy forces\u2014even in tandem with an invasion of Sicily, should the President insist on Operation Husky, as it was code-named, to placate British anxiety to clear the Mediterranean sea route to Suez and India\u2014were chastened. The prospects for a successful cross-Channel assault now looked pretty dire, even to Pentagon fantasists. For a moment, in fact, it looked as if Tunisia might be cleared not of Axis forces, but of American.\n\nStimson, sadly, took this as a sign the Allies should not have landed in Northwest Africa at all. The President demurred. The lesson, in his view, was the opposite: namely the need for more battle experience against German troops.\n\nCombat, command, and campaign experience: these were crucial\u2014not only at unit level, but in senior command and international-coalition cooperation. It was not only Fredendall who failed in battle. Colonel\u2014later Brigadier General\u2014Paul Robinett would afterward write, \"One would have to search all history to find a more jumbled command structure than that of the Allies in this operation.\" Until the onset of battlefield defeat, however, no one had seemed interested in command structures or battle techniques against a German enemy. In Tripoli, General Montgomery had organized a special \"study week\" or teach-in to \"check up on our battle technique,\" launching it with a two-hour address that one British general thought \"one of the best addresses I have ever heard and that is saying a lot.\" Thanks to Rommel's attack only a handful of U.S. officers were sent to attend, however, and among those who did go, General Patton was heard boasting, \"I may be old, I may be slow, I may be stoopid, and I know I'm deaf, but it just don't mean a thing to me.\"\n\nOn his return to Morocco, once the true extent of American debacle became clear, even Patton began to rethink his supercilious judgment. \"The show was very bad\u2014very bad indeed,\" he confided in a letter to his wife. The matter of how to fight the Germans in battle had come to mean life or death to ninety thousand American soldiers in Tunisia. Even Stimson, in Washington, was shocked. \"Heavy fighting is going on,\" he'd noted in his diary on February 15, \"and we have yet to see whether the Americans can recover themselves and stand up to it.\" That they hadn't, in the days thereafter, was galling.\n\nTwo days later Stimson was acknowledging that Rommel had mounted a veritable \"coup\" in southern Tunisia. \"He has attacked our thin line of American troops in that region with a comparatively overwhelming force of tanks and has driven them back some thirty miles. Eisenhower has been expecting it and two or three days ago sent a full appraisal of the situation and of his expectation,\" Stimson recorded, \"and he has withdrawn his force to a new line I hope without suffering irretrievable losses.\" The secretary worried, nevertheless, that the very distance that reinforcements would have to travel would count against the Allies. \"We had such good luck in the beginning but these things were lost sight of\"\u2014thanks largely to his and Marshall's obsession with a German flank attack across Spain and the Mediterranean. \"Now they will begin to count against us,\" he lamented. \"Nevertheless we must not forget the tremendous and permanent gains which our adventure has brought us\u2014the thus far safe occupation of northwest Africa; the acquisition of Dakar and west Africa; the diversion of Hitler's troops from the eastern front, and the irretrievable losses which he has suffered aided by that fact. All of these gains to us are, I hope, permanent and well worth any local setbacks.\"\n\nElderly and obstinate to a fault when it came to the stark, bloody business of fighting real Germans in real battle, Stimson was still thinking of \"gains\" in strategic terms, however\u2014not in combat and command experience: the blooding of those who had to do America's fighting, and who deserved better of their senior officers. Yet as the hours went by and reports came in of panic, desertions in the field, mass flight, surrenders, and demolitions, Stimson felt it was time to be honest. On February 18 he finally gave a press conference that even Joseph Goebbels found \"extraordinary in its frankness.\"\n\n\"Today I had a sharp reverse to report to the press at the press conference,\" Stimson admitted frankly in his diary, having \"decided to make no effort to whitewash it but to present it in its sharp outlines and simply in my own language to admit that it was a sharp setback and it would be folly to try to minimize it and it would be still greater folly to exaggerate it . . . I talked it over with Marshall afterwards. The only thing Marshall was worried about is that there are two extra divisions that apparently Rommel hasn't used of armored forces and is wondering where those are. Incidentally he told me that when they were in Casablanca the President wanted to divert another one of the divisions from George Patton's force at the gates of Gibraltar and ship them up into the attack in Tunisia. The Staff, however, had refused to agree to this.\"\n\nThe true lesson\u2014that Tunisia was America's military training ground\u2014still eluded Stimson, though. Despite his own trip to Casablanca and then Algiers, General Marshall seemed similarly blinkered. At the Pentagon, Stimson shared with Marshall, on Marshall's return, his feeling they'd had extraordinary \"luck so far and all the excitement of the success of the first attack, but now the length of communications is going to tell and we are going to be under constant pressure from the President, among others, to strip our force at the Gate [in Morocco] and send them out to Tunisia to meet the pressure that is going on there. He agreed with me that this would be disastrous.\"\n\nDisastrous?\n\nThat Marshall and Stimson should have continued to take counsel of such fears of a German invasion of Morocco through Spain and across the Straits of Gibraltar, even in mid-February 1943, was almost risible; certainly it made their continuing urging of a cross-Channel attack that coming summer, in tandem with the plan to invade Sicily, jejune beyond belief.\n\nFortunately, saner minds saw the situation differently. In the press, at least, the U.S. debacle in Tunisia did at least serve to dampen public ardor for a cross-Channel assault that year.\n\nIn Berlin, Dr. Goebbels was derisive. Reading British reports of the battle, expressing ill-concealed contempt for American fighting skills, Goebbels likened the situation to that of German forces having to fight with disappointing allies. \"So the English now have their own Italians,\" he mocked. \"We can grant them that. The British have always known how to get others to fight their battles; now they have to acknowledge Americans are even better at it,\" he sneered. As if this were not enough, he went on: \"The Americans prefer to fight their battles in Hollywood rather than on the rough ground of Tunisia, where instead of facing paper tanks they're up against German panzers.\" And given the awe of Rommel once again being expressed in London newspapers, his endlessly suspicious mind made him wonder if the British, in the aftermath of the battle, were using the American defeat to quieten calls for a Second Front, which the British wisely knew would fail\u2014or at any rate \"delay\" the cross-Channel assault Stalin was calling for. \"They're seriously doubting if they can really put together a successful Second Front.\"\n\nKasserine, then, provided a wake-up call for the Allies. Obtaining authorization from Marshall to dismiss Fredendall and replace him with General George Patton, Eisenhower told Patton to fire the incompetent and \"to be perfectly cold-blooded about it.\"\n\nDimly\u2014despite the lurid stories that General Wedemeyer and others had spread about how the British had \"put one over\" the American team at Casablanca, resulting in the outrageous delay of a Second Front\u2014even the senior officers of the War Department began to come to their senses: accepting the President was right. A Second Front would never work until U.S. forces were battle-hardened and had had a chance to rehearse large-scale amphibious landings in Sicily.\n\nKasserine, moreover, put a temporary damper on the U.S. War and Navy Departments' ridiculous obsession with rank rather than experience.\n\nNo sooner had the Torch landings taken place than Admiral King had begun pressing his colleagues to back his bid to be promoted _above_ four-star rank. \"It seems to me that the time has come to take up the matter of more 'full' Admirals and more 'full' generals,\" he had written in a special memorandum to Admiral Leahy and General Marshall (though not to Lieutenant General Arnold) soon after the Torch invasion. Theater commanders in chief now needed to have four-star rank, to keep up with the British; this then meant that the Joint Chiefs, though not Arnold, should have even higher rank, he felt. \"I therefore suggest that we consider the matter and make appropriate recommendations to the President,\" he'd urged.\n\nNot satisfied with the idea of merely a fifth star for the chiefs, King wanted wholly new ranking nomenclature in the U.S. Armed Forces\u2014indeed, he had his own pet proposal. \"We need also to recognize that there is need to prepare for ranks higher than that of Admiral and General. As to such ranks, I suggest Arch-Admiral and Arch-General,\" he gave his considered view, \"rather than Admiral of the Fleet and Field Marshal.\"\n\nArch-Admiral King? Arch-General Marshall?\n\nNo one was impressed. King had continued to push, however. In the days leading up to Kasserine, Secretary Stimson had learned from Secretary Knox that Marshall was now slated to become a field marshal. He was appalled.\n\nTrue, before Kasserine, on February 12, General Eisenhower had been promoted to temporary four-star rank in order to give him further authority as Allied commander in chief in Algiers. But for General Marshall to become an American \"field marshal\" when he had never actually held a field command as a general?\n\nStimson had asked Marshall what he thought of the idea. \"Marshall was dead against any such promotion,\" Stimson noted with relief in his diary. \"He said it would destroy all his influence both with the Congress and with the people, and he said that it really all came from the lower Admirals of the Navy Department forcing this upon King and Knox and upon the President.\" Stimson thus immediately wrote to the President, on February 16, in the midst of the battle in Tunisia, to try and scotch the idea\u2014which the President did. Fiddling with more stars and \"field marshal\" titles\u2014which would require Stimson and Knox putting the proposal in person before the Senate and House Armed Services Committees\u2014seemed to Roosevelt a very poor way of defeating Field Marshal Rommel.\n\nFor his part, Dwight Eisenhower had not wanted a fourth star, even. He'd immediately cabled to thank the President for his temporary promotion to full general, in the field\u2014but seven days later he wrote privately to his son John, at college. \"It is possible that a necessity might arise for my relief and consequent demotion,\" he warned\u2014glad to be able to say that his colonel's silver oak leaf in the regular army couldn't be taken away, whatever happened.\n\nEisenhower's untrumpeted humility did him proud. True, Ike had placed too much trust in Marshall's prot\u00e9g\u00e9, Fredendall. Only the cordite of _Blitzkrieg_ combat could have exposed the dire weaknesses in American command and battlefield skills in the end, however. Along with many thousands of platoon, company, battalion, brigade, division, and corps commanding officers, Eisenhower himself would have to learn the \"hard\" way. As he wrote to his son, \"You are quite mistaken in thinking that the work you are now doing is useless in the training of yourself for war.\" He was there, at college, to train his \"mind to think. That is essential. No situation whether general or special, is ever the same in war as it was foreseen or anticipated. You must be able to think as the problem comes up.\" And he instanced having to use Admiral Darlan to obtain swift surrender of Vichy forces in Morocco and Algeria to save American lives.\n\nIt was this very quality that President Roosevelt liked in Eisenhower. The President was certain Ike would mature in theater command. Far from demoting Eisenhower, the President was proud of the way he had handled himself and his relations with the British\u2014authorizing General Alexander, his new field deputy, to take over day-to-day handling of the battlefront on February 19; his treatment of the press (Eisenhower accepting \"full responsibility\" for the debacle, off the record, with reporters); his quiet removal of General Fredendall; and his patient refusal to advance the launch date for Husky, the invasion of Sicily, by a month, as Winston Churchill pressed him to do, lest it prejudice the conditions for Husky's success.\n\nNo: in the President's view young General Eisenhower, at age fifty-two, was doing just fine\u2014and U.S. troops, too. The President had seen them, in person, at Rabat, and was confident they'd learn the crucial lessons soon enough. Rommel was withdrawing from Kasserine, and would shortly be given his own drubbing by Montgomery at Medenine, on the Gulf of Gab\u00e8s\u2014probably the most perfect defensive one-day battle of the twentieth century.\n\nIt would all turn out for the best. It was Stalin who worried the President\u2014for the ramification of the President's patient war strategy was this: that the United States would, by its step-by-step approach, win the global war, yet in delaying a Second Front, might well risk Russian domination of Europe in the war's aftermath.\n\nMilitary prosecution of the war, in other words, was becoming every day more freighted with political consequences.\n**Total War**\n\n* * *\n\n> On January 7, 1943, President Roosevelt announces \"total war\" to Congress, then secretly embarks for North Africa aboard a Boeing clipper. He will be the first U.S. president to fly while in office, and the first to visit the battlefield abroad in time of war.\n\n**En Route to Casablanca**\n\n* * *\n\n> Via Trinidad and Brazil, the President flies across the Atlantic to Gambia, where he tours the harbor in an American tender and spends the night on the USS _Memphis_.\n\n> Then, using a special ramp for his wheelchair, Roosevelt (with Captain Bryan) flies in a C-54 transport up the coast of northwest Africa to Casablanca, Morocco.\n\n**Casablanca**\n\n* * *\n\n> German intelligence mistakes \"Casablanca\" for \"Casa Blanca,\" the White House, concluding that FDR and Churchill planned to meet in Washington.\n\n> Meanwhile, in secret, FDR establishes his headquarters in a Moroccan villa (with his sons Elliott and Franklin Jr. and Harry Hopkins). His task: to set the Allies\u2014and the U.S. chiefs of staff\u2014on an implacable course for offensive victory in World War II.\n\n**Directing World Strategy**\n\n* * *\n\n> At his villa headquarters, FDR assembles the Combined Chiefs of Staff. He must stop his own generals from committing U.S. forces to mass suicide before they have combat experience. He must also get the British to agree to a 1944 cross-Channel strategy. And get the fractious French to fight the Nazis, not each other.\n\n**Visiting Troops on the Battlefield**\n\n* * *\n\n> Generals Eisenhower, Clark, and Patton agree with FDR: U.S. forces need more combat experience before launching a cross-Channel invasion. The presence of the President on the North African battlefield is meanwhile inspiring.\n\n**Unconditional Surrender**\n\n* * *\n\n> Churchill has mixed feelings, but his British government applauds the policy Roosevelt announces to the press and to the world on behalf of the Allies: no negotiation with tyranny, and \"unconditional surrender\" of the Axis powers.\n\n**End of Empires**\n\n* * *\n\n> What should the Allies fight for? FDR and Churchill do not share the same vision, the President tells his son. They are at loggerheads over colonization: FDR is unwilling to sacrifice American lives just to restore British and French empires.\n\n> At Casablanca, FDR invites the Sultan of Morocco to dine, and admires the sunset with Churchill in Marrakesh. Before flying home, he insists on visiting Liberia, which became independent in 1847.\n\n**_Totaler Krieg_ **\n\n* * *\n\n> At the Sportpalast in Berlin, Goebbels announces _totaler Krieg_ (total war), not only as a battle of ideology, but of will.\n\n> Back in the States, the President tours the nation's military training camps where soldiers prepare for combat overseas. In secret, he orders P-38s from Guadalcanal to \"get Yamamoto,\" the man directing Japan's war in the Pacific.\n\n**19**\n\n# Between Two Forces of Evil\n\nTHE ENIGMA THAT was Russia\u2014its communist purges in the late 1930s; its appeasement of Hitler in its infamous Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact in the summer of 1939; its subsequent occupation of eastern Poland, in the wake of Hitler's _Blitzkrieg_ attack on western Poland; its similarly egregious invasion of Finland and the Winter War that had resulted in Russian annexation of 10 percent of Finnish territory, in Karelia; its fearsome NKVD police-state methods to maintain absolute communist control of the entire Soviet Union; its displacement and enforced migration of vast populations to Siberia; its veritable paranoia in terms of capitalistic, foreign influence or sway over its citizens\u2014had not given most Americans much reason to support the Soviets, save as opponents of the even more egregious Germans.\n\nThe sheer refusal of Russian soldiers and citizens\u2014often ill armed and ill trained\u2014to cede their country to the German troops who had overrun all of Europe had aroused belated popular admiration in America, and growing confidence that Hitler\u2014despite his control of Europe from Norway to Greece, and the whole of central Europe to the Crimea and Ukraine\u2014could, in truth, be beaten. What would happen then, though? Would the Soviets, obedient on pain of death to absolute communist rule from the Kremlin, permit those countries of Europe liberated by the Soviets to become genuine, capitalist, functioning democracies? Or would they be \"Sovietized\" by Russia?\n\nThe President had been thinking of such matters with increasing concern in the fall of 1942, as he'd confided to the Canadian prime minister, Mackenzie King. The prospect, however, had become all the stronger once it became clear that Hitler had overplayed his hand at Stalingrad, and his Sixth Army was going to get a hammering on the Volga\u2014indeed, that he might lose not only his Sixth Army at Stalingrad but his armies in the Caucasus, by the Black Sea, too. From being on the desperate defensive, the Russians would then begin to pose a mortal threat to the Third Reich\u2014with or without a Second Front.\n\nCertainly this was an eventuality that, in the privacy of his diary, Joseph Goebbels pondered. Far from causing him to question the Nazi ideology that he and Hitler had pursued over the past two decades, it only caused him to dedicate himself the more determinedly to the _Ausrottung_ of the people he blamed for Europe's travails: the Jews, as he'd declared in his _totaler Krieg_ speech. He now gave orders for the last Jews left in Berlin to be rounded up and sent to be liquidated in SS concentration camps\u2014noting how much more psychologically free this made him feel. He also recorded his determination to stamp out any protest in Germany to his total-war policy in the most ruthless manner\u2014in other words, via execution\u2014as well as ruthless reprisals to be taken against any acts of disrespect or attempted assassination of Nazi officials in the occupied countries of Europe.\n\nBetween these two forces of pure evil, it was difficult to say which was the worst. The President had therefore, on November 19, 1942, asked his former ambassador to the Soviet Union, William C. Bullitt, to furnish him with a private report on how he saw the future of Europe, following the successful Torch landings. In particular, Roosevelt wanted to have the former ambassador's reading of Russian intentions.\n\nBill Bullitt had taken his time. He'd recently been used by the President as an ambassador at large, conducting a presidential mission to West Africa, Egypt, Libya, Palestine, Syria, Iraq, and Iran in the spring of 1942. Independently wealthy thanks to his second marriage, he had then become director of public relations to the secretary of the Navy, Frank Knox. It had taken him two months to comply with the President's new request\u2014too late, unfortunately, for the Casablanca Conference\u2014but when it was ready, it was dynamite.\n\n\"Dear Mr. President,\" Bullitt's covering letter ran, written on January 29, 1943, the day before the President's return to Washington. \"The appended will take thirty minutes of your time. It is as serious a document as any I have ever sent you.\" He warned that \"its conclusion is that you should talk with Stalin as soon as possible\"\u2014and wished Roosevelt good luck in the attempt.\n\nThe President _did_ read it\u2014and swiftly invited Bullitt to lunch at the White House to discuss its implications for Allied political and military strategy.\n\nBullitt's report pulled no punches. Having served as America's very first envoy to Moscow, he had, after all, an almost unrivaled perspective both on Stalin and the Russians. In addition, for an American he had a keen perspective on Europe, having been U.S. ambassador to France for four years, right up to the German conquest of France in 1940.\n\nBullitt's portrait of Stalin and his Soviet aims was uncompromising. His memorandum began by trashing former Republican president Herbert Hoover's notion that Stalin had changed his philosophy, wanted no annexations, and was only interested in Russian security. The dictator was reported, in the view of such innocents as Hoover, \"to be determined to have the Soviet Union evolve in the direction of liberty and democracy, freedom of speech and freedom of religion. We ought to pray that this is so,\" Bullitt allowed; \"for if it is so, the road to a world of liberty, democracy and peace will be relatively easy.\" If this was not so, however, \"the road will be up-hill all the way.\" The free world would be tilting in one direction, the oppressive Soviet Union or empire in another.\n\nIn these circumstances, Bullitt felt, America must do everything to halt the Russian tilt before it was too late. It was, he wrote, \"in our national interest to attempt to draw Stalin into cooperation with the United States and Great Britain, for the establishment of an Atlantic Charter peace,\" such as the President's teams in Washington were mapping out. \"We ought to try to accomplish this feat, however improbable success may seem,\" for America would then be on the side of right, not merely might. But in dealing with Stalin, Bullitt was adamant, it was imperative to strip away any illusion.\n\n\"The reality is that the Soviet Union, up to the present time, has been a totalitarian dictatorship in which there has been no freedom of speech, no freedom of the press, and a travesty of freedom of religion; in which there has been universal fear of the OGPU [secret police] and Freedom from Want has been subordinated always to the policy of guns instead of butter.\" Stalin might well be persuaded to close down the nefarious Comintern, fomenting world communist revolution\u2014but only because, in the end, Stalin actually _had_ no real interest in world revolution by communists; his interest was only in communist-controlled nations serving as \"5th column for the Soviet State\" or empire. World communist revolution was but \"a secondary objective.\"\n\nAs Bullitt pointed out from his intimate, personal knowledge of the dictator, Joseph Stalin had no illusions\u2014or even belief in communism as a motivating faith. He \"lets no ideological motives influence his actions,\" Bullitt warned. Whether the global future lay with the ideal of communism or the president's four freedoms, Stalin was indifferent. His only goal was to maintain and extend the power of the Soviet Union: greater Russia, in effect, as a police state ruled by fear. \"He is highly intelligent. He weighs with suspicious realism all factors involved in advancing the interests or boundaries of the Soviet Union. He moves where opposition is weak. He stops where opposition is strong. He puts out pseudopodia\"\u2014amoeba-like tentacles\u2014\"rather than leaping like a tiger. If the pseudopodia meet no obstacle, the Soviet Union flows on.\"\n\nThe moral, then, was that the United States must do everything in its power to show genuine _desire_ for cooperation, as well as to \"prove to Stalin that, while we have intense admiration for the Russian people and will collaborate fully with a pacific Soviet State, we will resist a predatory Soviet State just as fiercely as we are now resisting a predatory Nazi State.\" If not, \"we shall have fought a great war not for liberty but for Soviet dictatorship.\"\n\nThis was a sobering eventuality.\n\n\"How can we make sure that this will not happen,\" Bullitt asked rhetorically, \"and achieve our own aim in a world of freedom and democracy?\"\n\nIt would be a case of America Inc. versus Russia Red.\n\nPresident Roosevelt nodded his head in agreement\u2014for whatever was published in liberal-minded newspapers and journals in the United States, he himself had no illusions about Stalin, or the nature of the Soviet terror state, maintained entirely by patriotism and fear. Moreover, he was pleased to see Bullitt supporting his presidential policy of unconditional surrender of the Nazis and Japanese\u2014whereas there were many, including Third Secretary George Kennan in Moscow, who favored making a deal with the German generals, or non-Nazis, to help fight the Soviet regime. To the President this would be tantamount to condoning German militarism, wars of conquest, and use of terror against its own citizens\u2014whether Jews or gypsies, political prisoners or priests\u2014just as it would be were Japan's example of inhumanity\u2014its savage, genocidal war in China and its atrocity-ridden rampage across the Southwest Pacific\u2014to be condoned. Unconditional surrender and disarmament of the Axis powers was a sine qua non of a permanent postwar peace in the world, beginning on a new page, the President felt strongly\u2014and Bullitt, in his report, did not contest this.\n\nOne by one the President ticked Bullitt's points: that unless Russia was pressured into declaring war on Japan, for example, following German capitulation, the United States would be tied down, having to fight its way unaided, island by island, until it could finally bomb and invade the Japanese heartland, which might take years\u2014while in the meantime Russia's amoeba would be left free to spread across Europe, infecting defenseless nations and hitching them to Stalin's Sovietizing wagon.\n\nThe answer to that, in Bullitt's view, was to press Stalin, while U.S. Lend-Lease assistance was still critical to Soviet military victory against the Wehrmacht, into agreeing not only to enter the war against Japan in due course, but to sign up to a formal agreement committing the Allies to establish a postwar democratic Europe\u2014not, as was the alternative, a group of communist puppet states subservient to the Soviet Union.\n\nThis, as Bullitt articulately put it, could only be done by securing an early meeting with Stalin, since \"our bargaining position will be hopeless after the defeat of Germany,\" when Russian troops would in all likelihood be in occupation of all central Europe up to the Elbe\u2014perhaps even up to the Rhine. Churchill, too, must be harnessed to a European, rather than imperial British, cause, alongside the United States\u2014with everything done, from this moment forth, to prepare the governments in exile and future European leaders to establish strong democratic structures that Stalin's fifth columnists could not successfully subvert.\n\nWorld disarmament was, in Bullitt's realistic view, impossible\u2014yet he doubted whether U.S. public opinion would willingly support yet another war in Europe to defend defenseless individual states. Ergo, rather than disarm those states, or press such states to disarm, they should be encouraged to arm themselves against Russian interference\u2014forming a U.S.-and-British-supported coalition or alliance. They should be urged to become a European bloc of \"Integrated Europe,\" which Stalin would not dare challenge. \"Soviet invasion finds barriers in armed strength,\" Bullitt emphasized, \"not in Soviet promises.\"\n\nThis prediction\u2014an early 1943 version of what became, in 1948, the Western European Union and NATO\u2014was very much the President's thinking. Using Lend-Lease as a lever, it would involve a carrot-and-stick approach to get Stalin, as soon as possible, to dissolve the Comintern as the instigator of world communist revolution; to agree to eventual entry into the war against Japan, once Germany was defeated; and to agree, in a formal document, to sign up to a United Nations world authority guaranteeing the independence and self-government of sovereign states\u2014with the United States and Britain, as two of the world's Four Policemen, ready and willing to use air, naval, and, if necessary, ground forces to counter any attempt, by anyone, to invade such sovereign states.\n\nWould Joseph Stalin, dictator of a police state supposedly wedded to Marxist-Leninist communist ideology, willingly sign up to a democratic concept like this, however\u2014a charter that would be a permanent indictment of the Russian police state?\n\nAs Bullitt acknowledged, the Russians would have the \"whip hand\" at the end of the war. In all frankness, moreover, there seemed little evidence the Soviets, led and ruled by Stalin, were going to undergo a Pauline conversion and become guardians of democracy and freedom, together with the United States, Britain, and China, across the globe\u2014at least not anytime soon. It was therefore imperative that the United States and Britain\u2014since China, for all its millions of people, was in no position to police anyone, indeed would probably have to cede Manchuria to the Soviets\u2014ensure that their own troops reached, as soon as possible, a demarcation line in Europe beyond which Stalin's troops could not march without going to war with the United States, the Soviet Union's great provider.\n\nWhere, exactly, as Bullitt surveyed the world in January 1943, would this line be, however\u2014 _and how could the Western allies hope to reach it before the Russians?_\n\nThis, indeed, was an interesting question.\n\nA colleague of Bullitt's\u2014Bullitt did not name him in his report\u2014had recently posited the end-of-war Sovietization of Europe would include \"at least Finland, the Baltic States, Poland, Rumania, Hungary, Czechoslovakia and the entire Balkan peninsula including probably European Turkey\"\u2014unless, Bullitt argued, the President beat Stalin to the punch. The United States should therefore \"define as Europe the Europe of 1938,\" he suggested\u2014\"minus Bessarabia, which should go to the Soviet Union\"\u2014and seek to save that version of Europe from the predatory clutches of the Russian bear. In this respect there was, Bullitt reemphasized, \"only one sure guarantee that the Red Army will not cross into Europe\u2014the prior arrival of American and British Armies in the eastern frontiers of Europe.\"\n\nThe eastern frontiers of Europe\u2014when U.S. forces still did not have a single soldier on the European continent?\n\nAnticipating the President's frown, Bullitt had admitted in his report: \"To state this is to state what appears to be an absurdity, if the assumption is made that we can reach the eastern frontiers of Europe only by marching through France, Italy and Germany\" before the Russians. However Bullitt had a better alternative. \"It may . . . be possible to reach this frontier before the Red Army,\" the former ambassador and now assistant to the U.S. Navy secretary wrote, \"if we make our attack on the Axis not by way of France and Italy but by way of Salonika and Constantinople.\"\n\nOh dear! __ the President sighed. Bullitt clearly had less idea of geography as it pertained to military matters than a schoolchild. Had he never heard of the disastrous \"Salonika Front\" in World War I, or Churchill's fatal Allied assault in the Dardanelles in 1915\u2014not to speak of the First and Second Balkan Wars of 1912 and 1913?\n\nThe President had recently heard similar Balkan proposals being trotted out by Prime Minister Churchill and the French high commissioner, General Giraud, at Casablanca. Given the disaster in the Dardanelles in 1915, it had been utterly amazing to hear Winston recommending such a military strategy. Yet General Giraud was just as unrealistic, the President had found. Both were men of great courage\u2014but in the search for alternatives to \"war by attrition,\" they were given to fantasies that were almost criminal in terms of the loss of human life to which their ill-considered ventures would lead\u2014Churchill's Gallipoli fiasco having cost the Western Allies no fewer than a quarter million casualties.\n\nIgnoring this, Churchill had at Casablanca favored pressing Turkey's president to declare war on Hitler, and revival of the idea of a Dardanelles campaign. He'd asked Giraud whether he agreed\u2014at which the five-star French general had countered with his own equally amazing notion of Allied military strategy.\n\n\" _Tout simple,_ \" Giraud had opined. \"First, liberate Africa. Which is being done. This should be finished by spring this year. Then, without wasting a minute, occupy the three big Mediterranean islands: Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica. Establish a base there, primarily air forces, to assault the mainland of Europe. As soon as the forces are ready, invade the coast of Italy, between Livorno and Genoa. Seize the Po valley. Clean up the rest of the Italian peninsula, and prepare to strike into the heart of Europe on the axis: Udine [northwest of Venice, between the Alps and the Adriatic] and Vienna, backed by air power serviced from bases across the whole of Italy. In one blow Germany can thus be invaded through the Danube valley: we will isolate the Balkans on the right, and have France on the left, and we will beat the Russians to Vienna, which is not to be sniffed at,\" he'd announced. \"After that, following the fall of Germany, the business of Japan will be a piece of cake. QED.\"\n\nClearly Giraud\u2014who still pressed to be made Allied commander in chief in the Mediterranean instead of General Eisenhower, rather than have to deal with political matters he abhorred\u2014saw himself as a modern Napoleon, though about a foot taller.\n\nAt Casablanca, Churchill had not discouraged this idea\u2014though the President had refused to countenance such craziness. It was therefore nothing short of galling, at lunch at the White House, to have to listen to former ambassador Bullitt, the director of public relations in the Navy Department, now recommending, as an American, such military b\u00eatises.\n\nBullitt claimed, to the President's concern, he was not alone in Washington in advancing such a war strategy. His discussions at the Navy Department and elsewhere had convinced him, Bullitt maintained, that \"there is a large body of military opinion in Washington that favors\u2014on purely military grounds\u2014striking at the Axis by way of Greece, Turkey, Bulgaria and Rumania rather than by way of France and Italy.\"\n\nDump the whole idea of a cross-Channel attack?\n\nOn paper the notion appeared bold and imaginative\u2014if wars were conducted on paper. Like Giraud, Bullitt seemed convinced the Western Allies could make straight for central Europe, and secure its boundaries before the Russians got there, without problem\u2014irrespective of the terrain. Or the Germans. \"This is a question for you and Churchill, and your military advisors to decide,\" Bullitt allowed\u2014convinced that Churchill, who was nothing if not imaginative, would be of like mind.\n\nThe conclusion to Bullitt's twenty-four-page report to the President had climaxed with a three-point politico-military recommendation. Roosevelt should persuade Churchill to subscribe to a \"policy of an integrated, democratic Europe.\" \"Conversations between you and Stalin\" should then be arranged. But behind the scenes, while negotiating on paper with Stalin, an \"immediate study of an attack on the Axis by way of Greece, Turkey, Bulgaria and Rumania\" should be ordered by the President.\n\nThere was even a fourth recommendation: namely that Bullitt's archrival at the State Department, Sumner Welles, be fired\u2014thus empowering the deeply anti-Soviet secretary, Cordell Hull, to take Bill Bullitt as his deputy, as the Allies raced through the Balkans into central Europe.\n\nQED.\n\nBullitt's report\u2014which would later be quoted as a kind of Lost Ark that could have changed the course of history, had it been followed\u2014was, in its military naivet\u00e9, as senseless as it was callous in respect to the lives that would have been lost in pursuing such a course. Lunching with Bullitt, the President could only shake his head at a man so right about the Soviets and so wrong about military matters.\n\nWinston Churchill, for his part, did not feel the same way. While the President had returned straightaway from North Africa to Washington via Liberia, Bathurst, Natal, and Jamaica (where a recuperated Admiral Leahy was picked up), the Prime Minister had nevertheless flown, against the advice even of his own cabinet, to Turkey, in a vain attempt to get President Ismet Inonu to join the Western Allies\u2014and thus open the way to an invasion of southern Europe via the Balkans and Constantinople: the dream that had consumed him in 1915 and had led to his resignation as First Lord of the Admiralty when it failed.\n\nRoosevelt had been skeptical whether President Inonu would comply with Churchill's request, any more than Portugal or Spain or Sweden could be expected to give up their neutrality in the war. He had, however, authorized Churchill to share with Inonu the President's notions of unconditional surrender and a postwar United Nations authority\u2014not only as a bulwark against future wars of aggression, but as a counter to future Russian expansionism.\n\nThe President had cautioned Churchill, however, neither to promise too much military aid, if Inonu did decide to join the war, nor to suggest that the Allies were planning a new invasion of Salonika, as in 1915. The Germans, he warned, would be tougher even than Atat\u00fcrk's army at Gallipoli\u2014and the mountains beyond Salonika would make an Allied campaign a dead end. His remit, in terms of the U.S.-British coalition, was merely to explore the possibility of airfields and military staging bases being established in Turkey, and if not, to encourage Turkey in its neutrality: dissuading it from any thought of alliance or cooperation with the Third Reich, and encouraging it as a bulwark against communism. This, to his great credit, Churchill had attempted to do as part emissary, part negotiator, flying to Adana and meeting with Inonu onboard their two trains. To the relief of Sir Alexander Cadogan and General Brooke, the Prime Minister had been surprisingly circumspect\u2014relying on his gifts of ratiocination and literary composition. No sooner had he arrived, therefore, than he handed President Inonu a paper he'd written en route to Turkey called \"Morning Thoughts: Note on Postwar Security\"\u2014a copy of which he was careful to cable to the President in Washington.\n\nLike Bullitt's report, Churchill's Turkish memorandum was to become an important historical document.\n\nIn Churchillian prose (Cadogan noting in his diary, \"He was awfully proud of it\"), the Prime Minister's paper summarized the outcome of the Casablanca Conference and the outlook for the world at the end of the war. As soon as the \"unconditional surrender of Germany and Italy\" was achieved, the \"unconditional surrender\" of Japan, too, would be procured\u2014with subsequent \"disarmament of the guilty nations\" enforced by the victors. (\"On the other hand no attempt will be made to destroy their peoples or to prevent them gaining a living and leading a decent life in spite of all the crimes they have committed,\" Churchill added the rider.) Reparations would not be demanded by the Western countries \"as was tried last time,\" though Russia would have to be helped \"in every possible way in her work of restoring the economic life of her people\" after suffering \"such a horrible devastation\" as Hitler had inflicted. This, then, led to the President's plans for a United Nations authority.\n\nThe authority was to be \"a world organization for the preservation of peace based upon the conceptions of freedom of justice and the revival of prosperity\"\u2014one that would not be \"subject to the weakness of former League of Nations.\" It would be held together under the military protection of the victors, who would \"continue fully armed, especially in the air.\" \"None can predict with certainty that the victors will never quarrel amongst themselves, or that the United States may not once again retire from Europe, but after the experiences which all have gone through, and their sufferings and the certainty that a third struggle will destroy all that is left of culture, wealth and civilization of mankind and reduce us to the level almost of wild beasts, the most intense effort will be made by the leading Powers,\" Churchill summarized, \"to prolong their honorable association and by sacrifice and self-restraint to win for themselves a glorious name in human annals.\" Great Britain would \"do her utmost to organize a coalition of resistance to any act of aggression committed by any power;\" moreover, \"it is believed that the United States will cooperate with her and even possibly take the lead of the world, on account of her numbers and strength, in the good work of preventing such tendencies to aggression before they break into open war.\"\n\nThough it might not be as magically phrased as some of his prose masterpieces and speeches, Churchill's memorandum reflected the extent to which he now understood and agreed with the President's vision of the United Nations and postwar world security at this moment in the war. Given such a future, then, would not Turkey wish to guarantee its own security \"by taking her place as a victorious belligerent and ally at the side of Great Britain, the United States and Russia,\" Churchill had asked President Inonu?\n\nIt was a beguiling prospect, but President Inonu, understandably, had declined. The Prime Minister's paper certainly exuded confidence in the inevitable eventual victory of the Allies\u2014but it seemed oblivious to Hitler's likely actions in the meantime. The document made no mention of this, or of the military problems inherent in mounting an invasion of southern and central Europe through northern Italy and\/or the Balkans. Or even of Stalin's possible reaction to such a change in Allied military strategy\u2014a change that, if it stalled in the Mediterranean without a Second Front, would give Stalin every reason to scorn the President's plans for unconditional surrender and the establishment of a postwar United Nations authority as idle nonsense.\n\nBoth Bullitt's report and Churchill's memorandum were, to be sure, written before the reality of war against the Wehrmacht finally set in. In this respect the American defeat at Kasserine, two weeks after Bullitt's report, had quickly poured cold water on any idea in Washington or London that the Allies could race anywhere, let alone through the Balkans. At his private luncheon at the White House with the President, Bullitt had thus backed off his Balkan idea\u2014for the moment. It was too early to be contemplating ambitious American campaigns in the Mediterranean when for a moment it looked as if U.S. forces would be driven out of Tunisia. Besides, the public would have to be encouraged to support a more interventionist role in American foreign policy if the President was to have any genuine credence in exploiting its current creditor-status with Stalin.\n\nIn this respect, at least, the President's vision of the postwar peace seemed to be gaining traction, unaffected by the reverse at Kasserine\u2014in fact it began to become clear, as the weeks went by, that the President's State of the Union address was bearing amazing, anti-isolationist fruit.\n\nRoosevelt had assumed his State of the Union address, with its description of \"total war,\" its call for the disarmament of America's enemies, and his outline of postwar social programs and international security, would be strongly contested in Congress and outside. Far from it. His speech\u2014and press coverage of the Casablanca \"unconditional surrender meeting\"\u2014seemed to trigger, the President found, a sort of national American awakening to world responsibility that had never really existed before.\n\nBurgeoning pride at the success of the Torch invasion and MacArthur's advances in the Pacific\u2014where, in the battle of the Bismarck Sea, American B-25s carrying five-second five-hundred-pound bombs, carried out \"the most devastating air attack on ships in the entire war,\" in the words of naval historian S. E. Morison (sinking seven of the eight Japanese transports seeking to reinforce Lae following the evacuation of Guadalcanal)\u2014left the noninterventionist voices of Charles Lindbergh, Joseph P. Kennedy, and Senators William Borah, Robert LaFollette, Hiram Johnson, Arthur Vandenberg, and Burton K. Wheeler looking like defeatists. The Casablanca summit\u2014trumpeted in newspaper reports and pictures, as well as in movie-house newsreels shown across the country\u2014lent a moral grandeur to the turnaround in the fortunes of war: photographs of brave, cigar-wielding Winston Churchill sitting beside the President, declaring himself to be his \"active lieutenant,\" French generals shaking hands, the President inspecting and eating with U.S. forces in the field . . . Even Lord Halifax, the British ambassador, was full of congratulations when writing to the Prime Minister, extolling the results of the Casablanca Conference and noting in his diary how, in America, Republicans and Democrats were beginning to talk of the future in a new and wholly different way.\n\nLord Halifax was learning, himself, to see the world in a different way. Since his appointment to the embassy and America's entry into the war, he had had to meet with people of every stripe and to learn the complexities and nuances of the American political system, with its checks and balances\u2014and vituperative press. As a result Halifax had become a more astute observer of trends in the United States than in his home country, where his aristocratic airs and way of life (hunting, shooting) had inured him, as a notorious appeaser, to the fact that the younger, post\u2013World War I generation would, in fact, fight Hitler\u2014but not for a colonialist, class-riven British Empire they no longer believed in. The President's latest postwar vision, which Roosevelt had shared with him in private talks at the White House, struck Ambassador Halifax not only as positive, but one that even former isolationist Americans seemed more and more willing to embrace. Even the former U.S. president, Herbert Hoover, who lunched with Lord Halifax on January 8, 1943, after the President's address to Congress, had expressed a more \"friendly\" view of America's association with Britain than before, the ambassador had found. \"We discussed a great many post war things,\" Halifax recorded in his diary\u2014relieved to hear the former president was \"absolutely convinced of the necessity of our working together\" as nations. \"On the whole I was cheered by my talk with him and by his estimate of what American public opinion will accept in the way of international cooperation.\" Hitherto, public opinion had opposed any American treaty or involvement with other countries that could be \"represented as infringement of [American] national sovereignty. This was the rock on which [President] Wilson broke\u2014the idea that some League or conference should dictate United States action.\" But now\u2014at least in Hoover's opinion\u2014public opinion was changing, as were former president Hoover's own attitudes. \"These difficulties would not in his view arise if you had some international organisation that would content itself with expressing moral opinions and leave it to the joint policemen, whom he sees as the United States, ourselves, and, if she will play, Russia, to take action on their own,\" Halifax noted. The United Nations\u2014or \"whatever the international body was\" that would be set up at the war's end\u2014would \"make a report and recommendation to the policemen,\" which the policemen could either carry out or not.\n\nThis exploratory notion of a United Nations Security Council was a momentous reversal\u2014and when in Washington Lord Halifax addressed assembled British consuls from main U.S. cities, several days later, the ambassador advised them to push the notion of the \"British Commonwealth,\" rather than \"Empire,\" as having \"a biggish part to play\" in the coming times\u2014yet to exercise \"self-restraint, when Americans threw their weight around.\"\n\nAmerica, henceforth, would be top dog, Halifax made clear. From that meeting the ambassador had then gone to the State Department \"to discuss the draft of a scheme for what the Americans call the rehabilitation of the world.\"\n\nRehabilitation it certainly would be. The Russian ambassador, Maxim Litvinov, was present at the State Department meeting, too. \"We got along fairly well and all did our best to be accommodating to one another. Some difference of opinion as to whether the inner management committee of the thing should be composed of the four Powers,\" as a security council, \"or, as we [British] had suggested, seven\"\u2014which would \"permit Canada as a great supplier to be on [it], probably a South American, and one of the smaller European allies. Litvinoff made a strong argument about this thing being used as a pattern for the future, and consequently the importance of keeping the four big powers undiluted. I thought there was a good deal in his argument,\" Halifax noted, approving the Russian's view.\n\nTen days later, on January 18, 1943, barely a week after the President's State of the Union address, Halifax was noting that Dr. Alan Valentine, president of the University of Rochester\u2014a Democrat who had campaigned for the Republican Wendell Willkie in the 1940 presidential election, organizing \"Democrats for Willkie\" in opposition to a third term for FDR\u2014\"did not think there was much danger of isolation.\" In fact, Valentine now found Willkie \"too emotional and immature.\" A new \"American State [Department] book about American policy in the last ten years\" had shown \"how paralyzed their Executive was,\" after World War I, \"owing to the prevalence of isolationist thought.\" Even Willkie himself, when Halifax dined with him on January 27, emphasized the change of Republican mind\u2014now claiming \"that historically the Republican party had not been isolationist and had only accidentally been thrown into isolationism after the last war by Wilson's attempt to monopolise the international ticket. He was apprehensive lest something of the kind should happen again, and spoke very earnestly about the necessity of nothing being said in British quarters\" of Republicans backing away from an internationalist stance, lest this actually revive isolationist sentiment. \"He spoke with great certainty, as did Claire Luce\"\u2014a Republican congresswoman from Connecticut and wife of the publisher of _Life_ magazine\u2014\"about the Republican party in 1944 being victorious.\"\n\nBy the time the President returned from North Africa, therefore, it had been to find his utopian hen had laid its eggs\u2014indeed, the next day Halifax noted a long talk with Henry Luce \"about the prospects of the Republican Party being isolationist after the war.\" Luce dismissed the very idea, just as Willkie had\u2014in fact claimed, like Willkie, that isolationism had been an aberration\u2014the United States having \"only accidentally got into that line in 1920,\" according to Luce. Halifax was then stunned as Luce proceeded to advance Roosevelt's internationalist agenda. \"On the post-war business Luce said that he wanted to make a careful examination of just what an international police force might mean,\" but was not averse to it. \"He said that there had been a curious revolution in American feeling in the last few years\"\u2014in fact, in the last few weeks. \"A short time ago, if you had listened to any argument between the isolationists and internationalists, the isolationists would at once have clinched the argument by saying: 'You want to police the world, do you?' which was generally held to be conclusive against it. Now, he said, American public opinion was completely convinced that an international police force was desirable.\"\n\nWhen Halifax went to see the President in person at the White House on February 15, he was told that columnist Walter Lippmann, no less, was talking of \"the United States being established in some European base after the war,\" so that \"any infraction of European peace\" should at once be addressed: the forerunner of NATO.\n**20**\n\n# Health Issues\n\nTHOUGH IT WAS too early to crow, the President thus seemed decidedly proud, Halifax found. His step-by-step military strategy for prosecuting the war had been set in stone at the Casablanca Conference\u2014with the target, in writing, of almost a million U.S. troops and their weapons to be conveyed to Britain by December 31, 1943, ready to launch a full-scale invasion across the English Channel in April or May 1944. As Averell Harriman noted, based on his conference notes, a \"new joint command (COSSAC, acronym for Chief of Staff to the Supreme Allied Commander) was created to begin immediate planning for this climactic operation known later as Overlord.\"\n\nThe postwar world, too, with luck, might well turn out the way the President envisioned, with the growing support of the American public, the Republican Party, and America's British partners\u2014though the latter would have a difficult row to hoe if they chose to reestablish their colonial empire as Churchill wished.\n\nIt was in this context that FDR's health raised some concern, however. Although in the immediate aftermath of his trip to Africa Roosevelt had seemed energized and rejuvenated, in the weeks following the Casablanca Conference it was evident that the journey had taken a physical toll on the President. At least to those in close contact with him. His cousin Daisy, especially.\n\nDaisy Suckley had been relieved to see the President looking so well on his return\u2014yet she remained disappointed by the meager medical attention her hero appeared to be receiving as president of the United States. After ten years in the Oval Office, Mr. Roosevelt still relied on a simple U.S. Navy doctor as his personal White House physician: Dr. Ross McIntire, who'd been on his staff since 1933 and could be relied upon \"to keep a close mouth\" about the President's medical condition.\n\nMcIntire was an eye, ear, nose, and throat specialist by early training as an intern. He'd had an undistinguished record thereafter, becoming a simple naval dispensary physician, onboard and onshore. Nevertheless, he'd been recommended to the new president by former president Woodrow Wilson's floundering doctor, Cary Grayson\u2014one incompetent recommending another, it would be claimed. Beyond daily treatment of Roosevelt's notorious sinus problems, McIntire appeared to do little for his patient other than keep at bay those doctors who might offer the President more expert medical attention, in view of his fragile health: practitioners who might equally, however, blab inadvertently to reporters employed by Colonel McCormick, owner of the _Chicago Times-Herald,_ or Cissy Patterson, owner of the _Washington_ _Times-Herald_ \u2014both of them sworn enemies of the Democratic president and determined to oppose his reelection if he stood for a fourth term.\n\nDespite McIntire's mediocre medical talents, the President, then, had been content to continue with a single doctor\u2014in fact, in 1938 Roosevelt had appointed McIntire surgeon general of the U.S. Navy, in addition to his White House duties, and soon had him promoted to the rank of rear admiral\u2014with responsibility for what became a vast naval medical system, involving 175,000 doctors, nurses, and professional medical staff. Such enlarged duties, however, were plainly incompatible with continuing daily care of the paralyzed chief executive.\n\nSuch was Roosevelt's authority, however, that by 1943 no one dared question McIntire's solitary supervision of the President, in spite of worrying signs of deterioration in FDR's health, even in the run-up to his historic flight to Africa.\n\nStaying with the President on December 4, 1942, for example, the Canadian prime minister, Mackenzie King, had been alarmed by the President's physical condition. When he'd first gone in to see him, King reflected, \"the President was smoking a cigarette in bed while reading the papers. I felt that even at that hour of the morning, he seemed a little tired and breath still a bit short.\"\n\nGiven the President's vast responsibilities and the fact that his mental acuity seemed in no way impaired, King had given no further thought to the matter. The trip to North Africa, meanwhile, had seemingly done wonders for his state of mind and body, the President's staff felt on the President's return, as did visitors to the White House. \"The President was in fine form,\" the secretary of war recorded in his diary on February 3\u2014\"one of the best and most friendly talks I have ever had. He was full of his trip, naturally, and interspersed our whole talk with stories and anecdotes.\" Though he found them amusing, Stimson was nevertheless discouraged \"to see how he clung to the ideal of doing all this sort of work himself.\"\n\nThe war secretary was seventy-four and in excellent health; the President, sixty-two. Stimson noticed nothing amiss in Roosevelt's form other than his messy approach to administration, which Stimson deplored. \"He was very friendly but, as I expected, takes a different and thoroughly Rooseveltian view of what historic good administrative procedure has required in such a case as we have in North Africa,\" the secretary noted. \"He wants to do it all himself. He says he did settle all the matters that were troubling Eisenhower when he was over there\"\u2014and even claimed Robert Murphy was in North Africa not \"as a diplomat to report to Hull but as a special appointee of his own to handle special matters on which he reported to Roosevelt direct. This was a truly Rooseveltian position. I told him frankly over the telephone that it was bad administration and asked him what a Cabinet was for and what Departments were for,\" he recorded, \"but I have small hopes of reforming him. The fault is Rooseveltian and deeply ingrained. Theodore Roosevelt had it to a certain extent but never anywhere nearly as much as this one.\"\n\nStimson's criticism of the President was well founded, though his recommendation, namely that the United States should simply administer French North Africa in the same way as the War Department had ruled Cuba, the Philippines, and Puerto Rico, belied the secretary of war's ongoing turf battle with Cordell Hull rather than the tricky realities of the situation. With regard to the President's health, however, neither Stimson nor the majority of the President's visitors seemed alert to any problems.\n\nOnly Daisy Suckley paid attention to what was happening\u2014or not happening. After she met with the President, at Hyde Park, she confided her concern to her diary\u2014noting disorienting symptoms of transcontinental air travel that would later be called jet lag. \"All his party have been feeling miserable since they got back,\" she recorded on February 7. \"He just hasn't let himself give in until he got here\u2014Then he 'let go' & feels exhausted\u2014the President finding it hard, he said, to rise in the mornings, and sleeping late.\"\n\nWas it merely desynchronosis\u2014disruption of circadian sleep rhythms\u2014though, Daisy wondered? After Pearl Harbor the President had stopped swimming daily in the White House pool. He was still smoking several packs of cigarettes a day, but his doctor seemed to pay little or no attention to the President's elevated blood pressure, or to his cardiac condition\u2014despite the fact that there had been worries on that account even before the 1940 election, when he'd been beset by heart problems he couldn't keep from those around him.\n\n\"His color was bad; his face was lined and he appeared to be worn out. His jaw was swollen as a result of a tooth infection . . . And I learned there was worry over strain on Roosevelt's heart,\" the chairman of the Democratic National Committee, James Farley, recalled later. Bill Bullitt was more specific; he would claim that he'd been present at a White House dinner in early 1940 when the President had suffered \"a very slight heart attack\" and had collapsed.\n\nA _heart attack?_ It was little wonder McIntire had been concerned at the height the airplane would have to fly on its journey to Casablanca and then home. On the positive side, however, the President had shown the world he was on the top of his form at Casablanca. Even the dark areas beneath his eyes had vanished, people noticed. \"He looks well,\" Daisy acknowledged in her diary\u2014her anxiety being more over the risk of a flying accident than his health at this stage. The plane carrying Averell Harriman and Brigadier Vivian Dykes\u2014senior British aide to Field Marshal Dill in Washington\u2014back to England had in fact crashed on landing in Wales. Though Harriman survived, Dykes had perished. As Daisy implored the President: \"I told him we all thought he _should not_ take the risks of such a trip.\"\n\n\"Well\u2014not for some time anyway,\" the President had responded at Hyde Park, where he reclaimed Fala, his Scottie\u2014hugging the woolly black dog to his breast. When Daisy left to go back to her job at the president's library, which had been created in 1939 and for which she had been working since 1941, \"Fala looked at me,\" she wrote, \"but trotted after the P.\"\n\nDaisy was not convinced, however\u2014and became less so when the President then fell ill again and again in February. The President's physician showed little concern. \"Allied successes lessened the nervous strain,\" was all Dr. McIntire would later comment in a memoir he wrote, \"and the President not only picked up weight but lost some of his care lines.\"\n\nWas the President really all right, though? Or were underlying, potentially serious health issues not being sufficiently addressed?\n\nTo Daisy, his confidante, the President had once remarked that \"he caught everything in sight,\" as he put it. There was nothing new in this, he'd added\u2014\"all his life had been that way.\" His near-fatal bout with virulent flu in 1918; his contracting of poliomyelitis in 1921; his repeated sinusitis; his collapses from possible heart or vascular failure\u2014these were but the more dramatic examples of his proneness to infection and other ailments, he accepted.\n\nIllness was not something Roosevelt dwelt upon or paid much attention to\u2014an attitude Eleanor, his wife, did not discourage, since it absolved her of marital anxieties at a moment when she herself was undertaking such a demanding schedule as First Lady at the White House, spokesperson for the underprivileged, and mother to six children, not to speak of grandchildren.\n\nThis left Cousin Daisy, though, to worry all the more on behalf of the President. \"The P. looked very tired, but did his usual part of 'Exhibit A,' as he calls it\"\u2014entertaining, for example, a party he was hosting at the White House on Valentine's Day, February 14, without Eleanor, who'd flown to Indiana. \"At nine, he said he had to go to work & left the guests, calling to me to go with him. He got on the sofa in his study and said he was exhausted\u2014He looked it. He said: 'I'm either Exhibit A, or left completely alone.'\"\n\nDaisy was flabbergasted. \"It made me feel terrible\u2014I've never heard a word of complaint from him, but it seemed to slip out, unintentionally, & spoke volumes,\" she had penned in her diary that night. The wife of the President's military aide and appointments secretary, Mrs. Watson, had \"said at lunch, on Friday, that 'he is the loneliest man in the world.' I know what she means. He has no real 'home life' in which to relax, & 'recoup' his strength & his peace of mind. If he wasn't such a wonderful character, he would sink under it.\"\n\nToward the end of February, 1943, he did, in fact, sink, laid low yet again, this time by what he afterward called \"sleeping sickness or Gambia fever or some kindred bug in that hell-hole of yours,\" as the President complained in a letter to the Prime Minister in London, that \"left me feeling like a wet rag. I was no good after 2 p.m. and, after standing it for a week or so, I went to Hyde Park for five days.\" Daisy looked after him there, recording in her diary on February 27 that it was \"the P.'s. 4th day in bed, & he still feels somewhat miserable though his fever has gone. Last Tuesday, without any warning, he felt ill about noon. He lay on his study sofa & slept 'til 4.30, when he found he had a temp. of 102. The Dr. found it was toxic poisoning, but they can't ascribe it to anything they know of . . . The P. doesn't look well but is improving.\" After having supper with him, eating from trays, she gave him the aspirin Dr. McIntire had prescribed\u2014and almost wept when he said: \"Do you know that I have never had anyone just sit around and take care of me like this before.\" Apart from nurses when he was very unwell, \"he is just given his medicine or takes it himself. Everyone else has been too busy to sit with him, doing nothing.\"\n\nIf the President's condition\u2014his tiredness, his fevers, and his everlasting sinus infections\u2014caused him now to draw back a little from the more commanding role he'd taken in directing the U.S. military, this was understandable\u2014in fact, to many in the War Department it was a relief, as planning for the Husky invasion, slated for July that year, went ahead. Even the U.S. setback at Kasserine had not worried him unduly or diminished his confidence in young General Eisenhower; it was, after all, proof of his wisdom in insisting American forces learn the skills of modern combat in a \"safe\" region of the Mediterranean, where they could swiftly recover.\n\nWhen Eisenhower's naval aide, Lieutenant Commander Butcher, was brought to the Oval Office to report to the Commander in Chief on March 26, 1943, one of the first questions the President asked him was to give an account of the Kasserine debacle\u2014from Eisenhower's perspective. \"He wanted to know how things were going\" in North Africa, Butcher recorded. Naturally, he knew them from \"official reports,\" but he wanted to have the story from the horse's mouth. He was \"inquisitive about Fredendall and other commanders at the front, the retreat of the Americans naturally being in his mind. I explained to him the reluctance Ike had in relieving Fredendall, and his hope that the change to Patton could be handled in such a way that Fredendall's fine qualities, particularly for training, would not be lost to the army.\"\n\nTo Butcher's surprise the President\u2014who himself hated to have to fire people\u2014seemed more interested in U.S. intelligence. He \"wanted to know the circumstances that caused our G-2 [head of military intelligence] to predict that the main thrust of the Germans would come through the Ousseltia Pass rather than at Sidi Bou Zid. I explained to him [British Brigadier] Mockler-Ferryman's reliance on one source of information, namely the interception of radio communications [Ultra] and that since this source theretofore had proven reliable, not only Mockler-Ferryman but [British General] Anderson, had relied on the 'Mock's' advice in this instance. This reliance had caused General Anderson to hold his reserve in the North when it may have been used to extra advantage to help Americans farther South.\" It was unfortunate, but a lesson learned in the use and misuse of\u2014or overreliance upon\u2014Ultra.\n\nCertainly the President's faith in Eisenhower was rewarded in March when Rommel, in ill health, was withdrawn to Germany to recuperate. The day of the Desert Fox was over; that of the President's prot\u00e9g\u00e9, Dwight D. Eisenhower, had come. He might not have the battlefield prowess of Rommel, Patton, or Montgomery, but he had something far more valuable to the Allies: the ability to get the soldiers, airmen, and sailors of an international coalition to fight together under his leadership. The result was often messy, sometimes contentious, and media-sensitive. As the President told Eisenhower's naval aide, however, such was the price of democracy. The virtue of the Casablanca Conference had been that it enabled the President, as de facto commander in chief of the Western Allies, to make his historic decisions on a 1944 Second Front as well as on unconditional surrender, without the press (let alone the enemy) even knowing he was in Casablanca. \"He said for the first time all participants were enabled to explore each others' minds, get all the cards on the table, and reach decisions without distractions. These distractions, he said, are caused by newspaper men gaining small segments of the complete story and printing them under headlines that frequently mislead the public and failed to portray the complete story. 'In most conference[s], particularly where newspaper men have access to the conferees,' the President said, 'almost every participant has a pet newspaper man. By button-holing such friends, newspaper men can get a part of the story and the whole issue becomes tried in the press on the basis of only a small part of all the facts. The result is distortion to the public and disruption to the conferences.'\"\n\nNo truer words were spoken by an American president\u2014yet this had been the reality of American democracy since George Washington, and would never change. All one could do was, at certain times, employ a certain guile in order that the job got done. At this, the President, by his third term in office, was a past master\u2014in war as well as in peace. \"At Casablanca,\" he told Eisenhower's aide, \"we had a secluded spot, well guarded and free from the press. Thus we were able to talk freely without feeling someone would start promoting his point of view in the press by means of contact with his favorite reporter.\" So pleased was he with the \"result of Casablanca\" that he had arranged for the administration's looming \"food conference,\" addressing the needs of allies and liberated countries, to take place in Virginia, \"guarded by military police,\" and with \"no press permitted . . . I think the press will cry out against this arrangement,\" but the \"public good\" was sometimes more important than \"public discussion.\" Moreover, once the decisions were announced, there was freedom enough to debate the matters. \"I am planning to make another swing around the country,\" he told Butcher, taking a group of White House correspondents who would only be allowed to file reports once the tour was over. \"The press will yowl again I imagine, but the public seemed to appreciate that trip. In any event,\" he made clear, \"I am going to do it again,\" yowls or no yowls.\n\nSubtly, the President had been passing on to Eisenhower his advice on how best to deal with \"distortions\" and \"distractions\" of a free press\u2014something Butcher was able to convey to Eisenhower as soon as he returned. Along with the President's parting words. \"The principal message the President asked me to convey\u2014and he spoke repeatedly of the General as 'Ike'\u2014was: \"Tell Ike that not only I but the whole country is proud of the job he has done. We have every confidence in his success.\"\n\nAs the President prepared for his second \"swing around the country\" aboard the _Ferdinand Magellan,_ Eisenhower duly readied his two Allied armies in Tunisia\u2014gathering his twenty divisions like bloodhounds for the final act of the President's North African invasion: a battle the Germans themselves began to call \"Tunisgrad.\" More than a quarter million Axis troops were now hemmed in on the Cape Bon Peninsula, fighting for their lives. Two thousand German troops were being flown into the arena each day from southern Europe; Mussolini was begging the F\u00fchrer to make peace with Stalin in order to save the Italian Empire; and three hundred thousand Allied troops were massing for the kill.\nPART SIX\n\n* * *\n\n#  _Get Yamamoto!_\n**21**\n\n# Inspection Tour Two\n\nBEGINNING ON APRIL 13, 1943, the President set off by train for his latest two-week, seventy-six-hundred-mile inspection tour of U.S. military training bases: from South Carolina to Alabama, Georgia to Arkansas, Oklahoma to Colorado, Missouri to Kentucky. Following his repeated bouts of ill health in February, these inspections would allow the Commander in Chief to see\u2014and be seen by\u2014tens of thousands of young aviators, Marines, tank crews, infantrymen, Women's Army Auxiliary Corps trainees, and Navy crewmen.\n\nOnce again the President took Daisy Suckley with him\u2014since Eleanor had her own agenda to fulfill\u2014as well as his other cousin, Polly Delano, who was considered a \"law unto herself,\" but who amused the President: the two women giving him the sense of being looked after. (Eleanor did agree to join the train, in Texas, for a brief three-day detour to Monterrey, to meet the Mexican president, \u00c1vila Camacho.)\n\nThe President wanted to judge for himself whether young American servicemen, currently training at home, would fight abroad. Hundreds of young pilots taking off and landing, parades of ten to fifteen thousand men, tanks firing live shells in mock battle, soldiers in hand-to-hand fighting (\"the sort of thing they have in the Pacific jungles, with the Japs\u2014It's all horrible when you stop to analyze it, but it's a fight for survival,\" Daisy noted, amazed).\n\nThe tour, the President was pleased to find, belied any German and Japanese assumptions that U.S. troops were too \"soft\" for the ruthlessness of modern warfare. Above all, however, it was the sheer magnitude of American mobilization for war\u2014in manpower, munitions, organization\u2014that awed the President's party aboard the _Ferdinand Magellan._\n\n\"The impression I have is of vastness, and a miracle of quick construction,\" Daisy noted in Denver, where they inspected the Remington Rand Ordnance Plant. Propelled by Japan's sneak attack, America had become a new \"melting pot,\" with \"50% men and women at Remington, cheerful, well-fed human beings, who, with all their lack of culture, are the backbone of the country, & probably the finest 'mass' of population in the world,\" she noted proudly. \"The women were dressed in pale blue 1-piece overalls (much like Mr. Churchill's air raid zipper suit) and red bandannas tied tightly about their heads . . . People were collected all along the route full of spontaneous enthusiasm. Women & girls jumping, waving, laughing & cheering. The men grinning broadly & waving.\"\n\nAt the President's polio-rehabilitation center at Warm Springs in Georgia, Roosevelt stood tall, kept upright by his heavy steel leg braces, \"holding on to his chair,\" and \"made a serious, soft voiced little speech\" to the hundred patients assembled in Georgia Hall, then was \"wheeled to the door of the dining room where he stayed to shake hands with each patient that filed through.\" Using \"the little car he has had _for years_ down here\"\u2014a 1938 Ford Roadster with brakes and accelerator he could operate by hand, as well as a license plate reading \"F.D.R.- 1\u2014The President\"\u2014Roosevelt himself drove his guests around the area.\n\nDaisy\u2014visiting the Warm Springs center for the first time\u2014was deeply moved. \"It is certainly a monument to him, his imagination and his faith & his love for his fellow sufferers, and it is very lovely. Peaceful and beautiful. The houses homelike and attractive, mainly white, among trees.\" For the first time in months the President swam\u2014and insisted Daisy and Polly swim too. He had seemed desperately tired when they left Washington. Now he was \"visibly expanding and blossoming.\"\n\nOne night\u2014after a simple, homely dinner which he loved, in contrast to the \"pallid\" White House food that Eleanor's cook, Mrs. Nesbitt, made and which Roosevelt \"detested\"\u2014Roosevelt took out \"his stamps; the rest of us read. F. complained of a headache\" and the women took his temperature\u2014which was fortunately normal. He'd seemed actually happy, though.\n\nWith the physical support of his new naval aide, Rear Admiral Wilson Brown\u2014Captain McCrea having been assigned to command of the new U.S. cruiser, _Iowa_ \u2014the President was still able to stand and, by swinging his muscular torso, even walk. Visiting Fort Riley, in Kansas, he actually proceeded on foot to the exit of the amphitheater, where fifteen thousand troops had gathered for an Easter service. At the railway station, as the _Ferdinand Magellan_ slowly pulled out, officers and men saluted the Commander in Chief. \"It was a beautiful sight and the kind of thing that brings a lump in your throat, specially when the commander in chief is a man like F. & crippled besides\u2014Our driver told us he had not the slightest idea that F. couldn't walk, that his brother officers also had never thought of it,\" Daisy noted. \"F. is all the more an inspiration to them\u2014.\"\n\nAt dinner on the train on April 19, they were joined by Sumner Welles, and the Mexican ambassador, Francisco Castilia N\u00e1jero. \"We stayed up until 10 listening to them talk about the future peace\u2014Very interesting,\" Daisy recorded in her diary. There was, she recognized, a steeliness in her champion that was never going to allow him to let up until he'd achieved his dream\u2014with little trace of magnanimity toward those responsible for the global holocaust the Nazis and Japanese were so adamantly pursuing. The \"perpetrators of the war, like Hitler, Himmler, etc. shall be court-martialed in their own country\" and hanged or \"liquidated,\" as Daisy noted, quoting Hitler's sickening word\u2014\"not sent to some distant island to turn into heroes and martyrs, with the danger of their trying to come back.\"\n\nThe President might show deep and natural empathy for his fellow polio sufferers, she recognized, and great charm toward visitors of every stripe\u2014but his forgiveness did not extend to the Nazi \"Aryans\" who were exterminating not only the handicapped but, it was becoming increasingly evident, millions of Jews, homosexuals, gypsies, and political prisoners; sickening atrocities, moreover, that the Japanese were also reportedly committing, not only in the treatment of the populations of the countries Japanese troops had overrun, from China to the Philippines, but American POWs.\n\nIn his diary, Secretary Stimson made note of what the Operations Division of the War Department had learned. Colonel Ritchie \"gave me a dreadful picture of what is happening to our prisoners of war at the hands of the Japanese in the Philippines. I have been thoroughly churned up over it ever since. They are being killed off and are dying off under mistreatment. The situation is frightful. Yet it is very dangerous for us to make it public because of the reprisals which would be undoubtedly visited upon these,\" he wrote\u2014aware American prisoners would be tortured and executed for smuggling out news of their mistreatment. Nor could the United States threaten retaliation, \"because we have only a few hundred prisoners\" thanks to the Japanese code of Bushido, \"while they have a good many thousands of our men . . . MacArthur is vowing vengeance and is keeping the score of injuries to our men which he has heard of which some day he hopes to live to avenge.\"\n\nNews of the execution of captured crewmembers from Doolittle's air raid on Tokyo the previous year had aroused similar outrage\u2014Stimson wanting Secretary Hull to issue a warning there would be American \"reprisals\" for such \"an act of barbarism\" if it went on.\n\nFor such barbarians the President possessed, Daisy recognized, no sympathy. He would not permit MacArthur to carry out reprisals in the Pacific. But when, during his tour of U.S. training camps and manufacturing plants, a decrypt arrived via the communications car of the President's train of a Japanese signal giving the forthcoming flying itinerary of the Japanese commander in chief\u2014the man who had launched the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor in peacetime, killing twenty-four hundred Americans in a single morning\u2014the President, aboard the _Ferdinand Magellan,_ had had no hesitation whatever.\n**22**\n\n# Get Yamamoto!\n\nSEVERAL WEEKS BEFORE leaving on his inspection tour the President had invited MacArthur's air commander, General George Kenney, to give him a literal bird's-eye view of the campaign in the Southwest Pacific, when Kenney accompanied MacArthur's chief of staff to Washington to ask for more reinforcements.\n\nIn Kenney\u2014a World War I pilot almost as highly decorated (Silver Star and Distinguished Flying Cross) as MacArthur himself\u2014MacArthur had recognized the right man to revolutionize the U.S. Army Air Forces in war: not only in combatting Japanese fliers and in bombing ground installations, but in decimating Japanese supply vessels. The result had proved transformative\u2014and the President wanted to know how Kenney had done it.\n\nWhereas carrier-plane pilots of the U.S. Navy had become expert at low-level attacks on Japanese shipping, the U.S. Army Air Forces' pilots had not, Kenney explained. He had therefore hurled himself into the challenge\u2014developing new skip-bombing techniques and modified B-25 mast-height gunship tactics, which he'd ordered to be rehearsed against a partially sunken vessel off Port Moresby. Under his leadership the vessel-attack planes had adopted a new technique: to fly in at 150 feet\u2014with P-38s and 40s providing higher air cover, and B-17s higher still.\n\nAt the White House the President had thus been enthralled as Kenney described his new approach. \"I talked for some time with President Roosevelt, who wanted to hear the whole story of the war in our theater in detail,\" Kenney later recalled his first visit to the Oval Office, \"as well as a blow-by-blow description of the Bismarck Sea Battle.\"\n\nKenney's description of the battle had been especially telling, for the flier had explained how the Ultra secret decrypts of Japanese communications that the President was seeing in his Map Room in Washington had enabled Kenney to put into effect his deadly new aerial war tactics in the field.\n\n\"In the nose of a light fast bomber,\" as Kenney also explained to Eisenhower's naval aide\u2014for transmission to Ike in Algiers\u2014the general had installed \"eight 50-caliber machine guns. Two planes thus equipped would approach a merchant vessel at low level, one from stern to bow, the other from the side. The one approaching lengthwise the ship would open fire with the eight guns at 1500 yards. No pilot was permitted to go on a mission until he could shoot so accurately that with the first burst at 1500 yards, he could sweep the ship from bow to stern or vice versa. The purpose was to keep the anti-aircraft fire from the ship so the accompanying member of the team could approach the side of the vessel just above the wave tops and drop a bomb that would skip on the water and hit the ship on the side just above or below the water line.\"\n\nThe President had been intrigued to learn not only of such American air force ingenuity and specialized training, but the integration of air and naval tactics.\n\nCode breaking had been the key, though. In the battle of the Bismarck Sea, between March 2 and 4, Admiral Yamamoto's order for Japan's vital troopship-reinforcement convoy, bringing fresh troops up to Rabaul and from there to New Guinea, had been deciphered.\n\nThe first Japanese division to arrive in Rabaul, the Fifty-First Division, had hugged the coast of New Britain and then set off by convoy across the Solomon Sea\u2014unaware the Americans knew its route and composition. Flying at high altitude, Kenney's B-17 bombers had sunk two of its transport ships, but the remaining six, escorted by eight destroyers and a hundred planes, had ploughed on. Expecting B-17s at high altitude again over the Dampier Strait, the Japanese fighters giving air cover to the convoy had failed to spot Kenney's one hundred retrained American and Australian B-25s, A-20s, and Beaufighter pilots skimming low across the water\u2014the aircraft so low the Japanese sailors thought they were torpedo planes. In short order all surviving Japanese transports had been sunk, the infantry drowned, and four of the eight destroyers destroyed\u2014the core of the Japanese Fifty-First Division extinguished in a single day.\n\nThe President was clearly delighted. His grasp of the intricate mosaic of islands in the Southwest Pacific amazed Kenney, given the President's other responsibilities. \"I found the President surprisingly familiar with the geography of the Pacific, which made it quite easy to talk with him about the war out there,\" the general recalled with admiration and affection after the war. \"He wanted to know how I was making out on getting airplanes. I told him that so far my chances didn't look very good. When he asked why, I said that among reasons given me was that he had made so many commitments elsewhere that there were no planes left to give me.\"\n\nThe President had taken this in good spirit; he had \"laughed and said he guessed he'd have to look into the matter and see if a few couldn't be found somewhere that might be sent me. He said that if anybody was a winner, he should be given a chance to keep on winning.\"\n\nBacking winners was important in war, the President recognized\u2014and was a key to Roosevelt's growing style of military command: assessing, encouraging, and supporting those whom he saw as inspirational and effective.\n\nThe President did manage to find Kenney more planes, to Kenney's relief. However, if the President was keen to back a winner in Kenney's air force leadership in the Pacific, he was similarly open to depriving the Japanese of _their_ outstanding military leadership, if he could.\n\nGeneral Kenney's visit to the White House\u2014a visit repeated on March 25, 1943, when Kenney had attended a Congressional Medal of Honor ceremony\u2014had convinced the President that American fliers were finally proving better than their opponents in the Pacific. Especially when given the advantage of Ultra intelligence.\n\nAs the _Ferdinand Magellan_ made its way across the American Midwest and South, stopping at military training camp after training camp, the President found himself, as Daisy noted, more and more confident in American professionalism. And though the matter was too secret to share with Daisy or her companion, Polly Delano\u2014moreover, too secret ever to be revealed in his lifetime\u2014he now had an opportunity to show his faith in his American airmen.\n\nOver several days, starting on April 14, an extraordinary series of further decrypts had been brought to the President aboard the _Magellan_ by Ship's Clerk William Rigdon, an assistant working for Admiral Brown, the President's naval aide, whose job it was to bring the latest fruits of Ultra to the President's attention twice a day.\n\n\"The communications car housed a diesel-powered radio transmitting and receiving station,\" Rigdon recounted later, \"that kept the President in constant touch with the Map Room at the White House. Special codes, held only by the Map Room and the car, were used. This car was just behind the engine. The Magellan was at the rear. Between the two I walked many miles taking messages to the President and picking up those he wished to send.\"\n\nSome were trivial. Others were more serious. One of them, in particular, related not to security for the President's train schedule\u2014the twenty-six members of the Secret Service traveling with him, as well as military details protecting him at every stage of his 7,668-mile trip\u2014but to the travel plans of another dominant figure in the war, with perhaps even more control over the struggle in the Pacific than the President: Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto.\n\n\"From Solomons Defense Force to Air Group #204, Air Flotilla #26,\" it began. \"On 18 April C in C Combined Fleet will visit RXZ [Ballale Island, off Bougainville], R_ [Shortland] and RXP [Buin] in accordance following schedule: 1. Depart RR [Rabaul] at 0600 in a medium attack plane escorted by 6 fighters. Arrive RXZ at 0800. Proceed by minesweeper . . . At each of the above places the Commander-in-Chief will make a short tour of inspection and at _ he will visit the sick and wounded, but current operations should continue.\"\n\nIn case of \"bad weather\" the preliminary message had ended, \"the trip will be postponed.\"\n\nA trip by the commander in chief of Japan's Combined Fleet, Admiral Yamamoto, to Ballale, Bougainville? An inspection tour by air and sea to a forward area of the Solomon Islands within reach of U.S. Air Force planes? Times and details of his itinerary?\n\nThe decrypted signal seemed almost impossible to believe. Admiral Yamamoto usually stayed on his grand battleship, the _Musashi,_ at Truk, in the Caroline Islands, eight hundred miles to the north of Rabaul. Moving to a temporary forward command post at Rabaul, however, his strategy after the loss of Guadalcanal had been to pummel the Americans with massive air attacks before they could bring up enough forces to exploit their victory: Operation I-Go. By assigning not only Japanese ground-force pilots operating from airfields in the Solomons but hundreds of well-trained carrier pilots to assist them, Yamamoto had been able to apply massive Japanese air power to the initiative, involving more than 350 planes\u2014the largest Japanese air assault since Pearl Harbor.\n\nMercifully, the Japanese air armada had been thwarted by Ultra intelligence\u2014allowing Allied naval ships to disperse in good time, and U.S. Army and Naval Air Force units to be ready, off the ground, to meet the approaching aerial fleet each time it flew. A single Allied destroyer, a corvette, several Dutch merchant vessels, and an oiler had been sunk, and twelve Allied aircraft lost, but these were small pickings for such a concentrated and expensive air offensive\u2014a fact that Japanese pilots, despite acknowledging the loss of forty-nine Japanese planes, had misconstrued in their after-action reports. Admiral Yamamoto had, instead, been told the fliers of his Third Fleet and Eleventh Fleet had sunk one American cruiser, two destroyers, and twenty-five transport ships, moreover had shot down 134 U.S. planes, as well as destroying 20 on the ground.\n\nThe admiral had been well satisfied\u2014in fact had sent Emperor Hirohito in Tokyo his own version of the triumph, which could be seen as avenging, in part, the recent losses of Guadalcanal and Buna. The Emperor had immediately responded with a congratulatory signal: \"Please convey my satisfaction to the Commander in Chief, Combined Fleet, and tell him to enlarge the war result more than ever.\"\n\nThe radio messages giving the itinerary of Admiral Yamamoto's inspection tour raised a number of questions. Was Yamamoto planning an extension of I-Go attacks? Was it a morale booster by the Japanese commander in chief, in person?\n\nThe message did not say\u2014but its import was clear to all, from the South Pacific to the _Ferdinand Magellan._ Just as Yamamoto's planes had been able to hit Guadalcanal as part of I-Go, so could U.S. fliers hit Bougainville, on the admiral's itinerary\u2014either attacking the admiral on the minesweeper to which he was slated to transfer, or in the air.\n\nWhy, though, had Yamamoto chosen to send such a message by radio?\n\nAs it later transpired, the admiral's administrative staff officer had wanted the warning order to be couriered by air, and then hand-delivered to its recipients. He'd been told by the communications officer at Rabaul not to worry, however; the Japanese naval code JN 25 had recently been changed and was unbreakable. The signal that first went out was dated April 13, 1943.\n\n\"We've hit the jackpot,\" the U.S. watch officer of Station Hypo, the two-thousand-man decoding unit in Hawaii, declared when the decrypt was handed to him. \"This is our chance to get Yamamoto.\"\n\nIf, that was, Admiral Nimitz, the commander in chief in the Central Pacific, agreed. And if the U.S. commander in chief in Washington signed off on the attempt.\n\nThere were important repercussions to be considered. An aerial interception of Japan's most famous\u2014or infamous\u2014admiral might well squander, whether successful or not, America's prize weapon in the struggle against Japan: Ultra. Was it worth such a gamble? And what if it did not, in fact, succeed? Not only would Yamamoto be left in command of all Japanese forces in the Pacific, but the war-winning contribution of Ultra would have been given away, for nothing.\n\nIronically, Admiral Nimitz worried about something else when first shown the decrypt. Would a successor to Admiral Yamamoto prove a better Japanese commander in chief?\n\nIn view of the fact that Yamamoto enjoyed almost godlike status, not only among Japanese forces in the Pacific but at home in Japan, killing him would, without doubt, make a huge dent in Japanese war morale, just as Japanese forces dug in for a do-or-die struggle in the countries they had conquered.\n\nThere were other questions, too. In the time-honored ethics of American warmaking, was it even acceptable to assassinate an enemy commander\u2014since assassination was what such an interception, if successful, would be? As at Midway, Nimitz felt it would be a mistake _not_ to use such a priceless intelligence breakthrough\u2014but deferred, as before Midway, to Washington's decision.\n\nThe matter was thus passed for authorization to Admiral King\u2014who passed it to Navy Secretary Frank Knox.\n\nKnox\u2014who had himself recently carried out an inspection tour of U.S. naval forces in the Pacific\u2014passed the information via the White House Map Room to the _Ferdinand Magellan._\n\nThe President's response was immediate and uncompromising: \"Get Yamamoto.\"\n\nSecretary Knox, at the Navy Department, needed no further prompting. He instructed Admiral Nimitz to go ahead. In turn Nimitz gave the final green light on April 17, 1943, to Admiral Halsey\u2014commanding Allied forces in the Solomons area.\n\nThere was now only one day to go. F 4 F Wildcats and F 4 U Corsairs had insufficient range for such a mission, but new U.S. Army Air Forces P-38s, flown by Army Air Forces, Marine, and Navy pilots, could do it. Vice Admiral Pete Mitscher, commander air, Solomon Islands, had already begun to explore different proposals with his subordinates. His U.S. Navy fliers recommended they attack the Japanese vessel that Yamamoto was to board at Ballale, but the U.S. Army Air Forces ace, Major John Mitchell, commanding the 339th Fighter Squadron, assigned to carry out the attack, felt it would be easier to spot the admiral's plane\u2014a heavily armed but slow (265 mph) Mitsubishi G4M \"Betty\" bomber\u2014than it would be to identify an indeterminate Japanese minesweeper. Such a ship would undoubtedly be escorted by other vessels, as well as shielded by extensive Japanese air cover, to judge by the U.S. planes sent up to protect Secretary Knox on his recent visit.\n\nMitscher wisely yielded the decision on April 17 to the man who would have to carry out the mission. Assembling a fighter group of eighteen Lockheed P-38 G Lightnings, Mitchell\u2014who planned a five-leg, low-level end run way out to sea before reaching Bougainville, so as to have the advantage of surprise\u2014asked for special auxiliary-fuel drop tanks flown up from MacArthur's men on New Guinea. He also decided that the best point to intercept Yamamoto's flight would be just as the admiral's Betty bomber\u2014similar to the Betty bombers that had sunk HMS _Prince of Wales,_ the battleship on which the President had attended divine service with Churchill off Argentia, in August 1941\u2014reduced speed to land.\n\nTension was high. Mitchell was certainly aware just how much hinged on his mission, for Secretary Knox had sent a further signal to Nimitz on April 17, which Admiral Nimitz immediately forwarded to Admiral Halsey. Halsey sent it with a covering note to Admiral Mitscher\u2014who placed it before Mitchell. It read, as the fliers later recalled: \"SQUADRON 339. P-38 MUST AT ALL COSTS REACH AND DESTROY. PRESIDENT ATTACHES EXTREME IMPORTANCE TO MISSION.\"\n\nAlmost seventy years later a similar targeted killing of an enemy commander in war\u2014Osama bin Laden\u2014would be revealed to an astonished world within hours. Because of the need to preserve the secret of Ultra in 1943, however, the President had accepted that the mission to assassinate Admiral Yamamoto, code-named Operation Vengeance, would not\u2014perhaps ever\u2014be made public. Other than acknowledging Japanese media reports, if the operation was successful, nothing would be said.\n\nEarly on the first anniversary of the Doolittle Raid the U.S. Squadron 339 fighter group\u2014reduced to sixteen planes owing to two aborts\u2014thus set off from Fighter Strip Number Two, Henderson Field, Guadalcanal, on its thousand-mile mission for the President.\n\nResembling huge flying catamarans\u2014their single-pilot cockpits strung between two pontoon-like fuselages, each mounting a massive 1,325-horse-power engine and capable of speeds up to 400 miles per hour\u2014the Lightnings wave-hopped in complete radio-silence for some six hundred miles to the west of the Solomon island chain and across the open Solomon Sea, in order to avoid radar and visual detection. Using a special naval compass, Mitchell then swung to the east, aiming to circle in from the ocean\u2014four of his best pilots designated as killer sharks, while the remainder dealt with the six Japanese Zeros protecting their commander in chief.\n\nThe attack\u2014the longest-distance fighter-intercept mission of World War II\u2014went like clockwork. A stickler for punctuality, Admiral Yamamoto had rejected his staff's protests that his inspection tour would be too risky. Precisely on time, his bomber slowed to land at Ballale, Bougainville, at 9:35 a.m. on April 18, 1943.\n\nMitchell's men were already there, sixty seconds early: surprised only that there were two Bettys, not one. Both would have to be shot down.\n\nThe ensuing melee took but a few minutes\u2014the \"killer\" fighters attacking from below the Japanese bombers and their escort, the rest climbing above the encounter to fend off Zeros that would inevitably begin to take off from Buin airfield. As the lumbering Betty bombers dived to escape, the two lead P-38 pilots closed up on them, using the 20mm cannons and machine guns mounted in the planes' noses. Inside his bomber, Yamamoto, dressed in his green field-combat uniform but wearing white gloves, was killed instantly in his seat\u2014the plane soon plummeting to earth in the jungle, amid smoke and flames. The other bomber was also shot down, crashing into the ocean. One American P-38 was lost, but the rest then turned for home, taking the direct route and encountering no opposition.\n\nIgnoring all prohibition against radio transmissions that might give away the specific target of the operation, one of the P-38 pilots, with one engine already feathering for lack of fuel after a thousand miles of flying, radioed to fighter control at Henderson Field as he came in to land: \"That son of a bitch will not be dictating any peace terms in the White House.\"\n**23**\n\n# \"He's Dead?\"\n\nSO SECRET WAS the Yamamoto operation\u2014and so worried did Admiral King become, when leaks of the mission to journalists were only censored at the last minute\u2014that the men of 339 Squadron, unlike Doolittle's Tokyo team, could not be decorated for their extraordinary bravery and professionalism. So shocking, however, was the death of Admiral Yamamoto to the Japanese government, that news of his passing was kept from the Japanese public for more than a month\u2014and only confirmed to American code breakers, in the meantime, by the absence of Yamamoto's name or rank in Japanese naval signals decoded in Hawaii and Washington.\n\nAboard the _Ferdinand Magellan_ on April 18, after visiting Camp Gruber, Oklahoma, and messing with the troops training there, the President was informed that the mission had been successful. Pearl Harbor had finally been avenged\u2014the author of the sneak attack dead in the jungle his men had so ruthlessly conquered, and where so many Japanese atrocities had been committed.\n\nKeeping the success of Operation Vengeance a secret among American forces, ironically, proved harder than keeping the Ultra secret from the Japanese. In the days after the mission, more sorties were flown up the Solomons \"Slot\" to Bougainville, in full view of Japanese radar and spotters, to make the fatal interception seem less extraordinary; reporters, meanwhile, were forbidden to file stories directly linking Guadalcanal's U.S. air aces to the great admiral's death.\n\nIn the context of a titanic battle of wills, courage, and morale in the Pacific, it was almost impossible to maintain the fiction of an accidental death of an enemy commander as iconic as Yamamoto, however, either in American signals or media reports. Admiral Mitscher had immediately reported to Admiral Halsey by telegram, for example, informing him Mitchell's P-38s had \"shot down two bombers escorted by 6 Zeros flying close formation . . . April 18 seems to be our day\"\u2014a reference to Colonel Doolittle's raid the year before. This had not necessarily given the game away, but Bull Halsey\u2014known for his ebullient, take-no-prisoners personality\u2014had signaled straight back, \"Congratulations to you and Major Mitchell and his hunters. Sounds as if one of the ducks in their bag was a peacock.\"\n\nInevitably, as the weeks went by, an AP reporter dutifully tracking a story that was common knowledge on Guadalcanal, blew it in Australia in May 1943\u2014despite being warned it should not be used. Admiral King was incensed\u2014just as he had been the year before, when a similar report had been published ascribing the great victory at Midway to naval code-breaking. Nimitz ordered a full-scale investigation and disciplinary action, with orders that every pilot on Guadalcanal, as well as staff officers and flight mechanics, be questioned. Four citations for Medal of Honor awards were withdrawn, and Halsey, blaming the pilots, declared they should be court-martialed, stripped of their rank, and jailed.\n\nBy a miracle, the Japanese, however, proved unable or unwilling to investigate too closely their suspicions. The sheer shock and shame of the admiral's death\u2014the six Zero pilots wishing to commit ritual suicide for their utter failure to protect him\u2014caused a wave of gloom to spread from Bougainville to the Emperor's palace in Japan. Yamamoto's ashes were taken back to Japan aboard his battleship, the _Musashi,_ and after lying in state in Tokyo, were interred in a state funeral.\n\nIn later years there would be claims that Admiral Yamamoto's death had been a dangerous gamble and counterproductive, given that his earlier objections to war with the United States would have made him, if brought back into the Japanese government, more willing than his successor (who was killed in 1944) or other Japanese admirals to negotiate an armistice.\n\nPresident Roosevelt certainly had no truck with such hypotheticals. He had laid down a policy of unconditional surrender on the basis that neither the Germans nor the Japanese could ever again be trusted to keep the peace unless forced into complete surrender\u2014and the way Japanese troops were fighting, from the Aleutians to the Solomon islands they had conquered, and the atrocities they were committing, bore out his contention. In Yamamoto's cabin aboard the _Musashi_ the admiral had left a poem he'd recently written, lamenting his \"dead comrades\" in the war\u2014but declaring \"with an iron will I will drive deep \/ Into the camp of the enemy \/ And will show the true blood of a Japanese man.\"\n\nJapan's retreat into medievalism, like Germany's, was something America could only end by force of arms\u2014not negotiation. In depriving the Japanese of their greatest admiral in the war, Roosevelt had struck an incalculable blow to the Japanese military machine and national morale at a critical moment in the war.\n\nCertainly, as the President continued his national inspection tour, he was seen to be in great form. The training establishments he'd visited had given him a potent sense of American willingness to fight\u2014and to win. At a press conference he convened onboard the _Ferdinand Magellan_ on April 19, he spoke of the \"great improvement I have seen since last September in the training of troops of all kinds,\" and referred to the \"cutting down of the age of the higher officers than in the last war.\" There was, too, higher \"morale\" to be seen among the troops as they learned the deadlier skills of modern combat\u2014\"there is a great eagerness on their part to get into the 'show' and get it over with.\" Moreover, the strategy he'd settled at Casablanca seemed to be working out. In North Africa, putting Kasserine behind them, American troops were moving in for the kill in Tunisia, close to the time frame Eisenhower had given him at the Villa Dar es Saada. And in the Atlantic\u2014following the President's order to Admiral King to resolve the interservice argument regarding air coverage of the mid-Atlantic and the alarming success of U-boat wolfpacks or face dismissal\u2014King had buckled.\n\nFinally setting aside his childlike struggle with the U.S. Army Air Forces over which service should be responsible for antisubmarine air patrolling, King\u2014in fear of losing his job\u2014had convened a conference of all parties in Washington at the beginning of March. Chastened, he'd belatedly established a special headquarters in the Navy Department, the so-called U.S. Tenth Fleet, to direct the anti-U-boat campaign: a campaign that would use new ASDIC 271M centimetric radar capable of detecting a submerged submarine four miles away; high-frequency radio direction finding (HFRDF) to pinpoint where U-boats were signaling from; \"baby flattops\" the President had earlier ordered to be constructed from merchant ship hulls as convoy escort carriers; incoming new Bogue-class aircraft carriers; and most important of all: American Liberator long-distance bomber planes.\n\nBased on the Boeing B-24 USAAF bomber, but equipped with torpedo-like depth charges, radar, and Leigh lights to illuminate U-boats surfacing for night attacks on shipping, the Liberators would now almost instantly turn the tide of war in the Atlantic\u2014completely disproving King's assumption that convoying was the only answer. Within weeks the new combination had worked\u2014the results beginning to show already in April 1943. Sinkings of German U-boats increased\u2014dramatically.\n\nThe President was relieved\u2014and Admiral King relieved not to be relieved of his command. By May the demise of the wolfpack menace would become a rout, forcing the commander of the German navy, Admiral D\u00f6nitz, to admit defeat that month and recall his entire submarine fleet to safety in Europe, pending the construction of more modern submarines with \"snorkels\" that could hopefully evade air detection.\n\nAnd with regard to the death of Admiral Yamamoto? The President was careful to say nothing to anyone until May 21, 1943, when giving his 898th press conference.\n\n\"Mr. President,\" one reporter asked innocently, \"would you care to comment on the death of the Japanese admiral (Isoroku Yamamoto), who forecast he would write the peace in the White House?\"\n\n\"He's dead?\" the President asked, as if stunned.\n\n\"Q[uestioner]: The Japanese radio announced it. Yamamoto. Killed in action while directing operations in an airplane.\"\n\n\"The President: Gosh! (loud laughter)\"\n\n\"Q: Can we quote that, sir?\"\n\n\"The President: Yes. (more laughter).\"\n\nTo his own staff the President was less deceptive. In truth he could never forgive Yamamoto for his role in attacking Pearl Harbor, causing the deaths of so many thousands of Americans there and in the aftermath, after the many years of hospitality and education Yamamoto had enjoyed in the United States. Two days after the press conference, the President thus had his secretary, Grace Tully, type a letter, headed The White House, dated May 23, 1943, and which he signed.\n\n\"Dear Bill,\" the President scrawled across the top of the letter in his own hand as a memo to Admiral Leahy, \"Please see that the Old Girl gets the following:\n\n> 'Dear Widow Yamamoto,\n\n> Time is a great leveler and somehow I never expected to see the old boy at the White House anyway. Sorry I can't attend the funeral because I approve it. Hoping he is where we know he ain't.\n\n> Very sincerely yours,\n\n> Franklin D. Roosevelt'\n\n\"And ask her to visit you at the Wilson House this summer,\" Roosevelt added in a postscript to Leahy.\n\nIt wasn't kind, or gracious; indeed the President never sent the letter. But it reflected something of what, in his heart of hearts, he really felt about Japanese perfidy. And his profound satisfaction that he'd been able to see Admiral Yamamoto get his just deserts.\n\nEnding his long inspection tour at Washington's Union Station on April 29, the President certainly had good reason to be in high spirits.\n\nApril had been a bountiful month for the Allies. Admiral Mineichi Koga would be a very poor replacement for Yamamoto\u2014indeed, I-Go was called off, and on Guadalcanal the 339th Squadron's seventy-six pilots did not encounter a single Japanese plane in combat for the rest of April and the whole of May. Staging out of the Ellice Islands\u2014which Marines had captured the previous October\u2014Admiral Nimitz's long-range bombers had been able on April 20 to hit Tarawa, the atoll that was impeding future invasion of the Marshall Islands\u2014some twenty-four hundred miles from Hawaii. General MacArthur had begun to revise his strategy in order to do more with less\u2014persuaded by Washington, in fact, to drop his costly notion of step-by-step advance and merely bypass Japanese \"fortresses\" in the Pacific, such as Rabaul, if possible. Such strongpoints would thus be allowed to wither on the vine as MacArthur's air forces, ground forces, and naval vessels pursued a leapfrogging, or island-hopping, campaign instead.\n\nAll in all, then, the Allies stood fair to succeed in a two-ocean war\u2014if they made no more mistakes, and capitalized on their growing productive and fighting strengths. By the end of the current year, the President had been told by Secretary Stimson, the U.S. Army would have some 8.2 million well-trained men and women in uniform\u2014including more than 2.5 million U.S. Air Forces personnel. With a target of a million U.S. combat troops to be ferried in the coming months to bases in Britain, the President felt the Allies had every prospect of mounting a successful 1944 Second Front, and be on course to win the war that year, or early in 1945\u2014after which the unconditional surrender of the Japanese could be obtained, he was confident, within months.\n\nSuch heady confidence, though, rested on a fundamental assumption: that Winston Churchill and the British would stand by the agreements made at Casablanca.\n\nThat, however, as Admiral Leahy and General Marshall informed the President at the White House on April 30, was probably misguided. Instead, the Prime Minister, they'd learned, was intent upon coming to Washington with a huge new posse of military advisers and clerks\u2014determined to convince the President his whole strategy was wrong.\nPART SEVEN\n\n* * *\n\n#  _Beware Greeks Bearing Gifts_\n**24**\n\n# Saga of the Nibelungs\n\nWITH EVERY NEW day, the news from North Africa had been getting better, the President had felt\u2014under American leadership and arms.\n\nBy the end of April, American forces in North Africa outnumbered British, French, and other national contingents 60 percent to 40. From a frontline west of Bizerte that ran first south, then east to Enfidaville on the Tunisian coast, more than three hundred thousand Allied troops were preparing to launch Operation Strike: the final Allied offensive in North Africa to drive the Axis forces into the sea. Italian troops were beginning to desert in increasing numbers, but German troops were paradoxically selling their lives ever more dearly in battles to hold onto djebels and hilltops many thousands of miles from their homes\u2014infused with a blind, arrogant loyalty to their comrades, scorn for their opponents, and a suicidal unwillingness to question either what they were doing in North Africa or why they maintained such slavish faith in their f\u00fchrer.\n\nCertainly the F\u00fchrer was indifferent to their fate. At his meeting with Mussolini near Salzburg on April 8, he'd dismissed out of hand the notion of a negotiated armistice with Stalin, or revival of the Ribbentrop Pact. As at Stalingrad, he was banking upon his understanding of the unique German psyche: that the members of his chosen Volk would stay loyal to each other, whatever happened; and that, in the manner of the Nibelungen myths, they would only gain greater nourishment for their national pride from stories of heroic valor and self-sacrifice, even death in distant fields. _Nibelungentreue_ \u2014whether on the Volga or in the mountains of Tunisia. Not dishonorable retreat or evacuation.\n\nThe tenacity and blind courage shown by soldiers of the Wehrmacht to their comrades in battle in North Africa certainly suggested Hitler was right. German casualties had escalated as the end approached, yet in contrast to Italian troops, far from dispiriting the German survivors, the likely outcome appeared to make no discernible dent on their morale in the field. Nor would the F\u00fchrer countenance plans for Axis flight. Just as he had ordered von Paulus to die rather than surrender his last remaining forces at Stalingrad, so now Allied code breakers read with amazement the decrypted signals in which, from his East Prussian headquarters at the Wolfschanze, or Wolf's Lair, the F\u00fchrer not only ordered more infantry reinforcements to be flown into the last Axis redoubt\u2014which was now down to only sixty-seven panzers\u2014but declined to permit the word _evacuation_ to be spoken.\n\nThe Saga of the Nibelungs was thus being enacted\u2014in real life. Allied planners had assumed in early April that Hitler could, if he chose, save as many as thirty-seven thousand men of the Wehrmacht per day by evacuation\u2014the better to defend the shores of mainland Europe. There came, however, no such order. Instead, on April 13, the F\u00fchrer had dispatched his historic cable to General von Arnim, in command of the quarter million Axis troops in Tunisia. Except for a few \"useless mouths\" to be airlifted or shipped out of Tunisia, the Axis forces were ordered to fight to the death\u2014killing as many of the Allies as possible before they were themselves felled.\n\nIt was a bloody, tragic prospect. Yet thanks to his insistence on Torch as the means by which American forces could first learn how to defeat the vaunted Wehrmacht in battle before embarking on a Second Front, it was also a tribute to the President's patience and determination not to undertake military operations beyond the capabilities of his forces. General Patton\u2014\"our greatest fighting general,\" he called him\u2014had restored morale in II Corps after Kasserine, and was now slated to command all American troops in Husky, the invasion of Sicily, in July\u2014which would allow the Allies to rehearse a major assault landing, this time against Axis defenders, not Vichy French. Meantime, U.S. air forces were beginning to take a huge toll of Axis shipping as well as of the Luftwaffe. Above all, despite the mischief being sewn by the American and English press\u2014delighting in the rivalry between U.S. and British exploits in the field\u2014General Eisenhower was doing a magnificent job in holding together the Allied military coalition in North Africa.\n\nThis, more than anything, was what reinforced the President's faith in the outcome of his grand strategy. Hitler and Hirohito might well wish to see their populations obliterated rather than save them, but as long as the Allies held together and continued to build upon their combined strength, they would prevail, he was certain. The timetable General Eisenhower had given him at Casablanca for clearing North Africa of Axis forces, as the final Allied offensive kicked off on May 6, 1943, looked remarkably prescient\u2014indeed, in a brilliant armored coup, British tanks from Montgomery's Eighth Army, stalled beneath the high ground at Enfidaville, performed a magnificent end run, or left hook, which took them into the city of Tunis itself within twenty-four hours, on May 7\u2014where they took the unconditional surrender of all Axis troops there. Infantry and tanks of General Bradley's U.S. II Corps force simultaneously smashed their way down from the mountains in the northwest\u2014including famously bloody combat around Hill 232\u2014into the port city of Bizerte.\n\nGeneral von Arnim's days, perhaps hours, seemed numbered\u2014U.S. and RAF planes swooping on any German or Italian vessel attempting to leave North African shores, while Luftwaffe attempts to fly in final supplies were shot down.\n\nBy contrast, the _Queen Mary_ \u2014the vessel bearing the British prime minister\u2014was making a mercifully safe passage across the Atlantic\u2014indeed was approaching the East Coast of the United States surrounded by U.S. destroyers and escort vessels, the sky above thick with U.S. planes watching for U-boats as it made its way toward the Statue of Liberty without mishap. Ensconced in the grand staterooms he'd ordered to be reconstructed for his voyage (the transatlantic liner having earlier been converted into an Allied troopship), Mr. Churchill was toasting every new report from London and Algiers: drunk not so much from champagne as sheer excitement over the imminent Allied victory in Tunisia\u2014one that would soon exceed the German Sixth Army surrender at Stalingrad.\n\nAfter his long years of military failure, the Prime Minister felt wonderfully, arrogantly alive, his staff later recalled: seemingly certain he could, by the force of his ebullient personality and the scores of staff officers and advisers he was bringing with him, reverse the agreements he'd made on behalf of his country at Casablanca.\n**25**\n\n# A Scene from _The Arabian Nights_\n\nAT THE WHITE HOUSE, the President, having discussed with Admiral Leahy and General Marshall what the British might be plotting, still found it hard to believe.\n\nThe President had hitherto been under the impression that his partnership with his \"active and ardent lieutenant\" was a firm and happy one. Had the two leaders not motored together, after the Casablanca Conference, to Marrakesh\u2014the fabled Berber city at the foot of the Atlas Mountains? Had they not spent the night there, in the house occupied by the American vice consul, Kenneth Pendar? Had they not settled together into \"one of the showplaces of the world,\" as Pendar afterward described it, a \"stylized, modernized version of a south Moroccan _kasbah_ \"? Had not Churchill asked to be shown up the famous tower, and had he not counted the sixty steps before asking whether Pendar thought it possible \"for the President to be brought up here? I am so fond of this superb view that it has been my dream to see it with him\"? And had it not so been arranged\u2014the six-foot-three-inch paralyzed president of the United States borne up the sixty-foot tower by his attendants \"with his arms around their shoulders, while another went ahead to open doors, and the rest of the entire party followed\"? With Churchill humming \"Oh, there ain't no war, there ain't no war,\" had not the President \"amidst much laughing on his part and sympathizing with his carriers\" been brought up to the open terrace of the tower, and had not a wicker chair been \"fetched for him and the Prime Minister,\" allowing the two leaders to sit and survey the vast Atlas range? \"Never have I seen the sun set on those snow-capped peaks with such magnificence,\" Pendar\u2014who ordered highballs to be fetched and served\u2014certainly recalled. \"There had evidently been snow storms recently in the mountains, for they were white almost to their base, and looked more wild and rugged than ever, their sheer walls rising some 12,000 feet before us.\"\n\nHad not Pendar explained the history of the great twelfth-century Koutoubia Mosque tower that they could see some distance away, dominating the city? As the sun finally disappeared, had not electric lights come on at the top of every mosque, calling the faithful to prayer? \"From where we were, we could see the going and coming of the innumerable Arabs on camel- and mule-back, as they made their way in and out of the city gate. Both Mr. Roosevelt and Mr. Churchill were spellbound by the view,\" Pendar recalled. It had been a far, far cry from Washington, D.C.\u2014followed later by more cocktails in the salon.\n\nHad not the President\u2014after slicing off the top of a huge profiterole representing the Koutoubia tower, in the manner of Alexander the Great\u2014then raised a toast to the English king? Had not Churchill responded by raising a toast to the head of state before them: the President? For his part Pendar, sitting between such exalted modern rulers, had found himself \"surprised,\" he later recorded. Traveling in England, he'd seen Mr. Churchill often in the prewar days, and had felt \"sure that no one could eclipse his personality.\" Now, however, he was \"struck by the fact that, though Mr. Churchill spoke much more amusingly than the President\"\u2014mesmerizing listeners with his antiquated yet masterly use of language, and his descriptive, imaginative storytelling ability\u2014it was Mr. Roosevelt who \"dominated any room they were in.\" Reflecting on this, Pendar attributed it not to Roosevelt's larger physique when compared to the diminutive prime minister, nor to his rank \"merely because he was President of the United States;\" no, Pendar had afterward mused, it had resided much more in the radiance of the President's \"being\": his lionine head and Caesar-like _presence._ Also an intense curiosity about others\u2014others as real people, not simply an audience to entertain or impress. In this respect, despite the Prime Minister's extraordinary mind, the President exhibited, Pendar thought, \"a more spiritual quality than Mr. Churchill, and, I could not help but feel, a more profound understanding of human beings,\" rather than just the course of history. Most surprising to Pendar, perhaps, had been the President's seeming indifference to his own disability\u2014as if employing his abundant interest in people not only to engage those he met in conversation, but to deflect attention from his own paralyzed lower limbs. Nor did he seem to mind being contradicted or corrected, as Churchill did\u2014Pendar recalling how he'd talked \"at length about the Morocco and the Arab problem\" with the President at dinner\u2014who was not only well informed, but _listened._ \"To my amazement and delight, I found that the President had an extraordinary and profound grasp of Arab problems, of the conflict of Koranic law with our type of modern life and its influence on Mohammedans, and of the Arab character with its combination of materialism and highly developed intuition.\" In the presence of a diplomat steeped in the history and culture of Morocco, the President had seemed fascinated to hear Pendar's views\u2014Pendar subsequently recalling how, \"some six months later, when I was in London talking with Averell Harriman,\" who had attended the dinner, Harriman \"began to laugh and said: 'I will never forget your conversation with the President. I enjoyed hearing you explain to him, in no uncertain terms, that the New Deal simply wouldn't work in Morocco.'\"\n\nHad not the two potentates then \"set to work,\" after dinner, writing cables to Stalin and Chiang Kai-shek to tell them, cautiously, of the Casablanca meeting\u2014cables that Churchill's ubiquitous secretaries typed, then retyped to incorporate further corrections and revisions? The President, at one point, had been \"wheeled into his room so he could work alone at his dressing table which he used as his desk\"\u2014anxious not to dismay Stalin by revealing the Western Allies would not launch a Second Front before 1944, by which time their forces would have sufficient combat and command experience to make such landings in northern France decisive for the outcome of the war . . .\n\nWhy, then, three months later, was Winston Spencer Churchill on his way to Washington with an army of staff officers and advisers to argue against a cross-Channel invasion even in 1944? What alternative plan did Mr. Churchill have for continuing the war?\n**26**\n\n# The God Neptune\n\nTHE PRESIDENT WAS as much in the dark about Churchill's plans as were his Joint Chiefs of Staff. In fact the more so, since he had fondly imagined that he and the Prime Minister were very much in unison with regard to the Allied prosecution and timetable of the war.\n\nInstead, according to the President's best information, Churchill's ever-fertile mind was changing from day to day. According to sources known to the British representative on the Combined Chiefs of Staff Committee in Washington, Field Marshal Dill, the Prime Minister was said to be settling more and more on ditching the notion of a cross-Channel attack, and instead exploiting the Allies' impending victory in North Africa in the Mediterranean.\n\nChurchill's preference, it was reported, was to pursue, instead, an opportunistic strategy of multipronged Allied attacks following the invasion of Sicily: not only on the Italian mainland but in the Aegean and the Balkans in late 1943 and 1944, especially if\u2014President Inonu's unwillingness nothwithstanding\u2014Turkey could be persuaded to enter the war on the Allied side. By this scattershot, indirect method Churchill apparently hoped the Allies would not only draw away from the Eastern Front crucial German forces that Hitler might otherwise employ to hold back the Russian armies, but would provide the Western Allies with the launch pad for a drive into central Europe via the \"soft underbelly\" of southern Europe: an Allied advance such as the one General Giraud had outlined to him at Casablanca. Or through the Balkans\u2014an avenue of advance that harked back to Churchill's abiding Dardanelles obsession. Either way, such a peripheral strategy would serve to avoid a Second Front bloodbath across the English Channel, which the Prime Minister had always feared.\n\nMore disturbingly\u2014again, according to Field Marshal Dill\u2014the British chiefs of staff were now deferring to their prime minister's ideas. The result would be to delay, if not rule out, the agreed Second Front assault across the English Channel to 1945\u2014two years away\u2014at the earliest.\n\nHow the Russians would respond to such delay was predictable. So too would be the response of the American press and public, if they learned of it.\n\nIt was small wonder, then, that the U.S. chiefs of staff had grown each day more worried as the _Queen Mary,_ which had left port on May 5, drew closer\u2014even as Allied forces moved in for the kill in Tunisia.\n\n\"Some of our officers have a fear that Great Britain is desirous of confining allied military effort in Europe to the Mediterranean Area in order that England may exercise control thereof regardless of what the terms of peace may be,\" Admiral Leahy had noted in his diary on May 2\u2014his contacts in the State Department fueling his fear that the British were \"principally concerned with a post war control of the Mediterranean.\" Moreover, in view of rumors the Russians were already exploring peace feelers with German representatives, Leahy was doubly concerned lest the Soviets would fight only to liberate Soviet republics, not to defeat the Third Reich. In this potential scenario, Hitler would remain master of western and central Europe, making nonsense of the President's \"Germany First\" strategy since Pearl Harbor.\n\nFor his part, Secretary of War Henry Stimson worried about Churchill's eloquence\u2014and what he saw as the President's unwillingness to put Churchill in his place.\n\nStimson had not attended the Casablanca Conference, but what he had gleaned of it had been alarming\u2014an account obtained in large part from officers such as Major General Wedemeyer. The British team had run rings around their American \"opponents,\" he'd been told, not only because the U.S. team had been too small, but because the President himself was too accommodating to the British.\n\nBy May 7, with U.S. troops entering Bizerte and British troops entering Tunis, Stimson was cock-a-hoop at the \"great victory\" at hand\u2014one that would \"hearten the Russians and discourage the Germans.\" The Western Allies should therefore be thinking big, not small, in his view: of direct assault, not peripheral piddling.\n\nIn Britain and America, where \"we are now deliberating over the future conduct of the campaign,\" the impending triumph in Tunisia \"will I hope stiffen the resolution of our British allies for a northern [European] offensive,\" Stimson wrote in his diary\u2014and he became especially nervous when Marshall told him, the next day, that the President had only agreed \"in principle\" to what the U.S. chiefs were going to say to the British chiefs when they finally arrived.\n\nWould the President be swayed by Churchill's anti\u2013Second Front rhetoric, once the Prime Minister arrived at the White House for the new conference\u2014code named, ominously, Trident? Was Churchill a new version of the great god Neptune, rising out of the sea to defeat American strategy for winning the war?\n\nAs the British arrival-day neared, General Marshall, for his part, \"expressed his reservation as to how firmly the President would hold to his acquiescence\" to the U.S. chiefs' position. \"I fear it will be the same story over again,\" Stimson despondently recorded in his diary. Repudiation redux: \"The man from London will arrive with a program of further expansion in the Mediterranean and will have his way with our Chief, and the careful and deliberate plans of our Staff will be overridden. I feel very troubled by it,\" Stimson lamented\u2014the British contingent expected to arrive in Washington the next evening, May 11, 1943.\n**27**\n\n# A Battle Royal\n\nWHEN HEARING THE sheer size and composition of the approaching British contingent\u2014160 officers, with their assistants and chief clerks\u2014the Canadian prime minister thought it a crazy gamble. \"I was astonished when I saw the list of names,\" Mackenzie King noted in his diary, the day of their scheduled arrival in New York. \"It is a tremendous risk to have so complete a representation of the military heads, chiefs and their experts and advisers cross the ocean at one and the same time.\"\n\nWhy, though, had they come at all? Had not the overall strategy and timetable for the war in 1943 and 1944 been agreed at Casablanca?\n\nThe President had summoned all his chiefs of staff once again to the White House on May 9. There, in the Oval Office at 2:30 p.m., he'd rehearsed with Leahy, Marshall, King, and Arnold \"the attitude that should be taken by the U.S. Chiefs of Staff at the conference with the British war officials who will arrive in Washington Tuesday,\" as the President's chief of staff noted dryly in his diary.\n\nAll had been agreed. \"The principal contention of the American government will be a cross Channel invasion of Europe at the earliest practicable date and full preparation for such an invasion by the Spring of 1944,\" Leahy had recorded that night\u2014adding sniffily: \"It is expected that the British Chiefs of Staff will not agree to a cross channel invasion until Germany has collapsed under pressure from Russia and from allied air attack.\"\n\nNo cross-Channel Second Front before the Germans _collapsed?_\n\nThe likely British proposal seemed to Leahy a pretty awful way to run a war\u2014one that would either leave Hitler in control of mainland Europe, or if not, give the Russians a head start in the overrunning of western Europe. Though thanks to his fever he had not attended the Casablanca Conference, Leahy had read all the minutes and final agreements, as well as hearing firsthand from the President, Marshall, Arnold, and King the accords the British had made. What on earth were the British up to now, he wondered?\n\nEarly on the evening of Tuesday, May 11, the U.S. chiefs of staff congregated for the third time in a week at the White House. The arrival of the _Queen Mary_ in New York Harbor had been reported, and the Prime Minister's huge retinue had apparently entrained for the capital. Then at \"six forty-five p.m. the American Chiefs of Staff accompanied the President,\" Leahy recorded in his diary, \"to meet a special train bringing to Washington the British Prime Minister and his War Staff.\"\n\n\"Reached Washington at 6:30 pm where we were met by Roosevelt, Marshall, Dill, etc,\" a tired General Alan Brooke recorded in his own diary that night.\n\nAmbassador Halifax was there to greet them, too. Churchill and his secretaries were immediately whisked off by the President to the White House; Brooke was invited to stay with Field Marshal Dill, his former boss.\n\nIt was a \"hot and sticky night,\" Brooke noted before he went to bed at Dill's rented house in Virginia.\n\nHe was nervous\u2014embarrassed at the friendliness being shown by his American hosts, given that he was carrying a veritable bombshell. He'd been required first to go to the recently opened Statler, where the rest of the British party would be accommodated, to attend \"a cocktail party given in our honour\" by his hosts, the American chiefs. \"From there,\" he recorded in his diary, \"we did not escape till 8.15 pm.\" \"I must now prepare my opening remarks for tomorrow's Combined Chiefs of Staff conference and muster up all our arguments,\" he added to his entry. \"We have a very heavy week's work in front of us!\"\n\nAt the White House, the Prime Minister and his closest personal staff were meantime shown to the rooms where they would stay. The First Lady, however, was nowhere to be found. Irritated that the President had seen fit to receive Churchill for an unspecified length of time in the White House, and knowing her husband was having to steel himself for the confrontation he was rather dreading, she had simply decamped\u2014going in the opposite direction, to their house in New York.\n\nFor his part, Churchill had begun to show signs of anxiety over his mission\u2014in fact he'd suggested he might stay at the British Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue. Roosevelt had refused to hear of it\u2014figuring it might be better to suborn the recalcitrant prime minister under lock and key, so to speak, in the White House mansion, where he'd have a better chance of countering whatever it was that Winston was harboring or plotting in his brilliant but sometimes dangerously inventive mind.\n\nInstead of cocktails, then, the President wined and dined Churchill on Pennsylvania Avenue, with just his daughter, Anna Boettiger, and Harry and Louise Hopkins, present. Though the Prime Minister's office assistant, Leslie Rowan, and Churchill's aide-de-camp, Commander Tommy Thompson, were asked to eat with them, no invitation was extended to Churchill's military advisers. The dinner ended shortly after 9:00, after which the President invited Churchill to his Oval Study on the second floor. There the two men talked until after midnight.\n\nSecretary Stimson, at his own house across the Potomac, remained on tenterhooks. As he noted anxiously in his diary the following day: \"Churchill arrived last night with a huge military party, evidently equipped for war on us.\"\n\n\"I fear it will be the same story over again,\" the secretary lamented\u2014furious that Churchill had come with such a huge contingent. He was all the more concerned since General Arnold had suffered \"a severe heart attack\" immediately after the May 9 Joint Chiefs meeting at the White House. The U.S. chiefs would thus be fielding a man short at the top, and might, Stimson feared, now be overwhelmed by their British colleagues in the talks\u2014talks he had not been asked to attend.\n\nThough the air in Washington remained warm and sticky on the morning of May 12, the atmosphere in the White House seemed somewhat frosty\u2014a far cry from the happy spirit that had invested the Casablanca Conference. The President only went to his office at 11:10 a.m., where he had a succession of appointments\u2014the American Legion, the mayor of Chicago, American labor leaders (regarding the national coal strike\u2014the largest single strike ever called in the United States, involving more than half a million miners demanding more pay). And then lunch in his Oval Study with Hopkins, Churchill, and Lord Beaverbrook\u2014former British minister of munitions, who had come without portfolio, as he was no longer in the British cabinet or government.\n\nIf there was open debate at the White House lunch, none recorded it. Indeed, no one recorded the luncheon\u2014reflecting, perhaps, the awkwardness. Given that Beaverbrook was an outspoken advocate of a Second Front to be mounted as soon as possible\u2014at the very latest, he pleaded, in the spring of 1944\u2014and since Harry Hopkins remained an unrepentant advocate of priority being given to such a direct, cross-Channel strategy, even by inexperienced troops, the Prime Minister was on his own at table. At all events, Churchill's narrative of the trip, written seven years later, jumped straight from joyful arrival in Washington, the night before, to a fictitious account of the discussion that took place that afternoon with the Combined Chiefs of Staff\u2014pretending in his memoirs that he, too, was in favor of a spring 1944 Second Front.\n\nThis was, in truth, mendacious\u2014for minutes of the meeting, held in the Oval Office immediately after lunch, were kept by General Deane, secretary of the Combined Chiefs of Staff: minutes that documented, in writing, the rift between the President's and the Prime Minister's views on global strategy.\n\nAnxious to maintain at least a semblance of Allied unity, the President opened the meeting at 2:30 p.m. with a look back across the past year\u2014reminding the generals how far the United Nations had come since their last get-together in Washington. It was, he said, \"less than a year ago when they had all met in the White House, and had set on foot the moves leading up to TORCH. It was very appropriate that they should meet again just as that operation was coming to a satisfactory conclusion\"\u2014for Allied troops had already \"seized Bizerte and British troops had fought their way into Tunis,\" General Deane noted the President's words. Given complete Allied air and naval control of the southern Mediterranean now exercised by the Allies under General Eisenhower, no Dunkirk-like evacuation of German or Italian forces was possible. It had taken time, but Torch had led, methodically, to a great Allied victory.\n\nWhat a turnaround the campaign in Tunisia had brought, he remarked. The final surrender of German and Italian troops was expected momentarily, and might possibly number over 150,000 men\u2014perhaps even a quarter million. The invasion and subsequent combat had thus provided the Allies with the safe learning experience they needed. Its sequel had been decided upon at the recent Casablanca Conference, the President recapitulated: namely \"operation HUSKY,\" the invasion of Sicily, which he hoped \"would meet with similar good fortune,\" as the Allies made ready to throw \"every resource of men and munitions against the enemy\" under July's full moon. The chiefs were assembled now, however, in Washington, to review what should happen after the fall of Sicily: \"What next?\"\n\nWith that, the President asked Mr. Churchill to give his own introductory remarks.\n\nIt was a delicate moment.\n\nChurchill's lengthy _tour d'horizon_ in the President's study, delivered with his characteristic rhetorical flair, bons mots, cadences, and flattering flourishes, certainly impressed his listeners for its brilliance (\"very good opening address,\" General Brooke noted in his diary). However, it completely failed to dispel the U.S. chiefs' fears of what the British were plotting. With every word, in fact, it became clearer that, whereas the President had seen Torch operations in the Mediterranean in 1943 as a means to gain the vital battle and command experience necessary for a cross-Channel Second Front in 1944, the British were not so confident\u2014indeed, were not seriously interested in crossing the Channel anytime soon, unless the Germans collapsed. Thus the U.S. chiefs were compelled to listen as the Prime Minister lyrically described the triumph of Torch and the imminent conquest of Sicily as the means to a much richer, more byzantine, strategic end: not the defeat of Germany but merely the further clearing of Britain's vital seaway to India, and a staging post for expeditions into the \"soft underbelly of Europe,\" beginning with the knocking of Italy out of the Axis coalition.\n\nBefore the assembled generals and admirals, Winston Churchill proceeded to outline how, surely, it ought to be the objective of the Allies, after securing Sicily, to invade Italy, obtain its surrender, then exploit the huge gap this would leave in the Adriatic and the Balkans, where twenty-five Italian divisions were currently helping the Germans in Yugoslavia. Once Italy fell out of the Axis alliance, those Italian forces would be hors de combat\u2014offering an even softer European \"underbelly.\" If, in turn, the Turks saw such a door into southern, mainland Europe opening, they might be persuaded to join the Allies or at least be encouraged to permit the Allies to use Turkish positions and airfields in order to attack the Third Reich from the south and southeast\u2014thus disposing of the need for a cross-Channel operation at all, unless it were to be conducted as a pro forma operation, following the \"collapse\" of the Germans, similar to 1918, after the \"defection\" of Bulgaria.\n\n1918?\n\n_Bulgaria?_\n\nThere was a deathly hush in the Oval Office. Admiral Leahy, as chairman of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, was caustic in the entry he made in his office diary that evening. \"The prime Minister spoke at length on the advantages that would accrue to the allied cause by a collapse or a surrender of Italy through its effect on the invaded countries of the near East and Turkey. In regard to a cross channel [Second Front] invasion in the near future,\" the admiral added with ill-concealed disgust, \"it is apparently his opinion that adequate preparations cannot be made for such an effort in the Spring of 1944.\" Such an invasion, Churchill had allowed, \"must be made at sometime in the future.\" Sometime\u2014but not 1944.\n\nEven though Admiral Leahy, Admiral King, General Marshall, and General McNarney (deputizing for the literally heart-stricken General Arnold) had all been told by Field Marshal Dill to expect something on these lines, they still found themselves speechless. That Churchill would openly contradict and defy the strategy laid down by the President of the United States and agreed to at Casablanca, in front of the President and to his face, before his top military advisers, seemed incredible. \"There was no indication in his talk of a British intention to undertake a cross channel invasion of Europe either in 1943 or 1944,\" Leahy repeated in frustration. In order to be quite clear as to the Prime Minister's precise argument, he added that the Prime Minister was recommending that no such invasion take place \"unless Germany should collapse as a result of the Russian campaign and our intensified bombing attack.\"\n\nNo cross-Channel invasion, then, even in 1944, unless there was a German collapse.\n\nAll eyes thus turned to the President.\n\nTo General Brooke's irritation, the President contradicted the Prime Minister. In the nicest yet firmest way possible the President made abundantly clear he did _not_ agree with Churchill's new alternative strategy. \"The President in a brief following talk,\" Leahy noted, \"advocated a cross channel invasion at the earliest practicable date and not later than 1944.\"\n\nTo the relief of the U.S. chiefs of staff, the President explained that, in order to make certain of success in mounting a spring 1944 cross-Channel assault, U.S. operations in the Mediterranean _must_ be curtailed as soon as possible after the fall of Sicily. The Allies would by then have all the command and battle experience they needed from the Mediterranean\u2014in the air, on land, and at sea\u2014for a Second Front invasion from Britain. In combat skills, in field command, in coalition planning and fighting, and in logistics. Mr. Roosevelt therefore categorically \"expressed disagreement with any Italian adventure beyond the seizure of Sicily and Sardinia.\"\n\nThe President's tone had now turned from warm politeness to firmness. With regard to the Far East, he made clear he was disappointed by the latest British refusal to carry out the Anakim offensive that had been agreed upon at Casablanca, and stated \"that the air transport line to China\"\u2014which Chiang Kai-shek was pleading be intensified\u2014must \"be placed in full operating condition without any delay, and that China must be kept in the war.\"\n\nWith that, the strange meeting in the President's study came to a close.\n\nBrooke, in his diary, was alarmed, noting the President \"showed less grasp of strategy\" than the Prime Minister.\n\nThe two top military teams then filed out. As the chief of staff to the Prime Minister, General Ismay, later recounted, \"there was an unmistakable atmosphere of tension\" and \"it was clear there was going to be a battle royal.\"\n**28**\n\n# No Major Operations Until 1945 or 1946\n\nEVEN CHURCHILL'S OWN wife, Clementine, worried lest the United States abandon its \"Germany First\" policy. In fact, Clemmie sent Winston cable after cable, while he was staying at the White House, expressing her abiding fear that, in the aftermath of the massive German surrender in Tunisia\u2014with the numbers of German and Italian prisoners reportedly mounting by the hour\u2014the United States might consider the campaign at an end, and choose to redirect its primary efforts to the Pacific. \"I'm so afraid the Americans will think that a Pacific slant is to be given to the next phase of the war,\" she wrote him on May 13. \" _Surely_ the liberation of Europe _must_ come first,\" she confided. And in a PS she added that she'd just heard of the \"terrific\" RAF bomber raid on Duisburg, in the Ruhr. \"Do re-assure me that the European front will take 1st place all the time,\" she begged.\n\nWinston, however, was Winston: endowed with inspirational intellectual energy and romantic imagination yet burdened, too, by an often fatal penchant for peripheral rather than direct, frontal attack. It was a tendency that went back to his justifiable indignation as an infantry battalion commander in the trenches of the Western Front in World War I before the Battle of the Somme, and the bloodbath he witnessed on the plains of France.\n\nChurchill's alternative\u2014his Dardanelles landings\u2014had proven just as futile as Allied offensives on the Western Front in World War I, however. There had simply been no easy military alternative to frontal attacks in World War I in the West\u2014attacks that did, when no diplomatic solution could be found, ultimately decide the outcome once U.S. troops were committed to battle in France in 1918. Certainly the Prime Minister was fully entitled to ask his own chiefs of staff and then the Combined Chiefs to explore other scenarios before confirming the Casablanca decision to pursue a cross-Channel invasion\u2014but that was not how Churchill presented his case at the White House.\n\nNor was it the case the next morning, when the first so-called Trident meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff opened in the Board of Governors Room of the Federal Reserve Building on Constitution Avenue. There, to Admiral Leahy's disgust, it became clear that an extension of the war in the Mediterranean and the Balkans rather than the agreed assault of northern Europe was no mere Churchillian fantasy. General Brooke, the bespectacled, owlish-looking \"strongman\" on the British team, announced he was even _more_ opposed to a cross-Channel Second Front in 1944 than Prime Minister Churchill.\n\nBrooke's apostasy in seeking to overturn the Casablanca agreement on a 1944 Second Front was potentially crippling to the Allied military alliance.\n\nA solitary, self-contained man of incisive mind, Brooke had done his best since succeeding Sir John Dill as British Chief of the Imperial General Staff in 1941 to curb the Prime Minister's penchant for madcap schemes\u2014especially red herrings that detracted from the Allies' primary strategic effort. Now, however, as CIGS, Brooke was supporting Churchill's alternative strategy.\n\nHow, though, the U.S. chiefs countered, would an as-yet-unplanned invasion of the mainland of Italy, the Balkans, and Greek islands miraculously lead to the collapse or defeat of the Third Reich?\n\nIn hindsight\u2014given German determination to pursue the war to the bitter end\u2014it couldn't. But in truth that was not Brooke's real reason, in May 1943, for backing rather than dissuading the Prime Minister. The fact was, despite the success of the Western Allies in North Africa, he too had lost faith in the essential feasibility of a Second Front in 1944.\n\nBrooke had commanded heavy British artillery in World War I and large numbers of troops in France early in World War II\u2014command that had ended in tearful defeat. The humiliation of British evacuation first at Dunkirk and then Brest, Cherbourg, and Saint-Nazaire in 1940, on top of the complete collapse of the French armies, had cut to his heart. Half-French himself, he simply lacked belief that an Allied cross-Channel invasion could ever succeed. The Wehrmacht drubbing given to Operation Jubilee, Mountbatten's August 1942 mini-rehearsal at Dieppe for an eventual cross-Channel assault landing, had in Brooke's view proved the point. The German massacre of an entire Canadian brigade on the beaches of the little French seaport was clearly a beach too far, given the literally dozens of tough Wehrmacht divisions stationed across northern Europe to repel such an attempted invasion\u2014including panzer divisions.\n\nThe result was that in Washington, General Brooke exuded not energy\u2014which at least his Prime Minister did\u2014but a kind of dour, Northern Irish Protestant skepticism amounting to obstructionism. Not only about plans, moreover, but about people.\n\nAt Casablanca he had gotten a very poor impression of General Eisenhower as a fighting commander\u2014blind to the way the young Allied commander in chief was not only learning on the job, but inventing a new kind of coalition command that might be messy and might result in many an upset or failure, but which brought together the collective _power_ of Western arms\u2014naval, air, and army\u2014in a way that even the most disciplined of German troops could not stand up to, in the end. Even news of the surrender of General von Arnim together with many hundreds of thousands of Axis troops at Cape Bon, when he received it immediately after the meeting in the President's study, failed to change Brooke's mind, or convince him the Allies would ever be ready to fight whole German armies in northern France, unless the German government collapsed, as in 1918.\n\nWearing his trademark round black spectacles, Brooke sat in his chair at the Combined Chiefs of Staff meeting the next day, May 13, 1943\u2014his thick black mustache and slightly hooked nose giving him a fierce, intimidating countenance. He listened silently as Admiral Leahy was first acknowledged as the chairman of the proceedings and then read aloud to the meeting the U.S. chiefs' opening paper. This was titled \"A Global Strategy, A Memorandum by the United States Chiefs of Staff.\" Copies of the document, moreover, had been handed to all the chiefs around the table. Looking through the document as Leahy spoke, Brooke hated it.\n\nWord for word the document set down in typed script the strategy the President had outlined the day before at the White House. The \"concept of defeating Germany first involves making a determined attack against Germany on the Continent at the earliest practicable date,\" the U.S. chiefs' document stated, \"and we consider that all proposed operations in Europe should be based primarily on the basis of contributions to that end.\"\n\nLest there be any misunderstanding on this score, Admiral Leahy spelled it out in the simplest of sentences: \"It is the opinion of the United States Chiefs of Staff that a cross-Channel invasion of Europe is necessary to an early conclusion of the war with Germany.\"\n\nNot to be outdone, General Brooke responded by handing across the table copies of the British chiefs of staff counterpaper\u2014a paper that Brooke then read aloud to the meeting.\n\nEntitled \"Conduct of the War in 1943\u201344,\" the document was three times as long as Leahy's. In it the British chiefs argued that Italy might _not_ surrender after the fall of Sicily, or by the threat of Allied bombing.\n\nIn order to achieve Italy's capitulation, the British paper contended, there would probably be need for \"amphibious operations against either the Italian islands or the mainland.\" This \"continuance of Mediterranean operations\" would, \"of course have repercussions elsewhere and will affect BOLERO,\" the cross-Channel assault, as well as operations in the Pacific, the document allowed. However, the fruits of Italian collapse would, the British chiefs argued, be worth the cost of delaying the cross-Channel invasion for several years, for it would make possible \"increasing supplies to the Balkan resistance groups, and by speeding up our aid to Turkey.\"\n\nSilence again ensued\u2014the two Allies at a strategic stalemate.\n\nAfter a pause, General Marshall, the chief of staff of the U.S. Army, pointed out that, as the President had said the day before, there was no reason to venture into southern Europe at all. The Ploesti refineries, in Romania, which provided Germany's all-important oil supplies, should certainly be bombed by long-distance B-25 and B-17 bombers, operating from the Mediterranean. In fact, Marshall continued, the use of vastly superior and constantly increasing Allied air power \"might enable us to economize in the use of ground forces in the Mediterranean Area,\" since footling amphibious and ground operations would not achieve more than local advantage\u2014while merely delaying the Allies' main offensive capability. The Allies would then \"deeply regret not being ready to make the final blow against Germany, if the opportunity presented itself, by reason of having dissipated ground forces in the Mediterranean Area.\"\n\nAgain, there was silence.\n\nBrooke countered that Allied air power was all very well, as in bombing the Ploesti oil refineries, \"but this must be examined in relation to the whole picture of knocking Italy out of the war.\"\n\nTo this Marshall delivered the stunning rejoinder: namely that the aim of the \"Europe First\" strategy had never been to focus on _Italy_ \u2014Germany's junior partner in crime. The objective was to defeat _Nazi Germany,_ their real adversary. Thus, rather than dispersing their forces in subsidiary ventures, he rebuked Brooke, \"we should direct our attention to knocking Germany out of the war.\"\n\nThe first formal Combined Chiefs of Staff (COS) meeting of the Trident Conference now turned into a free-for-all, as General Brooke, under attack, revealed more and more of his hand\u2014this time claiming that by dumping the Casablanca agreement they would help Stalin\u2014for if Italy fell, the Germans would be compelled to deny reinforcements to their Eastern Front and instead occupy and defend the Italian mainland, as well as defending the Balkans and Aegean Islands, just as they had done when compelled to send German reinforcements to Tunisia. Hitler would thus be able to provide \"20 [percent] less on the Russian front,\" aiding the Soviets.\n\nThis aspect might well be so, Leahy, Marshall, and King accepted. But would not the mere _threat_ of Allied invasion compel Hitler to station that number of divisions in Italy and the Balkans\u2014much as he had stationed four hundred thousand German troops in Norway, and twenty-five divisions in France? Brooke's other claim, namely that successful Allied amphibious operations to seize yet more Mediterranean islands and occupy the Italian mainland would then provide a springboard from which to mount an attack on southern France, sounded equally irrelevant. Since when had _southern France_ been deemed a way of \"knocking Germany out of the war\"?\n\nPushed against the ropes, General Brooke was thus driven to confess his deeper fear: that, unless fighting continued in the Mediterranean, \"no possibility of an attack into [northern] France would arise\"\u2014 _for it would surely fail._ Even if Allied troops succeeded in achieving a beachhead across the English Channel, the subsequent battle or campaign in northern France, he believed, would be a disaster\u2014for the Allies. Even after a bridgehead had been established, \"we could get no further,\" he predicted. \"The troops employed would be for the most part inexperienced.\" With only fifteen to twenty U.S. and British divisions, the Bolero operation would be \"too small and could not be regarded in the same category as the vast Continental armies which were counted in 50's and 100's of divisions\" in the previous war.\n\nAt this defeatist assertion, however, General Marshall really bridled. The discussion was \"now getting to the heart of the matter,\" he acknowledged. The big lesson of Torch\u2014and in planning for the forthcoming invasion of Sicily\u2014was the way such a campaign, inevitably, \"sucked in more and more troops.\" If \"further Mediterranean operations were undertaken,\" Marshall pointed out, \"then in 1943 and virtually all of 1944 we should be committed, except to a Mediterranean policy.\" Not only would this subsidiary campaign detract from the war in the Pacific, in terms of supplies, but it would mean \"a prolongation of the war in Europe, and thus a delay in the ultimate defeat of Japan, which the people of the U.S. would not tolerate. We were now at the crossroads\u2014if we were committed to the Mediterranean\" rather than northern France in 1944, then \"it meant a prolonged struggle and one which was not acceptable to the United States.\"\n\nPinned against the ropes, poor Brooke now blamed a paucity of men. He explained that the \"British manpower position was weak,\" and its forces were, in all candor, not up to the challenge of a cross-Channel invasion\u2014neither that year, 1943, when a lodgment area in Brittany might possibly be attained (though one that would be easily cauterized by the Germans, he claimed), nor in 1944, either.\n\nThe U.S. chiefs were stunned by Brooke's open confession.\n\n\"No major operations,\" Brooke affirmed, adding insult to injury, \"would be possible until 1945 or 1946.\"\n\nAgain, the U.S. chiefs could hardly believe their ears, especially when Brooke explained \"that in the previous war there had always been some 80 French Divisions available to our side.\" Now there would only be a handful, if that. Any advance from the Channel \"towards the Ruhr would necessitate clearing up behind the advancing Army and would leave us with long lines of communication,\" subject to German air and land counterattack. Not only was British manpower \"weak,\" but the RAF lacked mobility, having concentrated on bombing German cities, not supporting land armies; its planes and crews were therefore ill-equipped to support an invasion or subsequent campaign.\n\nDespite the current Allied victory in Tunisia, the picture that Brooke presented was, then, bleak in terms of the defeat of Hitler's Third Reich.\n\nThe two Western Allies were at loggerheads.\n\nWithout the British as allies, an American invasion of Europe was a nonstarter, and the President's \"Germany First\" strategy\u2014as well as unconditional surrender of the Axis powers\u2014would be in tatters.\n\nNo major cross-Channel operations until 1945, perhaps 1946?\n\nWhen the President, at the White House, heard what Brooke had, at the Federal Reserve Building, openly declared\u2014an assertion going further even than the Prime Minister had revealed at the meeting at the White House the previous day\u2014he was amazed. So this was the \"vast amount of work\" the British chiefs had been doing\u2014as Churchill had boasted in a telegram to the President from the _Queen Mary_ as it neared New York\n\nThe President was disappointed; in fact he was shocked. The British position seemed not only disingenuous but deceitful, in retrospect. Where the President had seen Torch and its Sicilian sequel as a crucial learning curve and rehearsal for a Second Front to be launched across the English Channel in 1944, the British had clearly backed Torch and the impending invasion of Sicily only to secure the Mediterranean as a shorter sea-lane to their occupation troops in India\u2014while doing their best to _avoid_ frontal combat with the Nazis in northern Europe.\n\nThe President shook his head. That very morning he had been discussing with the president of the Czechoslovak government in exile, Dr. Edvard Benes, the unconditional surrender of Germany, and what might be done to partition or police the country to ensure the Germans could never threaten world peace for a third time. Now, at lunchtime, he was hearing from Air Marshal Charles Portal that the British chiefs had no intention of launching a cross-Channel attack before 1945 or, possibly, 1946, three _years_ away. How could this new stance be explained to the majority of Americans who saw Japan, not Germany, as the nation's primary enemy, yet had loyally backed the President's \"Germany First\" strategy?\n\nThe President had been told, in December 1942, that almost two million Jews had in all probability already been \"liquidated\" by Hitler's SS troops. How many more Jews and others would Hitler exterminate by 1946? And all this so that Britain could sit out the war in Europe, at its periphery\u2014not even willing to open the road to China, but hanging on to India and merely waiting for the United States to win back for Great Britain its lost colonial Empire in the Far East? It seemed a pretty poor performance.\n\nAlthough disappointed, the President was not defeated. Great leadership demanded positive, not negative, thinking, and Portal, as an airman, did not sound quite as obstinate or defeatist as Brooke.\n\nThe British were visitors in a foreign land, and the best way to coax them out of their funk was, the President felt, to encourage them to overcome their understandable fears, not berate them; to help, not shame, their generals into recovering the confidence they would need to partner the U.S. military in mounting a cross-Channel invasion next spring.\n\nThe home team must therefore, the President decided, be firm in class, but as nice as possible outside. He'd already planned with Marshall that the Combined Chiefs were all to be taken to Williamsburg, in Virginia, at the weekend\u2014any talk concerning conference matters strictly forbidden. For his own part, while the U.S. chiefs of staff hosted their opposite numbers at the site of the first British settlement in America (a source of cultural pride for the British visitors, but also a reminder of the successful American revolution to wrest independence from the British), the President now decided he wouldn't in fact take Churchill to Hyde Park, as he'd originally planned. Instead he would take him to his little mountaintop camp at Shangri-la. There he would work on him\u2014insisting that Lord Beaverbrook, as an ardent supporter of an immediate Second Front, come too. And Eleanor, who'd returned from New York, would be asked to at least drive with them to the cottage\u2014thus prohibiting Churchill from any attempt to talk alternative Allied military strategy.\n\nExtreme hospitality would thus be the order of the day. By burying the British with kindness, after working hours, the American hosts, in Williamsburg and at Shangri-la, would hopefully encourage their visitors to overcome their fears and confirm the Casablanca commitment to a fully fledged trial-by-combat cross-Channel invasion of northern France next spring: April or May 1944.\n\nSuch was the plan. Whether it would work was another matter.\n\nAt Shangri-la, once they settled in, the President took Churchill fishing. They settled by a local stream\u2014the wheelchair-bound president \"placed with great care by the side of a pool,\" Churchill recollected, where he \"sought to entice the nimble and wily fish. I tried for some time myself at other spots.\"\n\nIt was in vain. \"No fish were caught,\" Churchill recalled. Nor was Winston's mind changed about a doomed Second Front.\n\nThe three days in the Maryland mountains thus became something of a test of wills.\n\nShangri-la and the President's handling of Churchill on May 14, 15, and 16, 1943, mirrored Casablanca and the president's handling of de Gaulle\u2014 _prisonnier,_ as de Gaulle had complained, in the President's Anfa camp. Now it was the Prime Minister's turn to feel that way.\n\nShangri-la was neither the White House nor Hyde Park. Instead it was, as Churchill later put it, \"a log cabin, with all modern improvements.\" He watched \"with interest and in silence\" as General Pa Watson brought the President not war documents but colorful stamps: \"several large albums and a number of envelopes full of specimens he had long desired,\" after which Roosevelt \"stuck them in, each in its proper place, and so forgot the cares of State.\"\n\nFor all the pretty mountain setting, the proximity to nature, and the restful quiet, the Prime Minister would not yield. The more the President and his supporting cast worked on him\u2014both Hopkins and Beaverbrook attacking Churchill's obsessive argument for the invasion of Italy and the Balkans rather than northern France\u2014the more determined Churchill became. So testy, in fact, that he even declined the President's request that he accept an invitation from Madame Chiang Kai-shek to go to New York, where she was staying while receiving medical treatment\u2014risking, as Churchill candidly described his refusal, the \"unity of the Grand Alliance,\" given the importance of the Generalissimo's struggle against the Japanese in China.\n\nRefusing to commit Britain to the 1944 cross-Channel invasion threatened, however, a far greater schism in the unity of the Grand Alliance than Madame Chiang Kai-shek's wrath. As obstinate as de Gaulle, the Prime Minister relentlessly clung to his Mediterranean preference, fearful of a cross-Channel debacle.\n\nPondering Churchill's behavior at the time, Sir Charles Wilson, the Prime Minister's doctor, wondered if the Prime Minister was suffering some sort of physiological problem. Churchill had, after all, hitherto pursued the \"special relationship\" with the United States with extraordinary patience, deference, and understanding. Now he was neither patient nor deferential, and certainly unwilling to conceive the strategic problem from an American perspective. His failure to grasp the import of what he was demanding\u2014an extra year, perhaps two, of war in Europe without a Second Front, and a further year after that to defeat Japan\u2014raised serious questions about the Prime Minister's state of mind. He'd come down with pneumonia in February (at the same time the President had fallen ill, after returning from Casablanca), which had been more serious than could be made public at the time\u2014and in its aftermath, Dr. Wilson wondered whether it might have affected Churchill's judgment. Wilson himself had been stricken by fever on the voyage to America aboard the _Queen Mary,_ and had had to be hospitalized in New York. When finally he caught up with his patient in Washington on May 17, he was frankly shocked. The Prime Minister had just returned from Shangri-la with the President\u2014and what Wilson heard was amusing, but not encouraging.\n\nThe Prime Minister had, according to members of the President's entourage and Lord Beaverbrook, lost nothing of his extraordinary memory. On the return trip to Washington the presidential party had passed several Civil War battlefields, and Harry Hopkins regaled Dr. Wilson with an account of how Winston, hearing Hopkins could recite only two lines of John Greenleaf Whittier's famous Civil War poem, had recited the entire poem. \"While we were still asking ourselves how he could do this when he hadn't read the darned thing for thirty years, his eye caught a sign pointing to Gettysburg. That really started him off,\" Hopkins recounted in awe\u2014Churchill's summary of the battle, with character portraits of the rebel generals Jackson and Lee, being equally amazing. About the current war, however, \"Hopkins was a good deal less flattering about the P.M.'s contribution to the discussions which had begun on May 12 in the oval study of the White House,\" Dr. Wilson recalled. \"Indeed, he looked pretty glum as he assured me that I had not missed anything.\"\n\nThe impasse appeared to be the same as the one the year before, when the Prime Minister had journeyed to the White House for the same reason: namely to explain why the British could not agree to a cross-Channel invasion that year. The British surrender at Tobruk, moreover, had made his point: the British were simply not ready for such a challenge in 1942, at a moment when they might even lose control of the Middle East to Rommel's advancing Panzerarmee Afrika.\n\nNow, eleven months later, \"damn it all,\" Churchill was back, with \"the old story once more, shamelessly trotted out and brought up to date,\" Dr. Wilson recalled with concern, recording in his diary the sense of frustration felt by Hopkins: Churchill simply refusing to countenance the Casablanca strategy, unless Italy was swiftly defeated and the Third Reich miraculously fell apart. Hopkins had even imitated Churchill, saying: \"Bulgaria's defeatism in 1918 brought about the collapse of Germany; might not Italy's surrender now have similar consequences? It will surely cause a chill of loneliness to settle on the German people and might very well be the beginning of the end.\"\n\nLoneliness as the beginning of the end\u2014without the Wehrmacht actually being defeated in battle, or even forced back onto German soil? To those who remembered the consequences of the \"collapse of Germany\" at the end of World War I, this was understandably alarming.\n\nDr. Wilson had asked Hopkins \"what the President made of all this.\"\n\n\"'Not much,'\" Hopkins had answered. \"'This [idea of] fighting in Italy does not make sense to him,'\" he'd explained the President's view. United States naval, air, and ground forces had been sent to the Mediterranean\u2014against the advice of Hopkins, Stimson, Marshall, and the U.S. chiefs of staff, it was true\u2014to learn _how_ to defeat German troops in close combat, the President had insisted. As soon as the Sicily invasion and campaign were won, those forces\u2014commanders and troops\u2014were to be switched to England for the invasion of northern France in the spring of 1944, in accordance with the President's strategy. \"He wants the twenty divisions, which will be set free when Sicily has been won, to be used in building up the force that is to invade France in 1944,\" Hopkins made clear.\n\nAt the Pentagon and Navy Department, the U.S. chiefs of staff were similarly frustrated.\n\nBrooke's stonewalling, once the chiefs returned from Williamsburg, was especially irritating. \"A very decided deadlock has come up,\" Secretary Stimson noted in his diary on May 17, after speaking with General Marshall. \"The British are holding back dead from going on with Bolero. They have done the same thing in regard to Anakim [the campaign to retake Burma] and are trying to divert us off into some more Mediterranean adventure. Fortunately,\" he added, \"the President seems to be holding out.\" Stimson decided he must call the White House and make sure, though. \"I called up the President, told him that I had prepared myself fully by reading all the minutes and was ready to talk with him at any time that he wanted to, although I did not want to intrude myself on him. He told me he was coming to the conclusion that he would have to read the Riot Act to the other side and would have to be stiff.\"\n\nStimson, conscious of how the President liked to quote Lincoln, told him how President Lincoln had remarked of General Franz Sigel that, though he couldn't \"skin the deer,\" he \"could at least hold a leg.\" By his intransigence, however, the Prime Minister was in danger of causing the Western Allies\u2014Americans and British\u2014to be Sigels in the war against Hitler: only daring to hold the Nazi leg while the Russians did the skinning. \"Stalin,\" he told the President, \"won't have much of an opinion of people who have done that,\" he warned, \"and we will not be able to share much of the post-war world with them.\"\n\nThe President did not need reminding. Yet how _compel_ an ally like Britain to conform to American strategy?\n\nThe most worrying thing was that Churchill was now threatening to disrupt the Western military alliance just at the moment when the President was becoming more and more anxious to pressure Stalin to sign up to a postwar United Nations authority while the United States\u2014furnishing more than 10 percent of Russia's war needs\u2014still had significant leverage. All in all it was too bad\u2014with no breakthrough in sight.\n\nWhatever Stimson, Hopkins, the U.S. chiefs of staff, and later critics might say about Churchill's sudden intransigence in May 1943, however, it is important to note that Churchill and his British contingent were not the only ones arguing in Washington against a Second Front. The prospect of heavy casualties in head-on combat with the Wehrmacht in northern France was sobering. Outside the War Department more and more people were objecting\u2014especially people in the Navy Department who foresaw a long war with Japan if the \"flower of our army and air force\" was first expended \"in combat with Germany,\" as Bill Bullitt, assistant to the secretary of the Navy, warned in a renewed memorandum he wrote for the President on May 12.\n\nIt was vital the President should, Bullitt argued, put more pressure on Stalin to declare war on Japan at the conclusion of the war against Hitler, lest the United States should have wasted its manpower and resources in a cross-Channel campaign that could get bogged down, as in World War I\u2014thus leaving itself, even after assumed victory, having to fight against Japan \"while the Soviet Union is at peace,\" and Britain contributing only insignificantly to the defeat of the Japanese. In that situation, \"we shall have no decisive voice in the settlement in Europe,\" Bullitt warned. \"Europe will be divided into Soviet and British spheres of influence\u2014according to present Soviet and British plans\u2014and further wars in the near future will be rendered inevitable.\"\n\nBullitt's recommendation, once again, was the same as Churchill's\u2014to drive swiftly into central Europe through the Dardanelles.\n\nAfter Roosevelt's death, Bill Bullitt would spend the rest of his own life lancing the memory of the President for having failed to take his recommendation. Only American \"boots on the ground\" in central Europe would stop Stalin's \"Sovietization,\" Bullitt pointed out again in his memorandum\u2014and the Balkans was the place to plant those boots.\n\nThe President could only groan at this extra pressure from his own American side, given the latest British intransigence. Bullitt might have an excellent understanding of Russian communism; his Balkans strategy, however, remained militarily illiterate. Moreover, his latest political recommendation, namely that the President should threaten Stalin with a switch of American forces to the Pacific unless he agreed in writing not to Sovietize central Europe, was, at a time when the Western Allies did not have a single boot on the ground in Europe, less than realistic.\n\nNo, the fact was, the President had little option but to stick to his own program: refusing to countenance a quagmire in the Balkans or the northern Italian mountains, and instead holding to the timetable for a U.S.-British Second Front that had been agreed at Casablanca: spring 1944. This strategy, if followed, would at least take U.S. and British forces to Berlin, ending the Third Reich and saving the western part of Europe from Sovietization. He would meantime continue to press Stalin, in order to see if he could get the Soviets to sign up to his postwar plan and to declare war on Japan as soon as Germany was defeated. Without a genuine plan to launch a Second Front by 1944, however, it was unlikely to get very far, as Secretary Stimson had commented.\n\nTo produce such a genuine plan, he would have somehow to bring the British back into the fold, or the Second World War might well end in failure.\nPART EIGHT\n\n* * *\n\n#  _The Riot Act_\n**29**\n\n# The Davies Mission\n\nON THE SURFACE, the great victories at Stalingrad and then Tunisgrad boded well for Allied cooperation in eventually defeating the Third Reich.\n\nIn truth, however, relations with the Soviet Union were not good\u2014indeed were getting worse. Stalin's rejection of the President's invitation to the summit at Casablanca (or alternative venues the President had offered) had resulted in the sheer scale of the Russian war effort being underappreciated in the West. Even Stalin's own ambassador to Washington, Maxim Litvinov, had warned the Russian Foreign Ministry that such standoffish behavior was counterproductive, indeed would make it harder, not easier, to get the Western Allies to commit to a timely Second Front.\n\nStalin had paid no heed. This was hard for even the most sympathetic of American observers and reporters to understand. In terms of Allied military cooperation, Russia was, sadly, a write-off\u2014Stalin constantly demanding more U.S.-British convoyed deliveries of war materials to Murmansk, yet refusing to order Russian aircrews to fly out of northern Russia to protect them, lest they leave the borders of the Soviet Union and not come back. This had led to, and continued to result in, terrible British and American shipping losses, not only in Lend-Lease war materials and food but Allied lives as well. Nor would the paranoid dictator allow Allied officers, or representatives, to monitor whether the contents of the convoys were being efficiently unloaded at Murmansk, or were appropriate to actual Russian war needs. The Russians had also refused for months to respond to whether U.S. bomber crews could land in the Soviet Union if they bombed the Ploesti oil fields in Romania\u2014and when they finally did respond, they refused to allow Ploesti raids to be launched from Russian airfields, despite being at war with the Third Reich and its eastern European partners, Romania and Hungary. Whether it was paranoid fear that Russians might become infected by rich capitalist partners, or that Russia's capitalist allies might obtain genuine, accurate, and detailed information\u2014military, political, economic, social\u2014about the Soviet Union, no one really knew. Nor had this changed as the tide of war against Hitler turned. As Western diplomats and journalists\u2014who were forbidden to venture outside Moscow without close supervision\u2014complained, there was virtually not a single Russian who dared question, counter, or ignore Stalin's oppressive policies for fear of arrest, imprisonment, or even execution.\n\nMore troubling still had been the sickening revelation, in April 1943, that more than twenty thousand Polish officers, police officers, and members of the intelligentsia had, on Stalin's orders, been murdered in cold blood by Soviet occupation forces in 1940, during the time of the German-Soviet Nonaggression Pact.\n\nThat disclosure\u2014the decomposing Polish bodies unearthed by the Germans in the Katyn forest near the Russian city of Smolensk, but the Soviets denying culpability\u2014had given cause for grave trepidation in the West, especially among Polish forces in exile.\n\nNothing, but nothing, could excuse such mass murder. News of the massacre, at a moment when the tide of war had turned and the forces of the Third Reich seemed to be everywhere on the defensive, had offered the embattled Dr. Goebbels a heaven-sent opportunity to demonstrate to the German Volk, as well as people abroad, just how merciless a Russian victory in the war, and a subsequent Russian-imposed \"peace,\" would be.\n\nStalin naturally protested it was a Nazi ruse. He denounced the leader of the Polish government in exile for suggesting Russian complicity, loudly claiming the Nazis, not the Soviets, had been responsible for the massacre. Both Roosevelt and Churchill had on good authority been told the bitter truth, however: that it was Stalin himself who had given the orders for the mass execution in 1940.\n\nWith Stalin's Soviet Union such an uncooperative, undemocratic, often downright evil partner of the Western democracies\u2014though one that was still taking the brunt of casualties in the war against Hitler\u2014both Roosevelt and Churchill were put in the iniquitous position of publicly accepting, or declining to comment on, Russian lies over the Katyn massacre. Besides, in the balance of atrocities, the Germans were still way ahead of the Soviets, both in SS mass-murder concentration camps and in the treatment of Russian POWs. Continued do-or-die Russian resistance to Hitler on the Eastern Front was crucial\u2014no matter how ungrateful, paranoid, deceitful, and barbarous the Russians, and however chilling the prospect of postwar Sovietization.\n\nHow maintain that morally dubious anti-Nazi coalition, though\u2014let alone seek to move the Russian communists from their reign of terror into a more positive postwar world?\n\nIt was in this respect that the relationship, or partnership, between the President and the Prime Minister was of the highest importance for the history of humanity. And in Washington, in May 1943, Prime Minister Churchill was coming very close to breaking it.\n\nHitherto, Churchill had taken the same view as the President\u2014that the enemy of my enemy is my friend, however odious in certain respects. But with Churchill threatening to pull out of the Casablanca accords and refusing to mount a Second Front in 1944, the question arose: would Stalin remain a friend? As Secretary Stimson warned, without a cross-Channel invasion\u2014one that would force Hitler to fight on two fronts\u2014would not the Russians lose military respect or faith in the Western Allies, and be minded to seek an armistice with the Third Reich, even a new Ribbentrop Pact that would leave Hitler master still of all western and central Europe?\n\nRoosevelt didn't think Stalin would stoop to that, after the millions of casualties the German onslaught had already cost the Russians. But it could certainly undermine the President's attempts to get Russian agreement to make air bases available and declare war on Japan, if and when the war with Hitler was successfully concluded, as well as getting Soviet participation in the postwar security system the President had in mind. The Second Front, in other words, was a sine qua non: a test that the Western, democratic Allies _must_ meet if they were serious not only about the war but the postwar. Not footling around in the Mediterranean, but a willingness to face up to the war's greatest challenge: D-day, as it would become known.\n\nThe President thus changed his mind about a summit with Stalin\u2014feeling it would be better to keep Churchill _out of_ any meeting for the moment, if one could be obtained, lest the Prime Minister's opposition to a cross-Channel operation give away their weak hand: namely the fundamental unwillingness of the British to countenance the heavy casualties involved in a Second Front. Somehow, Roosevelt was aware, to defeat the Nazis he must keep the Russians fighting in the East\u2014and get the British to _fight_ in the West, not footle about in the South!\n\nThis was easier said than done. His cables to Stalin after Casablanca had deliberately, perhaps disingenuously, held out the possibility of a Second Front being mounted in the summer of 1943, after Husky; how then was he to explain to Stalin the Western Allies were not only abandoning any plans to launch a Second Front in 1943, but that the purpose of Churchill's current visit to Washington, together with a military staff of 160 advisers, was to argue against a Second Front _even in 1944?_ In fact, according to Churchill's Chief of the Imperial General Staff, that no Second Front should be planned before 1945 or even 1946?\n\n\"The Soviet troops have fought strenuously all winter and are continuing to do so,\" Stalin had assured the President in March. The F\u00fchrer had lost more than a whole army at Stalingrad, but he had many more at hand\u2014perhaps as many as two hundred divisions, including whole panzer armies. The Germans were preparing for \"spring and summer operations against the USSR,\" Stalin wrote; \"it is therefore particularly essential for us that the blow from the West be no longer delayed, that it be delivered this spring or in early summer\"\u2014i.e., 1943.\n\nIt was in this context that the President had summoned another former ambassador to Moscow, Joseph Davies, to the White House the day after Churchill set sail for Washington. As the President explained to Davies, he'd decided to send Stalin a new letter by hand, to be delivered in such a way that Stalin would be forced to respond to the President's renewed request for a private meeting.\n\nDavies was elderly and had been particularly naive in his acceptance of Russian propaganda regarding their communist show trials, arrests, and deportations in the 1930s. He was sincere in his judgment of Hitler and the barbarity of Nazism, however, and his evaluation of the Soviet will to defend Russia had proven more sophisticated than that of the U.S. military attach\u00e9 in Moscow\u2014in fact, he'd been the man who correctly reported to the President that Operation Barbarossa, Hitler's invasion of the USSR in June 1941, was going to fail. As an emissary to show goodwill and firmness of American purpose in prosecuting the war against Hitler, the President could not have chosen better. The new, private letter Davies would hand carry would be a direct, personal invitation from the President to meet somewhere that summer and resolve their differences over strategy and timing\u2014one the Russian dictator could not now refuse without giving offense to the President of the one country in the world supplying the Soviet Union with a significant amount of its war needs.\n\nThe Prime Minister was not now to be invited to the proposed summit, the President made clear in the letter\u2014though he could not give the true reason, even to Davies, who would doubtless be asked by the dictator, once he reached the Kremlin. Since the President could not reveal Churchill's impending visit to Washington and his reported unwillingness, supported by his chiefs of staff, to launch a timely Second Front, he had merely told Davies he wished to meet Stalin, informally, to discuss the long-term future with him. Not, in other words, to address the matter of impending operations, but rather the conclusion of the war: unconditional Axis surrender, winning the war against Japan, and the establishment of a postwar United Nations authority. It would be, the President explained to Davies, a preliminary discussion, man to man, without risking, Roosevelt told his emissary, any international arguments over British\u2014or French\u2014postwar colonial empires. \"Churchill will understand,\" the President had assured Davies when giving him his instructions in the Oval Office on May 5. \"I will take care of that.\"\n\nAs Davies set off for Moscow via the Middle East, Churchill had arrived in Washington\u2014and the Prime Minister's refusal to countenance a Second Front had only reinforced the President's determination to meet Stalin alone. Davies would hopefully convince the Russian dictator that the Western Allies were united and sincere in their commitment to launch a Second Front\u2014the President's willingness to travel halfway across the world to meet in person with the Russian leader surely a gauge of that sincerity.\n\nIn the meantime, however, the President was determined to bring Winston Churchill to heel, lest he and his huge military team cause the Grand Alliance, rather than the Third Reich, to collapse.\n\nThis, in essence, was the challenge of Trident: suborning Neptune.\n\nAdding to the behind-the-scenes war drama was the fact that the British chiefs of staff now parted company\u2014physically and metaphorically\u2014with their own Prime Minister.\n\nThe chiefs' weekend in Williamsburg, Virginia, went well\u2014the officers glad to be out of Washington not only to be able to relax but to get to know their Allied counterparts as human beings. Talks had then resumed at the Federal Reserve Board building at 10:30 a.m. on Tuesday, May 18, 1943.\n\nAdmiral Leahy, General Marshall, and Admiral King had feared the worst in terms of British intransigence, once back in uniform, so to speak. So worried, in fact, were the U.S. Joint Chiefs that they came to the table with a compromise whereby they would ask only for a minimum \"lodgment area\" across the English Channel in 1944, if the British were still so afraid of failure, and would only seek to expand it the following year, 1945.\n\nOnce seated in the room, however, it was to find the \"battle royal\" was already won. To their astonishment, the President's tactic of extreme hospitality appeared to have worked\u2014the weekend away in Williamsburg, with wholesome food and wine and civil conversation having seemingly done the trick. Aided also by Field Marshal Dill\u2014who'd reasoned with his successor as CIGS, General Brooke, that he must give in or risk a breakdown in what was a historic military coalition between the United States and Great Britain. The American people, the field marshal had made clear to his British compatriot, would not stand for the war in the Pacific being deliberately starved of men and resources for years, simply so the British could fiddle around in the Mediterranean\u2014leaving Hitler's legions in almost complete control of continental Europe. A firm date for a cross-Channel invasion _must_ be tied down, and the necessary forces assembled to make it work.\n\nA new paper on \"The Defeat of Germany\"\u2014not Italy\u2014had therefore been ordered from both planning staffs over the weekend, while the Prime Minister was away at Shangri-la, to define exactly how Hitler was to be brought to unconditional surrender\u2014namely by defeating Germany, not simply Mussolini's Italy. By Monday night, May 17, the British version, approved by General Brooke, had been ready. When General Marshall read it through at the meeting on Tuesday, May 18, he was delighted. Though it talked a lot about further interim operations in the Mediterranean, it \"appeared that [even] if Mediterranean operations were undertaken in the interval, a target date for April 1944 should be agreed on for cross-Channel operations.\" In writing.\n\nGeneral Marshall breathed a sigh of relief. Brooke then confirmed this was the case, the date formally recorded in the minutes of the meeting.\n\nApril 1944.\n\n_Mirabile dictu,_ Marshall reflected. General Brooke had seemingly dropped his call for a postponement of a Second Front until 1945 or 1946, and was now definitely onboard\u2014if, in the meantime, operations in the Mediterranean were allowed to continue that summer. \"The rate of build-up of German forces in western Europe would greatly exceed our own on the Continent unless Mediterranean operations were first undertaken to divert or occupy German reinforcements,\" Brooke maintained. \"If these operations were first undertaken,\" Brooke conceded, \"April 1944 might well be right for a target date, though the actual operation would be more likely to be possible of achievement in May or June.\"\n\nGenuine, serious military preparations for a massive spring 1944 cross-Channel invasion by the Western Allies could now commence, the generals agreed\u2014with only the thorny question left as to how far to limit interim 1943\u201344 operations in the Mediterranean so that they did not prejudice preparations for D-day.\n\nLeahy, Marshall, and King were still skeptical. The matter of \"interim\" operations in the Mediterranean would, they predicted, prove tortuous\u2014but at Marshall's insistence a formal commitment to D-day had been given by the British, in writing. Some seven battle-hardened U.S. and British divisions would be withdrawn that very fall from the Mediterranean theater to the United Kingdom. There they would begin training and rehearsals for the spring 1944 D-day assault. It seemed a reasonable compromise.\n\nFor Secretary Stimson, at the Pentagon, the British climbdown was as much a relief as it was to General Marshall.\n\nThe Prime Minister, meantime, had been kept well away from the daily Combined Chiefs meetings. Instead, he had been pressed by the President to go address a joint session of Congress again\u2014\"a very good speech, noteable for its good, downright eloquence,\" Stimson recorded, after attending the performance on Capitol Hill, \"on the main lines of war history and strategy and also for the adroitness with which he avoided any allusions to the real points of issue which are now being fought over between the staffs of the two countries.\n\n\"These points of difference have come out sharply in the two plans and it is taking all Marshall's tact and adroitness to steer the conference through to a result which will not be a surrender but which will not be an open clash. The President seemed to be helping us,\" Stimson added\u2014Mr. Roosevelt adopting the same approach as his U.S. team, as \"indicated by his telephone talk with me the other evening.\" The President, Marshall had reported to the Secretary, was not only \"taking the same line\" but \"insisting that the planners decide what will be the cost in shipping and men for the 'big point' (as the President called it)\": the cross-Channel invasion. Only when these requirements had been met would the planners be permitted, the President had said, to \"determine from what is left over what can be done otherwise\" in the Mediterranean.\n\nThe Second Front, in other words, would now be First Priority for the Western Allies.\n\nAs to the sincerity of the British volte face not all were convinced, however. Admiral King, in particular, remained less than happy. Though the British seemed resigned to join the U.S. in launching a Second Front invasion in April or May 1944, they were insisting on so many landing craft, naval forces, air forces, ground forces, and logistics being assigned in the \"interim\" to the Mediterranean that\u2014in King's eyes\u2014this could well prejudice the success of the primary cross-Channel strategy. More significantly to King\u2014a true believer in prosecuting the war in the Pacific more robustly, now that the Americans and Australians were on the successful offensive there\u2014such an interim policy threatened to slow down Nimitz's and MacArthur's plans, thus allowing the Japanese to \"dig in.\" The result would inevitably be grave American casualties\u2014an aspect that seemed not to register with the British, whose main forces were being held in India as an army of colonial occupation, and were making every excuse not to take the offensive against the Japanese.\n\nThere was, moreover, public impatience in America to consider.\n\n\"I am very much afraid that, if the British succeed in getting us pulled out any further onto the limb in the Mediterranean,\" Stimson noted, \"we shall face a widespread loss of support for the war among our people.\" This was serious. \"Polls show that the public would be very much more interested in beating Japan than in beating the European Axis [powers],\" he acknowledged, thanks to Pearl Harbor\u2014something that could easily translate into \"all kinds of personal and party politics\" that could damage the bipartisan, \"Germany First\" war effort. This danger extended, he knew, to his fellow Republicans across the country, who were once again demanding that General MacArthur be recalled from Australia to stand in the 1944 presidential election\u2014a campaign in which MacArthur would doubtless call for a switch of U.S. priority to the Pacific to face not Hitler, but America's \"true\" enemy, Japan.\n\nWhat Stimson and Marshall failed to realize, however, was that General Brooke had now parted company with his prime minister\u2014and that Winston Churchill would be the problem, not the British chiefs of staff.\n**30**\n\n# A Dozen Dieppes in a Day\n\nSEATED AT THE Federal Reserve Board in the Combined Chiefs of Staff meetings, General Brooke had failed to noticed the Prime Minister's increasingly divergent trajectory. Even the President, living with the Prime Minister each day at the White House, had been unaware of what Churchill was saying behind his back.\n\nHearing from Admiral Leahy on May 18 that the British chiefs had backed off their opposition to a 1944 or 1945 invasion of France, the President had been delighted by news of his team's success. This would be of inestimable help when and if he met with Stalin, since he would now be able to reveal to the Russian leader, in person and in all honesty, a firm date for the Second Front. It would be a formal U.S.-British military commitment that, even though Stalin had fervently hoped it would take place in 1943, would nevertheless encourage the Soviets to hold out against Hitler's impending summer offensive on the Eastern Front.\n\nThe President was crowing too early, however.\n\nThe first intimation the Prime Minister was charting his own course in opposition even to his own British team had come on the evening of May 18, 1943\u2014reported to the President by none other than the Canadian prime minister, Mackenzie King, who had accepted the President's invitation to attend the latest meeting of the Pacific War Council and to stay at the White House.\n\nFrom his train, Mackenzie King had gone to Pennsylvania Avenue to settle in and have a word with his fellow prime minister. It had been 6:00 p.m., but Churchill was in bed, in the Queen Elizabeth Room on the second floor. He had looked \"very frail,\" and was wearing \"a white night-gown of black and white silk,\" King described in his diary. \"He has lost the florid coloring and his face was quite white. Looked soft and flabby. He had a glass of Scotch beside him near his bed,\" and \"looked to be very tired\"\u2014as well he might. On a special writing tray Churchill was still, after some seven hours, working on the draft of the address the President had asked him to give to Congress the following day. He was keen for Mackenzie King to read the text\u2014anxious not to say anything impolitic, given that people in Washington were already talking about the 1944 presidential election, still more than a year away. \"He indicated that he had not completed his speech and would be taking a little sleep before dinner, which I took to mean that he would not wish the conversation to take up too long.\"\n\nThe two prime ministers had first talked of the recent Allied victory in Tunisia, where General von Arnim had finally surrendered on May 12. It was \"really shocking\" Churchill claimed, \"the way the Germans came in at the end\"\u2014\"giving themselves up, falling and crawling; some of them waving plumes [white flags], and [he] said that an hour before, when they thought they could win, they were most savage and brutal. He imitated their different attitudes in his own face.\"\n\nThis was vintage Churchill: his vivid imagination running free (since he had obviously not been present at the surrender), yet amazingly astute in his reading of German moral duplicity: able to switch from barbarous hubris toward other humans to shameless appeals for \"humanitarian\" clemency when they themselves were overpowered.\n\nOnce again Mackenzie King found himself entranced by the British prime minister's mind and his colorful use of language. They swiftly moved on to the reason for Churchill's presence in Washington, however. \"Churchill began to tell me about the conferences here,\" King noted in his diary that night. \"Said that they were discussing the plans. That he and the Americans were very good in accepting Roosevelt's decisions in the end\"\u2014as they had at Casablanca. \"He thought that he and Roosevelt were very much of the same view,\" even if there were \"differences of emphasis.\"\n\nPrime Minister King was baffled. This was not what he'd been told that very afternoon on his visit to the Canadian legation in Washington. There he'd been informed that \"the Americans were pressing for a cross-Channel Second Front\"\u2014\"invasion from the North\"\u2014whereas \"the British plan was for invasion [of Europe] from the South, either through the Balkans or [southern] France. Views had not yet been reconciled.\"\n\nHow, then, could Roosevelt and Churchill be on the same page? Was Churchill now accepting the President's Second Front strategy? Or was the President accepting Churchill's new strategy\u2014and what was it, in fact? A second Dardanelles? Had he misunderstood? What was Churchill really saying\u2014or not saying?\n\nIt was at this point that Churchill made clear \"that as far as he was concerned, the plan was to follow on the decisions of the Casablanca conference,\" which had authorized landings in Sicily in July that year, in Operation Husky\u2014 _but had not explicitly gone further than that,_ he now claimed. \"The thing to do was to get Italy out of the war,\" Churchill explained. \"Altogether he believed this could be done, and said he would not treat them [Italians] too badly if they were to give up and particularly if they were to yield up their fleet. If he could get the fleet, he would be prepared to use it to attack the Japanese.\" Meantime, however, there was the matter of Europe\u2014and the defeat of Hitler. \"The plan was to start the invasion of Europe through Sicily and Sardinia,\" Churchill now told Mackenzie King, confidentially, \"either on through the Balkans or possibly through [southern] France depending on how matters developed.\" It would be easier than a cross-Channel attack.\n\n\"They would be getting footholds all along the way, and Russia might put on a very strong offensive and they [the Allies] would be working toward Russia\"\u2014via \"southern Europe,\" the Prime Minister explained. \"There was a chance, too, that Turkey might come in,\" King noted Churchill's words, \"though not until she got plenty of equipment. He was not pressing her at present.\"\n\nKing\u2014aware that the Pacific Council would have to wrestle with the implications of Churchill's alternative new strategy, so similar to his notorious failure in World War I\u2014pressed Winston to explain in more detail.\n\nLest there be any misunderstanding, Churchill privately confided that he remained as implacably opposed to the notion of a cross-Channel Second Front as he had been the year before\u2014indeed _more_ so, now, after the catastrophe of Dieppe. \"Speaking of invasion [of France] from the North,\" across the English Channel, \"he said that he did not want to see the beaches of Europe covered with slain bodies of Canadians and Americans. That there might be many Dieppes [suffered] in a few days,\" were such an operation to be launched. \"That he, himself, could provide 16 divisions which would include ours [i.e., Canadians] but there was only one American division in England. This was all they had against the numerous divisions Germany could muster; unless Americans were prepared to send a large number of divisions to cross at the same time, he did not see how they could attempt anything of the kind.\" It would be, King again recalled Winston's actual words, \"slaughter\"\u2014\"a dozen Dieppes in a day.\" \"I thought,\" King noted, \"this was pretty strong language.\"\n\nMackenzie King was now doubly dubious as to Churchill's claim that he and the President\u2014let alone the U.S. chiefs of staff\u2014were of the same mind. \"I asked if the Americans were likely to make much difficulty over these particular plans,\" King noted. \"He replied that the President and he were very close together; that they could not settle all these things at once. They had to run along for a time\"\u2014in order to dupe the U.S. Joint Chiefs. \"The President was inclined more his way and he thought that his [U.S] chiefs of staff would accept loyally his decisions in the end.\"\n\nMackenzie King said nothing. In truth he was gobsmacked, however.\n\nYes, the President had indeed insisted, at their last meeting, in December 1942, that further operations should first be carried out in the Mediterranean in 1943, in order to learn the hard, attritional lessons of modern war before attempting anything as hazardous as a cross-Channel invasion. But the President had never said anything to suggest he believed the Allies should attempt to defeat the Third Reich by attacking from the south. Was Churchill, with his \"glass of Scotch\" on the table beside his bed, making this all up? Was he living\u2014as he tended to do, in the eyes of the abstemious Canadian who had vowed not to drink liquor for the duration of the war\u2014in an alcohol-laced cocoon? Alcohol seemed certainly to fuel Churchill's fertile imagination and brilliant rhetorical skills\u2014but did it equip him to _listen_ to what President Roosevelt and the Combined Chiefs were telling him rather than to his own voice?\n\nDimly, though, Churchill seemed aware the President had been keeping him away from the Combined Chiefs of Staff over the weekend\u2014indeed from anyone who might become alarmed over his Mediterranean ambitions. \"He said that the President and he had been off together at Blue Ridge over the week-end,\" at Shangri-la. The following weekend, however, Churchill \"wanted to see a few friends,\" and was going to insist he be allowed to stay at the British Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue, where he could meet with and telephone anyone he wanted. \"Thus far, he had not seen hardly any.\"\n\nKing was somewhat alarmed, but held his tongue, unwilling to disconcert Churchill on the eve of his important appearance before Congress\u2014which, as prime minister of Canada, King had been invited to attend.\n\nMackenzie King's worst fears indeed materialized the next day when, at the Capitol at midday on May 19\u2014the very day Ambassador Davies arrived in Moscow bearing the President's private letter to Stalin\u2014Churchill followed up his congressional address by talking frankly to senior members of Congress.\n\n\"After the luncheon, members of the Senate and representatives of the foreign committee came into the room, and Mr. Churchill was subjected to a quiz,\" Mackenzie King\u2014who attended this meeting, too\u2014recorded that night in his diary. \"He faced squarely the question as to strategy. Told those present that he felt the great objective now was to knock Italy out of the war.\" This would, he said, \"clear the Mediterranean which would mean a through route to India, China; make all the contacts with the Orient much easier. He believed the great offensive was coming against Germany on the part of Russia,\" and \"in the Southern part by allied forces pressing up through the Balkans, and there would be a relief of the pressure on Russia. They might, too, get some of the satellite states of Germany to change their attitude. They would also get additional help from Yugoslavia where some 10 [Italian] divisions were tied up there which could be added to the allied numbers. Thought that all this would be helpful to Stalin. He thought the Germans could be driven entirely out of Italy and would probably leave Italy to look after herself.\"\n\nKing was puzzled. Driven entirely out of Italy? Churchill's forecast of Hitler's likely reaction to an Allied invasion of Italy and the Balkans\u2014especially after the example of German tenacity in reinforcing Tunisia over the past six months\u2014sounded disturbingly naive, even schoolboyish. His prediction, moreover, seemed at odds\u2014very poor odds\u2014with his defeatism concerning the prospects for a Second Front. To the postprandial group of senators and congressmen, Churchill \"made it pretty plain,\" King noted, \"he did not favor any immature attack on Europe from the North,\" across the English Channel. \"He spoke of the few divisions they have in Britain\u2014I think 18 altogether including our own, only 1 American division, and that Hitler was able to move many divisions from one part of the continent to the other in a very short time. Referred to the scarcity of ships, etc\"\u2014going \"pretty far in making clear the plan is to attack across the Mediterranean into Europe either via [southern] France, Sicily or further East [in the Balkans], without designating what locality would be first.\"\n\nEven more astonishing to the Canadian prime minister was Churchill's complete lack of shame or caution in opposing the President's strategy in front of U.S. lawmakers, behind the President's back\u2014having \"instructed them,\" Mackenzie King noted, that with regard to questions they were welcome \"to try and knock him off his [strategic] perch.\" He even outlined the idea of a \"peace conference,\" similar to Versailles in 1919, that would take place, perhaps in England, at the end of hostilities\u2014with both Republican as well as Democratic members of Congress \"invited\" to participate.\n\nVersailles, then, moved to Westminster . . .\n\nThat Churchill was playing a dangerous double game became clear later that afternoon when the President invited the Combined Chiefs of Staff to the White House, following their afternoon meeting at the Federal Reserve Building. The President had heard via Admiral Leahy that the chiefs had confirmed their agreement to an April or May 1944 cross-Channel Second Front\u2014but that tempers in the morning's meeting, when addressing remaining \"interim\" operations in 1943, had become so frayed the secretaries had been asked to leave the room while the chiefs dueled it out.\n\nGeneral Marshall's contention that further operations in the Mediterranean that fall would inevitably suck in the forces needed for a successful cross-Channel attack had hit home\u2014Brooke defending his own strategy by claiming a cross-Channel attack would never succeed unless the Wehr- macht was first forced to fight hard not only on the Russian front but in Italy. Heavy fighting in Italy was thus the prerequisite of a successful invasion in the spring of 1944. \"After the capture of a bridgehead\" in northern France, \"a Cherbourg might be seized, but the provision of the necessary forces to cover this would be difficult unless the Germans were greatly weakened or unable to find reserves,\" Brooke had warned. A serious military campaign in Italy, in other words, would be the weakening blow: essential in order to make the April or May 1944 operation work.\n\nMarshall had countered that such a strategy might very well achieve the opposite. The British, he'd summarized, were exaggerating the ease of a campaign in Italy, while perilously underestimating the need to throw maximum logistical effort into the real priority: the cross-Channel invasion. It should, Marshall reminded Brooke and the other committee members, \"be remembered that in North Africa a relatively small German force had produced a serious factor of delay to our operations,\" given the mountainous terrain. \"A German decision to support [defend] Italy might make intended operations extremely difficult and time consuming.\"\n\nNo truer warning to the British was ever given in World War II\u2014though Brooke would never admit, either then or in retrospect, that Marshall was right. Marshall had, Brooke merely confided to his diary that night, \"suggested that the meeting should be cleared for an 'off the record' meeting between Chiefs of Staff alone. We then had a heart to heart and as a result of it at last found a bridge across which we could meet! Not altogether a satisfactory one, but far better than a break up of the conference.\"\n\nThe compromise was certainly vague and open-ended. Rather than halting major offensive operations in the Mediterranean after the successful seizure of Sicily, as the President and Marshall wished, Eisenhower would be authorized to capitalize on any signs of an Italian collapse to seize airfields in southern Italy\u2014but only assigning experienced Allied forces for the remainder of the summer. Then\u2014at the very latest on November 1, 1943\u2014the best battle-hardened U.S. and British divisions were to be withdrawn from combat and transferred to Britain to prepare for D-day. This, they all agreed, should be mounted either in April or in early May, 1944.\n\nThis compromise, confirmed by all, had duly been reported by the Combined Chiefs when summoned to meet with the President in the Oval Office at 6:00 p.m.\n\nThey were then joined by the Prime Minister, on his return from the Capitol.\n\nNine Allied divisions were to be ferried in the assault across the English Channel on D-day itself, with twenty more in the days that followed\u2014a massive rolling offensive backed by Allied air power and naval support. Whatever was left in the Mediterranean could be used by Eisenhower to \"eliminate Italy from the war and contain the maximum number of German divisions.\"\n\nAccording to the minutes of the Oval Office meeting, \"the PRIME MINISTER indicated his pleasure that the Conference was progressing as well as it was and also that a cross-Channel operation had finally been agreed upon. He had always been in favor of such an operation and had to submit to its delay in the past for reasons beyond control of the United Nations.\"\n\nGiven what Churchill had told U.S. congressional representatives _that very afternoon_ \u2014namely, that he did not favor what he saw as a \"dozen Dieppes in a day\" on the beaches of northern France\u2014and given that he favored, instead, an Allied offensive through Italy and the Balkans, this was tantamount to perjury, unless the Prime Minister had truly had a Pauline conversion.\n\nOnly time would tell.\n**31**\n\n# The Future of the World at Stake\n\nHALF AN HOUR after the Combined Chiefs departed the White House, the President dined upstairs with Mackenzie King, Churchill, and Crown Princess Martha of Norway.\n\nIn deference to Princess Martha, the three leaders put aside any discussion of military strategy, and after the meal the President arranged for a Sherlock Holmes film to be shown as light relief. Churchill then \"begged off\" and went to bed, as did Princess Martha, leaving the President to talk quietly with his Canadian guest.\n\nGingerly, Mackenzie King sought to find out the President's intentions, in terms of Allied military strategy. \"Tonight when I was talking alone with the President and asking how he and Churchill had got on, he said he thought an agreement was practically in final shape by now; that he, himself, would probably want to recast it a little more in the way of bringing up to the beginning some matters that were near the end.\"\n\nThe British had said they couldn't carry out the Anakim offensive to which they'd committed themselves at Casablanca, and there had been initial, heated discussion of this; the primary decision, however, was the Second Front in 1944. The President wanted to ensure the British commitment was not only firm but set down in ink, on paper, and in official accords\u2014which Admiral Leahy, the Combined Chiefs chairman, had assured him would be drawn up formally by the weekend. As the President explained to Mackenzie King, it was vital to tie down and chain the wily British to a solid commitment, not simply rely on the understanding he thought they had come to at Casablanca. \"He wanted to emphasize the building up of the forces in Britain so as to be certain of an attack from the North in the spring of 1944. He said he felt that this was the top feature of it all. He did not use that expression but that was the inference. It meant the determining blow in the spring of next year.\"\n\nListening to this, King was somewhat perplexed. Given what Churchill had said openly at the Capitol, in King's hearing, it seemed the President and the British prime minister, though sleeping under the same roof, were poles apart. Mackenzie King therefore relayed to the President what Churchill had said at the Capitol\u2014including the Prime Minister's remarks about a Versailles-type conference in London.\n\nPresident Roosevelt \"put his hands to his face and shook his head, a bit as much as to say he wished that part had been left well alone,\" King recorded the President's pained reaction. \"He then said to me that he did not know that there would be any peace conference,\" given its connotation with Versailles 1919. \"As far as he was concerned, there would be total surrender\" of Germany and Japan. And certainly nothing \"in the nature of a Versailles conference,\" which Congress would have to ratify.\n\nHearing of Churchill's behavior at the Capitol, the President had reason to be anxious, however. He liked Winston, in fact he felt enormous affection, bordering on love, for him at times. But he had cause never to quite trust him\u2014and for that reason he preferred to see Stalin alone, without the Prime Minister. Who knew if Churchill would start hedging over the Second Front, if they met _\u00e0 trois?_\n\nIt was going to be difficult enough to explain to Stalin that the Western Allies were not going to launch a Second Front before spring 1944. If Churchill, in a tripartite meeting, were to begin talking in front of Stalin of dumping the invasion of France and concentrating Allied efforts instead in the Mediterranean and the Balkans, the Soviets\u2014preparing at that very moment for the onslaught of _fifty-nine_ concentrated German divisions aimed toward Kursk\u2014would rightfully be incensed: vitiating any hope of the Third Reich being defeated any time soon, or of Russian assistance in the war against Japan, or of arriving at a common postwar security agreement. The notion of a United Nations assembly, with a security council of the Four Policemen acting in concert, would thus be out the window.\n\nThe President's postwar vision still filled King with awe\u2014as did King's possible role in it. According to the President, the United Nations organization would have a \"supreme council representing all the United Nations,\" and would need at its head \"someone who would fill the position of moderator\u2014someone who would keep his eye on the different countries to see that they were complying with the agreements made in connection with the peace, for example, limitation of armaments, not rebuilding, munitions, etc\u2014not be allowed to build airplanes or any of the paraphernalia of war. It would be the Moderator's duty possibly to warn in advance and, if necessary, to have the council meet to take such action as necessary\"\u2014a person who would \"have the confidence of all the nations.\" And, having abjured any idea he himself might take that role, after the presidency, Roosevelt intimated he thought Mackenzie King, at the end of the war, would make an excellent such secretary general.\n\nKing was understandably flattered\u2014but in the meantime, like Roosevelt, he remained perplexed by the contradictions in Churchill's character. At the Pacific War Council, Winston had flatly denied in front of the Chinese representative that he'd ever made a formal undertaking to mount Operation Anakim, a British offensive from Indian territory to help China\u2014even though Dr. T. V. Soong had documentary evidence of the commitment.\n\nLike Mackenzie King, the President had shaken his head over such unnecessary falsehoods\u2014\"The President said that the trouble with Winston is that he cannot get over thinking of the Chinese as so many pigtails.\" Similarly, over India, Churchill was as stubborn and indifferent to world opinion as he could get away with\u2014having instructed the viceroy of India to make sure the American minister in Delhi not be permitted to interfere in any way with Mahatma Gandhi's 1943 hunger strike\u2014and cabling Lord Halifax to tell all Americans in Washington that the British government \"will not in any circumstances alter the course it is pursuing about Gandhi,\" even if this resulted in Gandhi's death. He'd insisted, moreover, on speaking in public of \"British forces\" rather than \"British Commonwealth forces\"\u2014which was much resented in Canada, and would be even more resented once Canadian forces went into combat in Sicily. Churchill was, in short, a law unto himself\u2014and yet the repository of such underlying humanity, understanding of history, and noble sentiment that it was impossible not to admire him.\n\nThe question, then, remained: Would Churchill stand by what he'd told the President and Combined Chiefs of Staff earlier that evening in the Oval Office\u2014or by what he'd told members of Congress that afternoon at the Capitol?\n\nThe matter was not academic; the future of the world was literally at stake\u2014and Prime Minister Mackenzie King now watched Churchill's double game with growing concern.\n\nWhen addressing the Pacific War Council the next day, May 20, at noon, Churchill refrained from discussing strategy in Europe in front of the President. Late in the afternoon, however, the Prime Minister addressed a special meeting of the chiefs of staff of Britain and Canada and representatives of other parts of the British Empire, held in the White House dining room, which the President had kindly made available to him.\n\nLord Halifax, who attended this \"imperial\" meeting, dismissed it in his diary. Churchill's \"long speech of fifty minutes about the war\" had been \"very well done but with nothing very fresh in it except two or three things that could have been said in five minutes. I never saw anybody who loves the sound of words, and his own words more.\" General Brooke, exhausted by the Combined Chiefs of Staff meetings (involving yet another \"off the record\" battle), dozed off, but Mackenzie King listened very, very carefully.\n\n\"After a moment's pause,\" King recorded that night, Churchill \"started in saying he would sharpen and heighten somewhat the points he had made in his address before Congress.\" This the British prime minister proceeded to do, \"following pretty much the sequence\" King had heard on the Hill. In this there was \"little else that was new.\" \"The most interesting part,\" King noted that night, however, \"was the account he gave as to why it would be advisable to proceed against Europe from Africa as a base.\" It was, Churchill stated, \"advisable to get ahold of a few islands in the Mediterranean, use them as stepping-stones toward Europe. The great effort should be made to get Italy out of the war.\"\n\nFew could argue with this\u2014or with Churchill's magnanimity. Unconditional surrender was an agreed Allied policy, but one should not be \"too particular about the terms on which peace could be made with Italy,\" Churchill suggested. \"Her people had never had their hearts in the war. He was not anxious to see their country destroyed. If he could get the Italian fleet, that would be an immense gain. He would then have more ships to be employed against the Japanese . . .\" With regard to the Second Front, whether in 1943 or 1944, he was strangely reticent, however\u2014and King remained uncertain whether Churchill had really changed his view that it \"would be slaughter.\"\n\nGiven the loss of so many Canadian lives in the Dieppe assault the previous August, Mackenzie King was understandably sensitive to this, having noted it was \"pretty strong language and indicated a feeling that Dieppe had been a real sacrifice, perhaps an unnecessary one.\" At any rate, the \"picture he presented was of the beaches being long and in stratas; in some places, water deeper than others. Very difficult to land troops. He was determined not to have men sacrificed anymore than could be helped.\"\n\nWhatever the U.S. and British chiefs might agree upon, then, it was still questionable whether Churchill was really willing to commit British and Canadian troops to a Second Front. In fact he \"spoke emphatically about not being in too great a hurry to invade Europe even from the South,\" Mackenzie King noted. \"He said opinion was divided as to the best way to win against Germany. Some thought bombing would be sufficient. There was no harm, however, in trying other methods, as well, while trying to do the best they could with bombing.\"\n\nIf bombing was Churchill's only plan to defeat Germany, it did not sound very convincing to King. Moreover, it was certainly not how the President and the Combined Chiefs of Staff, in their long and trying meetings, were approaching the question of how to vanquish the Third Reich and move on to defeat Japan. Churchill seemed unabashed, though. He was not, as King recognized, a strategist in the true sense of the word, but an _opportunist_ \u2014opposed down to his entrails to \"giving commitments versus tactics,\" as King noted. And with that the Commonwealth meeting had ended.\n\nMackenzie King was to spend the night aboard his train, since he would be returning to Canada, via New York, on May 21. Harry Hopkins had asked King to see the President before leaving the White House, however, and this the Canadian did after midday, on the twenty-first, in the Oval Office. Despite the heat the President \"looked very fresh and cool. Was seated on his swing chair. I sat to his left looking out of the window toward the garden. A lovely feeling. An ideal office with a little court opening out of the room.\" The President seemed confident the Allies now had an agreed plan for winning the war\u2014and one he could put to Stalin, confiding again to King his invitation to meet the Russian dictator in the Bering Strait.\n\nWhat might be Churchill's reaction at being deliberately excluded, the President then asked King, given Churchill's erratic position over a Second Front? To encourage the President, King assured him that Winston\u2014who had, after all, had his own private meeting with Stalin the previous summer\u2014would get over it. Besides, the main thing was not the Prime Minister's pride or dependability, but the President's hugely important global goal\u2014moral, military, and political\u2014that promised to shape the postwar world.\n\nOn that note the two leaders parted company\u2014though King wanted also to say goodbye to Churchill. He therefore walked from the Oval Office through to the White House mansion and up to Churchill's guestroom, just after 1:00 p.m. There he found the Prime Minister still in his underwear, dressed \"in his white linen under-garments; little shirt without sleeves and little shorts to his knees, otherwise feet quite bare excepting for a pair of slippers. He really was quite a picture but looked like a boy\u2014cheeks quite pink and very fresh.\"\n\nKing said he wanted \"to be perfectly clear in my own mind what is to be done,\" in terms of military strategy\u2014strategy that involved tens of thousands of Canadian lives\u2014lest there be any misunderstanding.\n\nTo this, Churchill responded by saying \"there will be no invasion of Europe this year from Britain. I tell you that\"\u2014but the Mediterranean was another matter. There, Canadian troops would shortly take part in the invasion of Sicily in July, to gain battle experience. Canadians would, in fact, \"be in the forefront of the battle.\" Moreover, instead of returning direct to London, Churchill himself was going \"to Africa from here\"\u2014a \"dead secret.\"\n\nWhat of Allied war strategy _beyond Sicily,_ though?\n\nDelicately, King \"did say that I thought there was a certain possibility of divergence of view\" between the senior Canadian forces' commander and \"some of the plans he, Churchill, had in mind; also between some of the plans that our own chiefs of staff or the British chiefs might have.\" The Canadian War Cabinet was prepared to go along with what would \"best serve\" the need to win the war\u2014but only a strategy that was feasible \"in the opinion of the military advisers who had charge of the strategy of the war.\" In other words, the Combined Chiefs of Staff.\n\nChurchill, somewhat surprised, reassured King there was no divergence\u2014indeed that King was at liberty to speak with General Brooke, the CIGS, before returning to Canada, if he was in any way unsure or confused.\n\nStill the Canadian prime minister remained skeptical, however. He had another talk with the Canadian minister of national defense that afternoon\u2014who said he had it direct from Brigadier Jacob, Churchill's military assistant, that the strategy agreed by the Combined Chiefs of Staff would now stand. \"In the light of this,\" King noted, \"I thought it was just as well not to attempt to see Sir Allen [ _sic_ ] Brooke. It might have looked to the Defense Ministers that I was distrustful of them\"\u2014and of Churchill.\n\nThat he had every right to be, however, would only become clear after Mackenzie King's departure.\n**32**\n\n# The President Loses Patience\n\nEVEN GENERAL BROOKE was disbelieving.\n\nThe President had spent the weekend at Shangri-la, while Winston Churchill moved for a few days to more comfortable quarters at the British Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue. Once the two leaders returned to the White House, however, the Combined Chiefs of Staff were asked to come to the Oval Office\u2014and on the afternoon of Monday, May 24, they did: there to present the final terms of the Trident agreement. When they sat down before the President and Prime Minister, however, it was to find Neptune flatly refusing to accept the agreement they had reached.\n\nBrooke had known his prime minister to be an occasionally maddening individual\u2014obstinate, brilliant, sometimes tender, sometimes rude, and with a predilection for chasing red herrings. But to behave like a spoiled adolescent in front of the President of the United States of America\u2014a president who was not only directing a global war but was furnishing the materials and fighting men to win it\u2014seemed to Brooke the height of folly.\n\nAs Brooke understood it, the Combined Chiefs had been summoned to be thanked. Instead, Brooke found, \"the PM entirely repudiated the paper we had passed, agreed to, and been congratulated on at our last meeting!!\" as he recorded with exasperation that night. \"He wished to alter all the Mediterranean decisions! He had no idea of the difficulties we had been through,\" the Ulsterman exploded in the privacy of his diary, \"and just crashed in 'where angels fear to tread.' As a result he created [a] situation of suspicion in the American Chiefs that we had been [going] behind their backs, and had made matters far more difficult for us in the future!\"\n\nBrooke was riven by shame and embarrassment. \"There are times when he drives me to desperation! Now we are threatened by a redraft by him and more difficulties tomorrow!\"\n\nGeneral Marshall was equally furious. Admiral King boiled. Admiral Leahy, as chairman of the Combined Chiefs, was simply outraged. \"From four-thirty to seven p.m. the British and American Chiefs of Staff presented to the President and the Prime Minister their report of agreements reached during the present conference,\" he noted in his own diary that night. \"The Prime Minister refused to accept the Mediterranean agreement.\"\n\nThe Combined Chiefs' report had made no commitment by the Allies to invade mainland Italy, but instead only to \"plan such operations in exploitation of Husky as are best calculated to eliminate Italy from the war, and to contain\"\u2014either by threat or by operations\u2014\"the maximum number of German divisions\" while the cross-Channel invasion of northern France was readied for launching on May 1, 1944.\n\nMr. Churchill, Leahy noted in exasperation, had other ideas. He \"spent an hour advocating an invasion of Italy with a possible extension to Yugoslavia and Greece.\"\n\nLeahy was as incredulous as Brooke. An \"extension\" of operations to Yugoslavia, Greece, and the Aegean that risked making a May 1944 cross-Channel Second Front impossible? Churchill was undeterred, however\u2014and adamant.\n\nSince Churchill was not only British prime minister but quasi\u2013commander in chief of all British Commonwealth forces, this was a major stumbling block. \"Final decision was by his request postponed until tomorrow,\" Leahy recorded.\n\nAs Brooke feared, this made the U.S. team almost apoplectic. Oh, perfidious Albion! \"The Prime Minister's attitude is an exact agreement with the permanent British policy of controlling the Mediterranean Sea, regardless of what may be the result of the war,\" Leahy noted in disgust in his diary. \"It has been consistently opposed by the American Chiefs of Staff,\" he added, \"because of the probability that American troops will be used in the Mediterranean Area\"\u2014\"at the expense of direct action against Germany.\" It was a Churchillian demand \"which in our opinion [will] prolong the war.\" If, that was, it did not lose it.\n\nIn shock and no little confusion, the British and American chiefs were ushered out of the White House and into their cars.\n\nChurchill went straight to his room. After dinner and a movie there was a meeting in the President's Map Room, with Harry Hopkins and the Prime Minister's chief of staff, General Ismay.\n\nIn the narrow, windowless room, its walls hung with giant maps and thousands of the most secret reports, cables, and memoranda locked in filing cabinets in the center, the President pulled no punches. The date for the cross-Channel invasion was now set, he told Churchill, and the forces for it must be withdrawn from the Mediterranean by November 1, 1943\u2014period.\n\nChurchill was furious. Returning finally to his room at 2:00 a.m., the Prime Minister summoned his doctor.\n\nSir Charles Wilson found \"the P.M. pacing his room\"\u2014and blaming the President. \"There was no welcoming smile. When I asked him how he had been he did not answer. He had other things to think about besides his health. He stopped and said abruptly, 'Have you noticed that the President is a very tired man? His mind seems closed; he seems to have lost his wonderful elasticity.'\"\n\nDr. Wilson\u2014ignorant of the cause\u2014watched as Churchill \"went up and down his room, scowling at the floor.\" \"The President is not willing to put pressure on Marshall,\" he explained. \"He is not in favour of landing in Italy. It is most discouraging. I only crossed the Atlantic for this purpose. I cannot let the matter rest where it is.\"\n\nDr. Wilson could prescribe sleeping medication, but he could do nothing to change the situation. Nor could Churchill. The President had said no\u2014and there was little that could be done without seriously undermining, even wrecking, the Western alliance. The Prime Minister would have to accept defeat. The die, after all, was now cast. Even the Canadians were getting ready for a cross-Channel assault in 1944, with no interest in fighting in Italy\u2014let alone Yugoslavia. Once back in Ottawa, Prime Minister Mackenzie King was preparing to tell his War Cabinet that it had been agreed in Washington that \"the big battle will come early next year.\" Moreover, that \"the Canadian army will be used along with the American army and the British army to make the final assault on Europe from the North\"\u2014not Italy or the Balkans. And \"that we may expect the end of the war not before the end of this winter but before the end of another winter (1945).\"\n\nChurchill continued to pace. He had not become prime minister of Great Britain and the one leader able to stand up to Hitler, however, by caving in to force majeure\u2014particularly pressure from his own countrymen. Dr. Wilson's medication would permit him to sleep, briefly\u2014but not to alter his convictions.\n\nBefore the Combined Chiefs of Staff could reappear before their political and military masters at the White House on the morning of May 25, therefore, Churchill began a new attack on the Trident agreement.\n\nThat the Prime Minister meant well was not at issue. Long-term geopolitical British considerations had to be taken into account. But singlehandedly to attempt to bend the president of the United States to follow a British agenda was foolhardy\u2014especially in opposition to his own military team.\n\nDr. Wilson had already been worried lest the Prime Minister, by undertaking so many responsibilities, by refusing to delegate, by drinking so much, and by making so many wild trips abroad, might be approaching a mental breakdown, or \"a gradual waning of his powers, brought on by his own improvidence, by his contempt for common sense and by the way he has been doing the work of three men. There is no hour of the night when I can be certain that he is in his bed and asleep. Of course, this cannot go on forever.\"\n\nIt couldn't\u2014and explained in part the Prime Minister's amazing behavior, to the embarrassment of all, especially the President.\n\nThe Combined Chiefs assembled again in Roosevelt's office at 11:35 a.m. Once again they were treated to Churchill at his most petulant. \"We were therefore exactly as we had started so far as the paper we had submitted to the President and PM was concerned,\" Brooke recounted in despair in his diary, adding, in his slashing hand, \"the PM had done untold harm by rousing suspicions as regards ventures in the Balkans which we had been endeavouring to suppress.\"\n\nChurchill, Secretary Stimson afterward learned from the President, \"acted like a spoiled boy the last morning when he refused to give up on one of the points\u2014Sardinia\u2014that was in issue. He persisted and persisted until Roosevelt told him that he, Roosevelt, wasn't interested in the matter and that he had better shut up.\"\n\nFor that, at least, General Brooke was grateful to the President.\n\nWith the President's final loss of patience and his stern word to Churchill, the meeting had mercifully come to an end.\n\nDebate was over\u2014and with that dramatic finale, the Trident Conference done. D-day, to be called Operation Overlord, would take place, come hell or high water, in the spring of 1944.\n\nA grand, celebratory luncheon for the Prime Minister, Combined Chiefs of Staff, and all the senior staff officers involved in the conference was given by the President at the White House at 1:30 p.m. on May 25.\n\nEarly the next morning, Roosevelt drove down with Churchill to the special Clipper terminal on the Potomac River. The 160 members of the British military contingent would be sailing home from New York, but the Prime Minister and General Brooke were to board a huge Boeing seaplane that would fly them first to Newfoundland, and from there to North Africa.\n\nThe President had been skeptical regarding Churchill's new mission\u2014as the Prime Minister was aware. It had not stopped Churchill, however, and the two leaders had come to a compromise. Churchill had assured the President he had no motive other than to review British and Allied HQ preparations in Algiers for the impending assault on Sicily, Operation Husky. Given the President's chariness, Churchill had felt compelled to suggest that General Marshall accompany him, as a gage of his fealty to the President and the war strategy finally and formally agreed between allies. The President had thought this an excellent idea\u2014General Marshall flying, so to speak, as a U.S. marshal.\n\nPoor Marshall had not been consulted.\n\nAt the Pentagon, Secretary Stimson had been furious\u2014on Marshall's behalf. \"Marshall told me of it,\" Stimson recorded in his diary, \"and said he rather hated to be traded like a piece of baggage.\"\n\nThe U.S. war secretary remained deeply suspicious, moreover. Churchill was \"going to take Marshall along with him\" for no other purpose, Stimson protested, than \"to work on him to yield on some of the points that Marshall has held out on in regard to the Prime Minister's excursions in the eastern Mediterranean.\" This was too bad. General Marshall was worn out having to deal with Churchill's two-week visit, along with his vast retinue of military chiefs and advisers seeking to overturn the Casablanca agreement. Of all people, the general now surely deserved a break. In this respect, \"to think of picking out the strongest man there is in America, and Marshall is surely that today, the one on whom the fate of the war depends, and then to deprive him in a gamble of a much needed opportunity to recoup his strength by about three days' rest and send him off on a difficult and rather dangerous trip across the Atlantic Ocean where he is not needed except for Churchill's purpose is I think going pretty far,\" Stimson frothed in his diary, outraged by the iniquity. \"But nobody has any say\"\u2014the President being the elected president, by far and away the most powerful man in America, and this his will.\n\nFor his part, the President found it ironic he was having to send Marshall to North Africa to keep the irrepressible Churchill on the rails. Roosevelt was not sorry, though. Seeing Eisenhower, Clark, Patton, perhaps, and the general lay of the land following General Eisenhower's great victory at Tunis would be no bad thing for his Army chief of staff. The number of Axis troops that had surrendered was now said to have exceeded even those at Stalingrad; the omens were good.\n\nWord had also come from Moscow, moreover, that Stalin had finally agreed to a personal meeting. This would probably now take place in August. The President would pretend to be going to Canada to see Prime Minister King\u2014and secretly fly north across Alaska to the projected rendezvous with the Russian dictator. It was a relief, in these circumstances, that he, the President, would be able to convince Stalin that the Western Allies were united in their resolve to mount the Second Front in the spring of 1944\u2014and important that Marshall hold the Prime Minister tightly to this agreement. No more reneging, or alternative ventures, or pessimistic doomsaying behind his back!\n\nThe cross-Channel invasion would not take place in 1943, to Stalin's likely disappointment, but it would definitely be mounted in overpowering, U.S.-dominated force in May 1944\u2014and would, the President was confident, lead to the end of the war, either at the end of 1944, or early 1945. Only Churchill, in his unpredictable way, could possibly mess this plan up.\n\nAdmiral Leahy remained suspicious. As he noted with scarcely concealed distrust, the \"agreements finally reached\" were excellent, and would advance the American cause: to defeat Hitler. \"This is, of course, based on an assumption that the agreements will be carried out by our allies.\"\n\nIronically, General Brooke was just as skeptical as Leahy\u2014at least with regard to his boss, the Prime Minister. Churchill's great qualities did not include consistency of military strategy. As Brooke had noted in exhaustion on May 24, summarizing his colleagues' contributions to the \"Global Statement of Strategy\" that the Combined Chiefs had drawn up, Admiral King was still besotted by war in the Pacific theater; General Marshall was too bold, willing to chance a cross-Channel invasion that would risk putting into the cauldron of battle \"some 20 to 30 divisions, irrespective of what happens on the Russian front, with which he proposes to clear Europe and win the war\"; Air Marshal Portal, by contrast, was imagining the war in Europe would be won by \"bombing\" alone; Admiral Pound was believing \"anti-U-boat warfare\" was the key; while Brooke himself favored all-out war in the Mediterranean, not to defeat Germany, per se, but to \"force a dispersal of German forces, help Russia, and thus eventually produce a situation where cross-Channel operations are possible.\"\n\n\"And Winston???\" Brooke had continued, rhetorically, in the privacy of his diary. \"Thinks one thing at one moment and another at another moment. At times the war may be won by bombing and all must be sacrificed to it. At others it becomes essential for us to bleed ourselves dry on the Continent because Russia is doing the same. At others our main effort must be in the Mediterranean, directed against Italy or the Balkans alternatively, with sporadic desires to invade Norway and 'roll up the map in the opposite direction to Hitler'! But more often than all he wants to carry out ALL operations simultaneously irrespective of shortages of shipping!\"\n\nTo his credit, Churchill was not unaware of or even embarrassed by his own impetuous, pepper-spray, relentlessly demanding\/urging nature\u2014\"I am arrogant, but not conceited,\" he told a companion in 1943\u2014but had no idea Brooke was keeping such a candid journal, especially one that might be used to indict him, later, as a volatile commander in chief of lamentably poor and inconsistent judgment. After all he, Winston Spencer Churchill, would ensure his own skills as a writer and historian would make certain he came out smelling of roses\u2014as he openly confided in North Africa some days later. Veracity would not be his objective as an eventual memoirist\/historian, he would tell General Eisenhower and a dozen top American and British generals invited to dinner at Eisenhower's headquarters in Algiers. Having imbibed several whiskeys, he announced that \"it was foolish to keep a day-by-day diary because it would simply reflect the change of opinion or decision of the writer\"\u2014a diary \"which, when and if published, makes one appear indecisive and foolish.\"\n\nTo illustrate his dictum Churchill instanced the daily journal of British Field Marshal Sir Henry Wilson. Sir Henry had left copious diaries detailing his role before and during World War I. In one entry he had unwisely forecast: \"There will be no war.\" This was unfortunate because \"on the next day war was declared,\" Churchill told his enthralled listeners.\n\nSince Eisenhower's naval aide was himself keeping a daily diary this was unwise, but Churchill had by then imbibed too much alcohol to care.\n\nThe English field marshal, Churchill went on happily, had subsequently been assassinated on his doorstep by Irish republicans, in 1922\u2014leaving the question of what to do with his precious war diaries. \"The wife had insisted the diary be published post-humously,\" Eisenhower's aide recorded, \"and, consequently, General Wilson was made to appear foolish. For his part, the Prime Minister said, he would much prefer to wait until the war is over and then to write his impressions so that, if necessary, he could correct or bury his mistakes.\"\n\n_Bury his mistakes._ It was a telling phrase.\n\nFlying to North Africa with Winston, however, General Marshall would at least exert adult supervision, the President was satisfied. Marshall could be counted upon not to permit the Prime Minister to veer off into any wild ventures now that the cardinal issue of the Second Front and its timing had been formally resolved.\n\nThis still left open, however, the question of command.\n\nWho should be the cross-Channel assault supreme commander\u2014an appointment that, in order to help bolster the somewhat tentative British commitment, the President had at Casablanca suggested should go to a British officer?\n\nIn the wake of Trident, however, the President was not so sure. General Marshall's faith in Bolero, now renamed Operation Overlord, had been constant and unremitting. Might not General Marshall, an American, be a surer bet as supreme commander\u2014not only in making certain the assault was actually carried out on time, but in dealing at close quarters with a British prime minister whose penchant for meddling in battles was now notorious?\n\nBy spending time not only with General Eisenhower but with English field and staff generals at Ike's headquarters in Algiers, Marshall would get to know potential British colleagues, generals, and subordinates better, the President felt. As well as the British prime minister.\n\nBy contrast, Churchill was concerned that, if the Second Front was indeed to be launched at American insistence, his candidate for supreme command, General Alan Brooke, should be on the best of terms with the President. There thus arose, on May 26, an added irony, as the two army chiefs of staff of their respective nations boarded the former British Overseas Airways Boeing 314 A seaplane, registration number G-AGBZ, bobbing on the Potomac early that morning. Churchill had duly boarded the Clipper, having made his farewells. Aware that he'd promised Brooke command of Overlord, however, he had told the CIGS to go and sit for a few minutes with the President in his car, in case the President decided to raise the matter.\n\nThe President gave nothing away. \"He was as usual most charming,\" Brooke noted in his diary that night, \"and said that next time I came over I must come to Hyde Park to see where my father and Douglas [Brooke's brother] had looked for birds.\"\n\nRoosevelt's invitation was typical of the President\u2014wanting the conference to end on a happy, personal note. Brooke was certainly touched, and the two men shook hands.\n\nThe ornithologist and his thorny opposite number, General Marshall, then took their seats inside the body of the huge Boeing seaplane as its engines roared to life, ready for takeoff\u2014the President waiting to watch. Both Marshall and Brooke were now contenders to command the greatest amphibious invasion in human history\u2014one that would undoubtedly, as Hitler himself remarked, \"decide the war.\"\nPART NINE\n\n* * *\n\n#  _The First Crack in the Axis_\n**33**\n\n# Sicily\u2014and Kursk\n\nAT THE WHITE HOUSE on the evening of July 9, President Roosevelt was giving a state dinner for General Giraud. He was also waiting patiently for word from General Eisenhower as to how the invasion of Sicily, timed to start soon after midnight in the Mediterranean, was going. Had Allied deception measures worked? Were the Germans waiting for the Allied armies to come ashore in the south? How would Italian forces fight on their home soil?\n\nFinally Admiral Brown, his naval aide, brought him the news.\n\nTaking General Giraud upstairs to his study, Roosevelt met Daisy Suckley, who was staying in the Blue Room, on the landing. The President had told her the dinner would go on until a quarter to eleven, so Daisy was happily sewing a seam on her new nightgown when \"the elevator door suddenly opened\u2014I heard the P's voice\u2014I grabbed my diary, my pen, my workbox, & my nightgown\u2014started to flee! The President stopped me, laughing, halfway down the hall already, & followed by the General. My thimble flew to the right, my spool to the left. The General laughed & we shook hands\u2014the P. spoke over his shoulder as he was wheeled into his study: 'The General & I are going to have a heart to heart talk\u2014We have landed in Sicily! The word has just come!\"\n\nFor his part, Admiral Leahy noted in his own diary: \"During the dinner the president announced that British-American-Canadian troops were in process of invading Sicily. Our best information indicates that the enemy force now on the island consists of 4 or 5 Italian divisions and two German divisions, which we should be able to defeat in time if the landing is successful.\"\n\nThe President was pleased, but like Leahy, he was determined not to give way to overexpectations. Failure would delay but by no means wreck the agreed timetable for a cross-Channel assault the next year; victory, however, would give the Allied forces\u2014including French troops fighting under Eisenhower's command\u2014further confidence that they could mount a major amphibious invasion and defeat the Wehrmacht in combat: the prerequisite for a successful Overlord.\n\nAnd with that quiet confidence the President set off the next day to spend the weekend in Shangri-la with his de facto domestic deputy president, former Justice James Byrnes\u2014his head of the Office of War Mobilization\u2014and Byrnes's wife, as well as Harry Hopkins and his wife, and Daisy Suckley. After watching a movie in the mess hall, \"We sat around,\" Daisy Suckley, \"to get news about the invasion of Sicily\u2014During dinner, we had tried also, but static is very bad and reception not good up on this hill, even when the weather is clear . . .\"\n\nThe President had every reason to be hopeful.\n\nOperation Husky was the largest amphibious invasion ever attempted in war: three thousand Allied vessels, troop planes, and hundreds of gliders setting 160,000 soldiers ashore in Sicily in a single day from across the Mediterranean, departing from ports and airfields in Algeria, Tunisia, Malta, Libya, and Egypt in appalling weather (which caused almost half the gliders from Tunisia to land in the sea) to their rendezvous at dawn on July 10.\n\nGeneral Eisenhower had overruled his own planners and had accepted General Montgomery's preference for a concentrated invasion of the southeastern corner of Sicily, stretching from Gela to the Gulf of Noto and Cassibile. This was just as well, since the German commander in chief, General Kesselring, sent the first of his two panzer divisions (with 160 tanks and 140 field guns) to the west of Sicily\u2014leaving only a single panzer division in the east. However hard they fought, the men of the remaining Hermann G\u00f6ring Panzer Division were unable to prevail against Allied troops debauching across twenty-six beaches there. Italian defenders, ill armed and ill motivated, for the most part crumpled under the weight and power of the Allied bombardment.\n\nDespite the poor weather\u2014with gale force 7 winds\u2014the invasion thus proved brilliantly successful.\n\nAt the Pentagon in Washington there was an air of near jubilation, especially when the casualty rolls turned out to be less than a seventh of what had been estimated. Once again it was the President, in his capacity as U.S. commander in chief, who had made victory happen. Over the objections of his top generals and secretary of war in January, he'd insisted upon success in the Mediterranean in 1943, rather than sure defeat in France. How wise he'd been proven, all now agreed; only two German divisions in Sicily, instead of more than two dozen in France.\n\nMany things went wrong in the landings, not simply owing to the high wind but also because of friendly fire: trigger-happy naval gunners shooting down dozens of Allied aircraft. Patton's Seventh Army landing at Gela was initially touch-and-go, requiring naval artillery to beat off determined Axis counterattacks\u2014Kesselring having instructed the Hermann G\u00f6ring tanks and troops to move \"at once and with all forces attack and destroy whatever opposes the division. The F\u00fchrer has ordered all forces to be brought into operation immediately in order to prevent the enemy from establishing itself.\"\n\nFor the Germans, it proved a losing battle, as it had for Vichy defenders in Torch. For the Allies, however, the military lessons provided by Husky would not only be legion but gold\u2014not least in terms of intelligence, deception measures, command experience, army air and naval cooperation, and cohesion. Launched in such overwhelming, concentrated Allied force, there was little the Germans could do to halt it. A U.S. general, Dwight D. Eisenhower, was the Allied supremo, with one American and one British army field commander serving under him. George Patton, who had commanded the invasion forces at Casablanca, now led the U.S. Seventh Army, with excellent U.S. corps and divisional commanders such as Omar Bradley, Geoffrey Keyes, Manton Eddy, and Terry Allen coming to the fore. Montgomery again commanded the British Eighth Army\u2014this time with both veteran and untried troops, including a full Canadian corps determined to obliterate the \"fiasco\" of Dieppe. Inter-Allied coalition command was rehearsed in real time, as well as interservice cooperation\u2014improving exponentially as the battle for Sicily progressed.\n\nWith the Allies achieving complete naval and air superiority over Axis forces in the Mediterranean, moreover, and Patton and Montgomery's ground forces threatening to strike out from the beaches of Sicily, there arose a real prospect that the Italians\u2014who for the most part were refusing to fight to defend their homeland\u2014might overthrow Mussolini and submit to unconditional surrender without the Allies needing to invade Italy.\n\nHitler's hand was forced, therefore. He would have to call off his latest offensive on the Eastern Front and deal with the Western Allies before they dealt with him.\n**34**\n\n# The F\u00fchrer Flies to Italy\n\nON JULY 13, three days after the Western Allies landed in Sicily, the F\u00fchrer summoned his army commanders to his headquarters in East Prussia.\n\nHe had changed his mind. Operation Citadel, his massive, long-awaited offensive on the Eastern Front, was doomed. Nervous lest the Western Allies stab him in the back just as the Wehrmacht attacked in Russia, he had already scaled back his objectives for the battle. Instead of seeking to push deeper into the Soviet Union, he had decided to destroy the Russian armies in situ, near the city of Kursk, where their forces formed a salient that could be pinched off by German armies thrusting north and south. In this way, the Soviet armies would be decimated\u2014destroying any chance of a Russian offensive that year, and allowing Hitler to deal decisively with any Allied operation in the west or south.\n\nTo their consternation, Hitler now told his generals he was going to call off the Kursk offensive\u2014the biggest tank onslaught yet of the war\u2014in mid-battle. It had been raging for eight days and the Wehrmacht, according to Field Marshal Erich von Manstein, was now on the cusp of victory: ready to close its pincers and destroy Russian forces left in the salient. But as Hitler explained, \"the Western Allies had landed in Sicily,\" and \"the situation there had taken an extremely serious turn,\" Manstein recalled. \"The Italians were not even attempting to fight, and the island was likely to be lost. Since the next step might well be a landing in the Balkans or Lower Italy [the heel], it was necessary to form new armies in Italy and the western Balkans. These forces must be found from the Eastern Front, so 'Citadel' would have to be discontinued.\"\n\nManstein felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. The Allied invasion of Sicily, in other words, would now save the Russians from the drubbing the Wehrmacht was poised to administer in the East\u2014Manstein later cursing that \"Hitler ruled that 'Citadel' was to be called off on account of the situation in the Mediterranean. And so,\" the field marshal went on, \"the last offensive in the east ended in fiasco.\"\n\nEven more symbolic for the course of World War II, however, it caused Hitler to fly south, to Berchtesgaden, hopefully to meet with Mussolini in person there.\n\nIn the event, Mussolini refused to fly to Berchtesgaden. Ignoring the poor performance of the 230,000 Italian troops he'd stationed in Sicily to defend the island against Allied assault, the Duce blamed the F\u00fchrer for the success of the U.S., Canadian, and British invasion. The Luftwaffe, he complained, had withheld the necessary planes and equipment with which to defend such a big island, and the responsibility, he claimed, was therefore Hitler's.\n\nReturning to the White House from Shangri-la, by contrast, the President was intensely proud of the Allied performance in Operation Husky. \"The news from Sicily is pretty good. Thank Heaven,\" the President's cousin Daisy noted in her diary on July 14\u2014the President confident Stalin would now see the merit of Allied strategy, which had clearly taken Hitler completely by surprise, and was threatening, overnight, to sever the German-Italian partnership in the Axis Pact.\n\nFrom all he'd heard, Stalin was nothing if not astute. With Hitler now compelled to send major forces to southern Europe, rather than to the Eastern Front, indeed to move forces away from battle on the Russian front, Stalin would eventually recognize both the political and military ramifications, he was sure. On July 15 the President therefore cabled to congratulate Stalin on the stalwart Russian defense of Kursk\u2014urging him, however, to respond \"about that other matter which I _still_ feel to be of great importance to _you_ and _me_ \": namely their meeting together to discuss the end of the war\u2014and the postwar.\n\n\"The P. is awaiting word from Stalin as to when they can meet\u2014I hate to have the P. take the risk, but he feels it essential for the future,\" Daisy recorded in the privacy of her diary. \"If it occurs now it will be in Alaska; if it occurs late in the Fall, it will be North Africa.\" Stalin might \"not feel able to leave Russia now,\" she allowed; in fact she actually hoped so, as she considered \"the risk of the trip\" for the President, \"is very great.\"\n\nThere was no response from Stalin, however.\n\nAt Hyde Park the following Monday, July 19, Daisy noted the President \"looked preoccupied & a little worried.\" He had \"on his mind his possible meeting with Stalin in Alaska\u2014Stalin has set no date & has [still] not committed himself.\" The President had, however, finally informed Churchill of his invitation to Stalin\u2014but had not extended the invite to include the Prime Minister. \"The P. said W.S.C. wanted to go to the meeting, but F.D.R. won't let him,\" Daisy noted, surprised, but accepting the President's logic. The stakes, in terms of postwar peace and international security, were too high to take the risk of Churchill embarrassing him by his opposition to a cross-Channel assault. \"He wants to talk, man to man, with Stalin, & try to establish a constructive relationship. He says that the meeting may result in a complete stalemate, or that Stalin may refuse to work along with the United Nations, or, as he hopes, that Stalin will be willing to work with the U.N.,\" but it was, surely, worth trying. \"How much F.D.R. has on his shoulders! It is always more & more, with the passing months, instead of less & less, as he deserves,\" she mused\u2014and, she added sagely, as \"he gets older.\"\n\nHitler rushed two more German divisions to Sicily to stiffen the Axis line, as well as warning his panzer reserve group on the Eastern Front to prepare to head south to Italy. He knew, however, it was hopeless to imagine he could hold on to Sicily itself, given the weight of the Allied assault and the flight of his supposed Italian partners. With Patton racing forces northeast to Palermo, and Bradley and Montgomery pushing the German panzer, paratroop, and infantry defenders back toward Mount Etna, the war seemed to many observers, on all sides, to be, if not won, then winnable in the near future: Sicily the keystone to a possible collapse of the Axis Pact, and even German solicitations for peace . . .\n\nFor his part, Hitler agonized over what to do about Mussolini\u2014knowing he would have to breathe fire into the Duce's soul if he was to stop an Italian surrender that would expose his entire southern European flank to Allied invasion. Yet to his chagrin, waiting at the Berghof\u2014the holiday home in the Bavarian Alps he'd bought with the royalties earned from _Mein Kampf_ \u2014he simply could not persuade Mussolini to come meet him in Germany.\n\nEvery day the situation had become more menacing\u2014for both men. Even Hitler's most loyal supporter, Dr. Goebbels, was forced to acknowledge that, thanks to the Western Allies, Operation Citadel in the East had failed. The Allied forces invading Sicily were simply too massive. \"The English and the Americans are expanding their bridgehead on a scale that's really stunning,\" the Reich minister had already noted in his diary on July 17. \"The question keeps coming up, how on earth we will be able to deal with war on two fronts, which we're slipping into. It has always been Germany's misfortune, past and present,\" he mused. In the circumstances, it would be \"almost a miracle were we able to hang on to Sicily.\"\n\nAll Goebbels could think of now was to drive a wedge between the Russians\u2014who were still demanding a Second Front that very year\u2014and the Western Allies. \"We haven't really any other alternative than to try to ease the situation through political means,\" he reflected. Ignoring the millions of Jews and others the Nazi SS had \"liquidated\"\u2014with more being \"exterminated\" every day\u2014he wondered how, in view of the evidence of the massacre of Poles at Katyn, the Western Allies could imagine they could seriously do business with Russian barbarians. Could Katyn be the wedge issue?\n\nPolitical possibilities aside, the F\u00fchrer had meantime to hold together his military alliance, Goebbels recognized: the Third Reich, the Empire of Italy, and their satellites and puppet regimes, from Norway, Hungary, and Romania to Bulgaria. It was an Axis military coalition that suddenly appeared in grave jeopardy\u2014the once-triumphant Axis forces rocked on their heels both in Russia and the Mediterranean. \"What's undeniable is that we find ourselves in a really critical situation,\" Goebbels admitted in his diary. \"In previous summers,\" he reflected\u2014thinking of 1940, 1941, and 1942\u2014\"that was never the case.\" Now, however, it was different. \"For the first time since the beginning of the war we've not only nothing to show for our summer offensive but we're forced to fight tooth and nail to defend ourselves\u2014something that is casting a dark shadow over world opinion in the neutral countries.\"\n\nIf the mountain would not come to Mohammed, then Mohammed must to the mountain go, Hitler was forced to accept. \"The F\u00fchrer has flown to Italy,\" Goebbels thus noted on July 19, on hearing the news from his liaison officer. \"It's good the F\u00fchrer is going to have it out with the Duce,\" the Reich minister added, having learned the meeting would take place north of Venice, \"for Mussolini is the heart and soul of Italian resistance, and it's always been noticeable that after he's only been a couple of hours with the F\u00fchrer, Italian politics and its war effort get a whole new infusion of blood.\"\n\nFlown to Treviso airport, the F\u00fchrer was then taken by train to Feltre, and from there by limousine to the chosen meeting spot: Villa Gaggia. There the two fascist leaders finally conferred.\n\nDespite a two-hour monologue by the F\u00fchrer there was no infusion of blood or confidence, however; midway through the meeting the Duce was told the Allies were bombing Rome.\n\nThe summit proved so disappointing the two dictators decided neither to issue a communiqu\u00e9 nor make the meeting public. Confiding to his diary the inevitable, bitter conclusion behind the false bonhomie, Goebbels recognized that \"we will have to move into Italy.\"\n\n\"We\" meant the Wehrmacht. And with this decision the war took a new, yet more ruthless and destructive turn.\n\nMussolini's protestations of loyalty to the Axis Pact, Hitler knew, were sincere, but they were not backed by the Italian people\u2014especially the aristocracy, royal family, and upper middle class. Flying back to his Wolf's Lair headquarters, the F\u00fchrer ordered Field Marshal Rommel to prepare something akin to Operation Anton, the previous November, when German and Italian troops had secretly readied themselves to occupy the remaining Vichy-administered area of metropolitan France. German troops would now be ordered to occupy the country of their own war partner, Italy, _by force;_ it would, cynically, be called Operation Axis.\n\nIt was not a moment too soon, from Hitler's perspective. Days later, on July 25, the Italian Grand Council of Fascism convened its first meeting to take place since the early days of the war, in the Palazzo Venezia, in Rome. By a vote of 19 to 7, the members affirmed asking the king to save Italy from destruction, in view of the critical situation in Sicily and the bombing of the Rome rail yards, which President Roosevelt had personally authorized on the very day Hitler met with Mussolini.\n\nGoebbels had assumed the American bombing might stiffen Italian resolve to defend their mother country, as it had in Germany. Instead, however, it caused the Rome police to arrest Mussolini as he left the palace\u2014bundling him into an ambulance and taking him to a destination unknown. Marshal Pietro Badoglio, former chief of the Italian General Staff who had resigned in 1940 after disagreeing with Mussolini's war strategy, was tasked with heading a new government\u2014\"our grimmest enemy,\" as Hitler referred to Badoglio: knowing Badoglio would, inevitably, terminate the Axis Pact.\n\nIt was war in the Mediterranean, then, not in Russia, that had seized the world's headlines and seemed suddenly to bring the global struggle against predatory fascism to a climax. Hitler fired off instructions for the arrest, if possible, of the new Italian government and the members of the royal family, before they could pursue surrender to the United Nations. They were too wily, however, and German forces in Italy still too thin on the ground to effect such a move.\n\nSo anxious did the F\u00fchrer become that he now decided the Mediterranean must take priority over the Eastern Front. He therefore gave final orders to transfer to Italy his top SS armored divisions from Russia\u2014telling Field Marshal von Kluge, who protested at the removal of the Wehrmacht's vital striking reserve, \"We are not master here of our own decisions.\"\n\nThe Western Allies were\u2014or seemed to be.\n**35**\n\n# Countercrisis\n\nAS HITLER CONFRONTED the crisis caused by the overwhelming Allied invasion of Sicily and the imminent defection of Italy from the Axis Pact, there arose a countercrisis or dilemma for the Allies\u2014their biggest, in many ways, since Pearl Harbor.\n\nThis would be one of the great ironies of history: that at a moment when victory seemed to many to be within reach that year, the prosecution of the war by the Allies lurched and wobbled\u2014with recriminations, accusations, and blame that have continued among war historians and writers to this day.\n\nThe President had pressed Stalin again and again for a one-on-one meeting\u2014determined to assure him, in person, that the United States, as the dominant partner in the Western Alliance, was committed to opening a Second Front at the earliest possible time.\n\n\"Referring to the Second Front,\" former ambassador Davies had told Stalin as the President's personal emissary on May 20, \"no-one, I told him, had been more disappointed when, after consideration of all the risks and logistics involved in a cross-channel operation, and also the hazards as affecting the world battleground\u2014the Pacific as well as the Atlantic and the Mediterranean\u2014that for the sake of an assured victory, he [the President] had to agree to postponement of the Second Front cross-channel operation. No one, I said, was more firm in the belief that the quickest and most direct way to defeat Hitler was by a cross-channel invasion, when it could be done after every available means had been exhausted to prevent disaster and assure success.\"\n\nOvercoming Stalin's leeriness of Churchill with regard to a Second Front had been a tough assignment, Davies had told the President on his return to Washington on June 3. \"Stalin said to me expressly that he could accept neither the African invasion [Torch] nor the Air Attack on Germany as the Second Front . . . He was suspicious, not only of the British, but of us, as well,\" Davies had reported. \"They are convinced that Churchill, if he can help it, will consent to a cross-channel crossing only when there is no risk to them\"\u2014the British. \"They believed that Britain is stalling on a cross-channel operation,\" both to \"save her manpower\" and to \"divert the attack through the Balkans and Italy\" in order to \"protect the classic British Foreign policy of walling Russia in, closing the Dardanelles, and building a countervailing balance of power against Russia.\"\n\nThis was a pretty astute reading of British policy\u2014but one that completely ignored the problem of defeating Hitler and the Nazis. As Stalin had pointed out to Davies, Allied operations in the Mediterranean were simply not on the scale of war as on the Eastern Front\u2014where the \"Germans had not less than three million\" troops \"attacking another three million of the Red Army\u2014a total of at least six million\u2014ten times as many as engaged in the African campaign.\"\n\nStalin had seemed to Davies to be disappointed in the Western Allies, yet mollified by Davies's sincerity\u2014and the President's firm commitment to mounting a Second Front as soon as feasible.\n\nFor his part, the President nevertheless continued to worry lest his \"active and ardent lieutenant\" become too ardent in terms of Mediterranean operations in the wake of success in Sicily. He'd heard from General Marshall that the Prime Minister was once again seized by excitement, and was plotting a new course in London\u2014one he'd coyly revealed to Secretary Stimson, who was visiting American forces in Britain.\n\nThe Prime Minister was still only paying lip service to the Trident agreement, Stimson reported to Washington, after meeting with Churchill\u2014and might well go off on a Mediterranean tangent unless leashed by the President. So worried had Stimson become, in fact, that he'd made a transatlantic telephone call to the Pentagon on July 17, a week after the invasion of Sicily. \"The scrambling noise over the wires produced a peculiar effect on Marshall's voice,\" Stimson noted in his diary that night, \"rendering the tones quite unrecognizable,\" but the secretary found he could \"recognize the peculiarities\" of Marshall's speech. \"I began telling him of my conferences with the P.M., particularly last Monday the 12th. I summed up what I thought was his position, namely, that he was honestly ready to keep the pledge as to 'Roundhammer' [Overlord] but was impulsively likely to branch out into commitments which would make it impossible\"\u2014tying up in the Mediterranean the very battle-hardened U.S. and British forces and landing craft needed for a successful cross-Channel invasion early in 1944. Churchill seemed to Stimson to be fixated on seizing the Italian capital\u2014that \"he was very set on a march to Rome.\" More worrying still in terms of the suction-pump effect of the Mediterranean, Anthony Eden, the British foreign secretary, \"was dead set on the Balkans and Greece.\"\n\nThe President had winced at the news. Churchill had even claimed that General Eisenhower's \"heart,\" too, was invested in a bold new stroke in the Mediterranean\u2014such as an airborne drop near the Italian capital: Operation Giant. Stimson was concerned that a dangerous overconfidence seemed to be infecting not only Churchill's bunker in London, but possibly Algiers.\n\nThe acting commander of American forces in Britain, General Jacob Devers, had assured Stimson, however, that Eisenhower's three service commanders in the Mediterranean\u2014all of whom were British\u2014had poured as much cold water on Eisenhower's idea as did Devers. Not only was this because of \"the danger of executing an operation beyond the reach of air cover,\" but because of the \"drain on landing craft\"\u2014craft that would be needed for Overlord. Others, too, were putting an oar into the debate\u2014Stimson even told Marshall of a telegram to Churchill from Field Marshal Smuts, supporting Anthony Eden's Balkan aspirations. Marshall responded that he had not seen this\u2014and was worried by the news. \"Marshall said that in the light of these circumstances he thought I ought to go as promptly as possible to see Eisenhower where I would be able to round out what I had gotten here in London with the views of the people in Africa.\"\n\nThe U.S. secretary of war having to fly to North Africa to try and head off an abrogation of the Trident agreements?\n\nThe situation, from the point of view of clear Allied purpose, was alarming, but it only became worse in the days that followed. On July 19, the day Hitler flew to Italy, the Prime Minister had warned his chiefs of staff, Stimson learned, to prepare plans to dump the Second Front if operations in the Mediterranean prospered and the seven battle-hardened divisions were not sent back to the U.K. In which case, the Prime Minister had said, he favored Allied assault landings in Norway, mounted from England with whatever forces remained in Britain or could be scraped together.\n\n_Norway?_\n\nOccupied by some four hundred thousand German troops, Norway was the mountainous country where Churchill's ill-fated Franco-British Expeditionary Force had been completely worsted by a German counterinvasion and its survivors evacuated in the spring of 1940.\n\nIt was a disturbing scenario. On Thursday, July 22, Stimson had had it out with Churchill\u2014who was soliciting Stimson's help in getting U.S. restrictions on the sharing of atom-bomb research lifted between the two nations.\n\nThe latest reports of heavy fighting around Catania had only reinforced Churchill's continuing skepticism regarding Overlord. He \"said that if he had 50,000 men ashore on the French channel coast, he would not have an easy moment because he felt that the Germans could rush up in sufficient force to drive them back. On my direct questioning he admitted that if he was C-in-C, he would not figure the Roundhammer [Overlord] operation [as feasible]; but being as it was, he having made his pledge, then he would go with it loyally. I said to him that was like hitting us in the eye and he said 'Oh, no, if we start anything we will go through with it with utmost effort.'\"\n\nIn the meantime, Churchill pointed out, there was Italy\u2014a country begging to be invaded by the Allies. The Prime Minister was, as he told Stimson, surely \"justified in supporting his faith in the Italian expedition,\" given the potential rewards. \"He spoke of two possibilities; one, going to Rome with the advantages that would come from this, even without capitulation; and second, with an Italian capitulation, it would throw open the whole of Italy as far as the north boundary and would give us opportunities to go and attack southern France. He asserted that he was not in favor of attacking the Balkans with troops, but merely wished to supply them with munitions and supplies.\"\n\nThis was, at least, a mercy. For an hour and a half the two men\u2014one approaching sixty-nine, the other, seventy-six\u2014battled over strategy and tactical operations: Stimson attempting to point out the inevitable suction effect of major operations in the Mediterranean that would \"hinder\" Overlord, Churchill denying this; Stimson claiming he had the support of the \"entire General Staff\" in the \"Roundhammer [Overlord] proposition,\" Churchill claiming Eisenhower to be \"strongly in favor of going as far as he could in Italy.\"\n\nStimson had been understandably perturbed\u2014unaware, even as he spoke and exchanged cables with Marshall, that it was not only Churchill who now favored immediate exploitation of seeming Allied success in the Mediterranean. For Churchill's excitement was being replicated among senior U.S. generals in the Pentagon, in Marshall's own War Department.\n\nOn July 17, as tanks of Patton's Seventh U.S. Army raced to Palermo in the west of Sicily, the War Department's chief of Operations Division, Lieutenant General John Hull, declared he'd had a change of heart.\n\nHull's defection from the Trident strategy aroused fierce debate in the Pentagon. From \"the very beginning of this war,\" Hull\u2014who had hitherto been General Marshall's most loyal subordinate\u2014wrote, \"I have felt that the logical plan for the defeat of Germany was to strike at her across the channel by the most direct route.\" He'd now changed his mind, he declared. In a document he drew up for his deputy, General Handy, and his War Department team, Hull pointed out the strategic harvest to be garnered in the Mediterranean. As he put it, \"it is a case where you cannot have your cake and eat it.\" With half a million U.S., British, and Canadian troops in the Mediterranean, and barely 180,000 U.S. troops in England, he'd come to \"the belief that we should now reverse our decision and pour our resources into the exploitation of our Mediterranean operations.\" Summarizing his extraordinary change of mind, he concluded: \"As to Germany, in my opinion, the decision should be an all-out effort in the Mediterranean.\"\n\nNot only did General Hull's renunciation set off furious disputation at the Pentagon, it played straight into the hands of senior admirals in the Navy Department: sailors who had refused to move their offices into the Pentagon and were now in favor of backing out of a cross-Channel \"Germany First\" strategy, too\u2014a change of objectives that would permit Japan to become America's Enemy Number One. Reexamining the Trident agreement to send seven battle-hardened divisions from the Mediterranean to the United Kingdom by November 1, 1943, the Joint War Plans Committee, representing the three U.S. armed services, now declared it \"unsound.\"\n\nThe chief of staff to Admiral King, Admiral \"Savvy\" Cooke, agreed with the JWP Committee. He'd never been convinced a cross-Channel assault could succeed, and thought that, if the Western Allies simply limited their future operations to the Mediterranean, more U.S. vessels and resources would be available to send to the Pacific.\n\nGeneral Marshall was understandably aghast. Other planners like Brigadier General Wedemeyer, who was actually visiting American headquarters in the Mediterranean, vociferously protested, feeling it folly to divide and disperse impending Allied effort in Europe, when all logistical and fighting focus should be concentrated on an agreed _Schwerpunkt_ , or focal point. Analyzing combat reports from Sicily\u2014where German troops were fighting to the death to defend an Italian island that not even Italians were willing to defend\u2014Wedemeyer recognized how tough it was going to be to defeat the German enemy; he felt \"our [English] cousins\" must somehow be made aware \"that this European theater struggle will never be won by dispersing our forces around the Axis citadel,\" as he responded to General Handy, referring to Churchill's \"closing the ring\" policy. \"Even though HUSKY is successful after a bitter struggle,\" he'd warned from Algiers the week before the invasion of Sicily, \"we could never drive rampant up the boot, as the P.M. so dramatically depicts in his concept of our continued effort over here.\" Not only would an Italian campaign require \"greatly increased resources than those now envisaged or available in the area,\" but to ensure success\u2014or even security against German counteroffensive measures\u2014the cross-Channel invasion \"would be even more remote, in fact, maybe crossed off the books for 1944.\"\n\nBut if not Rome, where next? Even Wedemeyer had to concede the Allies must continue to do _something_ in the next nine months, before Overlord was mounted.\n\nThis, then, was the strategic conundrum facing the President as U.S. commander in chief in the summer of 1943, even as the war seemed, for the Allies, to be so nearly won.\n**36**\n\n# A Fishing Expedition in Ontario\n\nIT HAD BEEN agreed at the Trident Conference in Washington in May that another high-level military parley would probably have to be convened, once the invasion of Sicily was completed. Though Churchill had suggested Washington as the venue, once again the President had demurred. As one of the President's White House Map Room officers, Lieutenant Elsey\u2014who encrypted and decoded almost daily signals between the White House and 10 Downing Street\u2014recorded, \"the President recommended to the Prime Minister that this Anglo-American conference be held in Quebec, a happier place in summer than Washington. Quebec offered the advantages of a delightful climate and appropriate and comfortable quarters at the historic Citadel and the Chateau Frontenac.\"\n\nBefore meeting with Churchill and his chiefs of staff, however, Roosevelt still hoped to meet with Stalin. \"By mid-July when it seemed unlikely that Marshal Stalin would be able to leave his armies, even briefly, during their first summer offensive, the President suggested to Mr. Churchill that time would be ripe for their conference around the first of September.\"\n\nThe triumph of the Allied landings on July 10 had, however, made even this date seem too distant to Churchill, who now had the bit between his teeth\u2014his wonderfully pugnacious head spinning with romantic excitement as he saw himself entering Rome like a victorious Caesar in the next few weeks. \"The very rapid changes on the several fronts and, in particular, the overwhelming success of the Sicilian campaign made it imperative to hold the meeting earlier,\" Lieutenant Elsey recounted. \"The degeneration of Italian resistance and the possibility of complete Italian collapse, greatly increased by the unexpected fall of Mussolini on July 25th, gave birth to new problems only faintly foreseen in the spring. As Mr. Churchill said, 'We shall need to meet together to settle the larger issues which the brilliant victories of our forces have thrust upon us about Italy as a whole.' The Prime Minister pressed for a very early date in August but the President replied that he would be unable to arrive in Quebec earlier than August 17.\"\n\nThe tragedy of late 1943 was now to unfold, almost inexorably\u2014Churchill seemingly blind to Hitler's likely response to the Allied invasion of Italy. As Hitler's war aims crystallized into a ruthless German defend-or-die strategy, without having to rely on weak allies, the Allies' conduct of the war fractured\u2014with grave political as well as military ramifications. If Churchill was right, the Third Reich might, if the Allies put every man into the field in Italy, collapse\u2014with vast political ramifications on top of military, since the Wehrmacht still held a solid front deep inside Russia. But what if Churchill and the generals like Hull in the Pentagon were _wrong?_ What if Hitler meant to fight to the bitter end on all fronts\u2014and was backed wholeheartedly by his Volk?\n\nHolding the reins of global political as well as military unity on behalf of the Western Allies, at least, the President decided he must present to the people of America and the world a clear picture of the war's positive progress\u2014and ultimate aims. Calling in Robert Sherwood, Judge Rosenman, and Harry Hopkins, he therefore spent many days at Shangri-la and in the White House working on a major new Fireside Chat.\n\nBroadcast from the White House on the evening of July 28, 1943, the President's radio address certainly seemed a success: the President sounding confident, inspiring, and clear-minded: conveying to listeners a sense of wise direction in prosecuting the war to its appointed end\u2014and beyond.\n\nROOSEVELT HAILS \"FIRST CRACK\" IN THE AXIS; OUTLINES POST-WAR AID FOR ALL U.S. FORCES, ran the _New York Times_ front-page headline on July 29, the newspaper giving extended coverage to every aspect of his speech\u2014the President's first since February that year, \"when he predicted invasion of the Continent of Europe.\" It was, the _Times_ described, \"a radio address as varied in its subject matter as the vast pattern of total war,\" one in which the President had \"counseled against complacency, urged much greater efforts if Hitler and Tojo are to be defeated, as he promised, 'on their home grounds,'\"\u2014and one which, the _Times_ added, \"announced the end of coffee rationing due to the improved shipping situation.\"\n\nWas the war's direction really so clear, though? Was the speech not in truth window-dressing? Was not the \"first crack\" a split less in the Axis ability to wage war\u2014given that German troops were reported moving ruthlessly into new, former Italian positions across the Mediterranean, and Field Marshal Rommel was reported to be preparing for the German defense of Greece\u2014than in the Allies' _own_ situation? Were not the Allies the ones with a problem?\n\nAt the State Department there were problems, as well. Former ambassador Bill Bullitt had been circulating throughout top circles in Washington a new paper urging an American invasion of the Balkans, before Soviet forces could reach central Europe, regardless of the military inanity of such a scheme. And to cap this, there were stories that Secretary of State Cordell Hull\u2014at the insistence of his wife\u2014was demanding the head of the President's right-hand man in postwar planning, Sumner Welles, on the grounds he was a homosexual\u2014a story Bill Bullitt, who coveted Welles's job as assistant secretary of state, had been leaking to the press.\n\nAnd as if all this was not enough, there were indications that the Russians were exploring possible peace-feelers with the Germans\u2014suggestions bruited in \"official circles\" that Stalin \"may have forsaken President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill on unconditional surrender\" and was planning \"to establish a European order on his own [communist] concepts and under the aegis of Moscow,\" as the _New York Times_ reported.\n\nSo much happening, so fast\u2014and so many conflicting voices and calls in the great democracies of America and Britain!\n\nIt was small wonder the President felt, once again, exhausted. He longed to get away from Washington, and in cooler climes think things through, so that he could hopefully keep the Allied coalition together and pointing in the same direction.\n\nOn July 30, he thus went ahead with his latest plan. It would be another secret trip: this time \"to Canada on a fishing and vacation expedition,\" as Admiral Leahy, his White House chief of staff, noted in his diary. On the beautiful lakes of Ontario, the weather would be less hot\u2014and devoid of journalists, or anyone else. Away from the madding crowd the President could fish in peace, and think for a whole week.\n\nThe _Ferdinand Magellan_ duly pulled out from the Bureau of Engraving's special siding in Washington at 9:45 p.m.\n\nThe President was far from alone. In addition to Admiral Leahy he was taking his doctor, Vice Admiral McIntire; his naval aide, Rear Admiral Brown; his military aide, Major General Pa Watson; his two secretaries, Grace Tully and Dorothy Brady; twenty Secret Service men; his secret communications personnel; and Filipino crewmembers from the USS _Potomac_ and Shangri-la.\n\nThe President had still heard nothing from Stalin, and thus knew as much or as little as the _New York Times_ correspondent in Moscow concerning the dictator's intentions or thoughts. \"The Stalin meeting is 'on,'\" his cousin Daisy had noted in her diary on July 28 after speaking to the President on the phone\u2014which was to say the meeting wasn't off, and might still take place at Fairbanks, Alaska, to which he could fly from Ontario, using the nearest air base to his fishing expedition.\n\nDaisy hated the idea. \"It is much too dangerous,\" she recorded her anxiety about such \"trips by air.\" \"But he feels he has to, so he has to\u2014His feelings are mixed about them, he told me\u2014He doesn't want to go, but he has to put every possible effort into going because he thinks it will help in planning the future of the world\u2014so\u2014all we can do is wish him Godspeed and pray that all will go well.\"\n\nThe fishing part of the plan, at least, went well\u2014the bulk of it spent in McGregor and Georgian Bays, Ontario. \"The days were interesting in providing fresh air and sunburn for all of us, and for me the nights were reasonably busy with messages to and from our British Allies in regard to the Italian campaign, the proposal to make Rome an open city which military authorities do not look with favor upon, and the general war situation,\" Leahy recorded.\n\nHarry Hopkins joined the party on August 4, in case they were to fly from there to meet Stalin, and though Leahy felt the vacation was a \"success in giving all of us a change and exposure to the air and the sun,\" he did acknowledge \"that on a vacation for relaxation we should have gone to bed earlier than midnight which was the usual hour.\"\n\n\"For a week we lived in the train which remained a few yards from a landing from which we embarked each day on our daily fishing expeditions\u2014each member of the party contributing a dollar a day for prizes,\" Leahy added. \"The fish caught were small-mouth bass, wall-eyed pike, and what was either a pickerel or pike that the guides called snakes. In the final settlement of our pool at the weekend only the President and I were the winners.\"\n\nAir, sun, and pool winners, however, were not enough to solve the growing strategic crisis: one the President knew would be waiting for him once he got back to the White House.\n**37**\n\n# The President's Judgment\n\nTO A CONSIDERABLE extent, the brewing Allied crisis was inevitable in a coalition, the President accepted, for each ally had its own concerns and war aims.\n\nThe President certainly did not take amiss Churchill's excitement over Mediterranean operations, or even the Prime Minister's loyalty to a decaying British empire. Churchill was, he felt, merely misguided\u2014the product of high Victorian imperialism. As the President had discussed with former ambassador Davies, in a conversation that Davies had then related to Stalin, \"British imperialism had contributed much to civilization, as well as to their people but, under modern conditions, there were now some aspects of it which did not conform to the American viewpoint. These variances in points of view were not such, however, as would or should be permitted to jeopardize a common effort for victory, and for the preservation of post-war peace. The Statute of Westminster [the Adoption Act of 1942, legally recognizing the independence of the Dominions] had given proof that modern England was conscious of the need for change, and with great courage and nobility had given independence of action in foreign affairs to the colonies and dominions.\"\n\nStalin, looking up from his doodling pad, had queried the reason for excluding Churchill from the proposed meeting with the President, demanding to know \"Why?\"\n\n\"I replied,\" Davies recounted, \"that Roosevelt and Churchill respected and admired each other, and although they did not always see eye to eye, they were always loyal. They were 'big' men, and on matters of difference, each could be relied upon. In fact, each would insist on finding common ground to win the war.\"\n\nThis was, however, to tiptoe around the matter of the Second Front\u2014and the more the Italians caved in, the more brazen had become Churchill's call for exploitation in the Mediterranean\u2014leaving the notion of Overlord as an Allied cross-Channel invasion to wither, the Prime Minister hoped, on the vine.\n\nFor the President this was not a surprise. He had gotten to know Churchill, on the Prime Minister's repeated visits to the White House, probably better than any American during the course of the war. The Prime Minister's moods, swinging from gravity to elation, were part and parcel of his colorful character as a leader. Churchill's approach to modern war was, the President accepted, wonderfully exuberant if often flawed. Certainly, with respect to what would now happen in Europe, the Prime Minister seemed to be giving way to a dangerous assumption: namely that Hitler might be toppled in the same way that Mussolini had been brought down.\n\nUnhappily, despite a lifetime spent as a military officer and warrior-politician, Churchill seemed not to understand the nature of the problem confronting the Allies. This was not so much the F\u00fchrer as the Germans themselves. The Prime Minister's abiding belief was that, once shorn of its allies, the men of the Third Reich would be unable to defend the vast territories they had so rapidly overrun when the Allies had been weak and disjointed. The Allies had now only to \"close the ring,\" as the Prime Minister saw it, and sooner or later Germany would collapse, as it had in 1918\u2014without the Western Allies having to take the great gamble of a cross-Channel assault and campaign in northern France. Churchill thus failed, in the President's view, to fully credit what had happened in Germany under Hitler\u2014and how German forces, like the Japanese, would fight to the bitter end to defend the territory they had seized, _even without the F\u00fchrer's orders;_ that they would make the Allies pay for every meter of advance in blood, whether in the Balkans, Greece, Italy, or France.\n\nRoosevelt's insistence on unconditional surrender had therefore been no aberration, or momentary thoughtlessness, as certain writers\u2014even Churchill himself in a forgetful moment\u2014would later aver. Rather, it went back to the President's childhood sojourns in Germany, and spoke to the President's deep-seated cognizance of the collective German mentality. Roosevelt's unwavering judgment was that, whatever happened with the Italians, the Germans\u2014like the Japanese\u2014would go on fighting until beaten in battle; moreover, that their nations must be completely disarmed after the war's end and the world kept safe from any prospect of their military renascence. \"The President believed also,\" Davies had told Stalin on May 20, \"that, despite differences in ideology and methods of government\" between capitalism and communism, \"it was entirely possible that our countries could live together in peace, in a decent world, with mutual respect, reciprocal consideration and joint safety, against a possible militant Japan, Germany or any other would-be disturbers of the Peace . . . Together, they could maintain and enforce law and order to preserve a just Peace, or there would be renewed disastrous wars.\"\n\nStalin had affirmed his complete agreement. \"You can tell your President that so far as Germany is concerned, I will support him to any length he thinks necessary, no matter how soever, to destroy Germany's war potential for the future. Our people and our country have suffered immeasurably because of it. It is vital to us that Germany's war potential be destroyed. As to Japan, he said, the President already knew what their position was and needed no assurance.\"\n\nGoebbels's April announcement of _totaler_ _Krieg,_ in Roosevelt's view, had merely confirmed his judgment of Germany as the world's most dangerous nation, given the size and ruthlessness of its Wehrmacht and the abiding belief that _Macht ist Recht_ : might is right. Any notion that the Germans would be easily pried from their conquests across Europe was therefore wishful thinking. The struggle to defeat the Germans and the Japanese would be hard and bloody, as he'd stated in his White House broadcast on July 18\u2014for there was no alternative to battle. And bloodshed.\n\nWhat was important was for the Allies therefore to make no mistakes. To proceed methodically, building up command and combat experience, and trained, well-armed forces in order to defeat the Wehrmacht completely and relentlessly in combat, as Grant and his generals had done in the Civil War. Fantasies of victory merely by peripheral operations were seductive in terms of saving lives, but in the end they were idle. Only by relentless concentration of force, in focused application of America's growing output as the arsenal of modern democracy, would the Allies be enabled to win within a reasonable time frame.\n\nThe President's judgment of Wehrmacht intentions and abilities, moreover, was reinforced by reports he was receiving from his intelligence services. Access to the extraordinary riches of Ultra posed the danger that one sought in the decrypts for what one wanted to see. Churchill, who read Ultra decrypts every day and often \"raw\" ones\u2014i.e., uninterpreted by his military staff\u2014had fastened tightly on those indicating that Hitler only intended his troops to stand in northern Italy, at the foot of the Alps. By contrast, the President was less beholden to that one source, and remained skeptical. On July 10, as the troops of the Western Allies had stormed ashore in Sicily, the latest OSS intelligence bulletin from Brigadier General Bill Donovan, who directed U.S. espionage services abroad, had been couriered to the White House Map Room. Rear Admiral Brown, the President's naval assistant, had himself brought it to the President\u2014a report predicting the Italians would soon betray their Axis partner and sue for surrender. With stark realism, however, Donovan's report had also warned that the Germans \"are quite prepared to treat the Italians as they would an enemy.\" They would thus squash their former partners like cockroaches\u2014and fight the harder once free of coalition allies they largely despised.\n\nThe President had agreed with Donovan\u2014who had won the Medal of Honor and the Distinguished Service Medal fighting the Germans in France in World War I. The Allies, the President was sure, must not be complacent, or be swayed by armchair strategists. Italy's collapse would certainly be a political triumph for the Allies, and was certainly worth pursuing. It could also be dangerous, however, if it encouraged Churchill and like-minded peripheralists to jump to conclusions about Italian assistance, or German unwillingness to fight in southern Italy.\n\nAs the days of high summer unfolded, Donovan's prediction did indeed become reality. The Germans, it would become clear to even the most starry-eyed, were very, very different from their southern neighbors\u2014neighbors the Germans had always held in suspicion but now began to treat with merciless, murderous contempt.\n\nThe profound cultural difference between the two Axis enemies would, in fact, climax in the summer and fall of 1943\u2014exposing the fault lines of what Churchill called the Grand Alliance, and threatening to sunder what had, in July, appeared to be the approach of Hitler's end.\nPART TEN\n\n* * *\n\n#  _Conundrum_\n**38**\n\n# Stalin Lies\n\nAS THE _Ferdinand Magellan_ made its way back from Ontario to Washington, the President finally heard from Stalin. Once decoded, the cable\u2014dated August 8, 1943\u2014was handed to him. It was a long message agreeing to a meeting. Not, however, the meeting Roosevelt was hoping for.\n\nIn surprisingly friendly English, the Russian marshal\u2014who had gotten himself promoted as the first civilian to hold that rank by the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR on March 6, 1943, in recognition of his role as supreme commander in chief of the armed forces of the Soviet Union\u2014began by apologizing. His focus as a Russian marshal had had to be on his \"primary duty\u2014the direction of action at the front. I have frequently to go to the different parts of the front and to submit all the rest to the interests of the front,\" he kept repeating\u2014blatantly lying, since he had only once ever gone near the front, and that only for a few hours. \"I hope that under such circumstances you will fully understand that at the present time I cannot go on a long journey and shall not be able, unfortunately, during this summer and autumn to keep my promise given to you through Mr. Davi[e]s. I regret it very much, but, as you know, circumstances are sometimes more powerful than people who are compelled to submit to them.\" He was, however, willing to agree meantime to a later \"meeting of the responsible representatives\" of the United States and the Soviet Union at Archangel, on the north coast of Russia, or Astrakhan, on the south, Caspian, coast\u2014i.e., on Russian territory, and terms.\n\nIf the President was unable to go to such a summit, so distant from Washington, Stalin continued, Mr. Roosevelt could send a \"responsible and fully trusted person\"; moreover, he was quite happy for Churchill to attend the get-together\u2014thus making it a \"meeting of the representatives of the three countries.\" In the meantime they should raise, in advance, the \"questions which are to be discussed,\" and the \"drafts of proposals which are to be accepted at the meeting.\" He added his belated congratulations to \"you and the Anglo-American troops on the occasion of the outstanding successes in Sicily which are resulted [ _sic_ ] in collapse of Mussolini and his gang.\"\n\nThe dictator's excuses for not meeting the President might be specious, but what was clear, now that the battle of Kursk was over and Mussolini toppled, was that Stalin saw no need to travel to America or to Alaska, cap in hand. He could afford to play hard to get\u2014or please.\n\nThe President was understandably disappointed, given the phenomenal amount of Lend-Lease equipment, food, chemicals, and metals being shipped to the USSR. Even Marshal Zhukov, Russia's greatest general, would admit after the war that \"the Americans shipped over to us _materi\u00e8l_ without which we could not have equipped our armies held in reserve or been able to continue the war.\" As Zhukov explained, \"We did not have enough munitions [and] how would we have been able to turn out all those tanks without the rolled steel sent to us by the Americans?\"\u2014let alone the four hundred thousand trucks dispatched.\n\n\"Drafts of proposals,\" meantime, made the President frown. Not only might it be more difficult to get agreement on the President's United Nations authority plan if preconference proposals had to go through the endless (and appropriately colored) red tape of Russian communist bureaucracy, but Churchill's presence might let the cat out of the bag\u2014namely, that Churchill and his generals were once again tilting away from a cross-Channel Second Front in favor of exploitation in the Mediterranean. And dangerous overoptimism in London.\n\nOne American chaplain in London, Colonel Maurice Reynolds, had openly forecast that the war might be over in five months\u2014that he would not be \"surprised if we all went home for Christmas. The rats are beginning to leave the sinking ship\u2014one [Mussolini] has left already,\" he'd been quoted in _Stars and Stripes,_ the U.S. Army newspaper.\n\nThis was an almost tragic assumption, given the tough fighting that lay ahead with the Germans. Not only was Allied strategy in danger of being compromised by naive opportunism, but if the Western Allies pulled out of their commitment to a Second Front, the President recognized, there would be tough problems with America's Russian partner\u2014with grave consequences for the peoples of central and even western Europe.\n\nThe disagreement between the U.S. generals at the Pentagon, and the growing continental divide between the Allies, was thus the unhappy scenario that faced the President when he finally entered the White House on the morning of August 9 for a whirlwind round of meetings. He'd agreed to meet Churchill and the British chiefs of staff in Quebec around August 15. This gave him only a few days to get his ducks back in a row.\n\nHe saw Secretary Hull for lunch, General Marshall at 2:00 p.m., Lord Halifax, the British ambassador, at 2:30, and dined with Hopkins that evening. He called his cousin Daisy to tell her what a great fishing trip he'd had\u2014\"a real success\u2014the place much like the Maine Coast\u2014rocky, wooded, 100s of islands, cool on the whole, very nice\u2014He says he'll take me there, perhaps, next year!\" But he also confided to her his latest plan: that he was determined to do his best to head off another Trident-like battle royal in the Canadian capital. He would therefore see Churchill in private at Hyde Park _before_ the Quebec meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff even began\u2014and twist Churchill's arm there until the Prime Minister backed off.\n**39**\n\n# War on Two Western Fronts\n\nIN HIS FIRESIDE CHAT radio broadcast, the President had denied there was any disunity between the Allies. \"You have heard some people say that the British and the Americans can never get along well together\u2014you have heard some people say that the Army and the Navy and the Air Forces can never get along well together\u2014that real cooperation between them is impossible.\" He'd denied the assertions, as U.S. president and commander in chief. \"Tunisia and Sicily have given the lie, once and for all, to these narrow-minded prejudices. Ahead of us are much bigger fights. We and our Allies will go into them as we went into Sicily\u2014together. And we shall carry on together,\" he'd claimed\u2014lauding the achievements of the Soviet Union as America's ally, too.\n\nBehind the fa\u00e7ade of unity, however, the conduct of the coalition war was in grave peril. Moreover, with Stalin calling for a meeting of foreign ministers in the fall, before the Allied leaders or their representatives got together, it would become impossible to conceal British pressure to defer or abandon the Second Front in favor of further operations on the Southern, or Mediterranean, Front.\n\nEven the President's postwar vision was in danger of unraveling\u2014from within. Two _New York Times_ journalists, John Crider and Arthur Krock, had now openly reported, while the President was fishing in Canada, on the growing rift between the secretary of state, Cordell Hull, and Undersecretary Welles\u2014reports that had been carried in other newspapers, too.\n\nThe President had therefore summoned both Welles and Hull to the Oval Office on August 10, the day after his return\u2014a meeting at which Hull declared he could not work with Welles, and that one of them must resign.\n\nAs if this was not enough, the President had read carefully his war secretary's \"Brief Report on Certain Features of Overseas Trip,\" which Henry Stimson had sent over to the White House, following his return from London and North Africa\u2014a report so alarming in terms of Allied strategy that the President had asked Stimson to lunch with him on August 10, immediately after his meeting with Hull and Welles. The lunch would precede the meeting he had convened with the Joint Chiefs of Staff at 2:30 in the Oval Office, to discuss \"the attitude to be taken by the U.S. Chiefs of Staff at the coming conference [in Quebec] with our opposite members from London,\" as Admiral Leahy put it in his diary.\n\nAn unfortunate breakdown in Allied war strategy was approaching\u2014at the very moment when, in the Southwest Pacific, American destroyers had sunk all four Japanese destroyers of the \"Tokyo Express\" seeking to reinforce their troops on Kolombangara in the Solomons; a moment when, in the North Pacific, U.S. and Canadian troops were preparing to land on Kiska Island in the Aleutians; a moment when, in Sicily, the retreating German troops were beginning to evacuate their forces across the Strait of Messina to the Italian mainland; and when, in Russia, the Wehrmacht was being forced to retreat on a three-hundred-mile front, giving up Orel and Belgorod\u2014cities occupied by German troops since October 1941.\n\nOf one thing the President was absolutely certain at this strategic crossroads for the Allies, however: that whatever anyone said or posited, the war might very well _not_ be over by Christmas\u2014even by Christmas 1944. He must therefore redouble his efforts to keep the Allied coalition together, marching to the same tune.\n\nAnd place. Berlin. Then Tokyo.\n\nReading over the materials the Joint Chiefs of Staff had sent him, prior to their meeting at the White House, the President appreciated their clear strategic reasoning, especially their August 9 memorandum, with its various enclosures.\n\nThe President was not, however, amused by the wording of one enclosure: a paper prepared by the Operations Division of the War Office, dated August 8, which stuck in his craw. In it the authors, headed by General Handy, painted the Torch invasion and year of victories since 1942 as wasteful and unnecessary\u2014in fact as having set back the defeat of Germany by a year. A cross-Channel invasion in 1943 \"was the one chance to end the war in Europe this year. If this had happened,\" General Handy claimed, \"all that has been gained would be insignificant by comparison.\"\n\nClearly the authors had never reflected on Dieppe. Or Kasserine. Or Sicily, for that matter, where the fighting had become remorseless. They had certainly never faced a German soldier in battle. It was, arguably, one of the most egregious underestimations of the enemy ever produced by a senior general of the U.S. military\u2014neither _combat_ nor _battle experience_ ever appearing in the document. All arguments had merely been laid out in terms of numbers of men furnishable to the front.\n\nThe President had shaken his head over that. Would these armchair planners never learn?\n\nFortunately, the Joint Chiefs of Staff had themselves prepared two far more mature papers, on August 7 and 9, attempting to \"develop a strategic concept for the defeat of the Axis in Europe.\" These papers concluded that, thanks to the Allied invasion of Sicily, the German offensive at Kursk had had to be curtailed; that the Wehrmacht would no longer be able to go on the attack or seek victory on the Eastern Front; and that therefore German strategy would now likely be one of fierce fighting to attain \"a satisfactory negotiated peace.\" As they warned, however, the Axis \"still retains strong defensive power. A defensive strategy on the part of the Axis might develop into a protracted struggle and result in a stalemate on the Continent.\" Therefore, \"the rapidly improving position of the United Nations in relation to the Axis in Europe demands an abrogation of opportunistic strategy and requires the adoption and adherence to sound strategic plans which envisage decisive military operations conducted at times and places of our choosing\u2014not the enemy's.\"\n\nThis, at least, was sensible. \"We must not jeopardize our sound over-all strategy,\" the memorandum argued, \"simply to exploit local successes in a generally accepted secondary theater, the Mediterranean, where logistical and terrain difficulties preclude decisive and final operations designed to reach the heart of Germany.\"\n\nThis new memorandum, Roosevelt felt, was far better argued than Handy's counterdocument. What it did not do was explain how the Western Allies could simply put major offensive operations against Germany on hold for nine months while they prepared Overlord. Not only would a nine-month hiatus be difficult to excuse to people at home, but it would be harder still to excuse to the Russians, currently facing three-quarters of the German Wehrmacht in combat on the Eastern Front. As the President chided Marshall, who had brought the memorandum to the White House for him to read on August 9, at 2:00 p.m., \"the planners were always conservative and saw all the difficulties\"; he was sure \"more could usually be done than they were willing to admit,\" as Marshall noted on his return to the Pentagon. By 11:00 a.m. the next day Marshall therefore wanted new planning documents that would meet the President's concerns. As Marshall reported Mr. Roosevelt's wishes:\n\n> That between Overlord and Priceless [further major operations in the Mediterranean] he was insistent on Overlord but felt that we could do more than was now proposed for Priceless. His idea was that the seven battle-experienced divisions should be provided for Overlord but that an equal number of divisions from the U.S. should be routed to Priceless.\n\n> He stated that he did not wish to have anything to do with an operation in the Balkans, nor to agree to a British expedition which would cost us ships, landing craft, withdrawals, etc. But he did feel that we should secure a position in Italy to the north of Rome and that we should take over Sardinia and Corsica and thus set up a serious threat to southern France.\n\nMarshall was stunned\u2014able only to protest that \"we had strained programmed resources well to the limit in the agreements now standing.\" Moreover, though Overlord would have priority of resources, a multifront strategy by the Western Allies, if adopted too heavily in the Mediterranean, would impose grave constraints on Overlord and its chances of success.\n\nThe President seemed unimpressed by Marshall's response\u2014as the general was aware. Clearly the President saw Marshall as maintaining a kind of ideological focus on Overlord, which seemed not only bureaucratic but wooden and out of touch with political reality. The American people, furnishing the weapons and the soon-to-be eleven million soldiers for the war\u2014as well as paying the taxes to fund it\u2014could not be expected to condone _nine months_ of a virtual cease-fire at this juncture, during which anything might happen\u2014both positive and negative.\n\nRather, the President sounded determined the Allies should keep the initiative, now that they had the Germans on the run. General Brooke, the British CIGS, was right to see Italy as a major theater of war, where major German forces could be forced to fight, rather than switch divisions back to the Eastern Front. Once in Italy, moreover, the Allies could maintain the offensive initiative: possessing the airfields from which to bomb southern Germany, and bases for the troops from which to mount an invasion of southern France if it were deemed opportune, thus helping Overlord\u2014indeed offering an alternative lodgment if Overlord did not succeed. The President, Marshall penned in the note he made at the Pentagon, therefore wanted to see him \"at noon tomorrow\" with the logistical implications of a two-front campaign on the European mainland. \"Incidentally, he said he did not like my use of the word 'critical' because he wanted assistance in carrying out his conception rather than difficulties placed in the way of it\u2014all of this in a humorous vein,\" Marshall reported to his staff.\n\nThe President had spoken. He was U.S. commander in chief, and it was for Marshall, as U.S. Army chief of staff, to ensure the President's conception be carried out, not keep harping on \"critical\" insufficiencies, or jeopardy. Period.\n\nOnce the Joint Chiefs of Staff were seated in the Oval Office at 2:15 on the afternoon of August 10\u2014and with the secretary of war, Mr. Stimson, having been invited to witness the meeting, following his lunch with the President\u2014Mr. Roosevelt held forth: explaining the political context behind the next decisions that must be made at Quebec, where they would be conferring with their British opposite numbers.\n\nThe \"British Foreign Office does not want the Balkans to come under the Russian influence,\" he told them. Therefore, \"Britain wants to get to the Balkans first\"\u2014understandably. However, he himself rather doubted the Russians wanted or were in a position to \"take over the Balkan states\" such as Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Albania, and Greece. They would, he predicted, prefer rather to \"establish kinship,\" or associative relationship, \"with the other Slavic people\" in southern Europe. \"In any event,\" he went on, he \"thought it unwise to plan military strategy on a gamble as to political results,\" rather than what was possible or desirable militarily. A major U.S. campaign in the Balkans would have no guarantee of succeeding, indeed might well fail. It would certainly distract from the cross-Channel invasion scheduled for May 1944\u2014a gamble the United States couldn't take.\n\nGeneral Marshall agreed wholeheartedly. If the shift of the seven battle-hardened Allied divisions designated for Overlord from the Mediterranean did not take place, it would, he pointed out, \"simply invite having these extra divisions used for invasion in the Balkans. This would meet the Prime Minister's and Mr. Eden's desires, but would make the Mediterranean operation so extensive as to have a disastrous effect on the main effort from England\"\u2014a warning that prompted Admiral King to suggest \"to the President that if the British insist upon abandoning Overlord or postponing the operation indefinitely, we should abandon the project as in carrying it on we would simply waste our substance.\"\n\nAdmiral King's disgust with the British prompted the President to reassert the crucial necessity of mounting Overlord as the number one priority. Indeed, to the amazement of his own advisers, the President then \"said we can, if necessary, carry out the project ourselves. He was certain that the British would be glad to make the necessary bases in England available to us.\"\n\nThe United States mounting the cross-Channel invasion _without_ British participation?\n\nIn the long months since Pearl Harbor, there had been threats to switch military priority to the Pacific, but never such a gesture of scorn for British timidity and avoidance of decisive battle\u2014certainly never before by the President.\n\nIn part the bleak picture of British cowardice was the result of Secretary Stimson's journey to London and Algiers. On his return he had painted a disturbing portrait of Churchill's intentions, but the President didn't think, in the end, it would come to a breach in the alliance. The British, he was certain, could not afford to let down, before the whole world, the major ally that had saved them from German and Japanese victory. Moreover, the United States was not averse, the President explained, to establishing air bases in southern Italy and opening a fighting front in Italy; it was just a matter of saying no to an advance further north than the capital, lest the Allies be drawn into Hitler's web.\n\n\"He was for going no further into Italy than Rome,\" Stimson noted with satisfaction that night, \"and that for the purpose of establishing bases. He was for setting up as rapidly as possible a larger force in Great Britain for the purpose of Roundhammer [Overlord] so that as soon as possible and before the actual time of landing we should have more soldiers in Britain dedicated to that purpose than the British. He said he wanted to have an American commander and he thought that would make it easier if we had more men in the expedition at the beginning. I could see that the military and naval conferees were astonished and delighted at his definiteness.\"\n\nThey were. \"The President stated that, frankly, his reason for desiring American preponderance in force,\" General Deane wrote in his minutes of the meeting, following discussion of the American divisions that could be shipped to England before D-day (fifteen in number), was \"to have the basis for insisting on an American commander. He wished that preponderance of force to be sufficient to make it impossible for the British to disagree with the suggestion.\"\n\nThe new strategy was thus clear. War on two western fronts\u2014but the Italian front limited to a line just north of Rome. And an American supreme commander for Overlord, lest the British try to renege on their commitment to a cross-Channel invasion.\n\n\"The President then summed up the discussion by stating that our available means seem to fit in pretty well with our plans. He outlined these as insistence upon the continuation of the present Overlord buildup and carrying out that operation as our main effort,\" Deane recorded. Moreover, the President wanted to have enough Americans in Britain \"in order to justify an American commander\" for Overlord, he restated. Together with this, he was in favor of leaving Eisenhower with sufficient forces in the Mediterranean to establish U.S. air power in southern Italy (where weather conditions permitted takeoff and landing almost every day, compared to often prohibitive flying conditions over England). Such forces on the southern European front would give the Allies strategic flexibility if for any reason the Overlord operation was repelled, but the President was emphatically \"opposed to operations in the Balkans.\" Yes, it would be good to have an army able to stop the Russians from overrunning countries in south-central Europe as they advanced\u2014but the Western Allies still did not have a single boot on the mainland of Europe, and the Balkans were in any case a nightmare in terms of terrain. Knowing the Germans, the Wehrmacht would contest every yard. It was, therefore, \"unwise to plan military strategy based on a gamble as to political results.\"\n\n\"I came away with a very much lighter heart on the subject of our military policy than I have had in a long time,\" Stimson dictated at home in his diary, delighted with his commander in chief's stance. \"He was more clear and definite than I have ever seen him since we have been in this war.\"\n\nWhat pleased Stimson even more was that the President now wanted an American in charge of Overlord\u2014something Stimson, in a letter he'd brought with him to the White House for the President, had also recommended. He'd shown his draft letter to Marshall before leaving the Pentagon that morning, pleading for Marshall to be the man, and Marshall had not demurred (though anxious that Stimson not tell the President he had seen the recommendation, lest he be seen to be pursuing personal ambition).\n\nThe loss of Marshall from Washington\u2014were he to be Overlord's supreme commander\u2014would be dire, but it was necessary, Stimson felt, to show the British that America meant business: Overlord the only way that \"Germany can be really defeated and the war brought to an end.\"\n\nWhether the President would select Marshall as supreme commander, however, was quite another matter. As would be the British chiefs' reaction to the President's strategy, once they all reached Quebec.\n\nAnd with that the President prepared to meet his counterpart, the Right Honorable Winston Churchill and his wife at Hyde Park on August 12, 1943.\n\nThe planning for the endgame in World War II in Europe was now coming to a climax.\n**40**\n\n# The F\u00fchrer Is Very Optimistic\n\nTHE PRESIDENT'S INSISTENCE that Churchill meet him at Hyde Park before the Quebec Conference was not motivated by politeness or hospitality. For good or ill, the President was aware the meeting with the British prime minister might well determine the course of World War II\u2014and its aftermath.\n\nStrategic flexibility or inflexibility\u2014that was the question in Churchill's eyes. Opportunism or strategic determination\u2014this was the question in Roosevelt's.\n\nThe question of who was right and who was wrong would vex political and military historians for the next seventy years. Time was certainly of the essence\u2014the President having received reports of ever-increasing German atrocities in the occupied countries of Europe. The latest of these had come on August 10, the day he met with the Joint Chiefs at the White House. From London, the U.S. ambassador to the Polish government in exile, Tony Biddle, had reported German mass murder\u2014genocidal pogroms\u2014on a scale never seen before in human history.\n\nThe President, in his broadcast on July 31, had already warned neutral countries not to give asylum to war criminals, but Biddle felt this would not be enough. As he put it, \"apart from the punishment of war criminals for the crimes they have committed, it has become more imperative than ever to restrain the Germans from committing further the mass murder of the Polish population in Poland. This becomes all the more urgent since it may be anticipated that the policy of exterminating the population of entire provinces, as is practiced in Poland, may also be applied by the Germans in the present final stages of the war to the people in other German-occupied territories, like the Czechs, Yugoslavs, French and those in the occupied parts of the U.S.S.R.,\" his report warned\u2014noting the Germans had already \"exterminated\" the majority of the Jewish population, and were deporting to concentration camps hundreds of thousands of Poles, while men between the ages of fourteen and fifty were being taken to Germany as slave labor. \"Women, children and old people are sent to camps to be killed in gas chambers which previously served to exterminate the Jewish population of Poland,\" he reported. As if this were not enough, it \"may be presumed that the Germans are reckoning in the possibility of a defeat, and have consequently decided to exterminate the largest possible proportion of the Polish population\" in a kind of apocalyptic conflagration\u2014quoting Fritz Sauckel, the Reich minister of slave labor, saying as recently as June 19, 1943, in Krak\u00f3w: \"If the Germans lose the war, we shall see that nothing remains either here or elsewhere in Europe.\" The Germans would, in other words, not only resort to a scorched-earth policy, but torch peoples as well.\n\nIt was thus imperative, Roosevelt considered, to end the Nazi nightmare in Europe as soon as could be achieved\u2014something that would never be accomplished by opportunistic operations in the eastern Mediterranean and Aegean, however much Churchill and the British Foreign Office feared an eventual Sovietization in central Europe.\n\nChurchill, too, was all for finishing the war as swiftly as possible; he merely saw the challenge differently. Imaginative, impetuous, and excitable, he was pulled in all directions, as General Brooke noted in his diary\u2014but least of all in the direction of a cross-Channel landing and campaign. When writing his epic, six-volume memoirs of the conflict, Churchill would title his fifth volume _Closing the Ring._ The \"Theme of the Volume\" (a mantra he liked to insert in the frontispiece to each work) was the story of \"How Nazi Germany was Isolated and Assailed on All Sides.\"\n\nCould Hitler and his regime be swiftly toppled by being \"isolated,\" however? In the excitement of the summer of 1943, Churchill was minded to think so. The Germans would surely cave in once they saw\u2014like the Italians\u2014the game was up, and only destruction faced their nation if they sought to fight on. His July 19 minute to his chiefs of staff maintained the \"right strategy for 1944\" would be to pursue the Germans \"certainly to the Po,\" after Husky, with the option of attacking westward to the south of France or northeastward toward Vienna, \"and meanwhile to procure the expulsion of the enemy from the Balkans and Greece.\" Moreover, rather than launch a costly cross-Channel assault, to prepare an Allied invasion of Norway, to be mounted \"under the cover of 'Overlord.'\" Encirclement around the fringe _s_ of mainland Europe, he'd considered, would lead to \"Hitler and Mussolini\" being \"disposed of in 1944.\"\n\nIt was this vision\u2014tantamount to fantasy, unfortunately\u2014that had come to obsess the Prime Minister, and which underlay his latest, enlarged mission to North America: some 230 men embarked on the _Queen Mary_ to take Churchill's latest strategy to Quebec, which they reached on August 10.\n\nIt was a mission, however, that the President was determined to preempt by insisting on meeting Churchill first\u2014in private. The British must be held to the only policy that would actually defeat Nazi Germany, rather than merely ringing it. This meant a spring 1944 cross-Channel invasion, with no holds barred\u2014and no more backtracking by the British. Once the two men got together at Hyde Park, the President had decided, moreover, he would have to use his trump card.\n\nAs Roosevelt prepared to meet his recalcitrant ally, Hitler had meantime asked Dr. Goebbels to fly from Berlin to the Wolf's Lair to \"discuss the whole situation from every point of view.\"\n\nThe F\u00fchrer, Goebbels found when he arrived on August 10, had decided to abandon his main Axis ally. The new Badoglio government would \"betray\" Germany, he was certain, despite its assurances of loyalty to the Axis Pact. A telephone conversation between Churchill and Roosevelt had been intercepted, and both Goebbels and Hitler were scornful. \"These plutocrat leaders imagine things in Italy as being much more positive for them than they really are. The F\u00fchrer knows every trick in the book, though,\" Goebbels noted with evil satisfaction in his diary. \"German troops are now streaming into Italy\"\u2014in fact, German flags were already flying over Mantua and Genoa. \"There's no danger of anything too terrible happening. The F\u00fchrer is absolutely determined he's not going to surrender Italy as a battlefield. He has no intention of letting the Americans and the British get to northern Italy. The worthwhile part of the country, at least, will remain in our possession.\"\n\nHaving overcome his initial panic and fury over Mussolini's arrest, Hitler now actually _welcomed,_ he said, the impending capitulation of Italy: a nation that had no national will, he felt, beyond the popular fascist speeches of the Duce. Mussolini no longer impressed him, in retrospect. The Duce had failed to declare war in September 1939, when his intercession might have gotten England to back away from world war; moreover, at home in Italy, Mussolini had failed to crush the monarchical, aristocratic conservative elements who considered him a fly-by-nighter.\n\nTo maintain his power, a dictator must be perceived by his own people to be ruthless, Hitler understood\u2014and by preparing to crush the forces of Italy and move Wehrmacht troops immediately to occupy the entire Italian peninsula, the F\u00fchrer would be seen to be asserting his absolute will\u2014Aryan, egalitarian, merciless. Actions that would speak louder than any words.\n\nWas Hitler assuming too much of his _Volksgenossen_ \u2014his fellow citizens?\n\nIn 1943 Hitler would only appear in public twice\u2014an isolation at his headquarters that filled Dr. Goebbels, as a master of public relations, with disappointment, even anxiety. Yet the F\u00fchrer seemed to know better than his chief propagandist that he had no need to show himself in public, or even inspect his troops. With drums, banners, swastikas, and film and press fanfare, he had as F\u00fchrer given the German Volk what they yearned for: order, authority, a new place\u2014a supreme place\u2014in the European sun; a sense of belonging to a dynamic, productive community with rational if draconian goals\u2014and sufficient pride in their country's history and extraordinary military achievements to defend it and its conquests now to the death, literally. He was therefore confident he had the willing, even enthusiastic, obedience of his troops\u2014troops who would fight all the harder and more effectively _without_ the hindrance of an always-unreliable Axis ally. Italy's military missteps in Greece and North Africa in 1941 had dragged German forces into a southern theater of war that had distracted from the F\u00fchrer's main priority, the defeat of Russia\u2014in fact were now affording the Western Allies a possible stepping-stone into Europe. Without the millstone of Italian allies, however, that stepping-stone could be transformed into a _Sumpf:_ a bog, where the Western Allies could become enmeshed, ensnared, mired. If, that was, the Allies could be tempted into further fighting in the Mediterranean and Aegean.\n\nWhile always keeping the Atlantic Wall as strong as possible, ensuring there were enough divisions stationed in France to defeat any attempt at a Second Front, he would now lure the British and Americans to the south of _Festung Europa,_ Hitler told Goebbels. He would thereby buy time without taking great losses, or facing a real threat to the Reich itself: the Vaterland. True, in the probable event of Italian surrender to the Allies, vital German divisions and air force groups would have to take over the positions hitherto held by Italian units in the Mediterranean and Aegean, stretching from Sardinia to Samos\u2014forces that could not then be used on the Eastern Front. But with no-nonsense German military control not only of Italy and of the eastern Adriatic\u2014from Slovenia to Albania, Greece and Crete, with all their airfields\u2014the Western Allies would be at a disadvantage. Given the mountainous terrain and the fighting efficiency of Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe units, the Americans and British would be hard put to form a Mediterranean front that had any hope anywhere of reaching Germany.\n\nWith every week and every month the Western Allies would be held in the Mediterranean _Sumpf._ Germany would thus have time, Hitler calculated, to finish the development of the Third Reich's secret weapons\u2014long-range rockets and ballistic missiles\u2014and to deploy them, from January 1944 onwards.\n\nRoosevelt had boasted that America was the arsenal of democracy. But as F\u00fchrer of the Third Reich he would show how, using not only slave labor in Germany but products manufactured in France and the occupied countries for the Third Reich, the Third Reich was the arsenal of Europe. Not even mass RAF night raids and U.S. Air Force daylight bombing could turn the tables. Allied air force losses in conducting mass raids of German cities were unsustainable in the long run. Under the leadership of Albert Speer, the production of German armaments was being dispersed away from big cities, while evacuation of families would deny the Allies the collapse of German civilian morale.\n\nHitler's fascination, in fact obsession, with the minutiae of weaponry might be mocked by some of his generals, but in a war of numbers, it was the quality of weapons that counted, along with the sheer discipline of German Wehrmacht soldiery in combat. U.S. and British industrial output might statistically outstrip that of the Third Reich, but the technical truth was, he sneered, their weapons were inferior, their soldiery less ruthless, and the demands of their various theaters of war too global. By contrast, now that Italy's ill-fated campaign in North Africa was over, the Third Reich had the advantage: cohesion. A single continent as its battlefield, with Germany at its epicenter\u2014its high command able to furnish reinforcements in any direction, especially if Goebbels, G\u00f6ring, and other senior officials could squeeze out still more military personnel from the workforce, and more slave labor from the occupied countries\u2014including Italy now.\n\nWith the Japanese reaffirming their pact with Berlin, and drawing an ever more significant portion of U.S. and British military effort to the Far East and Pacific, the chances of the Western Allies mounting a Western Front\u2014at least a successful Second Front\u2014if they were tied down in the Mediterranean were, in Hitler's mind, distinctly dim.\n\nGoebbels was thus delighted by the f\u00fchrer he'd met at the Wolfschanze. It was no mask of confidence Hitler was putting on for his generals, his headquarters staff, or his visitors in the high and late summer of 1943, the Reich minister judged: it was real.\n\nThe South Tyrol, annexed by Italy from the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1918, would be occupied by German forces and henceforth become part and parcel of the Third Reich. \"We just have to keep our nerve and not be distracted by the enemy's panic-machine,\" Goebbels noted. \"Whatever they cook up in Washington and London, they won't find consuming as easy as preparing. It'll take quite a while for the Italian crisis to sort itself out.\" The F\u00fchrer was determined to hold the Alps and Italy as far as the Po, but \"the rest of Italy is worth nothing,\" intrinsically, Goebbels recorded\u2014adding, though, that \"in private and in the greatest secrecy,\" Hitler had stated he would not only try and arrest Marshal Badoglio, King Emmanuel, and \"the whole baggage\" in Rome, but was planning to \"defend the Reich as far south in Italy as possible,\" as he'd confided to Goebbels already in June.\n\nThis latter intention would have the gravest implications for the Allies\u2014who could decode high-grade German communications from Hitler's headquarters, but not read Hitler's mind. \"The fundamental principle of our war strategy is to keep the war as far as possible from the borders of the homeland,\" Goebbels noted on August 10. \"It is absolutely the right principle,\" he reflected. \"As long as we can master the war in the air\"\u2014especially with better _Flak_ and new jet fighters\u2014\"the German people can be trusted to stick it out for a pretty long time.\" The harvest in Germany looked good, with more that could be brought in from occupied countries. Using slave labor, the outlook for the Third Reich was thus far more positive than the way the foreign press was depicting it. If the Western Allies could be lured to commit themselves to all-out war on the Southern Front rather than a Second Front, they could be savaged\u2014perhaps even repelled\u2014by the sheer professionalism and ruthless energy of the Wehrmacht. Certainly the Allies could be held at bay, far from the Reich, and in close combat\u2014with London and the British Isles, meantime, under aerial bombardment by secret weapons: \"our planned measures to be taken in the coming months.\" \"With regard to our countermeasures against the British,\" Goebbels confided, \"the F\u00fchrer thinks they can be launched in great numbers by January or February [1944] at the latest. He's going to set upon London with a fury never witnessed before. He's anticipating great things from our missiles. They've been fully tested; we just have to accelerate production to the level we need. So we have to be patient.\"\n\nAs for the Eastern Front, moreover, Hitler seemed confident the Russians could be held\u2014indeed had been beaten badly, in effect, at Kursk. As such they could be thrashed again that winter, if the Western Allies were kept at bay in the south. \"It will take time, and we have to be patient,\" Goebbels repeated\u2014Hitler interested in why Stalin had recently withdrawn his two ambassadors, Litvinov and Maisky, from Washington and London.\n\nPuzzled, Hitler and Goebbels wondered if there was an opportunity to cleave the Allies apart. Stalin could not defeat the Wehrmacht without the Western Allies mounting a Second Front\u2014something that, if the Allies still balked at such a mission, might well lead to a breakdown in the Allied alliance far more momentous than the looming collapse of the Axis Pact. \"We have to let our apples ripen. It would be a real irony of world history if we were to be courted by both the Soviets and the Anglo-Americans in this situation\u2014which is not inconceivable,\" Goebbels noted. \"It sounds absurd, but it is a possibility. In any event we've got to do our best to work on the current difficulties between them. As long as we don't have a disaster on the Eastern Front, our situation will be secure.\"\n\nIf Germany's Eastern and Southern Fronts were held, and the enemy's air offensive was parried, Germany would remain politically and militarily in the ascendant. \"The F\u00fchrer is very optimistic,\" Goebbels described, \"perhaps too optimistic. But it's good to see him in such good form. Either way we're going to put everything we can, to the last breath, into the struggle.\" He hadn't seen Hitler looking so fresh and on such a high for ages\u2014\"he told me that as soon as things get dangerous, all his aches and pains disappear and he feels healthy as never before.\"\n\nA renewed German peace with Stalin, as in the Ribbentrop Pact of 1939? It didn't seem likely, as things stood. But over time?\n\nProviding the Soviets were willing to leave Germany in control of the Ukraine\u2014with its all-import grain harvest, and the Donets Basin, with its huge reserves of coal\u2014the F\u00fchrer seemed willing to parley. In the meantime 1943, far from being a _verlorene Jahr,_ a lost year, the Third Reich would remain in almost complete military control of the whole of Europe\u2014moreover able to deal with Jewish and Resistance problems more ruthlessly than ever.\n\nThis, then, was Hitler's strategy\u2014one that was far more effective in the short term than his enemies or even his own generals admitted, then or later. Mussolini's arrest and the probable defection of the Italians as his Axis ally were removing the biggest burden from Hitler's back\u2014not increasing it, as so many assumed in their excitement. Winston Churchill and his British parliamentary colleagues, especially Anthony Eden, were known to be pressing for exploitation in the eastern Mediterranean. This was all to the good, as Goebbels had joyfully discussed with Hitler. Dissension among the Allies would make the F\u00fchrer's task the simpler, with no sign of Stalin willing to confer with his Western counterparts\u2014only ever-increasing scolding in the Moscow press at the failure of the Western powers to mount a Second Front.\n\nJust one thing could thus imperil the F\u00fchrer's warplan: American insistence on the mounting of a massive, all-out cross-Channel invasion of northern France in 1944, in coordination with the Soviets, that would crush Germany between them\u2014Hitler's age-old nightmare.\n\n#\n\n**Churchill on the Wrong Warpath**\n\n* * *\n\n> With hundreds of advisers and staff officers, Churchill arrives in New York in May 1943 aboard the _Queen Mary_ (here bringing back U.S. troops two years later) to oppose agreed-upon U.S.-British strategy.\n\n> On Capitol Hill he inveighs against a cross-Channel Allied invasion before 1945 or 1946, citing impossible odds.\n\n**Axis Surrender in North Africa**\n\n* * *\n\n> In Tunisia, a quarter million Axis troops in North Africa surrender to Eisenhower on May 12, 1943, the culmination of the President's \"great pet scheme.\" For FDR this proves the Allies are on the road to military victory in Europe; for Churchill it means the Allies should stay in the Mediterranean.\n\n**Reading Churchill the Riot Act**\n\n* * *\n\n> Churchill is intransigent; the U.S. secretary of war accuses the British of cowardice. The President takes the Prime Minister to Shangri-la to fish, while the U.S. chiefs of staff work on Churchill's military team. Eventually FDR has to give Churchill a talking-to. Following the invasion of Sicily and southern Italy, U.S. troops will be withdrawn to England for a definite 1944 D-day. Churchill is furious.\n\n**Sicily\u2014and Kursk**\n\n* * *\n\n> On July 10, 1943, the Western Allies take the war to Europe, invading Sicily. The magnitude of the landings stuns Hitler\u2014who calls off Operation Citadel, his great summer battle on the Eastern Front to destroy Stalin's Soviet armies at Kursk.\n\n**The Fall of Mussolini**\n\n* * *\n\n> With Italian troops running from the Allies in Sicily, Hitler flies to Italy to encourage Mussolini to fight on rather than surrender. Six days later, the Duce is arrested by his own people. The Germans will have to fight for Italy instead.\n\n**Churchill Returns\u2014Yet Again**\n\n* * *\n\n> Once again Churchill returns to Hyde Park, this time with his daughter Mary, to persuade FDR to abandon U.S. strategy for an Allied cross-Channel invasion in 1944. The Prime Minister is convinced it will be a disaster, and that better results will be obtained from Mediterranean operations.\n\n> The President refuses to listen to such defeatism. He threatens to withhold the Manhattan Project's atomic bomb discoveries from Britain. The two men join the Canadian PM and the Combined Chiefs of Staff in Quebec. There the D-day plans for spring 1944 will be cast in stone.\n\n**The First Crack in the Axis**\n\n* * *\n\n> In Ottawa, the President announces \"the first crack in the Axis.\" The Allies suffer their own cracks, however. Churchill misunderstands German determination to fight, even in other people's countries, and Stalin\u2014facing two-thirds of the Wehrmacht\u2014loses faith in Allied willingness to defeat the Axis.\n\n**The Reckoning**\n\n* * *\n\n> At Hyde Park (driving his own car), FDR tries to keep the Allies focused on the defeat of Nazi Germany, rather than become too embroiled in the Mediterranean. For all of Winston's faults, though, FDR needs the Prime Minister to help save western Europe from postwar Soviet domination once the Nazis are beaten.\n\n> At Salerno, south of Naples, on September 9, 1943, FDR's worst fears are realized. Churchill's vision of a \"soft underbelly\" is not soft. Fortunately, as Commander in Chief the President has stood firm, and U.S. preparations for D-day in 1944 will, he hopes, erase Churchill's near-fatal misjudgment.\n\n**41**\n\n# A Cardinal Moment\n\nMRS. CHURCHILL HAD felt unwell, following the turbulent sea voyage from Scotland, so Churchill, summoned to stay a few days with the President at Hyde Park, arrived by train from Canada at the small railway halt near the President's home around midday on August 12, 1943, without her. He had, though, his twenty-year-old daughter, Mary, in tow, a bubbly, charming subaltern in the Women's Auxiliary Territorial (equivalent to National Guard) Service.\n\nContrary to General Brooke's sour mien in Quebec, where he was preparing to meet the U.S. chiefs, the Prime Minister was full of joy at the latest news of secret negotiations for Italian surrender with Marshal Badoglio's representative. Ever the historian in attempting to set current events within the larger picture of the past, he felt the coalition nations had reached \"one of the cardinal moments\" of the war, as he'd put it in a cable to the President when calling for a tripartite meeting with Stalin, rather than waiting for the President to meet with Stalin one-on-one. In his telegram he'd claimed \"our Mediterranean strategy\" had already gained all that Stalin had \"hoped for from a cross-Channel second front\" that year\u2014dooming the German offensive at Kursk\u2014and that a Big Three meeting \"would be one of the milestones of history.\"\n\nThe President, for his part, worried that, far from being a milestone of history, it would be a millstone, if the Russians learned Churchill and his 230-man entourage were all for pulling out of Overlord yet again. Worse, in fact, if the Russians\u2014who were still facing some two hundred Wehr- macht divisions on the Eastern Front\u2014lost all faith in the Western Allies. Stalin's unwillingness to meet before the fall had at least given the President time to reassert his role as leader of the Western nations. Roosevelt therefore arrived at Springwood ahead of Churchill on August 12, shortly after breakfast.\n\nRather than incurring an immediate contretemps, the President had decided to show no outward concern, but to treat Churchill and his daughter with his usual affable hospitality and respect. He'd therefore instructed that Winston's lovely painting of Marrakesh, which the Prime Minister had brought over in person in May, at the time of the Trident Conference, should be hung in the main room of the new Library at Hyde Park before the Prime Minister's arrival, as well as Raymond Perry Neilson's vibrant new canvas of the both of them at the Atlantic Charter meeting, on the deck of the _Prince of Wales,_ flanked by their chiefs of staff.\n\nGreeting Churchill and his daughter\u2014who was in uniform\u2014the President drove them in person to Hyde Park. Given the oppressive summer heat, he also arranged, once they were settled in, for swimming at Val-Kill, Eleanor's cottage: the President driving Churchill there in his special Ford, the swim to be followed by fish chowder from an old Delano family recipe, and hot dogs cooked by the First Lady herself.\n\nThe Prime Minister certainly showed no disappointment at the simple outdoors fare, indeed he entered into the spirit of the country weekend as to the manor born\u2014even eating the hot dogs he was served. \"Mr. C. ate 1 & 1\/2,\" Daisy Suckley recorded with amusement in her diary, \"and had a special little ice-pail for his scotch.\"\n\nDaisy thought Churchill \"a strange little man,\" though. \"Fat & round, his clothes bunched up on him. Practically no hair on his head\"\u2014a fact that compelled him to seek shelter from the sun's harsh glare under \"a 10-gallon hat.\" When he undressed, Daisy was even more amused. \"In a pair of [swimming] shorts, he looked exactly like a kewpie,\" she described.\n\nReturning to her own family mansion at Wilderstein that evening, Daisy noted that \"Churchill adores the P\"\u2014\"loves him, as a man, looks up to him, defers to him, leans on him. He is older than the P. but the P. is a bigger person, and Churchill recognizes it. I saw in Churchill, too, an amount of real greatness I did not suspect before. Speaking of South Africa, Ch.[urchill] said General Smuts is one of the really great men of the world\u2014a prophet\u2014a 'seer'\u2014his very words\u2014He wants to get him to London, for his 'mind on post war Europe' . . .\"\n\nThe President, too, was an admirer of Jan Christiaan Smuts.\n\nSmuts's support for Roosevelt's vision of the United Nations had certainly been encouraging. But in terms of military strategy, Smuts's overoptimism was as worrying as Churchill's, the President felt\u2014seemingly unaware, despite or perhaps because of his great reputation as a guerilla fighter in the Boer War, just how difficult it would be to fight the Wehr-macht head-on, and thus, like Churchill, now contesting the feasibility of Overlord.\n\nTo add to the British Commonwealth preference for peripheral rather than head-to-head combat, also, there was Anthony Eden, the British Balkanist\u2014who would be attending the Quebec Conference and clashing horns with Secretary Hull. This would make the President's task doubly difficult. The President gave no hint of anxiety, however, even to Daisy.\n\n\"The P. was relaxed and seemingly cheerful in the midst of the deepest problems,\" she described. As the President explained to Churchill, the imminent surrender of Italy was a most welcome development\u2014but it would not win the war against Germany. Nor could it be counted upon, in all likelihood, to keep Russia as an ally in the war against the Axis. Germany would arguably be more powerful alone than burdened by an ally like Italy. This could have serious ramifications\u2014not only in the event that Stalin sought a separate peace with Hitler or an alternative German government, but in terms of Russian cooperation in the war against Japan, slated to follow the defeat of Germany.\n\nThere was also the question of whether Russia would agree to be a participant in a United Nations security system thereafter, if the Western Allies failed to carry out Overlord\u2014and instead put their energies into a doomed campaign in the Dardanelles, to spite the Russians. As Secretary Stimson had put it in the memorandum he'd brought with him to lunch with the President two days before, the \"Prime Minister and his Chief of the Imperial Staff,\" General Brooke, were still \"frankly at variance with\" Overlord. \"The shadow of Passchendaele and Dunkerque still weigh too heavily over the imagination of these leaders of his government. Though they have rendered lip service to the operation, their hearts are not in it.\" Nor were their heads\u2014though it was difficult to understand British reasoning that \"Germany can be beaten by a series of attritions in northern Italy, in the eastern Mediterranean, in Greece, in the Balkans, Rumania and other satellite countries, and that the only heavy fighting which needs to be done will be done by Russia. To me, in the light of the post-war problems which we shall face, that attitude towards Russia seems terribly dangerous,\" Stimson had written. \"None of these methods of pinprick warfare can be counted on by us to fool Stalin,\" he'd warned. And he'd pointed to the year 1864, \"when the firm unfaltering tactics of the Virginia campaign were endorsed by the people of the United States in spite of the hideous losses in the Wilderness, Spottsylvania [ _sic_ ], and Cold Harbor.\" Overlord was the only way \"Germany can be really defeated and the war brought to an end.\"\n\nStimson was certainly right to question the Prime Minister's loyalty to the Trident agreement. The day after his first talk with Churchill in London, on July 13, the Prime Minister had minuted his chiefs of staff with an immortal phrase that would come to personify his irrepressible but often unrealistic spirit. In the minute he had scorned the notion of landing merely on the toe of Italy, across the narrow Sicilian strait at Messina; \"why should we,\" he'd asked his generals, \"crawl up the leg like a harvest bug, from the ankle upwards? Let us rather strike at the knee\"\u2014an amphibious assault north of Naples, \"thus cutting off and leaving behind all Axis forces in Western Sicily and all ditto in the toe, ball, heel and ankle. It would seem that two or three good divisions could take Naples and produce decisive results if not on the political attitude of Italy then upon the capital. Tell the planners to throw their hat over the fence,\" the Prime Minister had declared in July, adding it was \"of the utmost urgency.\"\n\nTwo or three whole divisions, to be transported by sea, put ashore by landing craft, and reinforced more than two hundred miles behind the current German-Italian frontline?\n\nThe feasibility of this was something that had not concerned the Prime Minister. He'd seemed on the Mediterranean warpath, delighted with Smuts's supportive cable, and responding to it with excitement. \"I believe the President is with me: Eisenhower in his heart is naturally for it. I will in no circumstances allow the powerful British and British-controlled forces in the Mediterranean to stand idle.\" He would bring a Polish division from Persia, he would use Canadians and Indians\u2014all rushed in to exploit the imminent \"collapse\" of Italian forces. \"Not only must we take Rome and march as far north as possible in Italy but our right hand must give succour to the Balkan Patriots.\" If the Americans declined to cooperate \"we have ample forces to act by ourselves.\"\n\nChurchill's claim, in retrospect, was as ridiculous as the President's remark to his chiefs that U.S. troops could mount Overlord on their own, if the British reneged on the operation. The two statements were, however, an alarming indication as to how much the two Allies were now separating, not converging, in their war strategy. It was therefore up to the President to stitch them back together\u2014if he could.\n\nIn the circumstances, the President felt he had no option but to play his biggest card: the atom bomb.\n**42**\n\n# Churchill Is Stunned\n\nBEFORE LEAVING WASHINGTON, the President had rehearsed over lunch with Stimson the latest position over U.S. atomic bomb research\u2014which he'd placed under the war secretary's direction the previous year.\n\nWhen swift development of research had been in danger of stalling for lack of sufficient funding, early in January, 1943, Roosevelt had found the necessary money. Critical Canadian supplies of the necessary raw materials, moreover, had been contracted with the cooperation of the President's friend, Prime Minister Mackenzie King\u2014leaving the British, essentially, with only a cadre of theoretical physicists and no possibility of producing such a weapon by themselves. For months Churchill had been pressing for a bilateral agreement to pool research and its dividends\u2014the U.S. authorities refusing to cooperate, however, on grounds of American national security. Only the President had the authority to decide.\n\nIf Churchill would not adhere to the American Overlord strategy, as per the Trident agreement reached in May, the President thus quietly indicated to the Prime Minister that the United States would have to withhold an agreement to share development of the atomic weapon. If, by contrast, the British were willing to stand by the agreed Anglo-American Overlord strategy, then the President would go ahead and sign an agreement to share its atomic research program with the British\u2014 _and not the Russians._ This would, in itself, assure the Western Allies of a reserve weapon that could, if indeed it worked, stop the Soviets from spilling into western, perhaps even central, Europe.\n\nThe Prime Minister was shocked by the President's proposed deal. For Churchill personally, it would be a climbdown even more embarrassing than at the climax of the Trident Conference. Before leaving for Hyde Park on August 10, Churchill had gaily assured Prime Minister Mackenzie King in Quebec that the \"president is a fine fellow. Very strong in his views, but he comes around.\" This had not only been smug but clearly presumptuous, it seemed.\n\nThe President's firmness certainly surprised Winston. How would he explain backing off his opposition to Overlord, in Quebec, after bringing 230 staffers to argue his case? An agreement on the atomic bomb project must, of necessity, remain as secret as the research itself; he would thus not be able to reveal, let alone explain, the quid pro quo arrangement, save to a handful of his British team back in Quebec. It would also be politically problematic at home in England. A groundswell of resentment was already forming there against the United States, given that America was so clearly becoming the dominant partner in the Western Alliance. It might well affect the Prime Minister's support in Parliament, and room for maneuver in the War Cabinet.\n\nIn his heart of hearts, Churchill therefore continued to hope events on the ground in Europe would make Overlord unnecessary: that if the Allies' fall and winter operations against the Germans prospered in Italy and the Mediterranean, they would find Overlord unnecessary. Or if German defense forces in northern France swelled to an even greater extent, threatening disaster for Overlord, then he could always request the right to cancel the Overlord landings . . .\n\nIn any event, after swallowing the bitter pill, Winston Churchill recognized he would have to agree to the President's terms\u2014for the moment. He thus gave his assent.\n\nOverlord would go ahead as the number one Allied operation\u2014the decisive Allied operation\u2014with priority over all other commitments.\n\nChurchill was disappointed, but took his defeat graciously.\n\nThere was one further potion, however, Churchill must take before the two men left Hyde Park, the President made clear.\n\nChurchill waited to hear it.\n\nThe supreme commander of Overlord must be an American, since the largest contingent in the cross-Channel invasion would ultimately be from the United States. This decision, too, the Prime Minister would have to convey to General Brooke.\n\nChurchill was shocked\u2014the President's insistence an understandable blow to his patriotic British pride.\n\nIn the circumstances, though, there was nothing he could say, other than: Yes, Mr. President.\n\nThe historic deal, then, was struck.\n\nChurchill was not happy with the outcome\u2014indeed, he woke in the night \"unable to sleep and hardly able to breathe.\" He got up and \"went outside to sit on a bluff overlooking the river,\" where he \"watched the dawn,\" he later recalled.\n\nThe worst, at least, was over, however\u2014leaving the Western Allies with a clear, unified timetable and strategy for defeating Hitler's Third Reich. Considering that, at the Oval Office on August 10, Admiral King had suggested switching U.S. priority to the Pacific, Churchill had been skating on very thin ice\u2014with the gravest consequences for world history.\n\nFortunately the President had gotten the Prime Minister to concur. And with their new accord, the brief Hyde Park summit came to a happy end\u2014the Western Allies on the same page.\n\nChurchill tried to persuade the President they should both now go straight to Quebec to meet with the Combined Chiefs\u2014and thus spare Winston the humiliation of reporting his change of stance alone. The President said no, however.\n\nMrs. Roosevelt was about to tour American forces, hospitals, and installations in the Pacific theater for six weeks, and the President wanted to see her off. He wished, in particular, to give her a personal letter for General MacArthur in order to facilitate her tour once she arrived in Australia. Though they conducted more or less separate lives, Roosevelt was more proud of Eleanor as First Lady, and guardian of his social conscience, perhaps, than ever. He also wanted to have lunch with Secretary Hull in Washington and concert their approach to Italian government after unconditional surrender, before they both went to Quebec.\n\nTaking Churchill to the station, meantime, the President bade him and his daughter farewell. The following evening, August 15, Roosevelt himself boarded the _Ferdinand Magellan_ together with Harry Hopkins, who did not look at all well\u2014\"white, blue around the eyes, with red spots on his cheek bones,\" Daisy Suckley commented\u2014and set off, southwards. Traveling through the summer night the little presidential party made its way back to the White House. It had been quite a weekend.\nPART ELEVEN\n\n* * *\n\n#  _Quebec 1943_\n**43**\n\n# The German Will to Fight\n\nIN THE GENERAL narrative of the Second World War, the famous Quebec Conference of August 1943 would be seen as the moment when the Allies\u2014the Western Allies\u2014laid down their D-day strategy and timetable\u2014an Overlord operation scheduled to take place on May 1, 1944.\n\nIn reality, however, the decision had already been taken in May 1943, at the Trident Conference\u2014and in writing. Overruling Churchill\u2014and General Hull's brief planning revolt at the Pentagon\u2014the President had thereafter stuck to his guns. There was therefore no reason for Churchill to have brought his 230-man team to the Canadian capital, from a military point of view\u2014or for them to stay. General Eisenhower was handling the secret Italian surrender negotiations with Marshal Badoglio's representative, and the decision to appoint an American, not a British, supreme commander for Overlord had been agreed by Churchill at Hyde Park, in deference to the President's wishes. Had Churchill simply told his British team of the new deal\u2014trading partnership in the atomic bomb's development for British commitment to a clear American D-day strategy\u2014and had they returned to their ship, the _Queen Mary,_ the Quebec Conference need not have taken place.\n\nInstead, of course, it did take place\u2014bringing the British and American military teams almost to blows. At one point the noise of a revolver being fired in the conference room\u2014which had been cleared of clerks and junior officers\u2014would be thought to be the start of a gunfight.\n\nThe British, in short, acted at Quebec with extraordinary ill grace\u2014loath to accept a policy in the Mediterranean that did not envisage or permit exploitation of what they saw as a unique opportunity, after the toppling of Mussolini, to strike at the outer pillars supporting the Third Reich. In his war memoirs Churchill would title this section of his account \"Italy Won.\" But as the historian of Churchill's _opus magnum_ would later point out, Italy was _not_ won.\n\nInstead, the Allied campaign in Italy would arguably prove the most ill-conceived Allied offensive of the war thus far: a sad reflection, in all truth, of Churchill's misconception of modern combat. Far from being a victory, it would drag on for almost two years, never putting the Allies anywhere near a breakthrough, and causing the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Italian civilians long after their government had surrendered unconditionally. It would incur almost a third of a million Allied casualties\u2014killed and wounded\u2014for no other gain than could have been made at virtually no cost in September 1943. And this largely because Churchill and his military team completely underestimated the German will to fight, not for their homeland but for every inch of other people's territory as if it was their own: a demonstration of blinkered yet also professional approach to battle that had few parallels in the history of war.\n\nThe difference between Germans and Italians in their response to the Allied onslaught would say it all. On July 19, 1943, the largest single bombing raid of the war had taken place in Italy. More than five hundred B-17s and B-24s of Major General James Doolittle's North African Strategic Air Forces had pounded Rome's railway marshaling-yards and nearby airfields.\n\nThe raid had destroyed the equivalent of two hundred miles of railway track, and\u2014in spite of millions of warning leaflets dropped the previous day\u2014had resulted in some seven hundred civilian deaths: enough, when rumors of vast casualties spread among the Italian population, not only to frighten the Italian government to end Mussolini's long reign as Duce, but to begin surrender negotiations with the Allies under a different leader, Marshal Badoglio, in order to avoid more destruction of their Italian homeland.\n\nThe Italians had not reckoned on the German response to their imminent capitulation, however\u2014not only German forces in Italy, but Germans at home in the Fatherland, where German cities faced the same, indeed far worse, bombing than Rome experienced. Five days after the U.S. bombing of the Rome railway network, there had taken place an even bigger air raid, or series of raids: this time the combined heavy bombers of the RAF and USAAF attacking from airfields in Britain the northern German city of Hamburg\u2014Operation Gomorrah. Employing not hundreds but thousands of bombers in rolling attacks, night and day for an entire week, the Allies created a literal firestorm\u2014with temperatures of 1,000 degrees Celsius, hurricane winds of 150 miles per hour, and melting asphalt in the streets. By its end, Operation Gomorrah had killed some forty-two thousand people\u2014the majority, civilians\u2014injured thirty-seven thousand more, left the center of Hamburg in utter ruin, and had caused a million people to evacuate the burning city. Yet the result was the very opposite of reaction in Italy.\n\nInstead of calls for the arrest of their country's dictator and immediate unconditional surrender to the Allies, as in Italy, there was reported to be an even more relentless determination in Germany to continue to prosecute war to the death. It was as if any hope of conscience\u2014 _Gewissen_ \u2014had now been incinerated in Germany. Certainly it removed any sense of guilt at having been the first to launch such a war of ruthless conquest by _Blitz_ and _Blitzkrieg._ The Allied raid on Hamburg\u2014which would soon be replicated on Berlin\u2014merely reinforced German stoicism: a collective will that was expressed in yet deeper loyalty to the nation's leader and calls for the F\u00fchrer, in their fury, to exact German revenge. In particular, for him to use, finally, the secret weapons he and Goebbels had publicly alluded to.\n\nAt his Wolfschanze headquarters near Rastenburg, far from Hamburg and Berlin, Hitler thus viewed the Allied bombing raids on those cities as more inherently counterproductive than his own earlier raids on London and Coventry in 1940 and 1941. Bombing would not bring Germany to its knees. The fact was, the Allies could not defeat the Third Reich, Hitler reasoned, unless they could defeat his primary weapon, the Wehrmacht. The German armies embodied the highest Teutonic virtues of obedience, courage, group loyalty, and self-sacrifice\u2014and as he studied his maps and daily Abwehr intelligence reports, he rightly saw no signs whatever of an Allied intention to follow up the mass bombing of German cities with a ground offensive on Germany via the beaches of northern France\u2014at least not for another year.\n\nTo the extent that, if they did attempt to breach the Atlantic Wall in the late summer of 1943, the Allied invasion forces would be crushed by his German divisions in France, the delay was disappointing to the F\u00fchrer\u2014and to Goebbels. However, if the Allies didn't dare launch such an assault in 1943, as Hitler pointed out to his panicky generals, then there was no cause for alarm. The German Volk and the German Wehrmacht were too unified and imbued with too much resolve to simply collapse; rather, they would hold fast at home, despite the bombing, and fight hard and harshly abroad. They would treat every attack on German forces in the occupied countries as if it was an assault on the Vaterland\u2014in fact on the very honor and courage of the German nation. Meantime, German scientists and engineers would make available the new, secret weapons they had devised that would give Germany the wherewithal, if not to win the war, then to negotiate favorable armistices with Germany's enemies.\n\nThe war was not over, Hitler thus made clear. There was everything to gain by continuing to fight, implacably and fearlessly, to preserve the Third Reich they had so heroically created out of the ashes of World War I and the stupid Weimar Republic. Once he overcame his fury over Italy's imminent defection, in fact, Hitler was seen to regain his composure\u2014and confidence. Fall weather was approaching; it would soon make conditions for an Allied cross-Channel assault impossible. For all their superiority in the air, at sea, and on land, the Western Allies were, in sum, _in no position to invade Germany_ \u2014and without such an invasion there was little chance the Russians could, either. In fact, judging by the American and British performance against modest numbers of German troops defending Sicily\u2014where only sixty thousand Wehrmacht troops had been committed\u2014the Allies might not be able to seize control of much of the Italian mainland, whether or not the post-Mussolini government surrendered unconditionally.\n\nBy stamping on the Italians and by using the Italian mainland\u2014with its mountain ranges that would provide good defensive positions\u2014as a Hindenburg Line of the Third Reich, the Germans had nothing to lose, Hitler reckoned. And much to gain scientifically in the meantime.\n\nFor all his mistakes\u2014holding on in North Africa, despite Rommel's recommendation of evacuation after Alamein and Torch; holding on at Stalingrad rather than a calculated withdrawal; launching Operation Citadel instead of using his armored forces to entice and then crush a Russian offensive\u2014Hitler was about to show that he had, in fact, a better grasp of the German war machine he'd built up over the past decade than his own generals. He was backed loyally and enthusiastically by the spirit of a whole nation, he felt, and was in a position to fight the war to the bitter, bitter end.\n\nThat Hitler was not wrong was certainly the view later taken by German official historians, in a kind of bemused, retrospective awe.\n\nIn fanning the flames of _Volksgemeinschaft,_ involving a profound sense of national German community, identity, and destiny, Hitler had built upon quite the opposite of what most observers\u2014even the Nazi elite, on occasion\u2014assumed. The \"belief that under National Socialism the Germans were, so to speak, subjected to total communicative and ideological brainwashing\" by Hitler and his Nazi accomplices was simply not fact, the official historians concluded. \"The widespread view that systematic government propaganda kept the population ready and willing for war, or even created a unified 'national' feeling among them, ignores reality,\" the historians pointed out. \"Identification with the nation could not be produced on command, and as a rule propaganda was convincing only to those already converted.\"\n\nGerman nationalism, stretching back decades before Hitler, was in truth \"the precondition for propaganda being successful, not the other way around.\" Hitler and Goebbels's propaganda had succeeded so well, in other words, because it hinged upon \"established nationalist beliefs.\" The \"spreading of racist, xenophobic, or authoritarian stereotypes\" had, as instanced in the conquest of Poland and huge swaths of the Soviet Union, worked so effectively because such propaganda was directed at \"soldiers already predisposed to them.\" In a country like Germany, given the country's warring history since ancient times, Hitler had understood as an Austrian outsider that the very concept of democracy was foreign. German intellectuals had for centuries sneered at it\u2014and had avoided practical politics, preferring philosophy, the arts, and science. With its rich history of land warfare at the epicenter of Europe, and its distaste for thinking through or dealing with the necessary compromises involved in civilized society, Germany's people could therefore, in the wake of deep economic depression and defeat in World War I, be encouraged to focus on a supposedly egalitarian, simplistic expression of nationalist German identity: one that, in order to cohere and remain strong, must see others\u2014whether foreigners or Jews, communists or non-Aryans\u2014as enemies: enemies to be excluded, disrespected, defeated. And where deemed necessary, simply liquidated, without remorse or compunction.\n\nAnyone who objected to the nationalistic program in Germany was \"othered,\" while \"in foreign affairs\" the \"seed was planted for the future offensive war of extermination,\" the German official historians concluded. \"War, established as a permanent component of German politics as an inheritance from the First World War, from then on became the natural means of achieving political ends both at home and abroad.\" Far from becoming a nation of warrior-serfs obeying a draconian f\u00fchrer, in other words, nationalistic Germans had become loyal and obedient members of a community\u2014proud and arrogant citizens of a revived empire: a third Reich, a _Volksgemeinschaft,_ a \"master race\" of individuals each cognizant at some level and largely supportive of the genocide being directed against Jews in Germany as well as outside Germany on their behalf; supportive, too, of barbarous treatment of enemies such as Russian _Untermenschen,_ since the denigration of \"others\" only increased and inflamed this powerful sense of national German identity.\n\nWhat Hitler had intuited, then, as Italy's new leaders prepared to defect from the Axis Pact, was what many of his own generals did not: namely that the war would not be won or lost by cleverness or better tactical strategy in the East, the South, or the West, per se\u2014tactics such as the fighting withdrawals that these German generals suggested, or the marshaling of armored reserves using the latest panzers in German counterstrikes. The war could only be won, in the end, by employing Germany's national _spirit:_ the amazing solidarity of its people, bonding in a nationalist saga that Hitler saw as mythic in the noblest, Nibelungen sense: a demonstration of national pride and unity by seventy million people at home, but especially so abroad when acting as military overlords\u2014an achievement unmatched, in many eyes, since the Romans.\n\nThis national German unity that the F\u00fchrer had channeled and directed would never be broken by aerial bombing or by peripheral Allied operations, let alone by the cowardly defection of Germany's partners. It was not, in the end, a matter of winning or losing; it was a matter of hunkering down and asserting German moral and military strength, in dark days as well as fair ones. German forces had won, in the shortest time, almost unimaginable victories and territories. All genuine Germans were participants, implicated in its sins and a part of Germany's new trial by fire. No one would be spared. There was thus no talk of the future, the postwar world, because the concept no longer existed\u2014only the current defend-or-die struggle.\n\nBy fighting offensively in the Mediterranean in the hopes of German collapse, then, the Allies might well, Hitler recognized, play into German hands. Wehrmacht forces would be operating closer to home, the Allies further away from theirs. Moreover, German forces would have the advantage of mountainous terrain, easily defensible lines, highly disciplined and well-armed troops who would fight _even better_ when shorn of their weak, former ally, Italy, once the Italian government capitulated. Moreover, by continuing\u2014in fact expanding\u2014its massed daylight and nighttime bomber attacks that inevitably killed so many German civilians, the Allies could truthfully be portrayed as barbarians\u2014giving Hitler not only the \"right\" to use new weapons of mass destruction in reply, but impelling the German Volk to _demand_ he use them: _Vergeltungswaffen,_ as the secret weapons were soon called\u2014weapons of revenge. Winged but pilotless flying bombs, launched from easily constructed concrete ramps and aimed to fall indiscriminately on Allied cities. And also ballistic missiles, with even greater range\u2014and so high and fast they were impossible to shoot down.\n\nAs Hitler had assured Mussolini at Feltre, there was no need to fear the Allies\u2014especially the British: their cities would, the F\u00fchrer forecast, be \"razed to the ground,\" as they deserved. And unless the Allies dared take the risk of attacking Germany proper with ground troops, the Allies could not win. Moreover, if they tried to do so by launching a cross-Channel invasion, they would be easily repelled. Ergo, the Third Reich was bound, the F\u00fchrer predicted, to prevail.\n\nThis, then, was the challenge facing the Allies even at the very moment when they seemed to be winning the war, both in Russia and the Mediterranean in the high summer of 1943. By underestimating German determination to fight on mercilessly in southern Europe, the Allies were heading toward disaster.\n\nOnly the President could now steer the Allies through these rapids, and to his great credit Roosevelt tried. Yet in truth he failed\u2014forcing him to paper over the true military debacle, which now, as in a Greek tragedy, unfolded.\n**44**\n\n# Near-Homicidal Negotiations\n\nAFTER A HECTIC day at the White House on August 16, 1943, the President prepared to set off by train to Canada\u2014hoping Churchill had done as he'd promised: getting his chiefs of staff to back off proposals for more extensive operations in the Mediterranean, once southern Italy was in Allied hands. And to start putting all British efforts into Overlord under an American commander.\n\nChurchill certainly did the latter\u2014to the consternation of General Brooke, who took the news badly. As Brooke noted in his diary, the Prime Minister \"had just returned from being with the President and Harry Hopkins\" at the President's home in Hyde Park. \"Apparently the latter pressed very hard for the appointment of Marshall as Supreme Commander for the cross Channel operations and as far as I can gather Winston gave in, in spite of having promised me the job!!\"\n\nSince Churchill still did not believe, in his heart of hearts, that Overlord would ever really be mounted, he had shown no sympathy when speaking with Brooke on his return to Quebec. Nor did he tell Brooke that it was the President's decision, not Hopkins's. More importantly, however, he did not tell Brooke what had been agreed with the President regarding the prioritization of Overlord over all other opportunistic operations\u2014hoping that the redoubtable Brooke would fight hard in the Combined Chiefs meetings for maximum possible interim American support in the Mediterranean.\n\nAs the Prime Minister admitted to General Marshall, when dining with the general in Quebec on the evening of August 15, he'd \"changed his mind regarding Overlord,\" and now agreed \"that we should use every opportunity to further that operation.\" But when Marshall said the first meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff that day had been pretty contentious over the issue of Overlord priority, and that the U.S. chiefs were adamantly opposed to prejudicing the success of a spring 1944 Overlord by overambitious \"bolstering\" operations in Italy in the coming months, the Prime Minister had \"finally dropped the subject, saying 'give us time.'\"\n\nIn relaying Churchill's comment to his fellow American chiefs the next day, General Marshall assumed Churchill meant time for the British chiefs to swallow the inevitable, and put their energies behind Overlord rather than Italy. Marshall was wrong, however. Churchill was not one to give up so easily\u2014and one way or another, the Prime Minister remained bent on pursuing his \"soft underbelly\" strategy, whether or not it prejudiced the success of Overlord.\n\nMarshall had, after all, agreed to an amphibious American landing south of Naples, at Salerno, in two or three weeks' time, as Churchill knew\u2014in fact the operation, codenamed Avalanche, had filled Churchill with excitement. If all went well, not only would the amphibious assault secure the unconditional surrender of Italy but it would cut off German troops in the foot of Italy and open the road not only to Naples but to Rome. The consequences were irresistible. Once the Italians\u2014who were still occupying positions all across southern Europe, from the south of France to Greece and the Balkans, on behalf of the Axis Pact\u2014came over to the Allies, the soft underbelly of Europe would, Churchill remained certain, become the gateway to central Europe, promising to make a cross-Channel assault either unnecessary or pro forma. And a Russian inundation of central and western Europe impossible.\n\nChurchill's duplicity, in other words, arose not from a perfidious British effort to extend British imperial influence, as some U.S. generals such as Admiral Leahy posited at the time, but from a genuinely held belief that Overlord would fail. And, conversely, out of a genuine belief that opportunistic Allied operations in the Mediterranean\u2014especially if Turkey could be persuaded to join the Allies\u2014would succeed.\n\nIn both matters Churchill would be proved utterly wrong. As the historian of Churchill's memoirs, David Reynolds, would write, Churchill was profoundly if understandably deceitful in writing his fabled account of that fateful summer and autumn\u2014but the Prime Minister was not insincere in his faith in a Mediterranean rather than a doomed Normandy strategy. His was a faith based not only upon fear of failure in northern France, but also a deep and abiding fear of Russian motives and intentions\u2014and in this respect the President was just as concerned. It was certainly something that he was taking very, very seriously as on August 16, 1943, Roosevelt set forth from the secret siding near the White House at 8:20 p.m. to join the Prime Minister in Quebec.\n\nBy the time the President's train arrived in Quebec, via Montreal\u2014where Fala's presence on the platform banished any attempts by the Secret Service to maintain secrecy\u2014on the evening of August 17, 1943, the Combined Chiefs of Staff of the United States and Britain had been at loggerheads for three days, and were getting close, he was informed, to homicide.\n\nGeneral Brooke, chairing the Combined Chiefs of Staff meetings (since they were being held on \"British,\" or non-U.S., soil), felt he was being driven almost out of his mind by American unwillingness to see the connection between operations in the Mediterranean and Overlord. \"I entirely failed to get Marshall to realize the relation between cross Channel and Italian operations, and the repercussions which the one exercises on the other,\" Brooke noted in exasperation on August 15. \"It is quite impossible to argue with him as he does not even begin to understand a strategic problem.\"\n\nThis was the pot calling the kettle black. If anything, the reality was the reverse. Brooke's obstinate insistence, along with that of his irrepressible prime minister, upon overambitious Allied operations in Italy would, just as Marshall had feared, become a near-fatal drag on trained Allied manpower and logistical support for Overlord, as well as incurring a far higher Allied death toll than was necessary. Had Brooke devoted himself to how best to achieve the maximum German commitment of troops and reserves in the Mediterranean by the minimum of effective Allied operations, the course of World War II for the Allies would have been far better served. Far from later acknowledging his mistake, Brooke\u2014who was promoted to the rank of field marshal in 1943 and then raised to the peerage as Lord Alanbrooke in 1946\u2014would go to his grave in 1963, arguing he'd always been right: that the German defense of Italy and the casualties the Werhmacht suffered by the summer of 1944 had contributed mightily to Overlord's success.\n\nThis was ridiculous. The Western Allies were to suffer 312,000 troops killed, wounded, and missing\u2014including 60,000 Allied deaths\u2014in the eighteen-month Italian campaign, without ever getting much further than the Po. The Wehrmacht would suffer 434,000 casualties, including 48,000 men killed in Italy by May 1945\u2014but though it did keep German divisions from the Eastern Front, it had little or no effect upon Overlord, since the Germans would have been forced to keep troops stationed across southern Europe (as they did in Norway) in fear of invasion, whatever happened in Normandy. It would become a heavy price in blood, destruction, and civilian misery to have paid for British strategy\u2014a strategy based on a fatal illusion, or delusion: that the Allies would be able to achieve great things in a country that was ideally suited to defense, not offense.\n\nThe fact was, as Churchill's military biographer, Carlo D'Este, would write, Churchill and Brooke had utterly failed to predict \"the casualties that would be incurred\" by their obsession with warmaking in Italy. \"During their twenty months in Italy the Allies fought one bloody battle after another, for reasons no one ever understood,\" D'Este would lament. \"Allied strategy in Italy seemed to be not to win, but rather to drag out the war for as long as possible,\" he would write in retrospective frustration, a tragedy that \"simply distracted the Allies from their real task: crossing the English Channel and opening the endlessly delayed second front.\"\n\nNor was this hindsight. Marshall's understanding of the \"strategic problem,\" far from being ignorant, as Brooke described it, was prophetic\u2014and Marshall's unrelenting argument with the British chiefs of staff was greatly to his credit in counseling caution before sending tens, even hundreds of thousands of men\u2014American, British, Canadian, French, Polish, and others\u2014to their deaths in Italy and southern Europe. In this respect Brooke's diary gave but a glimpse of the fierce altercations and traded accusations coloring their meetings.\n\nBrooke was implacable. \"Dined by myself as I wanted to be with myself!\" he noted on August 15, after hearing he was no longer to command Overlord, and having learned from Field Marshal Dill that General Marshall, now the presumed supreme commander-to-be, was \"threatening to resign if we pressed our point\" on overambitious Mediterranean operations. The next day Brooke himself was near resignation\u2014\"Marshall has no strategic outlook of any kind, and [Admiral] King has only one thought and that is based on the Pacific,\" he penned in his special green ink\u2014the traditional color reserved for chiefs of the Imperial General Staff in Britain. The Combined Chiefs had had to ask all secretaries, stenographers, and planners to leave the room, and had argued for three hours without agreement. \"This is the sixth of these meetings with the American chiefs that I have run,\" Brooke noted, \"and I do not feel that I can possibly stand any more!\"\n\nAdmiral Leahy was certainly stunned by the extreme acerbity. \"The British and U.S. Staffs today got into a very frank discussion of a difference of opinion as to the value of the Italian campaign to our common war effort against Germany,\" Leahy recorded in his diary that night. He felt Marshall's willingness to go ahead with occupation of southern Italy to secure the Foggia airfields, from which the U.S. Army Air Forces could bomb southern Germany and the Ploesti oil fields in Romania, was \"very positive in his attitude toward the Mediterranean committment [ _sic_ ],\" but Brooke seemed ungrateful, and dissatisfied. When Brooke suggested the Combined Chiefs divert Allied forces on their way out to the Far East and the Pacific to mount a bigger campaign in Italy, King's language lit the borealis lights. \"Admiral King was very undiplomatic to use a mild term for his attitude,\" Leahy confided.\n\nAdmiral King was once again reaching the end of his tether. If the British devoted too much effort to Italy, then the \"build up in England would be reduced to that of a small Corps\" for Overlord, as Brooke mocked King's approach\u2014in which case King would favor \"the whole war [being] reoriented towards Japan.\"\n\nIt was small wonder. Ignoring King, Brooke had argued for an immediate, major Allied campaign in Italy to reach as far north as Turin and Milan. Not content with those objectives, Brooke had even pressed to \"retain\" in the Mediterranean three of the seven battle-hardened divisions earmarked for Overlord, and perhaps all seven, if German resistance in Italy was fierce . . .\n\nMarshall was almost apoplectic at this, causing Brooke to grudgingly admit, under pressure, that \"'battle experienced' troops were required for Overlord\" if it was to succeed. Brooke remained furious, however, noting that night, \"It is not a cheerful thought to feel that I have a continuous week of such days ahead of me!\"\n\nThe American chiefs felt the same.\n\nAs the Combined Chiefs of Staff discussions became ever more strident, Brooke had descended into the foulest of moods. He later confessed that \"it took me several months to recover\" from what he called the \"blow\" at being passed over for the cross-Channel supreme command\u2014something doubly disappointing since he had begun to yearn to get away from the Prime Minister, he confessed, and be able to command troops in battle once again.\n\nThe imminent arrival of the President had made it imperative that the chiefs come to an accord, however. Though the British team pushed the struggle over strategy to the very brink on August 16, 1943, they finally and reluctantly gave in. The decisions made at the Trident Conference in May would stand. Overlord would, they confirmed, be top Allied priority\u2014and the seven battle-hardened divisions the President wanted would be transferred from the Mediterranean to Britain by November. Whatever could be achieved in Italy in the interim would be undertaken jointly by the Allies with remaining forces in the Mediterranean, on an ad hoc basis, to keep as many German forces away from France and Russia as possible\u2014but under no circumstances were operations to be considered in the Balkans or elsewhere in the eastern Mediterranean.\n\nThere were, besides, equally important decisions still to be reached concerning Southeast Asia and the Pacific. The difference of opinion over strategy in Europe was therefore papered over at the conference. It was not a perfect result, but better than an outright split.\n\nMeeting the President on his arrival in Quebec and bringing him up to speed regarding the recommendations of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Leahy told him of the long days of contention\u2014and the result.\n\nAs Lieutenant Elsey later recalled, Leahy was very much the President's lynchpin. \"He was already at Quebec, and Roosevelt looked to him, in the summer residence of the governor general, the Citadel, as the top dog. Roosevelt looked to him rather than reaching out to King, Arnold, and Marshall. Leahy was the channel of communication from the chiefs to FDR. He, Leahy, really _was_ the chief of staff to the President, and was dealt with as such, and Roosevelt saw relatively little of the Joint Chiefs during the Quebec Conference. Things came to him from Leahy, their views.\"\n\nThe President, after all, had not come to Quebec to do their job. In truth he'd come for a very different reason.\n**45**\n\n# A Longing in the Air\n\nPRIOR TO THE President's arrival in Canada, a team from his White House Map Room had traveled to the Citadel in Quebec to set up a map room there, as Lieutenant Elsey afterward explained. They were \"standing by the President's map room on his arrival at the Citadel to acquaint him with all the latest developments of the war. War reports had been radioed to the train during our trip up from Washington, but a more complete picture was available here for the President. The Prime Minister had his own map room in another part of the Citadel.\" Special telephone communications with Washington and the White House had also been set up, \"so that the President was never out of instantaneous communication with Washington.\" \"Direct telegraph wire service,\" also, \"was available between the Citadel and the White House.\"\n\nOnce the President was established in the Citadel, the wires grew hot with new cables\u2014for the President was found to be batting drafts of a big speech back and forth with Judge Rosenman and Robert Sherwood, his speechwriters in Washington. On August 14, before leaving, he'd told them he wanted something he could broadcast to the whole world from Ottawa, on the eve of what looked like imminent Italian collapse and surrender. As he'd explained, he'd set the strategy and the timing of Overlord in stone. Though there would be much fighting still to be done, the war was moving into a new gear, political as well as military\u2014and it was time to speak to the people of the United Nations: to make sure the moral aims and objectives of the Western Allies were clear and noble, before their first soldiers set foot on the mainland of Europe, early in September.\n\nBefore the President could give his speech, however, his Map Room received a very different kind of cable\u2014this time from Moscow.\n\nThe telegram was from Marshal Stalin, dated Kremlin, August 22, 1943. It was not friendly.\n\nHaving refused every invitation to meet with the President for the past ten months, the Soviet dictator now declared he was fed up with the Soviet Union being treated as \"a passive third observer\" of agreements made by the United States and Britain with liberated countries, as well as with others \"dissociating themselves\" from Hitler. \"I have to tell you that it is impossible to tolerate such a situation any longer,\" the quasi-emperor cabled. \"I propose to establish,\" he declared, a three-power military-political \"Commission\" to handle such matters, immediately, \"and to assign Sicily as the place of residence of the Commission.\"\n\nStalin's arrogant new signal from Moscow made the President \"mad,\" Harriman recalled, as it did Mackenzie King. When, two days later, Stalin sent _another_ cable, yet again turning down the President's invitation to meet at Fairbanks, Alaska, but demanding that a \"Soviet Representative\" be part of Eisenhower's secret negotiations with the Badoglio government for unconditional Italian surrender, the President became doubly incensed.\n\nExcept for his epistolary relationship with Stalin, the President had come to feel proud of the way his war strategy since Pearl Harbor had played out\u2014thus far. He'd even treated Churchill with extraordinary patience and good humor when the Prime Minister had gotten into an interminable argument over Sumatra, after the President's arrival.\n\nSumatra?\n\n\"Mr. Churchill strongly advocated the establishment of an allied aviation base on the north end of Sumatra instead of the west coast of Burma,\" Leahy had protested, amazed at the Prime Minister's chutzpah. Instead of helping reestablish Burmese road communications with China\u2014which Chiang Kai-shek considered vital for U.S. supplies\u2014Sumatra would offer the prospect of air cover for a British invasion of Singapore, Churchill had argued: an objective that had never hitherto been raised before the Combined Chiefs. Even General Brooke had cringed. The Prime Minister's latest obsession had led to distracting arguments that continued for three long days\u2014leaving Brooke furious and ashamed of his boss. An assault on Sumatra had never been seriously examined by the British chiefs\u2014in fact the idea had only come to Churchill on the transatlantic voyage to Canada, Brooke railed in his diary, \"in a few idle moments,\" yet here was the Prime Minister \"married to the idea that success against Japan can only be secured through the capture of the north tip of Sumatra\"\u2014and \"wants us to press the Americans for its execution!\" The Prime Minister was acting like \"a peevish temperamental prima donna,\" and proving \"more unreasonable and trying than ever this time.\"\n\nChurchill would not give up his bone of contention, however\u2014as if in lockjaw. Not even the President had been able to silence him on the subject. When the two leaders went on a quick fishing trip for the day in Laurentides Park, forty miles from Quebec, on August 20, and in the governor-general's cabin were eating the small trout they'd caught, Averell Harriman witnessed the sight of Churchill _still_ going at the subject hammer and tongs with the President\u2014who responded with glass and silverware.\n\nThere was simply insufficient shipping for such a venture, the President patiently pointed out to Churchill, even if they wanted such a strategy\u2014which they didn't. Reopening the supply route to China was the real priority. The President \"used most of the glasses and salt-cellars on the table making a 'V'-shaped diagram to describe the Japanese position\" from western China to the South Pacific, \"indicating the advantages of striking [Japan] from either side.\" Instead of laboriously trying to \"remove the outer ones,\" such as Singapore and Sumatra, \"one by one,\" the Allies should, the President said, simply go for the enemy's jugular\u2014\"thereby capturing the sustaining glasses\" behind the outliers\u2014Roosevelt corralling the glassware with a sweep of his hand.\n\nChurchill had remained unpersuaded, though\u2014the argument mirroring, Harriman later reflected, their earlier \"disputations over striking across the Channel or in the Mediterranean. Roosevelt once again favored the straight-line approach,\" Churchill the peripheral. As the President shared with Mackenzie King, however, Winston's military misjudgments might be truly appalling, but they were vastly outweighed by Churchill's profound _political_ wisdom: wisdom that would be crucial in the next phase of the war\u2014especially when both men saw the tone of Stalin's cable. The war against Hitler, and then Hirohito, was set\u2014but avoiding future war with Russia was not.\n\nDespite the war of words traded by the chiefs of staff at the Ch\u00e2teau de Frontenac, then, the irony was this: that an extraordinary measure of harmony seemed to persist between the President and the Prime Minister\u2014both of them staying in the Citadel, where they lunched and dined together every day.\n\nWhat the President, in contrast to his chiefs, recognized was that the very unity of the Allies was being tested\u2014not merely by the challenge of defeating the forces of Hitler and Hirohito in battle, but by the need to deal with Stalin. _And that the Western Allies must not fail this test._\n\nTo the world, the Allied summit at Quebec in the summer of 1943 thus held a symbolic importance far outweighing any recommendations the Combined Chiefs of Staff might make: an alliance that must be seen by the world as growing closer and closer, not further apart. Though it could not be revealed to the public, possession of an atomic bomb, if nuclear fission worked, would give the Western Allies huge authority in ensuring a world free of German- or Japanese-style militarism and aggression\u2014or Russian. The President had even gotten British acceptance of the draft Joint Four-Power Declaration he'd asked Sumner Welles to draw up in writing before his meeting with Churchill at Hyde Park, together with a suggested United Nations Protocol document. All in all, this was a tremendous achievement for such an alliance between the Old World and the New: an achievement the President was determined to emphasize in the speech he intended to deliver in Ottawa, the capital of Canada. And Stalin's rude new cables only made him the more determined to make it strong.\n\nTo outsiders, the President thus appeared in an even more confident frame of mind than usual on August 25, as Mr. Roosevelt and the governor-general, the Earl of Athlone, were driven to the seat of Canadian government, having traveled to Ottawa by train from Quebec. \"It was estimated that there were a crowd of approximately 30,000 people on hand at Parliament Hill and its vicinity to welcome President Roosevelt and to hear his address,\" the official chronicler of the President's trip noted. \"This was said to be the largest crowd ever to welcome a distinguished visitor to Ottawa, even exceeding the welcome accorded to King George VI and Queen Elizabeth\" in 1939.\n\n\"The setting of the ceremony was one of the finest if not the finest ever provided for a Presidential speech,\" the _New York Times_ agreed the next day. \"Through streets packed with people and lined with sailors, soldiers, airmen and uniformed women in all services, the President drove from the railroad station into the parliamentary grounds in his open car.\" As people swarmed over the lawn, the President, \"looking down on the waving crowd, turned to Prime Minister King and said, 'I shall never forget this sight.' The crowd in turn looked up at the magnificent Gothic building with its tower stretching up into the blue sky, as imposing a monument to parliamentary government as exists in the world. Carved over the portal are the lines by a Canadian poet descriptive of this great country: 'The wholesome sea is at her gates, her gates both east and west.'\"\n\nThe President was determined to give no hint of weakness\u2014physical or moral. He \"stood throughout the ceremony,\" Mackenzie King recorded in his diary. \"Quite an effort as one could see, and shaking a good deal as he held on a chair and the stand\"\u2014kept upright by his steel leg braces.\n\nRobert Sherwood and Rosenman\u2014\"the firm of Sherwood and Rosenman, astrologers,\" as they signed their first draft\u2014had been tasked with helping the President compose an address that would encompass his political philosophy, as well as his vision of the war's purpose\u2014and the future. The two speechwriters had thus done their best and had arranged for the first finished draft to be flown to Canada, along with a plea that they be invited to Quebec to incorporate the new military decisions being made there. \"It was signed with a drawing (by Sherwood) of a tall thin man\u2014Sherwood; and a short fat man,\" Rosenman recalled humorously.\n\nThe President had turned down their request, however\u2014for he had no intention of announcing the military decisions he'd made, either to the Germans or to the Japanese. He liked the \"astrologers'\" initial draft, however, which he then worked on \"very carefully, making many changes in language here and there, which strengthened it,\" Rosenman later recalled. Most significantly he'd added a whole new section relating to the postwar. \"The Ottawa speech was not a major policy speech in any sense of the word,\" Rosenman explained its tenor. \"It was, however, important,\" for in it the President declined to mention the Russians\u2014at all.\n\nWhat Roosevelt had decided to do, instead of talking about the things his military advisers were discussing with their counterparts, was to raise instead, at a critical moment in the prosecution of the war, a rallying cry for the democracies. A call for the United States and the United Nations to put isolationism finally and forever behind them, and embrace his larger, moral vision of the future. He therefore \"discarded the last few pages of our draft,\" Rosenman recalled, \"and wrote a new conclusion with an optimistic note.\" A note that would follow his grimmer picture of the turmoil that Hitler and the Japanese had brought to mankind. \"We did not choose this war,\" the President reminded his audience\u2014\"and that 'we' includes each and every one of the United Nations. War was violently forced upon us by criminal aggressors who measure their standards of morality by the extent of the death and destruction they can inflict upon their neighbors.\"\n\nWith war forced upon them, the United Nations were now pulling harder and harder _together,_ the President emphasized. He mocked the panickers who, after Pearl Harbor, had \"made a great 'to-do' about the invasion of the continent of North America\"\u2014especially the Aleutian Islands. \"I regret to say that some Americans and some Canadians wished our Governments to withdraw from the Atlantic and the Mediterranean campaigns and divert all our vast supplies and strength to the removal of the Japs from a few rocky specks in the North Pacific\"\u2014from which the Japanese had now wisely retreated, he pointed out. America was, he made clear, taking upon itself a much, much larger challenge. \"Today, our wiser councils have maintained our efforts in the Atlantic area, and the Mediterranean, and the China Seas, and the Southwest Pacific with ever-growing contributions.\" It was in this context he himself had come to Canada\u2014\"Great councils are being held here on the free and honored soil of Canada\u2014councils which look to the future conduct of this war and to the years of building a new progress for mankind.\"\n\n> During the past few days in Quebec, the Combined Staffs have been sitting around a table\u2014 _which is a good custom,_\n\nthe President explained,\n\n> \u2014talking things over, discussing ways and means, in the manner of friends, in the manner of partners, _and_ may _I_ even say in the manner of members of the same family. (applause)\n\n> We have talked constructively of our common purposes in this war\u2014of our determination to achieve victory in the shortest possible time\u2014of our essential cooperation with our great and brave fighting allies.\n\n> And we have arrived, harmoniously, at certain definite conclusions. Of course, I am not at liberty to disclose just what these conclusions are. But, in due time, we shall communicate the secret information of the Quebec Conference to Germany, Italy, and Japan. (applause) We _will_ (shall) communicate this information to our enemies in the only language their twisted minds seem capable of understanding. (laughter and applause).\n\nAs the _New York Times_ reporter described, \"Thirty thousand persons had gathered on the lawns in front of the building to welcome the President and to hear him speak and their cheers rolled up in a storm when he uttered that warning.\"\n\n> Sometimes I wish that that great master of intuition, the Nazi leader, could have been present in spirit at the Quebec Conference\u2014I am thoroughly glad that he wasn't there in person. (laughter) If he and his generals had known our plans they would have realized that discretion is still the better part of valor and that surrender would pay them better now than later.\n\nHitler and his Volk were, however, unlikely to surrender without a great deal more bloodshed.\n\n> The evil characteristic that makes a Nazi a Nazi is his utter inability to understand and therefore to respect the qualities or the rights of his fellowmen. His only method of dealing with his neighbor is first to delude him with lies, then to attack him treacherously, then beat him down and step on him, and then either kill him or enslave him. _And_ the same thing is true of the fanatical militarists of Japan.\n\n> Because their own instincts and impulses are essentially inhuman, our enemies simply cannot comprehend how it is that decent, sensible individual human beings manage to get along together and live together as (good) neighbors.\n\n> That is why our enemies are doing their desperate best to misrepresent the purposes and the results of this Quebec Conference. They still seek to divide and conquer allies who refuse to be divided just as cheerfully as they refuse to be conquered. (applause)\n\n> We spend our energies and our resources and the very lives of our sons and daughters because a band of gangsters in the community of Nations declines to recognize the fundamentals of decent, human conduct . . .\n\n> We are making sure\u2014absolutely, irrevocably sure\u2014that this time the lesson is driven home to them once and for all. _Yes,_ we are going to be rid of outlaws _this time._ (applause)\n\nUnder the heading \"Much Post-War Discussion,\" the _Times_ reporter noted the President's speech then addressed a much bigger challenge than merely winning the war. \"There was much talk\" in the speech, he added, \"of the post-war world.\"\n\n> Every one of the United Nations believes that only a real and lasting peace can justify the sacrifices we are making,\n\nthe President claimed,\n\n> and our unanimity gives us confidence in seeking that goal.\n\n> It is no secret that at Quebec there was much talk of the postwar world. That discussion was doubtless duplicated simultaneously in dozens of nations and hundreds of cities and among millions of people.\n\n> There is a longing in the air. It is not a longing to go back to what they call 'the good old days.' I have distinct reservations as to how good 'the good old days' were. (laughter) I would rather believe that we can achieve new and better days.\n\n> Absolute victory in this war will give greater opportunities to the world, because the winning of the war in itself is certainly proving to all of us up here that concerted action can accomplish things. Surely we can make strides toward a greater freedom from want than the world has yet enjoyed. Surely by unanimous action in driving out the outlaws and keeping them under heel forever, we can attain a freedom from fear of violence.\n\n> I am everlastingly angry only at those who assert vociferously that the four freedoms and the Atlantic Charter are nonsense because they are unattainable. If those people had lived a century and a half ago they would have sneered and said that the Declaration of Independence was utter piffle. If they had lived nearly a thousand years ago they would have laughed uproariously at the ideals of Magna Carta. And if they had lived several thousand years ago they would have derided Moses when he came from the Mountain with the Ten Commandments.\n\n> We concede that these great teachings are not perfectly lived up to today, but I would rather be a builder than a wrecker, hoping always that the structure of life is growing\u2014not dying.\n\n> May the destroyers who still persist in our midst decrease. They, like some of our enemies, have a long road to travel before they accept the ethics of humanity.\n\n> Some day, in the distant future perhaps\u2014but some day, it is certain\u2014all of them will remember with the Master, \"Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.\"\n\nMackenzie King, standing behind the President, was deeply moved. \"I noticed that he had the speech in a ring binder so as to prevent the leaves slipping away. He followed what he was saying by running his little finger along the lines as he spoke. He was given a most attentive hearing and a fine ovation at the close.\"\n\nIt was small wonder. Rosenman was both right and wrong in writing that the Ottawa address was not a \"policy speech.\" In its deeply personal way, using the simplest of language, it was perhaps the most heartfelt moral speech the President would ever give, cutting to the essence of what he believed: spoken to an audience in the open sunshine and through microphones and radio to the world, on behalf of a country that was rapidly becoming the most powerful nation on the earth: a nation that, with enough determination, would be able with its democratic allies to safeguard at war's end the future of humanity.\n**46**\n\n# The President Is Upset\u2014with the Russians\n\nFOLLOWING THE PRESIDENT'S speech, there was lunch at Government House, following which Mr. Mackenzie King took FDR on a drive through the city, and showed him his two homes, Kingsmere and Laurier House, where they had tea.\n\nOn the drive Roosevelt confided to King how glad he was to have gotten from Churchill the now firm, formal British commitment to launch \"an attack from Britain to the North of France,\" and that \"he believed he could get a million men across [to England] during the remainder of the summer and on in the autumn,\" that very fall, 1943, ready for D-day on May 1, 1944. He felt, in retrospect, that the Quebec discussions had been, despite the fierce arguments, ultimately satisfactory and boded well for the successful prosecution of the war. Was that all, though?\n\n\"The most important of all he told me,\" King dictated that night, \"was in answer to the question which I asked him: how satisfied he was with the conclusions of the conference.\"\n\nExpecting the President, from what he'd shared, to say that he was\u2014especially in view of his rapturously received speech that day\u2014the Canadian prime minister was stunned. \"He replied instantly that everything was most satisfactory until last night\u2014just after 6. A telegram came from Stalin at that time which was most disconcerting; very rude and wholly uncalled for. It was the reply to the invitation that had been sent him to meet Winston and himself somewhere, the suggestion having been made in particular of Nome, Alaska. Stalin had replied that he, himself would arrange a conference, and it would be in Sicily\"\u2014but not between leaders, only \"on a lower level.\" He, Stalin, had other things to attend to, of \"greater importance.\"\n\n\"I asked the President what it meant. He said there were only two interpretations. The most charitable one is that [just] like the Russians, they are one day with you, and the next day, they are prepared to take a very opposite course and be against you. You never feel sure of them. They may one day be very cheerful on your side; later, very down against you.\"\n\nAnd the other?\n\n\"The other interpretation\u2014which is a very serious one and which is quite possible\u2014is that Stalin is trying to work up a record against us\"\u2014in order to have an excuse \"to make a separate peace with Germany. In this way, get us out of the war [with Hitler], leaving it to us to bring the war to a conclusion. He said that would be a very serious matter as the German armies would then be quite free of the Russian attack from the rear and,\" as King noted with alarm, \"could devote all their energies to fighting against our forces.\"\n\nCertainly, the two leaders of North America agreed, the very threat of making a separate peace with Germany would give Stalin more leverage in making further demands for American aid and for more Allied operations in the West\u2014as well as more concessions in terms of the end-of-war\/postwar. Demands, amounting to blackmail, that Stalin \"could not hope to get out of a peace conference,\" as King noted.\n\n\"We talked a good deal of the conference,\" King summarized; \"of what had been achieved. He was greatly pleased that all had been so harmonious\" with the British, in the end. But the President \"made no bones about telling me how deeply concerned he was\"\u2014about Russia.\n\nThe President's concern was palpable\u2014and understandable. Not only was Stalin an unreliable ally, constantly refusing to get together to discuss the prosecution of the war, but more worryingly still, refusing to get together to discuss either the endgame or postgame.\n\nRoosevelt found himself amazed not only by the arrogance of the Soviet leader, after refusing to attend the summit meetings, but at his shameless hypocrisy. Cocooned in secrecy and almost pathological security in the Kremlin, Stalin was still forbidding any but the barest information about Russian forces and operations to be shared with the United States or Britain, his allies, and had declined to meet with the President and Prime Minister\u2014yet was now fiercely decrying them for not including him in their deliberations. Given that the Soviets would permit virtually no Allied access to Russian cities, organizations, or individuals, his sudden demand that Soviet politico-military representation be set up in Sicily, an island thousands of miles from Moscow and which the Western Allies had only captured a few days previously, was significant. Stalin, clearly, was flexing his muscles: dictator of a power or quasi-empire now boasting two hundred army divisions in the field, on the Eastern Front\u2014and the Western Allies still without a single division on the mainland of Europe.\n\nIt was, in other words, Stalin taking stock of the resolve of the Western Allies\u2014a test that would best be met by a demonstration of Allied unity, not irritation.\n\nMackenzie King and Harriman\u2014who had few illusions about the nature of the Soviet police state\u2014seemed nevertheless surprised by how offended the President seemed to be over Stalin's two cables, once they heard their content. As Harriman put it, at the time, surely \"one can't be annoyed with Stalin for being aloof and then be dismayed with him because he rudely joins the party.\"\n\nThe President _was_ dismayed, however\u2014and not merely at Stalin's gatecrashing with regard to imminent Italian surrender negotiations. There was the question of how Stalin would behave, once he arrived at the bigger \"party,\" when German surrender was in sight: a dictator running an impenetrable police state at home, yet announcing he wished to be treated as a controlling presence in Western councils: even dictating where the political-military surrender commission should be located.\n\nHowever dismaying, it was clear that the balance of power within the United Nations was changing. In the spring of 1943, nervous about Hitler's impending Kursk offensive, Stalin had felt compelled to make certain concessions to his capitalist allies, such as closing down the egregious Comintern\u2014which he'd finally done in May 1943. As the dictator explained to a Reuters correspondent, \"the dissolution of the Communist International\" as the purveyor of world communist revolution since 1919 would, once effected, increase the \"pressure by all peace-loving nations against the common foe, Hitlerism, and expose the lie of the Hitlerites that Moscow allegedly intends to interfere in the life of other states and to 'bolshevize' them.\"\n\nNow, in late August, 1943, Stalin sounded quite different. With the great German offensive at Kursk called off thanks to the Allied invasion of Sicily, and with Russian armies pushing the Wehrmacht out of Orel and Kharkov\u2014moreover with a huge Russian battle in the offing to move forward their forces from the Dnieper River in the south\u2014Stalin clearly felt he could bang the Allied drum without having to leave Russia to meet with the President or Prime Minister.\n\nFar from intimidating the President, however, let alone hammering a wedge between the President and British prime minister, Stalin's outburst now served to bring the leaders of the Western alliance closer to each other than Stalin could ever have imagined.\n\nBehind the scenes at Quebec and Ottawa a deep and consequential _political_ shift began to take place\u2014a \"sort of changed attitude,\" as Roosevelt put it to Mackenzie King on the way back to Quebec. The President and his Joint Chiefs of Staff might hold Churchill's fantasies of defeating the Wehrmacht via the Mediterranean\u2014whether through Italy, Yugoslavia or Greece, Turkey or the Balkans\u2014to be just that: fantasy. But in terms of Soviet intentions, the President was very much on the same page as the Prime Minister. Stalin might make outward concessions to the Western Allies, such as closing down the Comintern, and even easing Soviet restrictions on religion\u2014which the Soviet leader now also did. But the dictator himself remained a godless Russian psychopath\u2014\"Ivan the Terrible,\" directing two hundred divisions on the field of battle.\n\nIt was at this point that the President\u2014who still nursed serious qualms not only about Churchill's military judgment but his backward, Victorian views on colonial empire and postwar social reconstruction\u2014paused to reconsider his approach to the Grand Alliance. He still hoped he could come to a military understanding with Stalin, since neither he nor Stalin could defeat Hitler without the other. Moreover he still hoped he could come to a political understanding with the Russians, where the two powers\u2014who clearly would be the dominant world powers at the war's end\u2014could agree to disagree in terms of their own ideologies. But he needed, he recognized, a Plan B if Stalin did not cooperate in the postwar world the President envisioned\u2014or even failed to cooperate in the end-of-war scenario that would come either in 1944 or 1945.\n\nWinston Churchill might be the most infuriating partner in terms of his military obsessions, his impetuous whims, and his failure to follow a consistent strategy. He was, nevertheless, a political partner of huge and possibly historic importance in the world that was fast approaching: a democratic partner more important, in terms of dealing with Russia, than Harriman, or Hopkins, or former ambassador Davies\u2014all of whom had been to Moscow and had firsthand knowledge of Stalin\u2014perhaps realized.\n\nWhat, though, was Stalin's real plan\u2014if indeed he had one? Stalin was refusing to meet the President, either one-on-one or with the Prime Minister. Clearly the dictator wanted to conceal and safeguard Russian intentions behind a wall of paranoid secrecy, using a front of apparatchiks and spokesmen who never dared speak with authority, but referred everything to Stalin, on pain of dismissal or death.\n\nFor his part, Churchill didn't necessarily believe that Stalin would conclude a separate peace with Germany, despite the 1939\u20131941 Ribbentrop Pact, since \"the hatreds between the two races\"\u2014the millions killed\u2014\"have now become a sanitary cordon in themselves,\" as Churchill told the President, and cabled his deputy prime minister in London that night. To Mackenzie King Churchill said the same: that the Russians and the Germans had \"come to hate each other with an animal hate.\" So conscious were the Germans of their crimes against humanity in Russia and the likely repercussions, in fact, that they would probably \"prefer to open their Western front to British and American armies and have them conquer Germany rather than Stalin,\" Churchill thought (and hoped), if \"Stalin went on winning.\" But the tone of Stalin's message boded ill for agreement between the Allies themselves in prosecuting the war. Which raised the question: what _was_ Stalin's version of the endgame?\n\nWithout a single American or British boot on the mainland of Europe, the Western Allies were in a weak position, still, to inhibit Stalin. Would he use the new power of his many hundreds of Russian divisions\u2014four hundred in total, it was calculated, stationed across the entire Soviet Union\u2014to dictate the territorial and political outcome of the war in Europe?\n\nTo both Harriman and Mr. Roosevelt, the Prime Minister said he \"foresaw 'bloody consequences in the future'\"\u2014\"using 'bloody' in the literal sense,\" as Harriman noted. \"'Stalin is an unnatural man. There will be grave troubles,'\" Churchill declared\u2014and openly rebuked Eden, who, like Harriman, considered the cable from Stalin \"not so bad.\" \"There is no need for you to attempt to smooth it over,\" he snapped, \"in the Foreign Office manner.\"\n\nThe President felt the same as Churchill\u2014the Soviets a strange yet brave people, in the service of another psychopath.\n\nSome historians would later resent and question Churchill's anti-Soviet stance, but there can be little doubt in retrospect that, though Churchill would be proven completely wrong about Hitler, the Wehrmacht, and the progress of the war in Italy, he was extraordinarily prescient about Stalin and the Russians\u2014and that the President was of like mind. Where Roosevelt and Churchill differed, however, was in how to deal with the Russian threat to freedom and democracy, as the Western Allies understood those ideals.\n\nWith no American or British forces yet on the mainland of Europe, the Western Allies were hamstrung. By the same token, however, without an Allied Second Front the Russians could not defeat the forces of the Third Reich. Ergo, if the Third Reich was to be defeated and the Nazi nightmare brought to an end, there would _have_ to be a military agreement between the three countries, irrespective of political considerations. It would be up to the President and the Prime Minister, if possible, to turn that military agreement into a political accord, setting out a road map for postwar Europe and the world that both sides could live with. It might not prove possible to reach, but it would be worth trying to. The example of the disastrous Versailles Peace Conference in 1919, which had been tasked with solving end-of-war issues that had not been discussed or agreed in advance, was too awful to contemplate.\n\nEncouraging Russia, then\u2014a country or empire that had not been a party to the 1919 peace talks, but which had been the elephant in the room there\u2014to take a responsible role in the postwar world was now the biggest challenge for Roosevelt and Churchill.\n\nBoth men had been present at Versailles, and both knew the task of an enduring postwar security settlement would be no easier. Also that Russia would be, together with the United States, the key player. In spite of the terrible losses the Soviets had suffered since Hitler's invasion in 1941, the USSR still comprised more than 170 million people: the largest nation, or union of so-called republics, in Europe. It was more than twice the size of Nazi Germany in population\u2014and many times its size in territory. Its wartime economy might be a disaster, its industry dependent largely on slave labor, its military dependent on American Lend-Lease aid, and its society ruled by fear, incarceration, deportation, and execution; nevertheless, it now boasted the largest number of troops in the world\u2014in excess of thirteen million men in 1943. After utter disarray and retreat in the summer of 1941, Soviet forces had finally turned the tables on the mighty Wehrmacht: by numbers, willingness to take casualties, determination to fight for the homeland, fear of what further atrocities the dreaded Nazis would commit if they were not repelled; and younger, better, nonpolitical professional military leadership on the field of battle. Patriotic pride, moreover, had swelled and grown as the Soviet armies successfully defended Mother Russia\u2014the Communist Party taking a secondary, background role. Stalin's Great Terror and his Purges of the 1930s had been set aside\u2014for the moment at least. As supreme commander in chief of the Soviet Armed Forces, Joseph Stalin was not only the effective, single ruler and dictator of the USSR, but he was in a position to begin moving Russia toward a less repressive future, _if he so chose:_ something his ambassador to Washington, Maxim Litvinov, had begged him to do, before Stalin had recalled him from America.\n\nWould Stalin dare\u2014or want\u2014to take that course, though?\n\nIt seemed unlikely, as Churchill intuited\u2014especially after reading the latest, more detailed investigation of the Katyn massacre. Behind Soviet propaganda, directed and controlled from Moscow, Marshal Stalin remained an arguably certifiable psychopath: a mass murderer living with his own terror, namely that of being assassinated. And of flying. His refusal to meet with the President, as well as his recent decision to withdraw his highly experienced Soviet ambassadors from Washington and London and replace them with apparatchiks, offered little hope of an open, democratic future for the Russian-dominated world\u2014at least one based on the four freedoms to which the President referred in his Ottawa speech.\n\nStalin's latest cables to Quebec were thus dispiriting, at a moment of Allied joy and hope, on the eve of Italian surrender. The telegrams convinced both Churchill and the President that the defeat of the Third Reich and Japan\u2014which would still entail a vast military effort\u2014would be but the first act in a new struggle for control of those occupied nations: nations such as Poland, currently ruled by the Germans, whose people innocently hoped for independence, self-determination, free elections, and freedom from fear.\n\nThis was, in actuality, the saddest of prospects, even as the unconditional surrender of Italy loomed.\n\nChurchill, too, saw the moment as a watershed. He had earlier favored Sumner Welles's notion of grand regional or hemispheric councils, representing \"spheres of influence\" across the postwar world; now, suddenly, it became clear to him\u2014as to the President\u2014that there would, essentially, be but two such spheres: Anglo-American versus Russian. A rivalry, moreover, that would not necessarily be confined to central Europe, if Stalin's talk of southern Europe\u2014of Sicily and Italy\u2014was anything to go by.\n\nIn many ways it was a tragedy: a road not taken. Had Stalin been a different leader, a statesman willing to rise to the challenge of advancing and protecting a postwar world based upon the four freedoms, the challenge of the future could, in the aftermath of Hitler and Hirohito's demise, have been that of a secure, spirited, economic, social, and cultural opportunity for the progress of all nations. Instead, a very different prospect arose: a darker world of communist dictatorships and puppet states, modeled on the Soviets, answering to Moscow.\n\nUnless Stalin were assassinated, or the Allies could somehow prevail upon the Russians to abandon the notion of tyrannous rule by fear, the postwar future thus suddenly looked bleak to Churchill and the President\u2014despite the grandeur of a United Nations coalition that had successfully turned the tide against two empires, German and Japanese, still committing crimes against humanity on a scale of mass murder not seen for centuries, if ever.\n\nAll therefore now seemed to depend on a Russian dictator: a Soviet supreme commander in chief who was, as Averell Harriman later remarked, \"the most inscrutable, enigmatic and contradictory person I have ever known.\" It was a sobering prospect.\n\nThe Canadian prime minister accompanied the President to the station at 7:00 p.m. on August 25. \"As the last word,\" King recorded in his diary, \"I reached over to the President and said quietly God bless and help you.\"\n\nRoosevelt's talks with the Canadian prime minister had left Mackenzie King at once awed and anxious. In his library at Laurier House, the Canadian premier had shown the President and Grace Tully, the President's secretary, not only his private library but a \"photograph of Hitler.\" The President had \"instantly reacted to it with a shudder at the appearance of the man.\" King had also \"pointed out the handbill of the time of Lincoln's assassination\"\u2014a reminder how seldom violence was separable from politics, their chosen profession.\n\n\"I was unfortunately pretty tired and unable to take in or contribute to the conversation as much as I would have liked, but I felt throughout how real was the affection the President had for myself and felt drawn more closely to him than ever,\" King recorded that night. \"I confess, too, one came to feel he had a much more profound grasp of the situation than I had, at times, believed him to have. By that, I mean not a knowledge of the facts but the understanding of history and places and the like which are so essential to the understanding of great movements. The kind of thing that Churchill possesses in so great a degree.\"\n\nIn his pedantic, cautious way the Canadian had come to see, increasingly, just how blessed was the free world in having such titans of humanity as their two great leaders\u2014and how vital it was to create a durable system of international security and development _while they were still in office_. Moreover one that would survive them\u2014since, \"unhappily, we could not rely on having the President and himself at the head of affairs for all time,\" as King remarked to Churchill. \"That any post-war order would have to take account of the persons who might take their places, and that each nation would want its say.\"\n\nWinston Churchill, Mackenzie King reflected, was \"not so democratic at heart as the President. He still remains a monarchist and a Conservative,\" whereas \"Roosevelt is clearly for the people and they know it.\" To be sure, \"Churchill is for his country and its institutions\"\u2014including its \"great Empire,\" King allowed. Thinking especially of India, though, King deplored continuing colonialist complacency at high levels in England, where \"less believe in the abilities of people to govern themselves\" than was the case in the United States and Canada.\n\nThe future shape and peace of the world, however, was at stake: leading inexorably to the question of whether the President would stand for an unprecedented fourth term. \"We talked,\" King had already noted, \"of the next elections,\" which would take place the following year, in November. Health was a factor, the President had acknowledged. \"He quite clearly has it in mind to run again but says he will not travel about; will not do any speaking over the radio and not make many speeches. He dislikes Willkie\"\u2014his Republican opponent in the 1940 presidential election\u2014\"but says he has been encouraging Willkie's renomination in order to get more or less a split in the Opposition [Republican] party which he believes will come if Willkie is nominated. He said that Willkie was all right on foreign policy which was important, but it would be dangerous if a Republican isolationist were to get the nomination.\"\n\nAmerican participation, even leadership, in the new world order was quite clearly the President's goal\u2014thus redeeming the failure of President Woodrow Wilson to get Senate ratification of U.S. membership in the League of Nations in 1920. As Churchill pointed out, it was not the League of Nations that had failed; rather, it was the nations who had failed the League of Nations\u2014something the President was determined would _not_ be the case this time.\n\nThus arose, at Quebec in the summer of 1943, the greatest irony of the war: that the United States and its Western Allies were, in effect, faced with two potentially competing struggles. The first, to pursue the fight against the odious, genocidal Axis powers to obtain their unconditional surrender; the second, to achieve a global postwar democratic system that would not be prejudiced or sundered by the emerging power of a Russian-directed Soviet Union\u2014a communist quasi-empire ruled by a psychopath scarcely less dangerous to humanity than Adolf Hitler.\nPART TWELVE\n\n* * *\n\n#  _The Endgame_\n**47**\n\n# Close to Disaster\n\nTHE PRESIDENT HAD laid down the strategy and timetable of the war to defeat the Third Reich and then Japan, on behalf of the Western Allies; Churchill, for all that he feared a bloodbath in northern France, had had to comply. Yet to achieve the political results of the war that he wanted\u2014a new world order\u2014the President had need of Stalin. And in dealing with Stalin, he also had need of Winston Churchill, as a demonstration of unity between the U.S. and British governments. Roosevelt therefore asked the Prime Minister to come stay with him in Washington after Quebec. They would be together when the Italians, as seemed likely, surrendered. Above all, though, they would be together in showing Stalin there was no rift in the Western Allies: that the U.S.-British coalition was inviolable, and would remain so.\n\nEarly on August 26, 1943, the _Ferdinand Magellan_ pulled into the little halt at Highland, north of New York, and the President was driven up to his family home. \"The P. came from Ottawa, looking well,\" Daisy Suckley noted in her diary, \"but tired. He said he would try to get rested before Churchill comes to Wash.[ington] next Wednesday. The Quebec Conference was a success but Russia is a worry\u2014the P. said a message had come from Stalin which was 'rude\u2014stupidly rude.' Churchill wanted to send back an answer\u2014even ruder!\"\n\nStalin was not the only problem. There was the question of how Hitler would react, once the Italians surrendered and U.S. and British armies landed on the mainland of Europe, as they planned to do in the coming days. Though in a sense it was only a diversion in order to keep the Germans from beating the Russians and away from the eventual beaches of Normandy, the Allied assault on Italy would reveal whether Churchill was right, or the President: whether the Germans would collapse, or whether Italy would turn out to be a hornet's nest.\n\nAll too soon they would find out.\n\nIn the domestic comfort of his Hyde Park home, Roosevelt meantime took things easy\u2014with Admiral Leahy at his side. \"Today ends a three day restful visit with the President at Hyde Park, where there were no demands on any of us at any time,\" Leahy noted in his diary on August 29, 1943, \"and where we were completely relaxed after our strenuous Staff Conference in Canada.\" \"The P. was very cheerful & seemed relaxed,\" Daisy recorded. Taking the sun at his cottage he \"sent for some eggs & bread & butter\u2014He toasted the bread on the electric toaster, sitting by the fire on the sofa,\" and to unwind \"talked about a good many phases of the present situation.\"\n\nThe first landings in mainland Italy would begin on September 3, 1943: a crossing of the Strait of Messina by troops of Montgomery's British Eighth Army, which would hopefully draw Axis forces into close combat\u2014and away from the primary invasion site: Salerno, where the major Allied assault would take place a week later. The Salerno landings would be a massive three-division invasion in the Gulf of Salerno, 270 miles north of Montgomery's army; it would plant major Allied forces close to Naples under U.S. general Mark Clark, and hopefully cut off German forces facing the British. Not content with this sweeping plan, Marshall had urged Eisenhower to use his Eighty-Second Airborne Division\u2014not to ensure the success of the Salerno landings but to mount a yet more ambitious landing, 200 miles further north still. On Rome, from the air.\n\nThis operation would be called Giant II\u2014perhaps the most misguided military undertaking of the war thus far. Churchill thought it a masterstroke, which would enable the Allies to seize Rome, the Italian capital, by coup de main. Were Rome to fall to the Allies, and the Italians turn against their former partners, who knew what might then transpire? The Third Reich might collapse like a house of cards.\n\nThe President remained doubtful; taking Rome would be nice in terms of morale and publicity, but it led nowhere, strategically, given the terrain in northern Italy. And Hitler, he was sure, would not fold his hand that easily. He thus left the campaign to Marshall and the chiefs of staff, confident that General Eisenhower would not be pressed into doing anything too foolish.\n\nAs it turned out, however, Eisenhower _was_ so pressed\u2014and the Allies, in the days that followed, came very close to disaster in Italy.\n**48**\n\n# A Darwinian Struggle\n\nHITLER, FOR HIS part, was contemptuous of Roosevelt's call for Allied unity in Quebec, as was Goebbels. The President's speech in Ottawa was dismissed as rhetoric. \"It consisted of dull, stupid scolding and lacked any political substance,\" Goebbels sniffed in his diary. \"It's not worth bothering about. One can see from the speech, and the terrific reception it was given by Canadian members of Parliament, though, just how half-witted the public is over there. Roosevelt threatens military operations, but refrains from being specific, because he probably can't be. He ends by quoting Jesus, which is all-of-a-piece with his bizarre and misbegotten character.\"\n\nFor both the Reich minister and the F\u00fchrer, the world was now entering the vortex of a great Darwinian struggle of survival\u2014a struggle in which only the strongest would emerge. Italy was exhibiting weakness, would most likely crumble, and would have to be sacrificed on an altar of blood; Germany, by contrast, would only grow stronger, more savage\u2014and more ruthless once unencumbered by allies.\n\nThose among the Allies who hoped Germany's generals or Wehrmacht soldiers would lose heart in their leader were to be disappointed. Hitler and Goebbels's _Weltanschauung,_ including their _Nibelungentreue,_ was to be largely replicated among German civilians across the Third Reich\u2014and among German troops across the occupied countries. Goebbels noted, for example, how contented were German soldiers, returning on leave from the frontline to their relatives in the German homeland\u2014yet how angry, stunned, and surprised they were at the effects of RAF and U.S. Air Force bombing on the civilian population.\n\nThe question, then, arose for Goebbels as the propaganda genius of the Third Reich: could the war be prolonged for another six months or a year by stubborn German defense of the nations the Wehrmacht had conquered in western, southern, and eastern Europe\u2014keeping the enemy as far as possible from Germany until the F\u00fchrer's _Vergeltungswaffen,_ or V-bombs, were ready to be launched?\n\nOn his last visit to the Wolf's Lair, Goebbels had found the F\u00fchrer disinclined to think Kharkov as being in danger\u2014at least, if it was in danger, there should be no mention of it in public. \"Wir k\u00e4mpfen an allen Fronten, im S\u00fcden wie im Osten, m\u00f6glichst weit vom heimatlichen Boden entfernt, um den Krieg vom Reichsgebiet fernzuhalten\"\u2014\"We are fighting on all fronts\u2014in the South as well as the East, as far from home ground as possible\u2014in order to keep the war as far as we can from the Reich,\" Hitler had declared\u2014while doing everything in his power as f\u00fchrer to counter Allied air power, from expediting German antiaircraft guns to greater priority for jet-engined Messerschmitt fighters, better radar, and new interception tactics.\n\nAs this was ordered, the question of a political solution had meantime become more and more tempting. How could Goebbels and the German Foreign Ministry exploit the widely suspected split between the Western Allies and the Soviets? Could they persuade either Churchill or Stalin to negotiate an armistice with the Third Reich, and thus avoid war on two fronts?\n\n\"I ask the F\u00fchrer whether he thinks we might be able to make an accommodation with Stalin, over time,\" Goebbels noted on his next visit to the Wolf's Lair. \"For the moment, however, the F\u00fchrer thinks not,\" he recorded, disappointed. Moreover, the F\u00fchrer was unwilling to surrender, if negotiations could be started, the Ukraine: the breadbasket of Europe and crucial for Germany's food needs. \"In general,\" Goebbels noted, \"he thinks it more likely we would have more success in doing something with the British rather than the Soviets.\" As the British came to realize that fighting the Wehrmacht on European soil was very different from war in faraway North Africa, they would surely \"come to their senses\"\u2014especially once German V-bombs began to rain down on London.\n\n\"It's true Churchill is an absolute anti-Bolshevist,\" Goebbels agreed with Hitler\u2014a Churchillian stance that might be manipulated to get him to abandon his antifascist rhetoric and agenda in favor of anticommunism. Given Churchill's Mansion House speech, in November 1942, warning that he would never allow the dissolution of the British Empire, the Prime Minister might well be open to new peace feelers, Hitler intimated, if convinced Britain could not win the war militarily. Churchill was \"naturally pursuing British imperial objectives in this war, as in the last. Now that he has Sicily in his pocket he's in a good position,\" Goebbels recorded their conversation. \"The Italians will never get Sicily back, for with Calabria and Sicily in British hands Churchill will control the whole Mediterranean as an English ocean, for all time . . . So the F\u00fchrer thinks the English rather than the Russians will be more willing to come to an arrangement in the end.\"\n\nKnowing Churchill, Goebbels was skeptical, however. \"I don't see any sign of this happening,\" he admitted in the privacy of his diary, whatever Hitler might think\u2014though he did not dare say so to the F\u00fchrer. Besides, the matter of an armistice either with the British or the Russians was academic, since the split between the Allies had not reached the point where they could be prised apart\u2014yet. Nevertheless, the \"controversy between the Soviets and the Anglo-Americans is really serious,\" Goebbels noted with satisfaction. \"Our information from Quebec is quite clear about that.\" However, \"the F\u00fchrer doesn't think the crisis in the enemy camp is ripe enough to exploit at the moment. So we have to wait, and make sure we get both our fronts back under control. That is a sine qua non: that we have to stand firm where we are. A faltering military power can't be looking for an arrangement.\"\n\nSeptember 1943, then, would reveal whether the Allied coalition was going to hold together, or could be brought to stalemate on the battlefield and either the Western Allies or Russia be persuaded to sue for an armistice with Germany.\n**49**\n\n# A Talk with Archbishop Spellman\n\n\"I LEFT QUEBEC by train, and arrived at the White House on September 1,\" Churchill recorded in his memoirs. \"I deliberately prolonged my stay in the United States in order to be in close contact with our American friends at this critical moment in Italian affairs.\"\n\nNews had come from General Eisenhower that the post-Mussolini government of Italy, under Marshal Badoglio, had secretly agreed to surrender, once American and British troops were established on the mainland of Italy\u2014and two days later, on September 3, Montgomery's troops crossed the Strait of Messina to Reggio, where they encountered negligible opposition. Italian forces simply abandoned their posts, in anticipation of imminent surrender, while Wehrmacht forces laid mines, detonated bridges, and staged a fighting withdrawal from Calabria.\n\nStaying in Washington with the President, the Prime Minister seemed dangerously overconfident about impending victory in Italy. \"Churchill does not think,\" Mackenzie King had already noted in his diary on August 31, as the British prime minister set off from Quebec, that \"the further fighting in Italy will occasion anything like the loss of life that the fighting in Sicily has occasioned.\"\n\nThe President certainly wished Winston to be by his side when the Italian surrender took place. But in truth, there was a more important, underlying reason for Churchill to stay at the White House\u2014a purpose both men had agreed was vital not only to the winning of the war, but the postwar. For whatever happened on the ground in Italy, it was understood by the two leaders, the unity of the _Western_ Allies must be further symbolized, beyond the conference in Canada, and an incontrovertible message of common purpose be sent not just to Hitler and the world, but to Stalin in Moscow.\n\nThe Western Allies, this message went, would hold together in pursuing the defeat of Germany\u2014 _and beyond._\n\nThough he could barely contain his excitement over Montgomery's crossing at Messina and Clark's impending invasion at Salerno, Churchill made every effort to be patient and good company to the President. Mrs. Roosevelt was still on her tour of the Pacific, requiring Daisy Suckley to stand in for her as White House hostess, and at Hyde Park. In her diary she noted the \"intensely interesting\" conversations at table\u2014the President \"full of charm, always tactful, even when he has to be 'painfully' truthful & perhaps harsh. He is harsh, but with a smile which tells you you are wrong, but there is no ill-feeling toward you because of the wrong\u2014It's more that you are mistaken\u2014in all probability because you don't know the facts. I've never known a person who so consistently tries not to hurt people.\"\n\nChurchill, by contrast, \"snaps out disapproval. They say he fights with everyone\"\u2014not just Hitler; \"jumps all over them. One person alone he doesn't jump on,\" Daisy added, however, \"& that is the P.! The P. laughs about it: he says that if the P.M. ever did jump on him, he would just laugh at him! As I have said before, the P.M. loves F.D.R.\" Moreover, Daisy had had this confirmed, from the highest authority, for \"Mrs C[hurchill]. told me that, too, out of a clear sky.\"\n\n\"The P.M. recognizes in the P. a man with a greater soul & a broader outlook than his own\u2014It is very evident to a person who has had such wonderful opportunities to see them as I have. I consider W.S.C. a 'great man,' also, but he has not yet achieved the spiritual freedom of F.D.R. . . . They get along beautifully, and understand each other. The P. is all for the Democratic ideal because he loves it & believes in it. The P.M. is working for it because he thinks it is inevitable . . .\"\n\nDaisy was naturally biased, but she was also perspicacious\u2014and one of the only people, other than the President's White House doctor, who was watching Roosevelt's health. Churchill's daughter Mary, traveling now with her mother, Clementine, found \"the pres magnetic & full of charm\" as she wrote in her own diary; \"his sweetness to me is something I shall always remember\u2014But he is a raconteur,\" she noted, and in all honesty, aged only twenty, she found his stories \"tedious\" at times, though \"at other times it is interesting & fun\"\u2014a \"cute, cunning old-bird\u2014if ever there was one. But I still know who gets my vote,\" she added loyally\u2014her father probably the most eloquent raconteur alive. \"Every evening FDR makes extremely violent cocktails in his study. Fala attends\u2014& it is all very agreeable & warm. At dinner Mummie is on his right, & several nights no other guests being there I've been on his left. I am devoted to him & admire him tremendously\u2014He seems to have fearless courage & an art of selecting the warmest moment of the iron.\"\n\nStill so young, Mary thought both her father and the President indestructible. She did, however, find herself intrigued, as was Daisy Suckley, by the \"contrast\" between their two characters. \"To me,\" she noted in her diary, Roosevelt \"seems at once idealistic\u2014cynical\u2014warm hearted & generous\u2014worldly-wise\u2014na\u00efve\u2014courageous\u2014tough\u2014thoughtful\u2014charming\u2014tedious\u2014vain\u2014sophisticated\u2014civilised\u2014all these and more for 'by their works ye shall know them'\u2014And what a stout hearted champion he has been for the unfortunate & the battling\u2014and what a monument he will always have in the minds of men. And yet while I admire him intensely and could not but be devoted to him after his great personal kindness to me\u2014yet, I must confess [he] makes me laugh & he rather bores me.\"\n\nThe truth was, the President had had other things on his mind, despite doing his best to keep the Churchills and their daughter entertained. He'd dined on September 2 with Winston and Averell Harriman\u2014who was to be his new ambassador to the Soviet Union\u2014to discuss Russia. Also present at the meal was Francis Spellman, the archbishop of New York, who was returning after a long inspection tour of American units overseas, as the vicar military responsible for all Catholic priests in the United States.\n\nThe next morning\u2014the day Montgomery's troops crossed onto the mainland of Italy\u2014Spellman came to see the President privately at the White House for another hour. The Archbishop was concerned about the Allied bombing of Rome\u2014where he'd spent the greater part of his adult life. Spellman had shown as little concern about the alleged extermination of European Jews as his mentor who had promoted him to the top American see in 1939: the pope, Pius XII. Now that Rome itself was threatened with heavy bombing, however, Spellman was deeply worried. Moreover, he was becoming concerned over Russian designs on European countries yet to be liberated\u2014especially Catholic Poland.\n\nAs Spellman had found on his tour overseas, American officials in Iran (where the majority of U.S. Lend-Lease supplies were now being delivered) were disgusted at the way the Russians behaved. It was as if every Russian lived in terror of being accused of cooperation with their allies, or worse: sharing secrets with a quasi-enemy. Spellman's \"information is that two of the four freedoms as we understand them,\u2014freedom of expression and freedom of religion,\u2014do not exist in Russia.\"\n\nThe President was all too aware of this. What to do, though? Spellman had hitherto raised no protest over the President's conduct of the war, and at the White House he now found the President extraordinarily frank about the chances of American forces being able to stop two hundred Russian divisions from doing whatever Stalin pleased, at a time when the United States did not yet have a single boot on mainland Europe. The President certainly hoped to \"get from Stalin a pledge not to extend Russian territory beyond a certain line,\" but there was little the United States could do when Stalin \"had the power to get them anyway\"\u2014\"them\" being Finland (which had been a Russian duchy from 1809 through 1917), the Baltic States (a part of the Russian Empire from the eighteenth century until 1917), the eastern half of Poland (partitioned by Russia, Prussia, and Austria in the wake of the Russo-Polish war of 1792, and much of it a czardom until 1918), and Bessarabia (a czarist governorate from 1812 until 1917). Such countries might _want_ to retain their recent independence, but the President was sanguine. \"There is no point to oppose these desires of Stalin, because he has the power to get them anyhow. So better give them gracefully.\"\n\n\"Give\" them?\n\nIn later years\u2014especially once the United States became a nuclear superpower, with global military reach\u2014Roosevelt's acceptance of the inevitable would be seen as shocking, even immoral, especially for a president who was so idealistic. Right-wing American critics of Roosevelt such as Senators Robert A. Taft and Arthur H. Vandenberg, fired by American exceptionalism, would deplore such a \"giveaway,\" but the criticism reflected their historical ignorance and lack of realism. No one at that time had any idea how the United States could have approached the matter differently, given U.S. military weakness, with no soldiers yet in mainland Europe\u2014and little idea how effective those soldiers would be, once they reengaged with Wehrmacht forces on European soil.\n\nAt a moment when the Third Reich still extended from the shores of France to the Ukraine, and when Hitler, Goebbels, and Ribbentrop seriously hoped to split the Allied alliance and compel the British to negotiate an armistice in the manner of Munich in 1938, or get Stalin to renew the Ribbentrop Pact, the President saw his main priority in avoiding a premature collapse of the Grand Alliance before the Western Allies even landed in force on the European mainland. As he made clear to Spellman, one had to be realistic. Over time, he was sure, the Russians would become more civilized\u2014especially when having to interact and compete with Western economies. Unless they somehow remained a closed society, under lock and key, they would eventually be forced to adapt to Western cultural influences.\n\nSuch a long-term view left open the question of the imminent fate of western European nations, however\u2014nations the United States _could,_ realistically, hope to save, as long as the President could get Churchill and the British to throw themselves wholeheartedly into the cross-Channel assault the following spring. Once these nations were liberated, however, would the American public support tough American peacekeeping, in countering Russian influence, after the war? Taking soundings nationwide, Judge Rosenman had warned the President that, politically, he would have to be more careful in his speechmaking with regard to postwar security, if he or any Democratic nominee wished to prevail in the 1944 election. \"People are almost twice as much interested in domestic affairs as international affairs,\" Rosenman passed on to the President the conclusion of a recent opinion poll. Two-thirds of those polled did not wish even to provide \"aid to foreign countries after the war,\" let alone have to keep the peace in Europe.\n\nSuch findings did not stop the President from pursuing his vision of a United Nations authority, with the Four Policemen acting on the UN's behalf. It did, however, cause him to wonder how far he could single-handedly change or guide American public opinion to back such a vision. What would be the fallout, the President and the Archbishop wondered, if the United States did _not_ take the leading role? Would Britain\u2014virtually bankrupt and, pace Churchill, far more concerned with avoiding the dissolution of its colonial empire than maintaining European peace\u2014be able to marshal sufficient will and force of arms to do the job: namely holding the Soviets at bay, if and when they began to \"Bolshevize\" the continent after the fall of Hitler?\n\nFrom reports of communist governments in exile in Moscow it was evident Stalin intended, if possible, to install communist puppet regimes beyond Russia's borders: in Germany, Austria, and probably other bordering states. This would make it unnecessary for the Soviets to keep their forces there, beyond establishing bases. Roosevelt \"agreed this is to be expected. Asked further, whether the Allies would not do something from their side which might offset this move in giving encouragement to the better elements, just as Russia encourages the Communists, he declared that no such move was contemplated [by the United States]. It is therefore probable that Communist Regimes would expand, but what could we do about it?\"\n\nArchbishop Spellman was disappointed\u2014but could see the problem: namely the American electorate. Although, in the wake of the President's State of the Union speech and his Casablanca summit, there had been a growing acceptance in Republican circles of the idea of American involvement in international decision-making once the war was won, there was still a deep core of the American public wedded to isolationism.\n\nTo push through American membership in a United Nations organization, given President Wilson's failure in 1920 with respect to the League of Nations, would already be a tremendous challenge. To achieve this, Roosevelt was ready to stand for a fourth term in 1944. But offering a platform of American intercession in European politics, with the possibility of yet another war to be fought there\u2014this time with the Soviet Union, which not even Hitler's two hundred divisions had been able to defeat\u2014was unlikely to fly.\n\nThe President sounded, for once, almost defeatist. \"France might possibly escape\" such a puppet fate, if its people elected a sufficiently socialist government, so that \"eventually the Communists might eventually accept it. On the direct question whether the odds were that Austria, Hungary or Croatia would fall under some sort of Russian protectorate, the answer was clearly yes.\" Hopefully, with the Soviets industrializing their economy, the outlook would not necessarily be so terrible in terms of European people's standard of living. \"It is natural that the European countries will have to undergo tremendous changes in order to adapt to Russia, but he hopes that in ten or twenty years the European influences would bring the Russians to become less barbarian.\"\n\nThe President's hopes on this score would, in the end, take more than forty years to be met\u2014not ten or twenty. Spellman, however, did not contest the President's crystal ball after his own foreign trip, for it seemed too grounded. The archbishop was only disappointed that Mr. Roosevelt, normally such a figure of moral as well as physical courage, should be so laissez-faire. As the President put it: \"The European people will have to endure the Russian domination, in the hope that in ten or twenty years they will be able to live well with the Russians\"\u2014the Russians gradually becoming more civilized, while the Europeans became more egalitarian. \"Finally he hopes, the Russians will get 40% of the Capitalist regime, the capitalists will retain only 60% of their system, and so an understanding will be possible. This is the opinion of Litvinoff,\" too, the recent Soviet ambassador to Washington, the President averred.\n\nLitvinov had been recalled to Moscow, however, not simply for talks, but to be replaced in October by a \"barbarian\" apparatchik: Andrei Gromyko.\n\nSpellman, who had spent so many years at the Vatican earlier in his career, wondered at the almost dispirited view of the President regarding the future of Europe: the very cradle of civilization, and the home of so many Christians. Roosevelt had always been against \"spheres of influence\" in the world, but was now talking of \"an agreement among the Big Four. Accordingly the world will be divided into spheres of influence: China get the Far East; the U.S. the Pacific; Britain and Russia, Europe and Africa. But as Britain has predominantly colonial interests it might be assumed that Russia will predominate.\"\n\nIt was an unenviable scenario for Europe. \"Although Chiang Kai-shek will be called in on the great decisions concerning Europe, it is understood that he will have no influence on them,\" the President explained. \"The same thing might become true\u2014although to a lesser degree\u2014for the U.S.,\" in terms of meager American \"influence on decisions concerning Europe.\" The President \"hoped, 'although it might be wishful thinking,' that the Russian intervention in Europe might not be too harsh.\"\n\nStalin \"not too harsh\"?\n\nWas the President serious? American knowledge about the Soviet regime, thanks to Russian secrecy, was admittedly minimal, but from the head of U.S. foreign intelligence, General Donovan, the President had received an all-too-real picture of Stalin's system of mass deportation, arrests, executions, and rule of fear. The President's realism concerning Russia, in fact, went way back to his instructions when sending Ambassador Bullitt to Moscow to establish the first U.S. embassy in Soviet Russia: \"You will be more or less in the position of Commander Byrd\u2014cut off from civilization.\"\n\nThe President's view of communist Russians as \"barbarians\" had not changed since then. Tragic though it might be, Stalin the Barbarian had survived as dictator of the USSR. As had communist Russia itself, despite facing the greatest war-assault ever mounted in military history.\n\nWas Russian nationalist barbarianism reason enough, though, for the United States to hold back and watch while the struggle for Europe was\u2014as in the 1930s\u2014left to others? Could a near-bankrupt Britain be expected to master events in western Europe any better than it had in 1940, let alone in central or eastern Europe? Its military forces had been evacuated from the continent in Norway and at Dunkirk in 1940, been trounced in North Africa and rebuffed with ease at Dieppe in 1942, and even in 1943 its prime minister was really only backing a 1944 cross-Channel attack in deference to the President's will\u2014Churchill concerned, still, that it could be a disaster if indeed it took place . . .\n\nBritain, in short, could not be depended upon as a military power in Europe in its own right.\n\nIf Soviet domination of Europe was to be the ultimate price of defeating the Nazis, then, should American sons be sent to Europe at all? Here the President sounded more positive, for he was by no means defeatist about the larger, global picture. The League of Nations had been \"no success, because the small states were allowed to intervene,\" he said\u2014leading to a state of anarchy that Hitler had exploited, allowing him to conquer most of Europe by force. The lesson was therefore simple. Once Hitler was defeated, it had to be assumed postwar peace could only be guaranteed by \"the four big powers (U.S., Britain, Russia, China).\" The United States would be supreme in its own hemisphere, and across the Pacific. But did that mean that the security of the heartland of modern civilization\u2014a civilization built on the foundations laid by the Greeks and the Romans\u2014should be handed over to the British, who were weak, and the Russians, \"because they are big, strong and simply impose themselves\"? the vicar military asked.\n\nThe President shrugged\u2014unsure how the future would play out, and whether American voters would support a permanent American presence in Europe. All that could be said with certainty at this juncture was that, after waging two vast and destructive wars in Europe in the space of thirty years, Germany was clearly too powerful a nation to be allowed to threaten world peace again. It should, he thought, be divided up into numerous states\u2014\"Bavaria, Rhineland, Saxony, Hesse, Prussia,\" and \"disarmed for forty years,\" he asserted. \"No air force, no civilian aviation, no German would be authorized to learn flying.\" Austria, though Catholic, could not be saved from a \"Russian dominated Communist Regime.\" Hungary, by contrast, might be saved\u2014\"He likes the Hungarians. He wants them to come over,\" Spellman quoted the President's view. \"He would be ready to accept them on the Allied side as they are, if they come over.\" The only states where self-determination would actually be guaranteed\u2014presumably by Britain\u2014would be in western Europe: \"Plebiscites would be held in the following countries: France, Italy, Netherlands, Belgium, Norway, Greece\"\u2014but not even Czechoslovakia, which he doubted could be saved in time.\n\nWestern Poland, on September 3, 1943, went unmentioned.\n\nThe Allied \"side.\"\n\nHungary coming \"over\" . . .\n\nIt was clear the President foresaw a division of Europe into an Allied West and a Russian-dominated East in the not-too-distant future, now that British Eighth Army troops, having crossed onto mainland Italy, were beginning to fight their way north.\n\nSpellman, who had supported Roosevelt against the bitter denunciations of Father Charles Coughlin in 1936, as well as in confronting the Axis powers after Pearl Harbor, was made acutely aware by the President of the domestic political challenge: how to get the American public to endorse, after the fall of the Third Reich, even the remotest possibility of another war to \"save\" specific nations in central Europe, and push back the Soviets, once they established themselves there.\n\nLeaving the conundrum up to the President, the Archbishop focused, for his part, on pressing for Rome\u2014as well as its environs in a twenty-mile safe zone\u2014to be considered an \"open city\" in order to protect the Vatican and Rome's historic churches: \"what to do for Holy See,\" as he put it.\n\nNevertheless, the President's somewhat dispirited \"realism\" worried him. Was the President ailing?\n**50**\n\n# The Empires of the Future\n\nTHOUGH NOT PRIVY to the President's discussions with the British prime minister, young Mary Churchill was aware that, though almost a decade younger than her father, Mr. Roosevelt was not one hundred percent well.\n\nDecades older than Mary, Daisy Suckley was noticing the same\u2014and was concerned. The President had returned from Canada in apparent good health, yet sported \"dark rings under his eyes\"\u2014and was finding it more difficult to exhibit the abiding confidence and humor that were his trademark as a leader.\n\nFor his part Harry Hopkins seemed ill\u2014but that, at least, showed in public. In Roosevelt's case, the President refused to show weakness, let alone signs of illness. \"This is one noticeable way in which the P. is so outstanding,\" Daisy noted. Others seemed positively \"shell-shocked\" by the pace and demands of government and command in war, whereas the President \"is completely normal mentally & spiritually, although he has in a way, more responsibility than anyone,\" she described. Roosevelt would not even permit Ross McIntire, his doctor, to accompany him to Hyde Park\u2014nor would he allow McIntire to bring in a medical consultant to assess his cardiac and circulatory health, lest word leak out he might not be up to the trials of a fourth presidential election, were he to stand.\n\nDaisy thus worried that Churchill's extended stay at the White House, with his wife, daughter, and immediate staff\u2014military, clerical, private\u2014to boot, was simply too demanding at a time when the First Lady was still away: leaving the President to have to take care of even the most basic aspects of hospitality.\n\nWhat she did not quite understand was that Churchill was now the only man in the world who could help the President not only shoulder his great burdens, but stop the \"barbarians\" from occupying too much of eastern, central, and western Europe as the war progressed.\n\nThe responsibilities of being a national leader, and on top of that commander in chief in a world war, were almost literally crushing\u2014and Daisy was certainly right to be anxious.\n\nHitler, for his part, was unwell, living in isolation, intimate only with his mistress, Eva Braun, and his dog, Blondi; Stalin associated only with those in literal terror of him\u2014even instructing the NKVD to \"investigate\" his son and daughter by his second wife, Nadezhda Alliluyeva, who had allegedly committed suicide in 1932. (Of his first wife, Ekatarina, who had died of tuberculosis in 1907, a year after their marriage, Stalin had reportedly said: \"With her died my last warm feelings for humanity.\")\n\nGiven that the Quebec Conference was over and that its military decisions would henceforth be carried out by the Combined Chiefs of Staff, twelve days of entertaining the Churchills did seem rather long, however, to Daisy. It appeared so even more to the press, who wondered why Churchill needed to spend so much time in Washington with the President. What was Churchill busy plotting now, if the big decisions had supposedly been made at Quebec? skeptics wondered.\n\nIt was in this respect that Dr. Goebbels was more insightful than Allied journalists. The fact that Churchill was spending so much time with the President in America spoke volumes to him. The Reichsminister and F\u00fchrer might still hope for signs of a split in the Allied coalition, one that might help preserve the Third Reich and its armies. The President, however, seemed still master of world opinion. Hitler had spent only a few hours with Mussolini at Feltre, before the Duce's arrest. By contrast, hosting Churchill for almost two weeks, the President was demonstrating to the world the _solidarity_ of the Western Allies\u2014an even more symbolic demonstration, in fact, than the Quebec Conference.\n\nTaking his cue, Churchill had settled in and talked to the President at length about the Russian menace, in front of Cardinal Spellman and others. As a result of those conversations, in fact, a new idea of Western unity began to emerge in the Prime Minister's fertile brain.\n\nAt 10:00 p.m. on September 5, Winston Churchill left the President and with his wife, Clemmie, and his daughter Mary, departed the White House and took the train to Boston.\n\nThe Prime Minister had cabled Field Marshal Smuts, the South African prime minister, writing: \"I think it inevitable that Russia will be the greatest land power in the world after this war which will have rid her of the two military powers, Japan and Germany, who in our lifetime have inflicted upon her such heavy defeats. I hope, however, that the 'fraternal association' of the British Commonwealth and the United States together with sea and air power, may put us on good terms and in a friendly balance with Russia at least for the period of re-building. Further than that I cannot see with mortal eye, and I am not as yet fully informed about celestial telescopes.\"\n\nUnrecognized by most historians, however, this was in fact a new turning point in the war, as Churchill now sought not only to wed Britain to the United States in terms of defeating Hitler, but beyond that in dealing with the Soviet Union.\n\nThe truth was, without the help of the United States there was little hope Britain could, on its own, do much of anything to halt the advance of Soviet forces in Europe, or even combat Soviet communist \"influence\" there. _In partnership with the United States,_ however, it could\u2014possibly. It would require girding up the people of the United States to the challenge, but it was perhaps for this reason, rather than to perpetuate British colonialism, that he had been put on this earth. Churchill had earned huge respect for his moral courage in confronting Hitler, when Britain stood alone; as Prime Minister he now felt he must, as far as possible, use that continuing respect and public support to buck up the President; to help Americans, not simply Britons, embrace a new, quasi-imperial global role as the guarantors, as far as possible, of democracy and the four freedoms.\n\nIt was a tragedy the present war could not end as the triumph of democracy over fascism and tyranny, but as the President said, it could take a generation or more before the Russians cast off communist dictatorship and embraced anything like the four freedoms.\n\nDistinct from Western norms of civilization, the Soviet Union remained a tyranny based on fear, paranoid secrecy, incarceration, deportation, mock justice, xenophobia, and ruthlessly Russian\u2014as opposed to international\u2014self-interest. How much better would history have been served had Stalin never been born! Stalin had, however\u2014and his tough, dictatorial leadership had at least ensured the Soviet armies succeeded in halting Hitler's mad invasion, just as Napoleon's invasion army had been destroyed in the heart of Russia. Somehow, Churchill mused, it would be for the United States not only to create a United Nations authority that would help preserve the peace after the defeat of Hitler and the Japanese but\u2014in partnership with the British\u2014face up to the Russians . . .\n\nFortunately the Prime Minister liked to work long and late. No sooner had the train pulled out than \"he started to compose his speech,\" his secretary, Elizabeth Layton, wrote home, and together with Churchill's shorthand stenographer, Patrick Kinna, she took down his words over four hours of nighttime railroad dictation: his speech to be given at Harvard University on September 6, on the acceptance there of an honorary degree.\n\nChurchill had already given some of the most memorable, indeed historic, speeches in the annals of rhetoric\u2014rich in metaphor and in the sheer magnitude of his historical perspective. His Harvard University address, however, was to be special in that, three years before his famous \"Iron Curtain\" speech, Churchill now made an open appeal to the youth of America to assume responsibility not only to help win the war against current tyranny but to continue to do so thereafter: safeguarding democracy on behalf of those who could not, by virtue of their weakness, do so on their own.\n\nTo the \"youth of America, as to the youth of Britain, I say 'You cannot stop,'\" Churchill declared the next day in Harvard's famous Yard. \"There is no halting-place at this point. We have now reached a stage in the journey where there can be no pause. We must go on. It must be world anarchy or world order.\" As he put it, \"We do not war primarily with race as such. Tyranny is our foe, whatever trappings or disguise it wears, whatever language it speaks, be it external or internal, we must forever be on our guard, ever mobilized, ever vigilant, always ready to spring at its throat. In all this,\" he emphasized as a British prime minister speaking in America, \"we march together. Not only do we march and strive shoulder to shoulder at this moment under the fire of the enemy on the fields of war or in the air, but also in those realms of thought which are consecrated to the rights and dignity of man.\" The British Commonwealth and the United States were now joined at the hip\u2014not only in their common language, but in their willingness to fight alongside, even subordinate to, one another.\n\nThe Combined Chiefs of Staff was the clearest manifestation of this development: acting not only as the transatlantic advisory body to the two elected leaders, but as the de facto strategic command center of the forces of the United Nations. Churchill was therefore unapologetic in claiming it would be a \"most foolish and improvident act on the part of our two Governments, or either of them, to break up this smooth-running and immensely powerful machinery the moment the war is over. For our own safety, as well as for the security of the rest of the world, we are bound to keep it working and in running order after the war\u2014probably for a good many years, not only until we have set up some world arrangement to keep the peace but until we know that it is an arrangement which will really give us that protection we must have from danger and aggression\"\u2014a protection \"we have,\" as Britons, \"already had to seek across two vast world wars.\"\n\nIn all but name this was a warning not only to Hitler, but to Stalin: that the English-speaking democracies of the world should\u2014and would\u2014hold together to confront and defeat tyranny and the evils of a police state. \"Various schemes of achieving world security while yet preserving national rights, tradition and customs are being studied and probed,\" the Prime Minister acknowledged: a search to develop a system more durable and effective than the League of Nations. \"I am here to tell you,\" he declared, though, \"that whatever form your system of world security may take, however the nations are grouped and ranged, whatever derogations are made from national sovereignty for the sake of the large synthesis, nothing will work soundly or for long without the united effort of the British and American peoples.\"\n\n\"If we are together,\" Churchill declared, \"nothing is impossible. If we are divided all will fail,\" he warned. How proud Americans and Britons could be, then, \"young and old alike\" to live at a time in the story of man when \"these great trials came upon it\"\u2014and had found, he declared, \"a generation that terror could not conquer and brutal violence could not enslave.\"\n\nThe speech even contained the most stunning suggestion: that not only should Britons and Americans continue their military alliance after the war, but even resume a \"common citizenship.\"\n\nWhile there was little enthusiasm expressed in America for common citizenship\u2014the United States, after all, having waged a revolutionary war to achieve independence from the British Empire\u2014Churchill's remarks, at the very moment when cables were being exchanged between the President's Map Room and the Kremlin regarding the need for high-level U.S., British, and Soviet meetings, were welcomed by newspapers in America, England, and United Nations countries. An initial meeting of the Big Three's foreign ministers was in the works for October; then a Big Three summit to be held hopefully in November or December, 1943 . . .\n\nBeyond the imminent amphibious Allied assault at Salerno and airdrop on Rome, then, there were larger issues at stake.\n\nThe United States was at last entering upon its manifest destiny not only as a world power, but as _the_ leading power of the free world, Churchill accepted\u2014and while no one knew which way France and other occupied countries would eventually turn, there was no doubt as to where he, the President's \"ardent lieutenant\" and \"representative of the British War Cabinet,\" stood.\n\nIt would not be easy. \"The price of greatness is responsibility,\" Churchill solemnly warned at Harvard. \"Let us go forward in malice to none and good will to all. Such plans offer far better prizes than taking away other people's provinces or lands or grinding them down in exploitation. The empires of the future,\" the once-implacable British imperialist maintained, \"are the empires of the mind.\"\n\nSuch a bold assertion of Anglo-American solidarity would not stop Stalin from controlling those eastern and central European countries the Soviet armies might well overrun, as they combined with the United States and Britain to defeat the forces of the Third Reich. It left no doubt, however\u2014whether in Hitler's mind, Goebbels's, or Stalin's\u2014that the Western Allies, led by the United States and Britain, would not rest until the evils of the Third Reich were ended, and in the aftermath that they would remain united: intent upon blocking any attempt by Stalin to expand into western Europe a Soviet empire of gulag and fear.\n**51**\n\n# A Tragicomedy of Errors\n\nWHILE CHURCHILL GAVE his support to the notion of a new, internationalist America, General Eisenhower faced the problem of the military and political prosecution of the current war in the Mediterranean.\n\nIt did not go quite as planned. Indeed, blame for the near-catastrophe that befell the Allies in Italy ultimately rested with the two commanders in chief in Washington, historians would rightly aver\u2014for the failure to make clear to Eisenhower that his task was merely to occupy southern Italy while the Overlord invasion of northern France was prepared permitted the most dangerous optimism and false hopes to spread among the senior ranks of U.S. and British forces in the Mediterranean.\n\nThus the tragedy unfolded.\n\nChurchill, so magnificent in his appreciation of the larger forces of history and tyranny, once again demonstrated an impetuous military opportunism\u2014an aspect of his character he had never been able to control. Without General Brooke at his side in Washington to restrain him, he yearned for the Allies to swiftly seize Rome, as in the days of the Caesars\u2014rightly seeing in it a prize whose capture would electrify both the free and the occupied countries of the world. The image across the world evoked by Italian unconditional surrender and the Allied occupation of Rome would be the second \"crack in the Axis\" that the President had spoken of in Ottawa.\n\nThese were understandable political and moral ambitions for the Allies\u2014achievements that would impress the Soviets (who were still nowhere near evicting the German armies from the USSR).\n\nUnfortunately, neither agenda took account of the Wehrmacht's likely response. Nor did it account for the invidious dilemma into which it placed Badoglio's Italian government: whether the country was to be destroyed alongside the Germans\u2014or by the Germans.\n\nAs the days of early September passed, then, the various headquarters in the Mediterranean suffered a fatal lack of clear strategic direction from the President, the Prime Minister, and the Combined Chiefs of Staff. The President favored only a limited Allied military campaign, but was less than clear where it should end\u2014whether in the south of Italy, in order to secure the important all-weather Foggia airfields, or as far as Rome. In fact, in a moment of levity, having summoned the chiefs to the White House to discuss the \"strategic situation in light of Italian collapse,\" he suggested that \"a new slogan should be adopted\" for the campaign in Italy: \"Save the Pope\"  He was not anxious to go further, however, lest the buildup for Overlord be compromised.\n\nBy contrast the Prime Minister wanted to drive right up to the mountains of Tuscany, and there \"establish a fortified line to seal off the north of Italy; a line prepared in depth which Italian divisions should help us man and so strong that it would make it very costly for the Germans to do anything effective against us.\" In the meantime, he urged, the Allies should do everything in their power to seize the Dodecanese islands such as Rhodes and put pressure on Turkey to enter the war. The Allies would then possess a huge staging post in southern Europe to strike, in the event of a German collapse, toward southern France, the Balkans, Greece, or even northern Italy through the so-called Ljubljana Gap and Austria.\n\nBehind the rejoicing over the recent conquest of Sicily and the first Allied boots on the mainland of Europe, across the Messina Strait\u2014where Italian forces simply fled, and British Eighth Army troops had only to follow retreating Wehrmacht survivors of the Sicilian campaign\u2014the real situation for the Allies began, in all truth, to border on the farcical.\n\n\"He is host & hostess & housekeeper all in one,\" Daisy reflected of her hero, the President\u2014for it seemed really amazing with what ease Roosevelt had switched from a meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the White House to arranging trips of his English guests to Williamsburg, Virginia, or from reviewing British Eighth Army progress with General Ismay, at Hyde Park, to showing his guests his library before they finally left. Major military forces\u2014land, sea, and air\u2014were being committed to battle in the Mediterranean, but without clear and realistic strategic objectives passed down the Allied chain of command, the situation in the Mediterranean became daily more complicated.\n\nTasked with obtaining, if possible, the unconditional surrender of all Italian forces in Italy, southern France, the Balkans, and Greece, General Eisenhower had begun parleys with the emissaries of Marshal Badoglio, while having to decide what to do about General Patton's latest scandal (a report by the U.S. chief medical officer in the Mediterranean claiming Patton was psychologically and behaviorally unfit to command U.S. forces after striking battle-traumatized soldiers); planning and commanding an invasion of Italy with limited resources (since Overlord was now to have logistical priority) and unclear strategic objectives; and having to meld as supreme commander in the Mediterranean the international ground, navy, and air force contributions to that uncertain challenge.\n\nIn the Torch invasion and campaign, the Allies had made a plethora of errors\u2014errors that had taken place in an area occupied only by Vichy troops. This had permitted the U.S. and supporting British troops to establish themselves in overwhelming force before Hitler could react. In Husky, again, only two German divisions were on hand to repel boarders\u2014even Hitler conceding it would be impossible to hold Sicily for more than a few weeks. But now, as the Allies prepared to invade the mainland of southern Europe in considerable force and from two different directions, the challenge changed. Montgomery had already complained on August 19 that his \"Baytown\" landing across the Messina Strait had no strategic objective; when pressed, Eisenhower's land forces commander, General Alexander, could only say Montgomery was to \"engage enemy forces in the southern tip of Italy,\" and thus give \"more assistance\" to \"Avalanche\"\u2014the four-division assault on Salerno, three hundred miles away on Italy's west coast, near Naples.\n\nThree hundred miles, Monty had whistled! \"If Avalanche is a success, then we should reinforce that front for there is little point in laboriously fighting our way up Southern Italy,\" his headquarters staff had protested\u2014vainly. For his part, Montgomery, having faced the cream of the Afrika Corps since the battle of Alamein, was deeply skeptical whether Avalanche, south of Naples, would be the sort of walkover that Eisenhower and Alexander's headquarters assumed. Or Mark Clark\u2014the as-yet-untested commander of the U.S. Fifth Army, tasked with the amphibious assault there. \"The Germans had some 15 Divisions in Italy and at least four could be concentrated fairly quickly against the 5 American Army,\" Montgomery wrote in his diary after listening to Clark's presentation of the Avalanche plan. He vigorously disputed, as the Allies' most professional if slow field commander, any idea of an easy run. So did the swifter Patton, when shown the task given to Clark. Given the hills surrounding the beautiful beaches, the \"avalanche\" might well come to a halt on the shore without chance of reaching Naples\u2014let alone Rome.\n\nAs if this was not all, the plan\u2014pressed by General Marshall\u2014to land U.S. airborne troops on Rome was even less prudent; indeed Giant II, as it was code-named, was arguably one of the most ill-conceived near-blunders of the entire war.\n\nGeneral Eisenhower later confided that he \"wanted very much to make the air drop on Rome,\" and was so \"anxious to get in there,\" at Marshall's urging, that he removed the Eighty-Second Airborne Division from Mark Clark's Avalanche invasion force for the purpose. Somewhat surprised, General Matt Ridgway was thus ordered by the Allied commander in chief Mediterranean to drop his Eighty-Second Airborne Division on the Italian capital instead.\n\nEisenhower's chief of staff, General Bedell Smith\u2014a brilliant staff officer, but wholly ignorant of combat\u2014proved equally naive, not only then but even after the event. He considered it would have been a \"bold move, and it would have caught the Germans off balance\"\u2014causing Field Marshal Kesselring to retreat \"immediately . . . Caught by the surprise of the American airborne landing in Rome and with his communications cut, Kesselring would have been compelled to retire to the North, and to abandon all southern and central Italy,\" Smith later asserted.\n\nAt West Point, such boldness might have been lauded\u2014in theory. Would the Italians, even if they were ordered to surrender to the Allies by Marshall Badoglio, actually lift a finger, however, to challenge let alone fight the Germans, who had two armored divisions surrounding Rome, and more approaching? Although General Alexander had browbeaten General Castellano, Badoglio's secret representative, into promising four divisions of Italian troops to aid Ridgway's assault from the sky, Montgomery certainly remained deeply skeptical. The \"Italians won't do anything\" he predicted\u2014and Ridgway and his artillery director, General Max Taylor, feared the same. Indeed\u2014though trashed after the war by both Bedell Smith and general Eisenhower's intelligence chief, Brigadier Kenneth Strong\u2014Ridgway and Taylor refused to commit thousands of their paratroopers' lives to a wild plan, concocted in an \"all night session\" in a tent in Sicily, without further research. General Taylor and a companion\u2014Colonel William Gardiner\u2014were therefore authorized to go behind the enemy lines, in advance of the airborne drop, to interview the commander of all Italian forces in Rome.\n\nTransported in disheveled uniforms\u2014posing as POWs being taken from the coast at Gaeta to the outskirts of the capital, then in an ambulance with frosted windows to the Italian War Office in Rome\u2014Taylor and Gardiner only got to see General Carbonari at 9:30 p.m. on September 7, roughly twenty-four hours before the 150 C-54 paratroopers' planes of the Eighty-Second Airborne Division were due to take off from Sicily. A draft Instrument of Surrender\u2014approved by President Roosevelt and by Prime Minister Churchill\u2014had been signed on behalf of Badoglio on September 3, but had been held back in order to give the Germans no chance of preempting the Eighty-Second Airborne's drop on Rome, or Clark's invasion at Salerno, at dawn on September 9.\n\nThe paratroopers, however, did not go in\u2014mercifully. Once Taylor reached Rome, General Carbonari explained that there were twelve thousand German paratroopers and twenty-four thousand men of the German Third Panzer Grenadier Division, with tanks, encircling the city. The American landing area was _twenty miles_ from Rome; only two U.S. battalions could be airlifted in the first wave, and the Italian divisions had ammunition for only a few hours fighting\u2014if that.\n\nTaylor and Gardiner were agog. General Alexander, a Brit, had predicted Clark's land forces would reach Rome from Salerno, hundreds of miles away, in only three\u2014five, at maximum\u2014days, to relieve them. It was a prediction near-criminal in its credulity\u2014and cavalierness. Without genuine Italian assistance from the four Italian divisions, Taylor foresaw, the Eighty-Second's airdrop would be a bloodbath: an American one. He rightly demanded to see Marshal Badoglio\u2014who, when roused from his bed, was even more defeatist, Taylor found.\n\nBadoglio had seen no fighting since 1940, and now disavowed the very Instrument of Surrender he had authorized by cable\u2014saying he had not signed it, and had only given way to temporary telephone agreement when General Alexander threatened his emissary to destroy Rome by bombing. His representative in the negotiation \"did not know all the facts,\" he told Taylor; \"Italian troops cannot possibly defend Rome.\" In fact he predicted grave \"difficulties\" for the Allies if they landed at Salerno, given the number of German troops in the area and those streaming down with more tanks from the north. When Taylor tried the same tactic as General Alexander\u2014threatening to bomb the Eternal City, unless the Italians carried out the proposed surrender\u2014Badoglio merely looked at him. \"Why would you want to bomb the city of the people who are trying to aid you?\"\n\nTrying\u2014but not very hard. Certainly not hard enough to save the Eighty-Second Airborne Division from extinction.\n\nThere followed a veritable tragicomedy of errors as Taylor's secret wireless signals to Eisenhower's headquarters and to General Ridgway, in Sicily, failed to get through. By the time Eisenhower called off the operation\u2014sending Alexander's American deputy, General Lemnitzer, in person to Sicily to stop it\u2014more than fifty C-47s with their paratroop companies were already in the air, circling the departure airfield. Firing an emergency warning flare, Lemnitzer\u2014crammed behind the pilot in a British Beaufighter\u2014managed to land with the cancel order, and the planes were instructed by radio to return to base.\n\nIt was a near-run thing.\n\nBut for Mark Clark's Fifth Army there was no cancellation or reprieve as, like the cavalry in the famous Charge of the Light Brigade, they were convoyed through the night toward the beaches of Salerno, and a most unwelcome welcome.\n**52**\n\n# Meeting Reality\n\nTOUCHING DOWN AT dawn on September 9, 1943, the Western Allies finally met reality. It was to be the most venomously contested amphibious invasion since Dieppe\u2014contested by major Wehrmacht forces.\n\nWith the assent of the President and the Prime Minister, the \"unconditional surrender\" of all Italian forces had finally been announced on Allied radio in Algiers by General Eisenhower at 6:30 p.m. on September 8, in order to give the Germans the least possible time to man the beaches at Salerno. There was no confirming announcement on Rome radio by Marshal Badoglio, however\u2014and for ten minutes it looked as if the Allies would have egg as well as blood on their faces.\n\nAll Eisenhower could do was continue to bluff\u2014by reading aloud on Allied radio in Algiers the text of Marshal Badoglio's supposed surrender proclamation\u2014which the Marshal was still refusing to confirm. This proclamation ordered the Italian military on the mainland and abroad to \"cease all acts of hostility against the Anglo-American forces wherever they may be.\"\n\nBadoglio's hand was thus forced. After much handwringing, the seventy-one-year-old marshal\u2014fearing arrest, even execution, by stalwart Italian fascists\u2014felt he had no option but to confirm the surrender on Rome radio and seek to save himself. At 7:20 p.m. he did so\u2014and immediately made himself scarce. Together with the royal family in the capital he fled the city on the only still-open road, in a convoy of carabinieri-protected vehicles, and bearing boxes of lire to bribe loyal fascists at roadblocks.\n\nIt was an ignominious end to the Pact of Steel: the final act of Italy's venal participation in the war\u2014first as Hitler's partner in world crime, then as partner to the approaching Allies, which Badoglio now offered, on behalf of the Italian government, to become.\n\nOthers were skeptical. \"The House of Savoy never finished a war on the same side it started, unless the war lasted long enough to change sides twice,\" a Free French newspaper commented sarcastically. The inheritors of Rome's great empire in ancient times, the Italians now merely blew with the wind. \"If you analyze the matter in cold blood there is no doubt the Italians have carried out a really good double-cross; they change sides on one day!!!\" Montgomery wrote the next day to friends in England. \"I wouldn't trust them a yard, and in any case they are quite useless when it comes to fighting.\"\n\nThis was the real issue\u2014for the Germans, by contrast, were very good when it came to fighting. And merciless. As Field Marshal Kesselring remarked of the Italians, \"I loved these people. Now I can only hate them\"\u2014hate that was now authorized to be channeled into vengeance on an unsparing scale, not only against Italian military units, but women, children, and the elderly. \"No mercy must be shown to the traitors,\" Kesselring instructed General von Vietinghoff, his Tenth Army commander. Nor was it: the Italian general commanding the Salerno coastal division was executed in his headquarters even before the Germans turned on the approaching Allies\u2014and the same fate befell tens of thousands of Italian troops across the country, as well as partisans, indeed anyone who challenged German military occupation or was seen to be aiding the Allies.\n\nGeneral Sir Harold Alexander had willfully overestimated Italian assistance while utterly underestimating German resistance\u2014fatally misleading the Allied commander in chief, General Eisenhower, as well as the Fifth Army commander, General Mark Clark.\n\nAs the ground-forces commander of the assault, Clark had meantime hourly become more anxious. He'd thought the removal of his airborne division a terrible mistake, and had not been amused by Eisenhower's offhand dismissal of his doubts. \"'Well, Wayne'\u2014he always called me Wayne,\" Clark recalled Eisenhower's words, \"When it drops [on Rome], it passes to your command!' And I said, 'Thanks, Ike, that's five hundred miles away!\"\n\nWith the belated decision to call off the airdrop on Rome, Clark had no airborne division to worry about in Rome\u2014indeed, no airborne division at all. \"As dusk came I was on the bridge. I could see the silhouettes of a hundred ships with my men in them. And I had never had such a forlorn feeling in my life,\" he later recounted. Shorn of the Eighty-Second Airborne, the fifty-five thousand men (British and American) of his Fifth Army thus sailed into a trap\u2014\"spitting right into the lion's mouth.\"\n\nAlerted that an Allied armada of almost a hundred ships was anchoring twelve miles offshore in the Gulf of Salerno, Kesselring had sent out his orders. The enemy \"must be completely annihilated and in addition thrown into the sea. The British and Americans must realize that they are hopelessly lost against the concentrated German might.\" Facing a barrage of Luftwaffe planes, lethal 88mm guns, and dense machine-gun fire, the Allied invasion force went into battle\u2014the scene soon resembling something out of Dante's _Inferno_ as both the clear Italian water and the sandy beaches ran with blood. As the veteran AP reporter Don Whitehead heard someone remark, \"Maybe it would be better for us to fight without an [Italian] armistice.\"\n\nWith operations now in the hands of General Eisenhower, there was nothing President Roosevelt, as the U.S. commander in chief in Washington, could do but leave the battle to the men in combat.\n\nLate in the evening of September 9, once his meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff was over, the President therefore set off in the _Ferdinand Magellan_ for Hyde Park with his British guests, the Prime Minister and his family. He had delivered another Fireside Chat the previous night, from the Diplomatic Reception Room, to announce the armistice with Italy\u2014and to warn his listeners against complacency or idle assumptions. He welcomed the Italian people, who were \"at last coming to the day of liberation from their real enemies, the Nazis.\" But \"let us not delude ourselves that this armistice means the end of the war in the Mediterranean. We still have to drive the Germans out of Italy as we have driven them out of Tunisia and Sicily; we must drive them out of France and all other captive countries; and we must strike them on their own soil from all directions. Our ultimate objectives in this war will continue to be Berlin and Tokyo,\" he made clear.\n\n\"I ask you to bear these objectives constantly in mind\u2014and do not forget that we still have a long way to go before we attain them,\" he'd warned. \"The great news that you have heard today from General Eisenhower does not give you license to settle back in your rocking chairs and say, 'Well, that does it. We've got 'em on the run. Now we can start the celebration.' The time for celebration is not yet. And I have a suspicion that when this war does end, we shall not be in a very celebrating frame of mind. I think that our main emotion will be one of grim determination that this shall not happen again.\n\n\"During the past weeks,\" he continued, \"Mr. Churchill and I have been in constant conference with the leaders of our combined fighting forces. We have been in constant communication with our fighting allies, Russian and Chinese, who are prosecuting the war with relentless determination and with conspicuous success on far distant fronts. And Mr. Churchill and I are here together in Washington at this crucial moment. We have seen the satisfactory fulfillment of plans that were made in Casablanca last January and here in Washington last May. And lately we have made new, extensive plans for the future,\" he added\u2014a coded reference to Overlord. \"But throughout these conferences we have never lost sight of the fact that this war will become bigger and tougher, rather than easier, during the long months that are to come.\n\n\"This war does not and must not stop for one single instant. Your fighting men know that. Those of them who are moving forward through jungles against lurking Japs\u2014those who are landing at this moment, in barges moving through the dawn up to strange enemy coasts\u2014those who are diving their bombers down on the targets at roof-top level\u2014every one of these men knows that this war is a full-time job and that it will continue to be that until total victory is won.\"\n\nAt Hyde Park, once the party arrived, the Prime Minister found himself on tenterhooks. Though the President tried as far as possible to keep the Churchills, including young Mary, entertained, Winston remained anxious. Giant II had been canceled; fearing savage Wehrmacht reprisals, Badoglio had reportedly attempted to renege on the Italian surrender.\n\nThe news that did come through was not good\u2014indeed, with more German troops racing toward the battle zone at Salerno in succeeding days, Clark not only asked Eisenhower's authority to use troops of the Eighty-Second Airborne Division, but to drop them on the very beaches of Salerno, to bolster the infantry\u2014and even ordered contingency plans be made for possible evacuation, \u00e1 la Dunkirk.\n\nDaisy Suckley, watching the President, was amazed at his sang-froid. \"Sunday, September 12, 1943,\" she wrote in her diary, three days into the invasion. \"Sitting on his wheelchair, with all the Churchill party standing around, he sent for Jennings, and, in two minutes arranged for the visit, next week-end,\" of his son John Roosevelt and John's wife, Anne, \"with two children & a nurse, and 6 Norwegians with a maid.\"\n\nThe President had spent the morning driving his visitors about the estate, \"at the wheel, his dog Fala beside him,\" and had arranged for lunch to be served for them all \"at his own cottage (higher up the hillside than Mrs R's Val-Kill).\" Following this they'd lain on the veranda\u2014Churchill telling his daughter Mary the colors he would use, were he painting the scene, and commenting with a smile on \"the wisdom of God in having made the sky _blue_ & the trees _green._ 'It wouldn't have been nearly so good the other way round.'\"\n\n\"To me these moments with Papa are the golden peaks of my life,\" Mary noted in her diary\u2014aware that, between them, the President and the Prime Minister had it in them to protect and preserve civilization as they knew it. Then, after dinner, where the President had proposed the health of his guests Winston and Clemmie, who were celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary, \"FDR drove us down to the train,\" the subaltern jotted in her diary.\n\n\"God Bless You,\" Daisy heard Churchill say, leaning into the President's car. \"I'll be over with you, next spring.\"\n\n\"Next spring\" had meant before D-day. There was a long way to go before Overlord, however. Behind the bonhomie, the war in Europe was now entering a critical time for the Western Allies.\n\nChurchill's moral and political sturdiness had certainly bucked up the President, but his military judgment, once again, was of a different order. The campaign in Italy upon which he'd so set his heart would now, inexorably, prove the very quagmire that General Marshall and the U.S. chiefs had foretold.\n\nEven Churchill's doctor recorded how anxious, at the White House the week before, Winston had become: his thoughts \"wandering to the coming landing at Salerno. That is where his heart is. As the appointed day draws near, the P.M. can think of nothing else. On this landing he has been building all his hopes. There are no doubts in his mind; anyway he admits none. It must succeed, and then Naples will fall into our hands. Last night, when the stream of his conversation was in spate, he talked of meeting Alex [General Alexander] in Rome before long\u2014the capture of Rome has fired his imagination; more than once he has spoken about Napoleon's Italian campaign.\"\n\nAt Hyde Park, three days after Clark's landings, Dr. Wilson had then noted the effect on Winston when the troops landed on the Salerno beaches and \"it did not prove to be a walk-over. On the contrary, the news that filtered into Hyde Park, where we had followed the President, was disquieting: the Germans had launched a strong counter-attack and the situation was very uncertain.\"\n\nThis was the reverse of what Churchill had so confidently forecast. There would be heavy casualties and loss of life, it seemed\u2014American as well as British. \"These things always seem to happen when I am with the President,\" the Prime Minister confided to Wilson, thinking of Tobruk the previous year\u2014Sir Charles noting: \"Poor Winston, he had been so anxious to convince Roosevelt that the invasion of Italy would yield a bountiful harvest at no great cost.\" Now that the first bill had come in, it was proving almost prohibitively expensive\u2014both in human life and in the very vessels and logistical backup the U.S. chiefs wanted transferred to Britain for D-day. \"When we left Hyde Park tonight, on the long journey to Halifax,\" Wilson recorded in his diary, \"the situation was still very obscure.\"\n\nChurchill was embarrassed\u2014and as his train bore him back to Canada, where he was to embark for Britain, the news from Italy only became more forbidding. Instead of seemingly effortless victory initially\u2014the Italian fleet having sailed south from Taranto to join the Allies, pursued by German U-boats and Luftwaffe that sank many of them\u2014Eisenhower's ground campaign turned sour. By September 16, Eisenhower was admitting to his naval aide that, if the Salerno battle ended in disaster,\" he himself would \"probably be out.\"\n\nFor his part, Churchill saw his once-glorious predictions for an Allied campaign in southern Europe exposed as wishful thinking. He'd earlier called upon his British chiefs of staff to be much bolder in their plans, and to \"use all our strength against Italy,\" even without American help. He'd even recommended making plans for British assault landings as far north along the coast of Italy as possible, in order to \"cut off\" as many Germans as they could. Far from throwing their proverbial hats further over the fence, as Churchill had urged his military team, the Prime Minister was now faced with having to eat his own. Though from his train he cabled directly Eisenhower's field deputy, General Alexander, urging him to go ashore in person at Salerno and avoid another Dardanelles fiasco, it could not alter the bitter, bitter truth: namely that the Allied campaign in Italy, as planned, had been based upon a false premise: not only that the Italians would help, but that the Germans would fail to offer a serious defense of Italy south of the Po.\n\nThe next day, as Churchill's train bore him to Halifax, where HMS _Renown_ would take him across the Atlantic, things sounded \"no better,\" Sir Charles noted. \"I have never seen him more on edge during a battle. Three 'bloodys' bespattered his conversation, and twice, while I was with him, he lost his temper with his servant, shouting at him in a painful way. He got up and walked down the train.\" Without information he seemed bereft. \"'Has any news come in?' he kept demanding. In truth, \"the reports that are reaching him only leave him more anxious,\" his doctor noted. \"There is a dreadful hint, though it is carefully covered up, that we might be driven into the sea. It appears, as far as I can tell, that the P.M. is largely responsible for this operation; if anyone is to blame, he is the man; and, from the way things seem to be going, I suppose he is beginning to think that there might be a good deal to explain.\"\n\nWithout the President to calm him, Churchill was metaphorically at sea\u2014and soon was in reality, where he remained \"immured in his cabin\" the whole voyage home, firing off telegrams to General Alexander to do more, and other wild cables, too, such as to General Maitland Wilson to accelerate a British seizure of the Dodecanese islands in the Aegean\u2014without the agreement of the President\u2014and be ready for potentially war-altering operations in the Balkans, where the Germans might, following the Italian surrender, be forced to withdraw to the Danube . . .\n\nTo Sir Charles Wilson this was all of a piece: the Prime Minister a bundle of nerves when things did not go in the way he had optimistically and impetuously planned.\n\nAt Hyde Park, however, the President neither blamed Winston nor worried unduly. He'd gotten to talk at length with young General Mark Clark during his stay in Casablanca, and was confident the U.S. troops\u2014many of them in their first battle\u2014would acquit themselves well. Moreover that General Eisenhower would recognize the gravity of the crisis and commit all he could to rectify the situation.\n\nNeither Rome nor even Naples was the point, after all. Even if Clark failed to make much headway, the Italians had surrendered\u2014unconditionally. All the Allies had to do, now, was secure the vital Foggia airfields, and bring the Germans to battle in Italy over the next months, until D-day was launched.\n\nIf Clark was forced to evacuate, after all, Allied troops could be sent to reinforce Montgomery's Eighth Army in Calabria. All would be well. Most importantly, the United States had demonstrated to the Soviets an absolute determination to fight on the mainland of Europe\u2014first in southern Italy, then across the Channel. He and Churchill would show Stalin they meant business, and would follow through on their promises\u2014moreover, that it would be best for the Russians to maintain civil discourse with the Western Allies in the fight to defeat the Third Reich.\n\nThe President thus slept a full ten hours after Churchill's train left the Hudson railway halt. He would spend only three days out of the next two weeks in Washington.\n\nThe fact was, he had bigger things on his mind than Salerno: his meeting with the Russian dictator, who in a flurry of new cables had finally agreed to a meeting of the Big Three\u2014though not outside Russia. His tone had been, however, more \"civil,\" as the principal private secretary to King George VI had noted in his diary at Buckingham Palace in London; \"he re-iterates his wish to have a three-party meeting,\" Sir Alan Lascelles aptly put it, \"but he won't go outside Russia, and I don't see how the President is to be got inside it.\"\n\nWhat had changed the Russian dictator's attitude?\n\nThere was much speculation\u2014though few were sure. Certainly, in terms of public attention, the Allied conference at Quebec, coming on top of the summit at Casablanca, had monopolized the attention of the free world. Russia was losing the very respect it was looking for, internationally\u2014Stalin conspicuous by his absence at such conferences, a fact that, in view of the many invitations to take part, began to suggest an ominous Russian agenda rather than genuine commitment to the anti-Axis cause and the Atlantic Charter\/Declaration of the United Nations.\n\nAbove all, though, the war had moved into a new phase: the endgame. American, British, and Canadian troops were now on the mainland of Europe, only eight hundred miles from Berlin\u2014while Russians were still fighting deep in the Soviet Union, more than a thousand miles from the German capital. As a result, Russian media calling for an immediate Second Front, instead, sounded silly\u2014however strategically necessary a cross-Channel assault might be in terms of the military defeat of the Third Reich. The President and Mr. Churchill, in short, appeared to be in control of the moral and political dimensions of the war, even the military\u2014leaving the Russians out on a limb, despite the almost obscene casualties they were suffering in their struggle to evict the Germans from their country.\n\nIn the new cables, Stalin still speciously claimed his presence was needed on a daily basis to control the battles raging on the Eastern Front (\"where more than 500 divisions are engaged in the fighting in all\"), but he now went out of his way not only to compliment the President on the \"new brilliant success in Italy\" but to acknowledge, for the first time, something even more significant. As Stalin put it, in his telegram to the President on September 11, \"the successful landing at Naples and break between Italy and Germany will deal one more blow upon Hitlerite Germany and will considerably facilitate the actions of the Soviet armies at the Soviet-German front.\"\n\nThis latter acknowledgment was, for Roosevelt, especially gratifying. Not only was the President relieved that his long, patient striving to convene a Big Three summit seemed about to pay off, but for the first time since Torch, Stalin had conceded that the President's strategy of landing in Sicily and then the mainland of Italy was having a major military impact on the war on Stalin's own Eastern Front. First at Kursk\u2014where the Germans had called off the battle early\u2014and now in the helter-skelter Russian advance in the Ukraine, where the Wehrmacht was being defeated in battle largely because Hitler simply had insufficient reserves to put into the line. The initiatives taken by the Western Allies had effectively spoiled any chance of the Wehrmacht defeating the Soviets that year.\n\n\"Everything turns on Italy at the moment,\" Goebbels had himself acknowledged on September 11, while staying with Hitler. Granted, \"the enemy hasn't the faintest idea of the real situation in Northern and Central Italy. They are still imagining we'll pull back our divisions over the Brenner to the homeland, and they'll be able to unleash a huge aerial attack on Berlin from airfields in southern Italy.\" Clearly the Allies hadn't reckoned on the German genius for combat. The ruthless German occupation of Rome and other Italian cities was being greeted with applause in the Third Reich, evoking shades of 1940 and the German occupation of Paris: the German Volk __ expressing \"rage against the Italians,\" who had nefariously betrayed them\u2014a people who would now be treated with the same remorseless cruelty that the Wehrmacht had shown their former Ribbentrop Pact partners when launching Barbarossa in 1941.\n\nAt the Wolf's Lair, the Reichsminister for Propaganda had even gotten Hitler to deliver the speech he'd desperately wanted the F\u00fchrer to give, in order to bolster morale in Germany. It had been recorded at the OKW headquarters and relayed by radio in Berlin to the nation on September 10: a speech given in measured tones without the usual Hitler histrionics. Instead, it had soberly denounced those Italians who had failed their Duce and who were now giving an example of cowardice and treachery that would go down in the annals of dishonor. Germany had consistently been compelled to bail out its ailing partner, in the Balkans and in North Africa\u2014\"the name of Field Marshal Rommel will forever be attached to this German effort\"\u2014but the Reich had now been \"betrayed\" by reactionary elements in Italy. \"Italy's defection will have little military impact,\" the F\u00fchrer claimed, \"since the battle in that country has primarily been carried and conducted by German forces. We'll now be freed of all restrictions and constraints.\"\n\nHitler's calm, measured tone would be balm to those in Germany wondering at the massive Allied air raids, the arrest of Mussolini, and then the unconditional surrender of the Italian government\u2014his speech worth \"seven divisions,\" as Goebbels put it. Hitler even made open mention of his secret weapons program. With Germany's enemies a thousand kilometers from the Reich, only their bombers could seek to \"terrorize\" the German population\u2014and in that connection \"there are,\" the F\u00fchrer announced, \"technical and organizational measures now being developed not simply to completely stop the terror bombing attacks, but to repay them with other, more effective measures\"\u2014his _Vergeltungswaffen,_ or V-1 and V-2 weapons.\n\nThe F\u00fchrer's speech worked \"like a refreshing thunderstorm,\" Goebbels noted\u2014\"one of the best,\" he reflected, \"he has delivered in the whole war.\"\n\nStill and all, Goebbels acknowledged, the Allied invasion of the European continent was now a game changer. Though the F\u00fchrer was confident the Wehrmacht could hold back the Allied armies south of Rome if they were fortunate, the divisions required for such a campaign would make it impossible to restrain the gathering Soviet tide on the Eastern Front: thus starving the German line of the reserves they desperately needed, especially on the line of the Dnieper, where little had been done to prepare solid defensive positions.\n\nAs Goebbels dictated in his diary, not only was the Allied invasion of Italy a lance in the German flank, but the situation in the East was \"absolutely critical,\" with German troops pulling further and further back. \"We see here what the unexampled betrayal of the Italians has caused us. If we'd had at hand the divisions we've had to send to Italy since the fall of Mussolini available to go into action on the Eastern Front, the current crisis would never have arisen. The superiority the Russians have over us is not that big\u2014you can see that in the way we've slowed their advance.\"\n\nIt was, for the Reich, a tragedy, he wrote. \"We have about eight divisions in northern Italy and in southern Italy another eight, so about sixteen divisions, fitted out with first-class personnel and equipment. The F\u00fchrer is convinced that with these sixteen divisions we'll be able to deal with the crisis in Italy,\" with a further fifty thousand troops in Sardinia and four thousand in Corsica who could be switched to Italy\u2014battle terrain that would be \"tabula rasa,\" with no concern about civilian casualties or destruction. Yet the absence of those very divisions from the Eastern Front was now galling. \"If we only had fifteen or twenty intact first-class divisions to put into battle, we'd be able to throw back the Soviets without any doubt whatsoever. But we're having to send those fifteen, twenty divisions south to the Italian theater,\" Goebbels wailed.\n\nFor German leaders accustomed to seize whatever they wished from weakly defended European neighbors, the arrest of Mussolini, the defection of Italy as an ally, and the arrival of the Western Allies on the mainland of Europe now threatened, in other words, to stretch and bring down the whole Axis edifice\u2014with the Allies possessing the upper hand.\n\nIf only the Western Allies would have launched a Second Front that year, Goebbels mused. A cross-Channel invasion by the Anglo-Americans would have given the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe a real chance to defeat the Allies using the forces the Germans had in France, while retaining sufficient first-class divisions to deal with Stalin's forces on the Eastern Front. \"But that would be too good to be true,\" Goebbels lamented. Instead, the Western Allies had brought the war to the mainland of _Italy:_ not only obtaining the unconditional surrender of its government at very little cost to themselves, but opening the floodgates, in the east, to Stalin's armies, against whom the Wehrmacht would now have insufficient reserves. And with the F\u00fchrer too anxious about a fall invasion of France or even the Netherlands by the Allies to dare withdraw German divisions from the Atlantic Wall.\n\nIt would be up to valiant German troops both on the Eastern Front and the Southern Front, then, to show the Soviets and the Anglo-Americans the true mettle of the Wehrmacht. In Italy, Goebbels noted with a kind of sneering satisfaction, Allied troops would now face a ruthless German military machine unencumbered by Italians\u2014and with more German divisions streaming down from the north, they would demonstrate their prowess in killing, without question or remorse. Italians who did not lay down their arms, or who sought to impede the German military occupation of Italy in any way, would simply be shot or slaughtered\u2014as would civilians who aided partisans. Ruthlessness had gotten the Third Reich to its hitherto unimaginable string of imperial conquests\u2014and would now be applied as mercilessly as in Russia. _Totaler Krieg._\n\n\"The main purpose of my visit to the High Command Headquarters is fulfilled,\" Goebbels thus noted with satisfaction, on September 12. \"I think G\u00f6ring was right when he said to me that we have thereby won a battle. The F\u00fchrer's speech will be worth whole divisions on the Eastern Front and in Italy. I spend a little time chatting with the F\u00fchrer. He himself seems pleased he's gotten the speech out of the way. He wishes me all the best in my work and for my health . . . He promises to give another speech in the Sportpalast [in Berlin], to start the Winter Assistance Program. I'll make sure he'll get to taste once more just what it's like to be in touch with the Volk. Our farewell is very warm. I wish the F\u00fchrer all the best.\"\n\nAt 8:00 p.m. the Reich minister heard the latest news on the radio of \"our operations in Italy, which are going very well,\" at Salerno, on top of the F\u00fchrer's recorded speech\u2014which the Russians had failed to jam. \"A little more work, a little more talk. Then I fall into bed, dead tired. There'll be a mountain of work waiting for me in Berlin.\"\n**53**\n\n# A Message to Congress\n\nGOEBBELS WAS, HOWEVER, misinformed about the Italian campaign. Though the Allied assault landings at Salerno came close to the very \"brink of obliteration,\" as the American campaign historian Rick Atkinson recorded six decades later, the line held.\n\nIt was touch-and-go, however. According to Rommel's son, Manfred, Hitler\u2014buoyed by early reports of Wehrmacht victory at Salerno\u2014\"discussed with my father the possibility of launching a counter-offensive to retake southern Italy and possibly Sicily.\" Ordered in panic by General Alexander to cease dawdling and save Clark, however, General Montgomery\u2014who feared just such a Rommel riposte, as the Desert Fox had attempted at Medenine\u2014finally renewed his advance. As Clark himself related, years later, \"we had a hard time . . . Monty was sending me messages: 'Hang on, we're coming!' And I'd send back: 'Hurry up\u2014I'm not proud, come and get me.' So it was really something.\"\n\nIn truth it was Clark himself who saved Fifth Army, since his U.S. VI Corps commander, Major General Ernest Dawley\u2014another prot\u00e9g\u00e9 of General Marshall's\u2014proved a broken reed. Clark himself went ashore to take personal command, in a magnificent display of courage and leadership in battle. He persuaded General Ridgway to drop airborne troops on the beaches, and with U.S. and Royal Navy vessels firing almost as many shells as at Iwo Jima and Okinawa, later, Clark's men fought off the German counterassault.\n\nEisenhower had meantime warned the chiefs of staff of the possible need to evacuate the landings\u2014a message passed on to the President and to Churchill\u2014but the crisis eventually passed. Necessity\u2014the need to fight harder or die at Salerno\u2014had proven the ultimate mother of virtue.\n\nHitler was furious, as was Goebbels, but the President was relieved. \"You know from the news of the past few days,\" the President began his Message to Congress on September 17, 1943, as the Allied situation at Salerno seemed to stabilize, \"that every military operation entails a legitimate military risk and that occasionally we have checks to our military plans\u2014checks which necessarily involve severe losses of men and materials.\n\n\"The Allied forces are now engaged in a very hard battle south of Naples,\" he admitted. \"Casualties are heavy. The desperation with which the Germans are fighting reveals that they are well aware of the consequences to them of our occupation of Italy. The Congress and the American people can rest assured that the landing on Italy is not the only landing we have in mind. That landing was planned at Casablanca,\" he claimed\u2014bending the truth somewhat, since post-Husky operations had not actually been discussed in more than principle. Still and all, such planning had certainly taken place during the early summer. At Quebec, he explained, \"the leaders and the military staffs of Great Britain and the United States made specific and precise plans to bring to bear further blows of equal or greater importance against Germany and Japan\u2014with definite times and places for other landings on the continent of Europe and elsewhere.\"\n\nCongress should be aware, then, that even though reverses lay ahead, the story of the Allied prosecution of the war was proceeding according to a genuine timetable and a larger, overall strategy\u2014a strategy that was American, not British, but one calculated to succeed on behalf of the United Nations.\n\nThe President also pointed to the difference between Allied liberation and Nazi occupation\u2014the \"food, clothing, cattle, medicines, and household goods\" systematically stolen by the Germans in \"satellite and occupied Nations,\" whereas the Allies had a \"carefully planned organization, trained and equipped to give physical care to the local population\u2014food, clothing, medicine.\" He lauded the advance of the Allied armies from Sicily to the mainland of Italy on September 3\u2014stating: \"History will always remember this day as the beginning of the answer to the prayer of the millions of liberty-loving human beings not only in these conquered lands but all over the world.\" However, \"there is one thing I want to make perfectly clear. When Hitler and the Nazis go out, the Prussian military clique must go with them.\"\n\nUnconditional surrender\u2014without negotiation. \"The war-breeding gangs of militarists must be rooted out of Germany\u2014and Japan\u2014if we are to have any real assurance of future peace,\" he asserted. Surrender negotiations with the Italian government, of necessity, had had to be conducted in secret, in order that the Nazis not be able to seize Marshal Badoglio or his associates in Rome, but he wanted Americans and Congress to know \"that the policy which we follow is an expression of the basic democratic tradition and ideals of this Republic. We shall not be able to claim that we have gained total victory in this war if any vestige of Fascism in any of its malignant forms is permitted to survive anywhere in the world.\"\n\nBearing a banner of American democracy, the United States was, in other words, on the move\u2014producing planes, tanks, and mat\u00e9riel on a scale that beggared description: fifty-two thousand airplanes, twenty-three thousand tanks, forty thousand artillery guns in the first six months of 1943 alone, he reported. American shipyards were launching \"almost five ships a day.\"\n\nThe war had become \"essentially a great war of production. The best way to avoid heavy casualty lists is to provide our troops with the best equipment possible\u2014and plenty of it,\" the President asserted. Although the nation had come a long way since his State of the Union address just before the Casablanca Conference, he now cautioned that \"we are still a long, long way from ultimate victory in any major theater of the war.\" It would entail \"a hard and costly fight up through Italy\u2014and a major job of organizing our positions before we can take advantage of them.\n\n\"Likewise,\" in the British Isles \"we must be sure we have assembled the strength to strike not just in one direction but in many directions\u2014by land and sea and in the air\u2014with overwhelming forces and equipment.\" Moreover, to \"break through\" the Japanese defensive ring stretching from the \"mandated islands to the Solomons and through the Netherlands East Indies to Malaysia and China\" would be a challenge. \"In all of history, there has never been a task so tremendous as that which we now face,\" he stated candidly. And warned: \"Nothing we can do will be more costly in lives than to adopt the attitude that the war has been won\u2014or nearly won. That would mean a letdown in the great tempo of production which we have reached, and would mean that our men who are now fighting all over the world will not have that overwhelming superiority of power which has dealt so much death and destruction to the enemy and at the same time has saved so many lives.\"\n\n\"Overwhelming superiority of power\"\u2014directed at the right time and at the right place\u2014to produce the necessary outcome: the unconditional surrender of the Third Reich and the Empire of Japan. Their total disarmament. And a \"national cooperation with other Nations\" in order that \"world aggression be ended and that fair international relationships be established on a permanent basis\": these were the military and political objectives the President was pursuing on behalf of the United States\u2014on a global scale.\n\nAware there were those who resented him in his role as U.S. commander in chief as much as they had resented him as president in tackling the Great Depression and New Deal, Roosevelt dismissed the narrow-minded critics who, \"when a doughnut is placed in front of them, claim they can only see the hole in it\"\u2014people who lacked \"war-winning ideals.\" \"Obviously,\" he added, \"we could not have produced and shipped as much as we have, we could not now be in the position we now occupy in the Mediterranean, in Italy, or in the Southwest Pacific or on the Atlantic convoy routes or in the air over Germany and France, if conditions in Washington and throughout the Nation were as confused and chaotic as some people try to paint them\"\u2014paintings \"eagerly sought by Axis propagandists in their evil work.\" For himself he remained proud of the \"amazing\" job that \"the American people and their Government\" were doing \"in carrying out a vast program which two years ago was said to be impossible of fulfillment.\"\n\nNothing, the President claimed, could now halt the Allies, whatever the Germans and Japanese threw at them.\n**54**\n\n# Achieving Wonders\n\nIN BERLIN, THE master of Axis propaganda read the text of the President's latest Message to Congress carefully.\n\n\"The American struggle isn't just against Nazism,\" Dr. Goebbels noted, \"it's also against militarism. We know these words. The British and the Americans have always used them to try to carve the Reich into little pieces,\" he sneered. \"More significant was what he says about American output. The numbers are way behind their needs; nevertheless,\" he confessed, \"as far as airplane production goes, the U.S. has achieved wonders.\"\n\nIn proof of what he saw as his own analytic intelligence, however, the Mephistopheles of public relations and propaganda thought he could discern Roosevelt's deeper motive behind his Message to Congress\u2014and the free world. \"It's quite clear,\" Goebbels noted, \"that the whole enemy press is being brought to bear to distract attention from Soviet successes on the Eastern Front\u2014and make sure their own public isn't made uneasy.\"\n\nAt a time of unease in Washington political circles over ultimate Soviet intentions, there was considerable truth in this. The President was certainly banging a proud American drum to remind the American public of the war's _global_ dimensions\u2014the manner in which control of the Mediterranean would release naval vessels for the Far East, closing the gap between Northwest Australia and Ceylon, thereby forcing \"General Tojo and his murderous gang\" to \"look to the north, to the south, to the east, or to the west,\" where he would only see \"closing in on them, from all directions, the forces of retribution under Generalissimo Chiang-Kai-shek, General MacArthur, Admiral Nimitz, and Admiral Lord Mountbatten,\" the new supreme commander of Allied forces in the Indian Ocean. But the President's target audience went beyond American or even English shores. Published not only in nearly every newspaper in America and abroad, the President's long congressional address was once again directed at Moscow.\n\nWhether at Hyde Park, Quebec, Ottawa, or the White House, the President had taken great pains to demonstrate over recent weeks just how solid was the U.S.-British alliance. Now he wished to back that image, in writing, with quotable numbers: statistical proof of new, global American power that would not be content with Hitler's fall, but was to be harnessed to a postwar democratic agenda.\n\nHis conversation with Archbishop Spellman had reflected his unusually despondent mood; two weeks later, though, with American and British troops having established a hard-won lodgment on the mainland of Italy, and U.S. air forces already beginning to bomb factories in southern Germany, he seemed to have recovered his confidence: a confidence he would certainly need if he was to bring the American electorate, via his own efforts and the Congress, to ditch isolationism for good and take responsibility for the survival and development of a democratic postwar world.\n\nChurchill's stay, in other words, had acted as a tonic, despite the crisis at Salerno\u2014and the President was fired up.\n\nRanked seventeenth in the table of world military strengths in 1939, the United States was now primus inter pares, with an all-American military, economic, and political agenda, based on the clear goals of the four freedoms, that the President was determined to fulfill come hell or high water\u2014with or without Soviet participation.\n\nExactly what would happen if the Soviets did _not_ participate in an endgame agreement\u2014indeed, what exactly such a political agreement should comprise\u2014was still to be decided.\n\nAs Churchill had said to Mackenzie King before leaving Quebec to join the President in Washington, it was impossible to predict whether the \"Germans will give up this autumn.\" It was, as Winston put it with characteristic wit, \"like trying to bet on the Derby. No one could tell exactly what would happen. He spoke of the small numbers the British and Americans have in armies compared with the Germans\"\u2014and with the Russians.\n\nThe President had been \"very mad\" at Stalin at the time, and had deliberately refrained from responding to the Russian's rude cables\u2014ignoring him and working with Churchill to show the strength of the Western, Anglo-American coalition. Somehow, though, in the interests of postwar peace, agreement would nevertheless _have_ to be obtained on the \"post-war order,\" however powerful the Russian land armies. Compromise would be necessary, involving sad concessions\u2014ones that would hopefully preserve, at least, the western nations of Europe within an Allied, democratic embrace: the \"Allied side.\" While meantime encouraging the Soviets to join an international security system, not stand outside it.\n\nCould such a system of postwar security be negotiated with the inscrutable Russians? Would it be effective? Would the American public even support security guarantees of foreign countries on another continent, in another hemisphere, at the risk of a further war? It was small wonder that, in relation to the \"post-war order,\" Churchill had given to Mackenzie King a \"desultory sort of account of the scheme that he, himself, had in mind, and what the President had talked of, but there was nothing very definite about it. Nothing is to be published at present as coming out of the [Quebec] Conference. Some months will be needed to consider the matter.\"\n\nWith Stalin's sudden willingness to tackle \"the matter\"\u2014first through a preliminary meeting of foreign ministers, then a summit of the Allied leaders, perhaps\u2014planning for the future of the world was, however, becoming hot: red hot.\n\nIn the hopes therefore of obtaining formal Russian participation\u2014participation in a four-power postwar security structure; participation in a global United Nations authority; and formal international agreements to be made on the future of Germany and the countries that had aided Hitler militarily, from Austria to Bulgaria and Rumania\u2014the President thus authorized Secretary Hull to attend the preliminary Moscow Conference of foreign ministers of the Big Three, plus a representative from China.\n\nThe President had wanted Sumner Welles to attend, despite his recent resignation as undersecretary of state, but Hull was insistent that _he_ should represent the United States as secretary of state, and the President\u2014needing congressional support for the mission and its outcome\u2014had acquiesced. The war was moving toward a climax, as even the Russians were aware. After almost a year of pressure to get together and get with a formally agreed Allied program, the Russian dictator had, it appeared, finally seen the light. The foreign ministers' conference would begin in only four weeks' time\u2014on October 11, 1943\u2014and might last as long as a month.\n\nThere in Moscow, the President hoped, the secretary would pave the way for the leaders of the Four Policemen to sit down together and discuss postwar security\u2014and how to avoid the fate of the League of Nations. The President, Churchill, Stalin, and Chiang Kai-shek would also have to decide the war's endgame: how, exactly, Nazi Germany was finally to be defeated and its military disarmed. Following which, the Empire of Japan.\n\nWith that vast challenge looming, the President wheeled himself from the Oval Office to the mansion, stopping by the Map Room to check on messages from London, Moscow, and Chungking. Where the national leaders would meet, when exactly, how he would travel\u2014by air or sea\u2014and how they would get along, Roosevelt had little idea, but he was suddenly supremely confident.\n\n\"Of course he knew better than anyone else what was good for the United States,\" Lieutenant George Elsey remembered the spirit the President conveyed. \"That was the attitude at that point. He was supreme in every respect!\"\u2014the Map Room off-limits to all but five people in the world, not only to safeguard the most sensitive and secret military information, including Ultra, but because it enabled the President to be the only person with a complete picture of the war's progress\u2014and perils. \"'I'm in control; this is the way it's going to be\u2014it's going to be the way I want it'\u2014this was the sense I had of his perception of himself as the war went on,\" Elsey recalled.\n\nFranklin Roosevelt had every reason to feel supreme. As president he had not only brought America out of the Great Depression without resorting to the kind of tyranny that had been occasioned in Germany and elsewhere, but he had subsequently become\u2014in the least dictatorial yet most dominating manner\u2014a most successful U.S. commander in chief in war. A global \"war for civilization,\" as he rightly called it.\n\nThe President's generals and admirals had \"no reason to challenge or contradict his leadership,\" Elsey pointed out, since in setting the ongoing strategy of the war\u2014at times against their dissenting voices\u2014he had so ably brought the United States now within sight of eventual victory.\n\nMany great battles still lay ahead, as well as further disagreements with Churchill and the British over military operations and policy. Churchill's obsession with war in the Mediterranean would continue, despite disastrous expeditions in the Greek islands that would drive his own generals as mad as it did the American military in the next weeks\u2014Churchill resisting to the bitter end the British commitment to the mounting of Overlord the following spring.\n\nFor all his faults as quasi\u2013commander in chief of British Empire forces, however, Winston Churchill's loyalty to the President, as the de facto commander in chief of the forces of the Western Allies, had never snapped; nor had Churchill's acumen in terms of Stalin and the Russians, and his moral courage. This would be of inestimable value in the coming months.\n\nThere would be dire problems of agreement with the Soviet Union, the President was all too aware\u2014Russians who would have no gratitude to the United States for having helped save them, nor genuine interest in the Four Freedoms in a postwar world. There was also the matter of a fourth presidential election, and the President's always-precarious health. Moreover, what exactly should be done with Nazi Germany in the aftermath of victory\u2014disarmament or dismemberment. How best to help the Chinese, and plan the defeat of Japan. And how best to then turn Japan from aggression to peaceful coexistence . . .\n\nThese were but some of the politico-military challenges remaining, as the President began planning his second trip to North Africa later that fall\u2014hopefully there to meet with Chiang Kai-shek, Churchill, and Stalin.\n\nThe road from Torch had certainly been rocky, over the past year, but what a year of achievement it had been!\n\nHis secretary of war and Joint Chiefs of Staff were now finally on the same page\u2014 _his_ page. So was Churchill\u2014if he could be kept there. From faltering first offensive combat in Tunisia, the United States had in less than one year moved to the brink of what would become the greatest global military performance in its history: a massive American-led invasion and campaign in 1944 that would hopefully win the Second World War in Europe. And after that, Japan.\n\nWith that, the President left the Map Room and went up to bed. \n\n# Acknowledgments\n\nReaders of _The Mantle of Command: FDR at War, 1941\u20131942_ will know how indebted I am to those who have helped me in recounting, afresh, one of the most important stories of the twentieth century.\n\nMy task was to challenge the widely held perception of Franklin Delano Roosevelt as a hands-off U.S. commander in chief in World War II, and to demonstrate, rather, just how important was his role in directing U.S. and Allied strategy, even though he did not live to record it. Now, with publication of _Commander in Chief: FDR's Battle with Churchill, 1943,_ I am in debt again to a number of people. First off, I'd like to thank my commissioning editor, Bruce Nichols, without whose guidance, editing, and support this book could not have been published. And his assistant, Ben Hyman; my copyeditor, Melissa Dobson; and the indefatigable manuscript supremo, Larry Cooper\u2014indeed the whole team at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. At a time when my longtime London publisher had rejected the manuscript of _The Mantle of Command_ and pulled out of the project completely, claiming there was insufficient interest in Franklin Delano Roosevelt in Britain or in the British publishing territories (Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, India, the West Indies, etc.) for a multivolume work on FDR as commander in chief in World War II, Bruce's encouragement meant the world to me\u2014and something, I think, to the many readers who have enjoyed _The Mantle of Command._ I hope this sequel will again repay Bruce's faith in my project.\n\nSecond, I'd like to thank Dr. Hans Renders, Professor of Biography at Groningen University in the Netherlands, who has not only been a stalwart supporter and colleague of my work in biographical studies, but who encouraged me to include _Commander in Chief_ as part of my submission for a doctorate at the Biografie Instituut, Research Faculty of Arts, Groningen University. For his and Professor Dr. Doeko Bosscher's suggestions, corrections, and support I am deeply grateful.\n\nWriting history and historical biography is a process of research and constant iteration\u2014factual, interpretive, selective, and architectural\u2014before a book is finished and goes to press. Many fellow historians have assisted me; in particular I'd like to thank Carlo D'Este, Roger Cirillo, James Scott, Mark Schneider, David Kaiser, Douglas Brinkley, David Reynolds, and Ron Spector. I'd like to acknowledge my debt as a historian also to Gerhard Weinberg, Rick Atkinson, Mark Stoler, Warren Kimball, Michael Schaller, H. W. Brands, Andrew Roberts, David Woolner, Evan Thomas, Douglas Porch, Michael Howard, and the late Martin Gilbert, Stephen Ambrose, and Forrest Pogue, for their many works on World War II and FDR's role. Over the years as a military and presidential historian I have learned not only from them but from many hundreds of veterans, from generals to GIs, as well as other students of World War II, ranging from professors to archivists in the United States, Britain, and Germany. Without those years of grounding, going back to the decade I spent as official biographer of Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery, I could not have undertaken such an ambitious project, and I will always be grateful to them.\n\nAt the FDR Presidential Library I'd like to thank the Deputy Director, Bob Clark, as well as the staff of the Research Room and Photographic Records. At the Warm Springs Presidential Museum I'd like to thank the Manager, Robin Glass, and his staff. At the Eisenhower Presidential Library in Abilene I'd also like to thank the Deputy Director, Timothy Reeves, and the Research Library staff. In New Orleans, where I winter, I'd like to thank Nick Mueller, the President and CEO of the National World War II Museum, as well as his Director of Research, Keith Huxen, and Conference Director, Jeremy Collins. At the Churchill Society of New Orleans I wish to thank the President, Gregg Collins, and his colleagues. In Washington, D.C., I'd like to thank especially Jeff Flannery, Head of Reference in the Manuscript Division at the Library of Congress, and his staff, as well as the staff of the National Archives in College Park, Maryland. Also John Greco and his colleagues at the Operational Archives of the U.S. Naval History and Command, Washington Navy Yard.\n\nAt the Imperial War Museum in London I'd like to thank particularly the Keeper of Documents, Anthony Richards. At the Churchill Centre in Chicago I'd like to thank Lee Pollock and David Freeman. At the Churchill Archives Centre in Cambridge, England, the Director, Allen Packwood.\n\nCloser to home, at the University of Massachusetts Boston I'd like to thank Ira Jackson, the former Dean of the McCormack Graduate School of Policy and Global Studies, where I am Senior Fellow; the new Dean, David Cash; and my many colleagues at the university, especially Provost Winston Langley. My thanks also to the staffs of the Widener Library, Harvard University, and its Microfilm Department, and the staff of Boston College Library.\n\nIn Boston I'm indebted, also, to my fellow members of the Boston Biographers Group, whose monthly meetings have offered the kind of support that only fellow biographers can, in the end, offer: collegial understanding, sympathy, advice, and reassurance in our necessarily often lonely biographical profession. I'd like also to acknowledge the friendship and intellectual fraternity of my fellow members of the Tavern Club\u2014as well as my fellow members of Biographers International Organization (BIO), whose annual conference is both an inspiration to biographers and a chance to share a common passion for the study of real lives.\n\nMy literary agent, Ike Williams, has been once again my stalwart champion, together with his colleagues Katherine Flynn and Hope Denekamp. To my brother Michael and to my children, my thanks; and to my wife, Raynel, much more than thanks can ever repay.\n\nAs in the writing of _The Mantle of Command,_ I have kept a portrait of my father, Lieutenant Colonel Sir Denis Hamilton, DSO, above my desk during the writing of _Commander in Chief_ \u2014for it is the memory of his service as a fighting infantryman, first at Dunkirk and then at D-day and the grim Battle of Normandy, that cautions me never to forget the men who had to carry out, in combat, the strategies laid down by the \"brass hats\" in World War II\u2014and pay the price of their decisions, for good or ill.\n\nFinally, to those readers of _The Mantle of Command_ who wrote me with corrections as well as expressions of gratitude, my great appreciation.\n\nNIGEL HAMILTON\n\n_John W. McCormack Graduate School of Policy_  \n_and Global Studies, UMass Boston_\n\n# Photo Credits\n\n_Total War._ FDR addresses Congress, Jan. 7, 1943: FDR Library; boarding the _Dixie Clipper_ at U.S. naval base, Trinidad, Jan. 12, 1943: National Archives\n\n_En Route to Casablanca._ Stopover at Bathhurst, Gambia: National Archives; aboard the USS _Memphis_ with Captain John McCrea: National Archives; FDR aboard C-54 with pilot, Captain Otis F. Bryan, Jan. 11, 1943: FDR Library; President's C-54 and ramp, North Africa, Jan. 1943: FDR Library\n\n_Casablanca._ The President's villa, Dar es Saada: FDR Library; FDR dines with sons Elliott and Franklin Jr., and Harry Hopkins, Jan. 16, 1943: FDR Library; with Joint Chiefs of Staff, Jan. 20, 1943: FDR Library\n\n_Directing World Strategy._ At the President's villa, hosting Winston Churchill and the Combined Chiefs of Staff, Jan. 1943: FDR Library; FDR with Admiral Ernest King: National Archives; with Generals Henri Giraud and Charles de Gaulle: National Archives\n\n_Visiting Troops on the Battlefield._ FDR with General Dwight Eisenhower (seen flying together in December 1943): National Archives; with Generals Mark Clark and George Patton, Jan. 21, 1943: FDR Library; reviewing a U.S. armored division, Jan. 21, 1943: FDR Library; reviewing U.S. troops, Jan. 21, 1943: FDR Library\n\n_Unconditional Surrender._ FDR and Churchill with Combined Chiefs, Jan. 1943: FDR Library; with Churchill at press conference, Jan. 24, 1943: FDR Library; press conference, Jan. 24, 1943: FDR Library\n\n_End of Empires._ FDR with son Elliott, Jan. 1943: FDR Library; dining with the Sultan of Morocco, Jan. 22, 1943: National Archives; with Churchill at top of tower of Villa Taylor, U.S. vice consulate, Marrakesh, Jan. 24, 1943: FDR Library; with President Edwin Barclay of Liberia, Jan. 27, 1943: FDR Library\n\n_Totaler Krieg._ Goebbels at the _Sportpalast:_ Bundesarchiv, Federal Archives of Germany; FDR reviews military training camp: National Archives; Admiral Yamamoto saluting Japanese plane, ca. 1942: Corbis; group of U.S. Army Air Forces P-38 Lightning fighter planes, June 1, 1943: Associated Press\n\n_Churchill on the Wrong Warpath._ The RMS _Queen Mary_ in New York harbor, June 20, 1945: Interim Archives \/ Getty Images; Churchill addresses Congress, May 19, 1943: Corbis\n\n_Axis Surrender in North Africa._ Roundup of German and Italian soldiers in Tunisia, June 11, 1943: Associated Press; soldiers in a prison camp: The Print Collector \/ Getty Images\n\n_Reading Churchill the Riot Act._ FDR fetching Churchill from train, Washington, May 11, 1943: Bettmann \/ Corbis; fishing with Churchill at Shangri-la: FDR Library; U.S. Chiefs of Staff (Generals Arnold and Marshall, Captain Royal [deputy secretary], Admirals Leahy and King) at a Combined Chiefs Conference, facing British counterparts, 1943: Three Lions \/ Hulton Archive \/ Getty Images\n\n_Sicily\u2014and Kursk._ Allied landing in Sicily, July 10, 1943: IWM \u00a9 Sgt. Frederick Wackett \/ Getty Images; retreat from Kursk: Bundesarchiv, Federal Archives of Germany\n\n_The Fall of Mussolini._ Mussolini greets Hitler upon arrival in Italy, July 19, 1943: ullstein bild \/ Getty Images; on their way to Feltre, Italy: ullstein bild \/ Getty Images; before the meeting at Feltre: ullstein bild \/ Getty Images\n\n_Churchill Returns\u2014Yet Again._ Churchill with daughter Mary, Aug. 16, 1943: Toronto Star Archives \/ Getty Images; FDR with Churchill, Canadian Prime Minister McKenzie King, and Combined Chiefs in Quebec, Aug. 18, 1943: FDR Library\n\n_The First Crack in the Axis._ FDR addresses crowd outside Canadian parliament, Ottawa, Aug. 25, 1943: FDR Library; Stalin with Foreign Minister Molotov (seen later, Feb. 1, 1945): Keystone \/ Getty Images\n\n_The Reckoning._ FDR drives Churchill at Hyde Park, Sept. 12, 1943: Associated Press; Allied invasion of Italy, Salerno, Sept. 9, 1943: SeM \/ UIG \/ Getty Images\n\n# Notes\n\nPROLOGUE\n\n1. Lieutenant Commander George Elsey, interview with author, September 12, 2011.\n\n2. See this volume, chapter 32, .\n\n3. Entry of Tuesday, November 10, 1943, in Alan Lascelles, _King's Counsellor: Abdication and War: The Diaries of Sir Alan Lascelles,_ ed. Duff Hart-Davis (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2006), 75.\n\n4. Ibid., entry of Thursday, May 13, 1943, 129.\n\n5. David Reynolds, _In Command of History: Churchill Fighting and Writing the Second World War_ (New York: Random House, 2005).\n\n1. A CRAZY IDEA\n\n1. \"Exclusive of the President's own car, the train comprised one compartment car, one Pullman sleeper, one combination club-baggage car, and the special Army radio car\": \"Log of the Trip of the President to the Casablanca Conference, 9\u201331 January, 1943,\" Papers of George M. Elsey, Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library, Hyde Park, NY.\n\n2. Entry of January 9, 1943, Leahy Diary, William D. Leahy Papers, Library of Congress.\n\n3. \"Because of his infirmity he [the President] could walk only briefly on two canes. It was much easier for him to use one cane and the right arm of an escort\" for balance and support while swinging the fourteen-pound steel irons encasing his legs, from his thighs to his shoes, McCrea explained: John McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections,\" McCrea Papers, FDR Library.\n\n4. Ibid.\n\n2. ABOARD THE MAGIC CARPET\n\n1. \"Marriage of Hopkins to Louise Macy,\" miscellaneous files for \"Roosevelt & Hopkins,\" Robert E. Sherwood Papers, Houghton Library, Harvard University.\n\n2. Robert Sherwood, _Roosevelt and Hopkins: An Intimate History_ (New York: Harper, 1948), 669.\n\n3. Entry of January 8, 1943, in Geoffrey C. Ward, ed., _Closest Companion: The Unknown Story of the Intimate Friendship Between Franklin Roosevelt and Margaret Suckley_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1995), 194.\n\n4. Ibid.\n\n5. Entry of January 9, 1943, in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 194.\n\n6. Ibid., entry of January 10, 1943, 196.\n\n7. Sherwood, _Roosevelt and Hopkins,_ 669.\n\n8. Ibid.\n\n9. McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections.\"\n\n10. Letter of January 11, 1943, in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 196.\n\n11. Ibid.\n\n12. Ibid.\n\n13. Ibid., letter of January 12, 1943, 197.\n\n14. Ibid., letter of January 13, 1943.\n\n15. Related to John McCrea by the President: McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections.\"\n\n16. Letter of January 13, 1943, in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 197.\n\n17. Ibid.\n\n18. Letter to Eleanor Roosevelt, January 13, 1943, in Elliott Roosevelt, ed., _F.D_. _R.: His Personal Letters, 1928\u20131945_ (New York: Duell, Sloane, and Pearce, 1950), vol. 2, 1393.\n\n3. THE UNITED NATIONS\n\n1. Nigel Hamilton, _The Mantle of Command: FDR at War, 1941\u20131942_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2014), 138 et seq.\n\n2. Ibid.\n\n3. Christopher D. O'Sullivan, _Sumner Welles, Postwar Planning, and the Quest for a New World Order, 1937\u20131943_ (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008) _,_ 65 and 72.\n\n4. Sumner Welles, _Seven Decisions That Shaped History_ (New York: Harper, 1951), 182\u201383.\n\n5. Christopher Thorne, _Allies of a Kind: The United States, Britain, and the War Against Japan, 1941\u20131945_ (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1978), 221. Christopher O'Sullivan argued that such foot-dragging was deliberate. \"The imperial powers faced growing demands for independence\" among colonial and mandated countries\u2014exposing \"a paradox at the heart of empires: progress in the political and economic sphere would encourage self-rule, whereas a lack of progress justified continued European rule\": _FDR and the End of Empire_ (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 4.\n\n6. O'Sullivan, _Sumner Welles,_ 67.\n\n7. Ibid., 74, quoting Gladwyn Jebb.\n\n8. It was not only the British Empire that was having to face the prospect of dismantlement; Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands gave a broadcast on the first anniversary of Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1942, promising that the Dutch colonies in Southeast Asia would be given home rule\u2014see Thorne, _Allies of a Kind,_ 218.\n\n9. David Reynolds, _In Command of History:_ _Churchill Fighting and Writing the Second World War_ (New York: Random House, 2005), 334.\n\n10. Letter of November 24, 1942, in Elliott Roosevelt, ed., _F.D_. _R.: His Personal Letters,_ _1928\u20131945_ (New York: Duell, Sloane, and Pearce, 1950), vol. 2, 1371\u201372.\n\n11. Ibid.\n\n12. Entry of December 4, 1942, Diaries of William Lyon Mackenzie King, Library and Archives Canada, Ottawa, ON (hereinafter Mackenzie King Diary). The Democrats lost the election in the House of Representatives by over a million ballots in the popular vote. To Roosevelt's relief they nevertheless retained a majority of 222 seats to 209. In the Senate, Democrats lost 8 seats and 1 independent\u2014as well as the popular vote, in ballot numbers cast. Again, however, they held on to their majority, 58 seats to 37.\n\n13. Ibid.\n\n14. Ibid.\n\n15. Susan Butler, ed., _My Dear Mr. Stalin: The Complete Correspondence Between Franklin D. Roosevelt and Joseph V. Stalin_ (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005) _,_ 98.\n\n16. Ibid., 99.\n\n17. Ibid., 99\u2013100.\n\n18. Ibid., 101.\n\n19. Entry of December 5, 1942, Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n20. Ibid.\n\n21. Ibid.\n\n22. Ibid.\n\n23. Ibid.\n\n24. Ibid.\n\n25. Roosevelt's speechwriter and later editor of his presidential papers, Sam Rosenman, later pointed out that \"it was not at Appomattox but at Fort Donelson that Grant demanded unconditional surrender; it was not of Robert E. Lee but of S. B. Buckner\u2014in 1862\": Samuel I. Rosenman, _Working with Roosevelt_ (New York: Harper, 1952), 372.\n\n26. Entry of December 5, 1942, Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n27. In June 1941, prior to the war, Roosevelt had set up an Office of Scientific Research and Development to direct science for military purposes. The OSRD was soon tasked with atomic research. The notion that an atomic weapon would have to be launched by ship, given the necessary volume, quickly gave way to the idea of a small, bomb-size weapon that could be flown and dropped on a target. A so-called S-1 Committee was therefore set up to report directly to the President at the White House, chaired by the president of Harvard University, James Conant. Robert Oppenheimer was made director of fast-neutron research, and by the summer of 1942 the need for substantially more fissionable material was reported to FDR. To accelerate development, General Brehon Somervell, the U.S. Army's senior officer for logistics, appointed Lieutenant Colonel Leslie Groves to take charge of the Manhattan Project\u2014which was moved to Los Alamos, in New Mexico. The 60 tons of Canadian uranium ore, already ordered in March 1942, was judged insufficient. After consultation with the U.S. government, Mackenzie King's Canadian government nationalized the Eldorado Mining and Refining company in June 1942, and another 350 tons of uranium was immediately ordered by the U.S. government\u2014followed by another 500 tons later that year, and 1,200 tons of stored Congolese ore to be refined by the Canadians.\n\n28. Entry of December 5, 1942, Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n29. Ibid.\n\n30. Ibid.\n\n31. Ibid.\n\n32. Churchill referred to the plan as \"airy visions of Utopia and El Dorado\" (Martin Gilbert, _Winston S. Churchill,_ vol. 7, _Road to Victory: 1941\u20131945_ [London: Heinemann, 1986], 292), while Harold Laski, professor of political science at the London School of Economics, wrote to President Roosevelt, hoping he would \"teach our Prime Minister that it is the hope of the future and not the achievement of the past from which he must draw his inspiration\" (Thorne, _Allies of a Kind,_ 144).\n\n33. Entry of Saturday, January 9, 1943, \"Secret Diary\" of Lord Halifax, Papers of Lord Halifax, Hickleton Papers, Borthwick Institute of Historical Research, University of York, Yorkshire, England.\n\n34. Entry of December 5, 1942, Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n35. Ibid.\n\n36. Ibid.\n\n37. Ibid.\n\n4. WHAT NEXT?\n\n1. Ibid., entry of December 6, 1942.\n\n2. Ibid., entry of December 4, 1942.\n\n3. Ibid., entry of December 5, 1942.\n\n4. Ibid.\n\n5. Ibid.\n\n6. David Kaiser, _No End Save Victory:_ _How FDR Led the Nation into War_ (New York: Basic Books, 2014).\n\n7. Entry of December 5, 1942, Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n8. Ibid., entry of December 4, 1942.\n\n9. Ibid., entry of December 6, 1942.\n\n10. Ibid.\n\n11. Ibid.\n\n5. STALIN'S _NYET_\n\n1. Cable of December 6, 1942, in Butler, _My Dear Mr. Stalin,_ 102.\n\n2. Ibid., cable of December 8, 1942, 103.\n\n3. Ibid., cable of December 14, 1942, 103.\n\n4. Ibid.\n\n5. Ibid., 103\u20134.\n\n6. ADDRESSING CONGRESS\n\n1. Rosenman, _Working with Roosevelt,_ 366\u201368.\n\n2. Entry of November 29, 1942, in William D. Hassett, _Off the Record with F.D_. _R., 1942\u20131945_ (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1958), 145.\n\n3. \"The Spirit of This Nation Is Strong\"\u2014Address to the Congress on the State of the Union, January 7, 1943, in Franklin D. Roosevelt, _The Public Papers and Addresses of Franklin D. Roosevelt,_ comp. Samuel I. Rosenman, 1943 vol., _The Tide Turns_ (New York: Russell and Russell, 1969), 21\u201334.\n\n7. A FOOL'S PARADISE\n\n1. Entry of January 7, 1943, Halifax Diary.\n\n2. Entry of November 20, 1942, Stimson Diary, Henry L. Stimson Papers, Yale University Library, New Haven, CT.\n\n3. Ibid, entry of December 11, 1942.\n\n4. Ibid., entry of December 12, 1942.\n\n5. Ibid.\n\n6. Ibid.\n\n7. Henry Stimson and McGeorge Bundy, _On Active Service In Peace and War_ (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1947).\n\n8. Entry of December 14, 1942, Stimson Diary.\n\n9. Ibid.\n\n10. Nigel Hamilton, _The Full Monty,_ vol. 1, _Montgomery of Alamein, 1887\u20131942_ (London: Allen Lane, 2001) _,_ 467\u201368.\n\n11. Because of its five fortress-like side walls, President Roosevelt referred to the Pentagon as the \"Pentateuchal Building,\" after the first five books of the Bible: Steve Vogel, _The Pentagon: A History_ (New York: Random House, 2007), 297. The U.S. Navy was offered space to ensure a combined-services headquarters; \"He was very much pleased,\" Stimson had noted the President's satisfaction with the offer in his diary, \"and told us to go ahead\": Ibid., 281. The Navy bureaus declined to integrate their activities, however\u2014as they did racial integration in the seagoing Navy, other than small numbers of black sailors as messmen or glorified bellhops. Even onshore, the Navy insisted their installations be strictly segregated, with no black officers\u2014causing the National Urban League's journal _Opportunity_ to declare Japan was not wrong in claiming \"the so-called Four Freedoms in the great 'Atlantic Charter' were for white men only\": Morris J. MacGregor, _Integration of the Armed Forces, 1940\u20131965_ (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1985). The Pentagon saga would epitomize the President's difficulties as commander in chief in a democracy\u2014the U.S. Navy refusing, in fact, to move in with the Army and U.S. Air Force until 1948, under protest, while the Marine Corps held out another four decades, until 1996.\n\n12. Entry of January 7, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n13. Entry of December 28, 1942, Leahy Diary, William D. Leahy Papers, Library of Congress.\n\n8. FACING THE JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF\n\n1. \"Joint Chiefs of Staff Minutes of a Meeting at the White House,\" Washington, January 7, 1943, _Foreign Relations of the United States: The Conferences at Washington, 1941\u20131942, and Casablanca, 1943_ (hereinafter _FRUS I_ ) (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1968), 511.\n\n2. Ibid., 509.\n\n3. Ibid.\n\n4. Ibid.\n\n5. Ibid., 509\u201310.\n\n6. Ibid., 510.\n\n7. Ibid.\n\n8. Ibid.\n\n9. Ibid.\n\n10. Ibid.\n\n11. Ibid.\n\n12. Ibid.\n\n13. Ibid.\n\n14. E.g., Albert Wedemeyer, _Wedemeyer Reports!_ (New York: Henry Holt, 1958), 95, and John McLaughlin, _General Albert C. Wedemeyer: America's Unsung Strategist in World War II_ (Philadelphia: Casemate, 2012), 31, referring to \"the utter failure of 'Unconditional Surrender.'\" For the view that it was a sop to the Soviets, see Frank Costigliola, _Roosevelt's Lost Alliances: How Personal Politics Helped Start the Cold War_ (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012), 179\u201381. The classic condemnatory statement on unconditional surrender was, however, by Hanson Baldwin: \"Unconditional surrender was an open invitation to unconditional resistance: it discouraged opposition to Hitler, probably lengthened the war, cost us lives, and helped to lead to the present abortive peace\": Hanson Baldwin, _Great Mistakes of the War_ (New York: Harper, 1950), 13.\n\n15. Wedemeyer, _Wedemeyer Reports!,_ 186\u201387.\n\n16. In the House of Commons on July 21, 1949, Labor Minister Ernest Bevin claimed the British War Cabinet had not been consulted over \"unconditional surrender,\" prompting Churchill to claim he \"had never heard the phrase until the President suddenly uttered it at the Casablanca press conference\": David Reynolds, _In Command of History: Churchill Fighting and Writing the Second World War_ (New York: Random House, 2005), 323.\n\n17. Ibid., 506.\n\n9. THE HOUSE OF HAPPINESS\n\n1. John McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections,\" McCrea Papers, FDR Library.\n\n2. Letter of January 14, 1943, in Geoffrey C. Ward, ed., _Closest Companion: The Unknown Story of the Intimate Friendship Between Franklin Roosevelt and Margaret Suckley_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1995), 198.\n\n3. McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections.\"\n\n4. Letter of January 14, 1943, in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 198.\n\n5. Letter of December 17, 1942, Elsey Papers, FDR Library.\n\n6. S. E. Morison, \"Memorandum For the President,\" December 18, 1942, Elsey Papers, FDR Library.\n\n7. David Stafford, _Roosevelt and Churchill: Men of Secrets_ (Woodstock, NY: Overlook, 1999), 197\u201398.\n\n8. Letter of January 14, 1943, in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 198.\n\n9. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It_ (New York: Duell, Sloan, and Pearce, 1946), 65.\n\n10. Letter of January 14, 1943, in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 198.\n\n11. Ian Jacob, unpublished Casablanca account, Churchill College Archives, Cambridge, UK.\n\n12. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It,_ 62.\n\n13. Ibid., 67.\n\n14. Ibid., 66.\n\n15. Ibid., 66.\n\n16. McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections,\" McCrea Papers, FDR Library.\n\n17. Robert Sherwood, _Roosevelt and Hopkins: An Intimate History_ (New York: Harper, 1948), 673.\n\n18. \"A Gleam of Victory: A Speech at the Lord Mayor's Luncheon at the Mansion House, November 10, 1942,\" in _The War Speeches of the Rt. Hon. Winston S. Churchill,_ ed. Charles Eade (London: Cassell, 1952), vol. 2, 342\u201345.\n\n19. Entry of 10.11.1942, Joseph Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher von Joseph Goebbels_ [The diaries of Joseph Goebbels], ed. Elke Froehlich (Munich: K. G. Saur, 1995), Teil II, Band 6, 273 (hereinafter _Die Tageb\u00fccher 6_ ). Quotes from this source have been translated by the author.\n\n20. Ibid., entry of 10.11.1942, 265.\n\n21. Ibid., entry of 11.11.1942, 273.\n\n22. Ibid., entry of 15.11.1942, 294.\n\n23. Quoted in Winston S. Churchill, _The Second World War,_ vol. 4, _The Hinge of Fate_ (London: Cassell & Company, 1951), 583.\n\n10. HOT WATER\n\n1. Martin Gilbert, _Winston S. Churchill,_ vol. 7, _Road to Victory: 1941\u20131945_ (London: Heinemann, 1986), 269.\n\n2. Ian Jacob, unpublished Casablanca account, Churchill College Archives, Cambridge, UK.\n\n3. Ibid. The ship, which had been the headquarters ship for the landing at Algiers, had \"a complete set of wireless instruments.\" It could be \"placed in Casablanca harbor, & our cipher staff could live aboard and all our telegram traffic with London could thus be handled without the necessity for any elaborate machinery ashore. All that was necessary was a constant carrier service between ship & hotel, and a Defense Registry organization in the latter\"\u2014\"exactly as\" if they were operating out of the War Rooms in London. The _Bulolo_ sailed for Casablanca on January 5, arriving on January 10, 1943. Jacob, unpublished Casablanca account.\n\n4. Ibid. See also Brian Lavery, _Churchill Goes to War: Winston's Wartime Journeys_ (London: Conway, 2007), 160\u201364.\n\n5. Jacob, unpublished Casablanca account.\n\n6. Gilbert, _Road to Victory: 1941\u20131945,_ 294.\n\n7. Jacob, unpublished Casablanca account.\n\n8. Ibid.\n\n9. Ibid.\n\n10. Ibid.\n\n11. A WONDERFUL PICTURE\n\n1. McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections,\" McCrea Papers, FDR Library.\n\n2. Jacob, unpublished Casablanca account.\n\n3. McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections.\"\n\n4. Sherwood, _Roosevelt and Hopkins,_ 673.\n\n5. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It,_ 66.\n\n6. Entry of January 14, 1943, John W. Huston, _American Airpower Comes of Age: General Henry H. 'Hap' Arnold's World War II Diaries_ (Maxwell AFB, AL: Air University Press, 2002), vol. 1, 464.\n\n7. Entry of January 14, 1943, Arthur Bryant, _The Turn of the Tide: A History of the War Years, Based on the Diaries of Field Marshal Lord Alanbrooke, Chief of the Imperial General Staff_ (New York: Doubleday, 1957), 446.\n\n8. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It,_ 67.\n\n9. Entry of January 14, 1943, Huston, ed., _American Airpower Comes of Age,_ 464.\n\n10. Ibid.\n\n11. Entry of January 14, 1943, Bryant, _The Turn of the Tide,_ 446.\n\n12. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It,_ 71.\n\n13. Ibid., 73.\n\n14. Ibid., 74.\n\n15. Ibid., 76.\n\n16. Ibid..\n\n17. Ibid., 77.\n\n12. IN THE PRESIDENT'S BOUDOIR\n\n1. Albert Wedemeyer, _Wedemeyer Reports!_ (New York: Henry Holt, 1958), 192.\n\n2. Andrew Roberts, _Masters and Commanders: How Four Titans Won the War in the West, 1941\u20131945_ (New York: Harper, 2009), 337.\n\n3. Wedemeyer, _Wedemeyer Reports!,_ 337, quoting Brigadier General J. E. Hull of the War Department's Operations Division.\n\n4. Wedemeyer, _Wedemeyer Reports!,_ 191\u201392.\n\n5. Joint Strategic Survey Committee, January 8, 1943, Map Room Files, FDR Library.\n\n6. \"Meeting of Roosevelt with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, January 15, 1943, 10 a.m., President's Villa,\" _Foreign Relations of the United States: The Conferences at Washington, 1941\u20131942, and Casablanca, 1943_ (hereinafter _FRUS I_ ) (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1968), 559.\n\n7. Ibid.\n\n8. Ibid.\n\n9. Ibid.\n\n10. McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections.\"\n\n11. Harry C. Butcher, _My Three Years with Eisenhower: The Personal Diary of Captain Harry C. Butcher, USNR, Naval Aide to General Eisenhower, 1942 to 1945_ (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1946), 237.\n\n12. Entry of January 15, 1943, Brooke, _War Diaries,_ 351. Also \"Meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, January 15, 1943, 2:30 pm., Anfa Camp,\" _FRUS I,_ 567.\n\n13. Entry of December 28, 1942, Brooke, _War Diaries,_ 351.\n\n14. Jacob, Casablanca Diary, Churchill Archives.\n\n15. Butcher, _My Three Years with Eisenhower,_ 243.\n\n16. Entry of January 14, 1943, Martin Blumenson, ed, _The Patton Papers, 1940\u20131945_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1974), 154.\n\n17. \"Meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, January 15, 1943, 2:30 pm., Anfa Camp,\" _FRUS I,_ 568\u201369.\n\n18. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It,_ 79.\n\n19. Ibid.\n\n20. Ibid.\n\n21. \"Meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff with Roosevelt and Churchill, January 15, 1943, 5:30 p.m., President's Villa,\" _FRUS I,_ 573.\n\n22. Entry of January 15, 1943, Brooke, _War Diaries,_ 359.\n\n23. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It,_ 83.\n\n24. Ibid.\n\n25. Ibid., 84.\n\n13. STIMSON IS AGHAST\n\n1. Entry of January 19, 1943, Stimson Diary, Henry L. Stimson Papers, Yale University Library, New Haven, CT.\n\n2. Ibid., entry of January 21, 1943.\n\n3. \"Meeting of Roosevelt with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, January 16, 1943,\" _Foreign Relations of the United States: The Conferences at Washington, 1941\u20131942, and Casablanca, 1943_ (hereinafter _FRUS I_ ) (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1968), 594.\n\n4. Entry of 16 January 1943 and annotation, _War Diaries, 1939\u20131945: Field Marshal Lord Alanbrooke,_ _War Diaries, 1939\u20131945,_ ed. Alex Danchev and Daniel Todman (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), 360.\n\n5. \"Meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, January 16, 1943,\" _FRUS I,_ 591.\n\n6. Brooke: \"We should definitely count on reentering the Continent on a large scale\"\u2014\"Meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, January 16, 1943,\" _FRUS I,_ 591.\n\n7. \"Meeting of Roosevelt with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, January 16, 1943,\" _FRUS I,_ 597.\n\n8. Ibid.\n\n9. Martin Gilbert, _Road to Victory: Winston S. Churchill, 1941\u20131945_ (London: Heinemann, 1986), 299\u2013300.\n\n10. See, for example, Mark Stoler and Melanie Gustafson, \"Creating a Global Allied Strategy,\" in their _Major Problems in the History of World War II: Documents and Essays_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2003), 74\u2013108.\n\n11. John McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections,\" McCrea Papers, FDR Library.\n\n12. Mark Clark, _Calculated Risk_ (London: Harrap, 1951), 148\u201349.\n\n13. Letter of Thursday, January 21, 1943, to Daisy Suckley, in Ward, ed., _Closest Companion: The Unknown Story of the Intimate Friendship Between Franklin Roosevelt and Margaret Suckley_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1995), 199.\n\n14. Unpublished autobiography, chapters 12 through 22, Private Papers of Brigadier G.M.O. Davy, PP\/MCR\/143, courtesy of Documents Department, Imperial War Museum, London.\n\n15. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It_ (New York: Duell, Sloan, and Pearce, 1946), 106.\n\n16. Ibid., 106\u20137. General Mark Clark, later recalling the episode, confessed that by the time the President had asked for the mess kit, it had already been washed and mixed with others. Clark had demanded \"any mess kit\" from the kitchen staff, \"And make it fast.\" The President had been delighted, and had said, \"I'll have them put it in the Smithsonian Institution\": Mark Clark, _Calculated Risk,_ 149.\n\n17. Harold Macmillan, _War Diaries: Politics and War in the Mediterranean, January 1943\u2013May 1945_ (London: Macmillan, 1984), 8.\n\n14. DE GAULLE\n\n1. McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections,\" McCrea Papers, FDR Library.\n\n2. Ibid.\n\n3. Letter to Daisy Suckley, January 20, 1943, in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 199.\n\n4. Ibid., January 21, 1943.\n\n5. Kenneth Pendar, _Adventure in Diplomacy_ (New York: Dodd, Mead & Co, 1945), 161.\n\n6. Robert Murphy, _Diplomat Among Warriors_ (New York: Doubleday, 1964), 168.\n\n7. Ibid.\n\n8. McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections.\"\n\n9. Friday, January 22, 1943, \"The President's Log, January 14\u201325, 1943,\" _FRUS I,_ 531.\n\n10. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It,_ 111.\n\n11. Murphy, _Diplomat Among Warriors,_ 173.\n\n12. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It,_ 112.\n\n13. Pendar, _Adventure in Diplomacy,_ 145.\n\n14. McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections.\"\n\n15. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It,_ 112.\n\n16. Entry of January 14, 1943, _The Patton Diaries II,_ ed. Martin Blumenson (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1974), 154.\n\n17. Ibid., entry of January 17, 155.\n\n18. Ibid., entry of January 19, 157.\n\n19. Ibid., entry of January 21, 158\u201359.\n\n20. Ibid., 158.\n\n21. Ibid.\n\n22. Ibid., entry of January 22, 158.\n\n23. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It,_ 112.\n\n15. AN ACERBIC INTERVIEW\n\n1. Robert Sherwood, _Roosevelt and Hopkins: An Intimate History_ (New York: Harper, 1948), 678\u201379.\n\n2. McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections.\"\n\n3. McCrea Notes: \"Roosevelt\u2013De Gaulle Conversation, January 22, 1943,\" _FRUS I,_ 694.\n\n4. Ibid., 695.\n\n5. Immediately following the Allied Torch invasion, Hitler had ordered Operation Anton, the German and Italian occupation of all Vichy-administered France and Corsica.\n\n6. \"Roosevelt De-Gaulle Conversation, January 22, 1943,\" _FRUS I,_ 696.\n\n7. Charles de Gaulle, _The Complete War Memoirs of Charles de Gaulle,_ vol. 2, _Unity_ (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1964), 388\u201389.\n\n8. Henri Giraud, _Un seul but, la victoire:_ _Alger, 1942\u20131944_ (Paris: R. Julliard, 1949).\n\n9. De Gaulle, _The Complete War Memoirs,_ vol. 2, 392\u201393.\n\n10. Ibid., 384.\n\n11. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It,_ 113.\n\n12. Ibid., 113\u201314.\n\n13. De Gaulle, _The Complete War Memoirs,_ vol. 2, 384.\n\n14. Elliott Roosevelt, _As He Saw It,_ 114.\n\n15. Ibid., 114\u201315.\n\n16. Ibid., 115.\n\n17. Ibid.\n\n18. Ibid., 115\u201316.\n\n19. Ibid., 121.\n\n20. Ibid., 122.\n\n21. Fran\u00e7ois Kersaudy, _Churchill and De Gaulle_ (London: Collins, 1981), 252.\n\n22. Ibid., 253.\n\n23. Ibid., 254.\n\n24. Ibid., 255.\n\n25. Sherwood, _Roosevelt & Hopkins,_ 693.\n\n26. Kersaudy, _Churchill and De Gaulle,_ 255.\n\n16. THE UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER MEETING\n\n1. \"Historic Meeting Informal in Tone: Reporters Sit on Garden Grass at Leaders' Feet to Hear of Momentous Talks,\" _New York Times,_ January 27, 1943.\n\n2. Ibid.\n\n3. De Gaulle, _The Complete War Memoirs,_ vol. 2, 399.\n\n4. Giraud, _Un seul but,_ 96.\n\n5. \"Historic Meeting Informal in Tone,\" _New York Times._\n\n6. Ibid.\n\n7. \"875th Press Conference. Joint Conference by the President and Prime Minister Churchill at Casablanca, January 24, 1943,\" in Franklin D. Roosevelt, _The Public Papers of Franklin D. Roosevelt,_ comp. Samuel Rosenman, 1943 vol., _The Tide Turns_ (New York: Russell and Russell, 1969), 37\u201344.\n\n8. McCrea, \"Handwritten Memoirs\/Recollections.\"\n\n9. Ibid.\n\n10. _Roosevelt Presidential Press Conferences,_ No. 875, 90\u201391.\n\n11. Entry of Wednesday, January 27, 1943, in Alan Lascelles, _King's Counsellor:Abdication and War: The Diaries of Sir Alan Lascelles,_ ed. Duff Hart-Davis (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2006), 93.\n\n12. Entry of 27.1.1943, Joseph Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher von Joseph Goebbels_ [The diaries of Joseph Goebbels], ed. Elke Froehlich (Munich: K. G. Saur, 1993), Teil II, Band 7 (hereinafter _Die Tageb\u00fccher 7_ ), 203. Quotes from this source have been translated by the author.\n\n13. Ibid., entry of 26.1.1943, 197.\n\n14. Ibid., entry of 27.2.1943, 203.\n\n15. Ibid., entry of 28.1.1943, 208.\n\n16. Ibid., entry of 26.11943, 197.\n\n17. Ibid., entry of 28.1.1943, 209.\n\n18. Max Domarus, ed., _Hitler, Speeches and Proclamations 1932\u20131945: The Chronicle of a Dictatorship,_ vol. 4, _The Years 1941 to 1945_ (Wauconda, IL: Bolchazy-Carducci, 1997), 2671\u201385.\n\n19. Entry of 28.1.1943, Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher_ 7, 209.\n\n20. Albert Speer, _Inside the Third Reich_ (New York: Macmillan, 1970), 258.\n\n21. Ian Kershaw, _Hitler, 1936\u20131945: Nemesis_ (London: Allen Lane, 2000), 552.\n\n22. Entry of 29.1.1943, Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher 7,_ 216.\n\n23. Domarus, ed., _Hitler, Speeches and Proclamations 1932\u20131945,_ 2749.\n\n24. David Irving, _Goebbels: Mastermind of the Third Reich_ (London: Focal Point, 1996), 421.\n\n25. \" _Nun, Volk steh auf, und Sturm brich los! Rede im Berliner Sportpalast,_ \" _Der steile Aufstieg_ (Munich: Zentralverlag der NSDAP, 1944), 167\u2013204. Translated by the author.\n\n26. Irving, _Goebbels,_ 422\u201323.\n\n27. Ralf Georg Reuth, _Goebbels_ (Munich: Piper Verlag, 1990), 563.\n\n17. KASSERINE\n\n1. Ian Kershaw, _Hitler, 1936\u20131945: Nemesis_ (London: Allen Lane, 2000), 550.\n\n2. Ibid., 548.\n\n3. Entry of January 19, 1943, Robert Ferrell, ed., _The Eisenhower Diaries_ (New York: Norton, 1981), 86.\n\n4. Ibid.\n\n5. Rick Atkinson, _An Army at Dawn_ (New York: Henry Holt, 2002), 308.\n\n6. Ibid., 317.\n\n7. Ibid., 322.\n\n8. Entry of 18.2.1943, Joseph Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher von Joseph Goebbels_ [The diaries of Joseph Goebbels], ed. Elke Froehlich (Munich: K. G. Saur, 1993), Teil II, Band 7 (hereinafter _Die Tageb\u00fccher 7_ ), 366.\n\n9. Ibid., entry of 19.2.1943, 370.\n\n10. Ibid., entry of 21.2.1943, 389.\n\n18. ARCH-ADMIRALS AND ARCH-GENERALS\n\n1. Atkinson, _An Army at Dawn,_ 390\u201391.\n\n2. Nigel Hamilton, _Master of the Battlefield: Monty's War Years, 1942\u20131944_ (New York: McGraw Hill, 1984), 142.\n\n3. Letter of February 23, 1943, in Martin Blumenson, ed, _The Patton Papers II, 1940\u20131945_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1974), 175.\n\n4. Entry of February 15, 1943, Stimson Diary, Henry L. Stimson Papers, Yale University Library, New Haven, CT.\n\n5. Ibid., entry of February 17, 1943.\n\n6. Entry of 20.2.1943, _Die Tageb\u00fccher 7,_ 377.\n\n7. Entry of February 18, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n8. Ibid.\n\n9. Entry of 20.2.1943, _Die Tageb\u00fccher 7,_ 377.\n\n10. Ibid., entry of 23.2.1943, 398\u201399.\n\n11. Ibid., 398.\n\n12. Blumenson, _The Patton Papers,_ vol. 2, 183.\n\n13. \"'Memorandum' to Admiral Leahy and General Marshall, Copy to the Secretary of the Navy,\" November 17, 1942, King Papers, Naval Historical Archives.\n\n14. Letter of November 19, 1943, in Alfred Chandler, ed., _The Papers of Dwight David Eisenhower,_ vol. 2, _The War Years_ (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1970), 964\u201365.\n\n15. Ibid., 965.\n\n19. BETWEEN TWO FORCES OF EVIL\n\n1. Report to the President, January 10, 1943, Bullitt File, Safe and Confidential Files, FDR Library.\n\n2. Ibid.\n\n3. Henri Giraud, _Un seul but la Victoire: Alger 1942\u20131944_ (Paris: R. Julliard, 1949) _,_ 93\u201394.\n\n4. Report to the President, January 10, 1943, Bullitt File, Safe and Confidential Files, FDR Library. See also Michael Cassella-Blackburn, _The Donkey, The Carrot, and the Club: William C. Bullitt and Soviet-American Relations, 1917\u20131948_ (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2004), 213\u201314.\n\n5. Report to the President, January 10, 1943, Bullitt File, Safe and Confidential Files, FDR Library.\n\n6. Ibid.\n\n7. C-259-A\/1, From the Prime Minister to the President, February 2, 1943, in Warren Kimball, ed., _Churchill & Roosevelt: The Complete Correspondence, _vol. 2, _Alliance Forged_ (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984), 129\u201330.\n\n8. S. E. Morison, _The Two-Ocean War_ (Boston: Little Brown, 1963), 272.\n\n9. Entry of January 8, 1943, in \"Secret Diary\" of Lord Halifax, Papers of Lord Halifax, Hickleton Papers, Borthwick Institute of Historical Research, University of York, Yorkshire, England.\n\n10. Ibid., entry of January 11, 1943.\n\n11. Ibid.\n\n12. Ibid., entry of January 18, 1943.\n\n13. Ibid., entry of January 26, 1943.\n\n14. Ibid., entry of January 28, 1943.\n\n15. Ibid., entry of February 2, 1943.\n\n16. Ibid., entry of February 15, 1943.\n\n20. HEALTH ISSUES\n\n1. Elie Abel and Averell Harriman, _Special Envoy to Churchill and Stalin, 1941\u20131946_ (New York: Random House, 1975), 183.\n\n2. R. H. Ferrell, _The Dying President_ (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1998), 10.\n\n3. Entry of December 4, 1943, Diaries of William Lyon Mackenzie King, Library and Archives Canada, Ottawa, ON (hereinafter Mackenzie King Diary).\n\n4. Entry of February 3, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n5. Entry of February 1, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n6. Diary entry of February 7, 1943, in Geoffrey Ward, ed., _Closest Companion: The Unknown Story of the Intimate Friendship Between Franklin Roosevelt and Margaret Suckley_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1995), 201.\n\n7. James A. Farley, _Jim Farley's Story_ (New York: Whittlesey House, 1948), 108\u20139.\n\n8. Jean Edward Smith, _FDR_ (New York: Random House, 2007), 442, quoting Orville Bullitt, ed., _For the President, Personal and Secret: The Correspondence Between Franklin D. Roosevelt and William C. Bullitt_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1988), 398. Also Will Brownell and Richard Billings, _So Close to Greatness: A Biography of William C. Bullitt_ (New York: Macmillan, 1987).\n\n9. Diary entry of February 7, 1943, in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 201.\n\n10. Ibid.\n\n11. Ross McIntire, _White House Physician_ (New York: Putnam's Sons, 1946), 159.\n\n12. Ferrell, _The Dying President,_ 29.\n\n13. Diary entry of February 14, 1943. Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 201.\n\n14. Ibid.\n\n15. R-262\/1, letter of March 17, 1943, in Kimball, ed., _Churchill &_ _Roosevelt,_ vol. 2, 156.\n\n16. Diary entry of February 27, 1943. Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 203.\n\n17. Entry of April 8, 1943 (relating March 26, 1943, visit to White House), Butcher Diary, A-292\u20133, Eisenhower Library; also Harry Butcher, _My Three Years with Eisenhower,_ 278\u201379.\n\n18. Ibid., A-293.\n\n19. Ibid., A-294.\n\n20. Michael Burleigh, _The Third Reich: A New History_ (New York: Hill & Wang, 2000), 740.\n\n21. INSPECTION TOUR TWO\n\n1. Entry of April 16, 1943 (regarding Fort Benning), in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 210.\n\n2. Ibid., entry of April 24, 1943, 219.\n\n3. Ibid., entry of April 16, 1943, 211.\n\n4. Ibid., entry of April 17, 1943, 211.\n\n5. Ibid., entry of April 18, 1943, 214.\n\n6. Ibid., entry of April 24, 1943, 219.\n\n7. Ibid., entry of April 25, 1943, 220\u201321.\n\n8. Ibid., entry of April 19, 1943, 214.\n\n9. Entry of February 24, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n10. Ibid., entry of March 30, 1943.\n\n22. GET YAMAMOTO!\n\n1. George Kenney, _George C. Kenney Reports_ (New York: Duell, Sloan, and Pearce, 1949), 52\u201353.\n\n2. Entry of April 8, 1943 (relating March 26 visit to War office), Butcher Diary, A-287, Eisenhower Library.\n\n3. Samuel Morison, _The Two Ocean War: A Short History of the United States Navy in the Second World War_ (Boston: Little, Brown, 1963), 272\u201373.\n\n4. Kenney, _George C. Kenney Reports,_ 215.\n\n5. See Christopher Andrew, _For the President's Eyes Only: Secret Intelligence and the American Presidency from Washington to Bush_ (New York: HarperCollins, 1995), 123\u201324.\n\n6. William Rigdon, _White House Sailor_ (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1962), 19. For an account of how Ultra\/Magic messages were relayed to the President, see David Stafford, _Roosevelt and Churchill_ (Woodstock, NY: Overlook, 1999), 118\u201319; Andrew, _For the President's Eyes Only_ , 103\u201311; and David Kahn, \"Roosevelt, Magic, and Ultra,\" _Cryptologia_ 16, no. 4 (October 1992).\n\n7. Signal NTF131755, in Japanese Naval Cipher JN-25D, decoded by the U.S. Fleet Radio Unit Pacific in Hawaii: Ronald Lewin, _The American Magic: Codes, Ciphers and the Defeat of Japan_ (New York: Farrar Straus Giroux, 1982), 182\u201383.\n\n8. John Prados, _Combined Fleet Decoded: The Secret History of American Intelligence and the Japanese Navy in World War II_ (New York: Random House, 1995), 453\u201358; Edward J. Drea, _MacArthur's ULTRA: Codebreaking and the War Against Japan, 1942\u20131945_ (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1992), 73.\n\n9. Donald A. Davis, _Lightning Strike_ (New York: St. Martin's, 2005), 220.\n\n10. Ibid., 222.\n\n11. Ibid., 227.\n\n12. Rear Admiral Matome Ugaki, chief of staff to Admiral Yamamoto, in Burke Davis, _Get Yamamoto_ (New York: Random House, 1969), 207.\n\n13. Lewin, _The American Magic,_ 185.\n\n14. Burke Davis, _Get Yamamoto,_ 128; Carroll V. Glines, _Attack on Yamamoto_ (London: Orion Books, 1990), 9; Thomas Lanphier, \"I Shot Down Yamamoto,\" _Reader's Digest,_ December 1966, 48.\n\n15. According to subsequent Japanese accounts, U.S. code breakers may have misinterpreted Admiral Yamamoto's flight schedule, which had the airfield of Buin, not Ballale, as its destination. \"In the end it didn't matter,\" given the proximity of the two: Prados, _Combined Fleet Decoded_ , 462.\n\n16. Donald Davis, _Lightning Strike,_ 273. Admiral Yamamoto was widely thought to have said, before Pearl Harbor, that he would take the surrender of America riding down Pennsylvania Avenue on a white charger; in truth he had pointed out that the United States would never surrender to Japan unless Japanese forces reached Washington, D.C., and the White House\u2014which, having earlier studied at Harvard and having twice served as naval attach\u00e9 in Washington, Yamamoto thought unlikely to eventuate.\n\n23. \"HE'S DEAD?\"\n\n1. Donald Davis, _Lightning Strike,_ 304\u20138.\n\n2. The airfield at Ballale was constructed in November 1942 by the Japanese, using forced labor of British artillery officers and men who had surrendered at Singapore. All 517 men were murdered by the Japanese on completion of the air base, in March 1943. See Don Wall, _Kill the Prisoners!_ (Cambridge, UK: Peter Moore, 1996). Also Australian War Memorial Archives.\n\n3. Burke Davis, _Get Yamamoto,_ 196.\n\n4. Ibid.\n\n5. Donald Davis, _Lightning Strike,_ 306\u20138.\n\n6. Ibid., 309.\n\n7. Ibid., 289\u201390. See also Andrew, _For the President's Eyes Only,_ 138, and Walter Borneman, _The Admirals: Nimitz, Halsey, Leahy, and King\u2014the Five-Star Admirals Who Won the War at Sea_ (New York: Little, Brown, 2012), 315.\n\n8. Burke Davis, _Get Yamamoto,_ 210.\n\n9. Presidential Press Conference No. 891, April 19, 1943, FDR Library.\n\n10. In the first three weeks of March, 1943, more than three-quarters of a million tons of Allied shipping were still being sunk in the North Atlantic gap \"not yet covered by air search,\" War Secretary Stimson complained to the President: Henry Stimson and McGeorge Bundy, _On Active Service in Peace and War_ (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1948). For the best summary of the interservice controversy see Samuel Eliot Morison, _The Battle of the Atlantic: September 1939\u2013May 1943_ (Boston: Little, Brown, 1947), 237\u201347.\n\n11. Presidential Press Conference No. 898, May 21, 1943, FDR Library.\n\n12. Grace Tully Archive, Franklin D. Roosevelt Papers, Box 11, Yamamoto (joke letter to), May 23, 1943, FDR Library.\n\n13. Donald Davis, _Lightning Strike,_ 315.\n\n14. John C. Fredriksen, _The United States Air Force: A Chronology_ (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2011), 104.\n\n24. SAGA OF THE NIBELUNGS\n\n1. Rick Atkinson, _An Army at Dawn_ (New York: Henry Holt, 2002), 489\u201390.\n\n2. Ibid., 484.\n\n25. A SCENE FROM _THE ARABIAN NIGHTS_\n\n1. Kenneth Pendar, _Adventure in Diplomacy_ (New York: Dodd, Mead & Co, 1945), 43.\n\n2. Ibid., 147.\n\n3. Ibid., 148.\n\n4. Ibid., 149.\n\n5. Ibid., 152.\n\n6. Ibid., 150.\n\n26. THE GOD NEPTUNE\n\n1. Entry of May 2, 1943, Leahy Diary, William D. Leahy Papers, Library of Congress.\n\n2. Entry of May 7, 1943, Stimson Diary, Henry L. Stimson Papers, Yale University Library, New Haven, CT.\n\n3. Ibid., entry of May 10, 1943.\n\n27. A BATTLE ROYAL\n\n1. Entry of May 11, 1943, Diaries of William Lyon Mackenzie King, Library and Archives Canada, Ottawa, ON.\n\n2. Entry of May 9, 1943, Leahy Diary, William D. Leahy Papers, Library of Congress.\n\n3. Ibid., entry of May 9, 1943.\n\n4. Ibid., entry of May 11, 1943.\n\n5. Entry of May 11, 1943 in Alan Brooke, _Field Marshal Lord Alanbrooke,_ _War Diaries, 1939\u20131945,_ ed. Alex Danchev and Daniel Todman (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), 402.\n\n6. Ibid.\n\n7. Entry of May 12, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n8. The figure of 150,000 Axis troops who had already surrendered by May 12 was announced to the press the next morning, May 13, 1943, by the secretary of war: see entry for May 13, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n9. \"Meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, May 13, 1943, 10:30 A.M.,\" in _Foreign Relations of the United States: The Conferences at Washington and Quebec, 1943_ (hereinafter _FRUS II_ ) (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1970), 24\u201325.\n\n10. Entry of May 12, 1943, Brooke, _War Diaries,_ 402.\n\n11. Entry of May 13, 1943, Leahy Diary.\n\n12. Ibid.\n\n13. Ibid.\n\n14. Lord Ismay, _The Memoirs of General Lord Ismay_ (London: Heinemann, 1960), 296.\n\n28. NO MAJOR OPERATIONS UNTIL 1945 OR 1946\n\n1. Letter of May 13, 1943, in Mary Soames, _Speaking For Themselves: The Personal Letters of Winston and Clementine Churchill, Edited by Their Daughter_ (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 479\u201380.\n\n2. \"A Global Strategy: Memorandum by the United States Chiefs of Staff,\" in _FRUS II,_ 222\u201323.\n\n3. \"Conduct of the War in 1943\u201344, Memorandum by the British Chiefs of Staff,\" in _FRUS II,_ 223\u201327.\n\n4. \"Meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, May 13, 1943, 10:30 A.M.\", _FRUS II,_ 39\u201340.\n\n5. Ibid., 41.\n\n6. Ibid., 43.\n\n7. Ibid., 44.\n\n8. Ibid.\n\n9. Ibid.\n\n10. Ibid.\n\n11. C-294, Churchill cable to Roosevelt, May 10, 1943, in Warren Kimball, ed., _Churchill & Roosevelt: The Complete Correspondence, _vol. 2, _Alliance Forged_ (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press), 212.\n\n12. Richard Breitman and Allan J. Lichtman, _FDR and the Jews_ (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013), 206\u201310.\n\n13. Robert E. Sherwood, _Roosevelt and Hopkins: An Intimate History_ (New York: Harper, 1948), 728.\n\n14. Winston S. Churchill, _The Second World War,_ vol. 4, _The Hinge of Fate_ (London: Cassel & Company, 1951), 713.\n\n15. Ibid.\n\n16. Ibid.\n\n17. Lord Moran, _Winston Churchill: The Struggle for Survival, 1940\u20131965_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1966) _,_ 95.\n\n18. Ibid., 95\u201396.\n\n19. Ibid., 96.\n\n20. Ibid.\n\n21. Ibid.\n\n22. Entry of May 17, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n23. Ibid.\n\n24. Ibid.\n\n25. Letter of May 12 (on \"Office of the Secretary, Department of the Navy\" notepaper), Bullitt Files, FDR Library.\n\n29. THE DAVIES MISSION\n\n1. \"This is a situation full of ugly possibilities, and engendering it is a triumph for Goebbels\": entry of Monday, April 26, 1943, in Alan Lascelles, _King's Counsellor: Abdication and War: The Diaries of Sir Alan Lascelles,_ ed. Duff Hart-Davis (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2006), 126.\n\n2. Walter Reich, former director of the Holocaust Museum in Washington, \"Remember the Women,\" _New York Times Book Review,_ April 12, 2015, 23.\n\n3. Roosevelt to Stalin, Document 88, March 16, 1943, in Susan Butler, ed., _My Dear Mr. Stalin: The Complete Correspondence of Franklin D. Roosevelt and Joseph V. Stalin_ (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), 121.\n\n4. Elizabeth MacLean, _Joseph E. Davies: Envoy to the Soviets_ (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1992), 100.\n\n5. \"Meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, May 18, 1943, 10:30 A.M.,\" _Foreign Relations of the United States: The Conferences at Washington and Quebec, 1943_ (hereinafter _FRUS II_ ) (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1970), 101.\n\n6. Sir Alan Brooke, Proceedings of the Conference, \"Defeat of the Axis Powers in Europe: discussion, Combined Chiefs of Staff,\" _FRUS II,_ 101.\n\n7. Entry of May 19, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n8. Ibid.\n\n9. Ibid.\n\n30. A DOZEN DIEPPES IN A DAY\n\n1. Entry of May 18, 1943, Diaries of William Lyon Mackenzie King, Library and Archives Canada, Ottawa, ON (hereinafter Mackenzie King Diary).\n\n2. Ibid.\n\n3. Ibid.\n\n4. Ibid., \"Conversation with Hon. L. McCarthy, at Canadian Legation after luncheon, Washington.\"\n\n5. Ibid., \"Conversation Mr. Mackenzie King had with Mr. Winston Churchill, Tuesday, May 18, 1943\u2014White House, Washington, 6.00 p.m.\"\n\n6. Ibid., \"Meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staffs, May 20, 1943.\"\n\n7. Ibid., \"Conversation Mr. Mackenzie King had with Mr. Winston Churchill, Tuesday, May 18, 1943\u2014White House, Washington, 6.00 p.m.\"\n\n8. Ibid.\n\n9. Ibid., \"Memorandum re questions asked Mr. Churchill by members of the Senate of the U.S. and representatives of the Foreign Committee and answers given by Mr Churchill, Washington, May 19, 1943.\"\n\n10. Ibid., entry of May 19, 1943, \"Quotations and answers, members of Senate of the U.S.\u201419.v.43.\"\n\n11. Ibid.\n\n12. Meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, May 19, 1943, 10:30 A.M., in _FRUS II,_ 113.\n\n13. Ibid., 114.\n\n14. Entry of May 19, 1943, in Arthur Bryant, _The Turn of the Tide: A History of the War Years, Based on the Diaries of Field Marshal Lord Alanbrooke, Chief of the Imperial General Staff_ (New York: Doubleday, 1957), 509.\n\n15. Meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff with Roosevelt and Churchill, May 19, 1943, 6 P.M.,\" in _FRUS II,_ 122\u201323.\n\n31. THE FUTURE OF THE WORLD AT STAKE\n\n1. Entry of May 19, 1943, Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n2. Ibid.\n\n3. Ibid., \"Meeting of the Joint Staffs\u2014May 20, 1943.\"\n\n4. Prime Minister's Personal Telegram, 21 February 1943, in Martin Gilbert, _Road to Victory: Winston S. Churchill, 1941\u20131945_ (London: Heinemann, 1986), 343.\n\n5. E.g., entry of Wednesday, May 26, 1943, Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n6. Entry of May 20, 1943, in \"Secret Diary\" of Lord Halifax, Papers of Lord Halifax, Hickleton Papers, Borthwick Institute of Historical Research, University of York, Yorkshire, England.\n\n7. \"Meeting of the Joint Staffs, May 20, 1943,\" Mackenzie King Diary, Library and Archives Canada.\n\n8. Under the Canadian constitution, command of Canada's all-volunteer forces to serve overseas (conscription was confined to service in Canada only) was vested in the British monarch, and exercised by the Canadian federal Cabinet, who deferred largely to the authority of Winston Churchill in his role as minister of defense and prime minister of Great Britain.\n\n9. \"Meeting of the Joint Staffs, May 20, 1943,\" Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n10. Ibid.\n\n11. Ibid., entry of Friday, May 21, 1943.\n\n12. Ibid., \"Conversation with Mr. Churchill, White House\u2014May 21, 1943.\"\n\n13. Ibid.\n\n14. Ibid.\n\n15. Ibid.\n\n32. THE PRESIDENT LOSES PATIENCE\n\n1. Entry of May 24, 1943, in __ Bryant, _The Turn of the Tide,_ 513.\n\n2. Ibid.\n\n3. Entry of May 24, 1943, Leahy Diary, William D. Leahy Papers, Library of Congress.\n\n4. Ibid.\n\n5. Entry of May 25, 1943 in Lord Moran, _Winston Churchill: The Struggle for Survival, 1940\u20131965_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1966), 97.\n\n6. Entry of May 24, 1943 Moran, _Winston Churchill,_ 97\u201398.\n\n7. Entry of May 25, 1943 (400c), Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n8. Entry of May 28, 1943 Moran, _Winston Churchill,_ 99.\n\n9. Entry of 25 May, 1943, Bryant, _The Turn of the Tide,_ 514.\n\n10. Entry of May 27, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n11. Ibid., entry of May 25, 1943.\n\n12. Ibid.\n\n13. \"He thought the time might be in August . . . He then said: if, by any chance, something should prevent Stalin making the trip, what I would like to do is to come to Ottawa just the same though perhaps this might be in July\"\u2014\"Conversation with Pres. Roosevelt, White House\u2014May 21, 1943,\" Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n14. Entry of May 25, 1943, Leahy Diary.\n\n15. Entry of May 24, 1943, Bryant, _The Turn of the Tide,_ 512\u201313.\n\n16. Entry of Tuesday, January 26, 1943, in Lascelles, _King's Counsellor,_ 93.\n\n17. Entry of May 31, 1943, Diary of Harry C. Butcher, Eisenhower Presidential Library, Abilene.\n\n18. Ibid.\n\n19. Entry of 26 May, 1943, Bryant, _The Turn of the Tide,_ 517.\n\n20. Kershaw, _Hitler 1936\u20131945,_ 606.\n\n33. SICILY\u2014AND KURSK\n\n1. Entry of July 9, 1943, in Geoffrey C. Ward, ed., _Closest Companion, The Unknown Story of the Intimate Friendship Between Franklin Roosevelt and Margaret Suckley_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1995), 225.\n\n2. Entry of July 9, 1943, Leahy Diary, William D. Leahy Papers, Library of Congress.\n\n3. Entry of July 9, in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 226.\n\n4. Ben Macintyre, _Operation Mincemeat: The True Story That Changed the Course of World War II_ (New York: Random House, 2010), 294.\n\n34. THE F\u00dcHRER FLIES TO ITALY\n\n1. Erich von Manstein, _Lost Victories_ (London: Methuen, 1958), 448.\n\n2. Ibid., 449. Manstein's view has been much contested, especially by Russian military historians anxious to honor the Soviet defense of Kursk and the start of a major counteroffensive by Russian forces at Orel: see, inter alia, Chris Bellamy, _Absolute War: Soviet Russia in the Second World War_ (New York: Palgrave, 2007), 586\u201387. However, it is clear from Joseph Goebbels's private conversations with Hitler at Berchtesgaden before the battle that Hitler was far more worried by the next moves of the Western Allies in the Mediterranean than by what would happen at Kursk\u2014essentially a \"show\" offensive to write down Soviet armies using the latest German firepower. \"The F\u00fchrer has decided to stay where we are,\" on the Eastern Front, Goebbels recorded. \"We have to keep our reserves up our sleeves. His old plan of seizing the Caucasus and fighting in the Middle East is redundant, thanks to last winter's crisis . . . Under no circumstances is he prepared to give up the Italian mainland\u2014he has no intention of pulling back to the Po, even if the Italians abandon the front. We will simply take over the running of the war in Italy. That is the overriding principle of German strategy: to keep the war as far from the German homeland as possible\": entry of 25.6.43, in Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher von Joseph Goebbels,_ ed. Elke Froehlich (Munich:K. G. Saur, 1993), Teil II, Band 8, 531\u201334.\n\n3. Entry of July 14, 1943, Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 226.\n\n4. Ibid., entry of July 13, 1943, 226.\n\n5. Ibid., entry of July 19, 1943, 227.\n\n6. Entry of 17.7.43, in Joseph Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher von Joseph Goebbels_ [The diaries of Joseph Goebbels], ed. Elke Froehlich (Munich: K. G. Saur, 1993), Teil II, Band 9 (hereinafter _Die Tageb\u00fccher 9_ ), 116.\n\n7. Ibid., 114.\n\n8. Ibid., 116.\n\n9. Ibid., 114.\n\n10. Despite being made aware of Soviet rather than Nazi responsibility for the massacre back in April 1943, both Roosevelt and Churchill had been unwilling to raise the issue in public\u2014or even encourage others to do so, when continued Soviet resistance on the Eastern Front was crucial. General Sikorski, the commander in chief of all Polish forces in the West, on April 15, 1943, was thus begged not to make Katyn, however awful, a matter of contention, just before Hitler opened his expected summer offensive: Martin Gilbert, _Road to Victory: Winston Churchill, 1941\u20131945_ (London: Heinemann, 1986), 385.\n\n11. Entry of 19.7.43, Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher 9,_ 126.\n\n12. Ibid.\n\n13. Ibid., entry of 20.7.43, 132.\n\n14. Ian Kershaw, _Hitler 1936\u20131945: Nemesis_ (New York: Norton, 2000), 594.\n\n15. Ibid., 597.\n\n35. COUNTERCRISIS\n\n1. See inter alia Trumbull Higgins, _Soft Underbelly: The Anglo-American Controversy over the Italian Campaign, 1939\u20131945_ (New York: Macmillan, 1968), 91\u2013124; Douglas Porch, _The Path to Victory in World War II: The Mediterranean Theater in World War II_ (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2004), 459\u201376; Mark Stoler, _The Politics of the Second Front: American Military Planning and Diplomacy in Coalition Warfare, 1941\u20131943_ (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1977), 97\u2013129; and Mark Stoler, _Allies in War: Britain and America Against the Axis Powers, 1940\u20131945_ (New York: Hodder Arnold, 2005), 123\u201328.\n\n2. Davies Papers, mss for May 20, 1943, 9, Library of Congress.\n\n3. Entry of June 3, 1943, \"Arrival in Washington and Report to the President,\" Davies Papers, Library of Congress.\n\n4. Davies Papers, mss for May 20, 1943, 9.\n\n5. Entry of July 22, 1943, Stimson Diary, Henry L. Stimson Papers, Yale University Library, New Haven, CT.\n\n6. Ibid.\n\n7. Ibid.\n\n8. Maurice Matloff, _Strategic Planning for Coalition Warfare_ (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1959), 165.\n\n9. Ibid.\n\n10. Ibid., 167.\n\n11. Ibid., Letter to Handy, July 4, 1943, 164.\n\n36. A FISHING EXPEDITION IN ONTARIO\n\n1. George M. Elsey, Introduction to \"The Log of the President's Visit to Canada, 16 August 1943 to 26 August 1943,\" p. 3, FDR Library.\n\n2. Ibid.\n\n3. Ibid.\n\n4. \"Will Punish Duce; President in His War Report Demands Total Surrender,\" _New York Times,_ July 29, 1943.\n\n5. FDR finally told Daisy Suckley \"the whole story, which is unsavory,\" later that summer, including Bullitt's part. \"The P. never wants to speak to Bullitt again\": entry of September 22 and 29, 1943, in Ward, ed., _Closest Companion,_ 244.\n\n6. \"Warning by Stalin to Allies Is Seen; U.S. Observers in Moscow Said to View German Manifesto as Russian Declaration,\" _New York Times,_ July 29, 1943.\n\n7. Entry of July 29, 1943, Leahy Diary.\n\n8. Entry of July 28, 1943, Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 227.\n\n9. Ibid.\n\n10. Entry of August 9, 1943, Leahy Diary.\n\n11. Ibid.\n\n12. Ibid.\n\n37. THE PRESIDENT'S JUDGMENT\n\n1. Davies Papers, mss for May 20, 1943, 9, Library of Congress.\n\n2. Ibid.\n\n3. David Reynolds, _In Command of History: Churchill Fighting and Writing the Second World War_ (New York: Random House, 2005), 322\u201323.\n\n4. Davies Papers, mss for May 20, 1943, 10, Library of Congress.\n\n5. OSS Numbered Intelligence Bulletins, No. 39, 10 July 43, Roosevelt Map Room, Military Subject Files, Box 72, Section 2, MR 203 (12), FDR Library.\n\n38. STALIN LIES\n\n1. From Premier J. V. Stalin to President Franklin D. Roosevelt, August 8, 1943, in Susan Butler, ed., _My Dear Mr. Stalin: The Complete Correspondence of Franklin D. Roosevelt and Joseph V. Stalin_ (New Haven, CT: Yale, 2005), 151.\n\n2. Albert Weeks, _Russia's Life-Saver: Lend Lease Aid to the United States_ (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 204), 1.\n\n3. Ibid, 146\u201347. By the end of the war, over 30 percent of Russian wheeled vehicles had come from the United States, as also aircraft; almost 60 percent of aviation fuel, and more than 50 percent of Russian ordnance (ammunition): Ibid., 8\u20139.\n\n4. Entry of August 9, 1943, in Geoffrey C. Ward, ed., _Closest Companion, The Unknown Story of the Intimate Friendship Between Franklin Roosevelt and Margaret Suckley_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1995), 228.\n\n39. WAR ON TWO WESTERN FRONTS\n\n1. Entry of September 29, 1943, in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 244.\n\n2. Entry of August 10, 1943, Leahy Diary, William D. Leahy Papers, Library of Congress.\n\n3. \"Memorandum: Subject: Conduct of the War in Europe, 8 August, 1943,\" in _Foreign Relations of the United States: The Conferences at Washington and Quebec, 1943_ (hereinafter _FRUS II_ ) (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1970), 467\u201372; also Maurice Matloff, _Strategic Planning for Coalition Warfare_ (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1959), 176.\n\n4. Even in the President's meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the White House, General Marshall was more concerned with logistical waste than vital combat experience, chiding the President that it was \"impossible to calculate the wastage that has accrued to the United Nations war effort from changes made to basic decisions\"\u2014i.e., the cross-Channel invasion, planned in 1942. \"The first instance was carrying out TORCH which involved moving troops set up from the United States to England and thence to Africa\"\u2014\"Minutes of Meeting Held at the White House Between the President and the Chiefs of Staff on 10 August at 1415,\" in _FRUS II,_ 503.\n\n5. \"Memorandum by the Joint Chiefs of Staff: Strategic Concept for the Defeat of the Axis in Europe, 9 August, 1943,\" _FRUS II,_ 472\u201381.\n\n6. Ibid., 473.\n\n7. Ibid.\n\n8. \"Memorandum for General Handy,\" August 9, 1943, in _The Papers of General George Catlett Marshall,_ vol. 4 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996), 85\u201386.\n\n9. Ibid.\n\n10. \"Minutes of Meeting Held at the White House Between the President and the Chiefs of Staff on 10 August 1943 at 1415,\" _FRUS II,_ 499.\n\n11. Ibid.\n\n12. Ibid., 500.\n\n13. Ibid., 500\u2013501.\n\n14. Ibid., 501.\n\n15. Entry of August 10, 1943, Stimson Diary, Henry L. Stimson Papers, Yale University Library, New Haven, CT.\n\n16. \"Minutes of Meeting Held at the White House Between the President and the Chiefs of Staff on 10 August 1943 at 1415,\" _FRUS II,_ 501.\n\n17. Ibid., 502\n\n18. \"Minutes of meeting held at the White House at 1415 between the President and the JCS, 10 Aug 43, with JCS Memo 97 in ABC 337 (25 May 43),\" in Matloff, _Strategic Planning for Coalition Warfare,_ 215.\n\n19. Entry of August 10, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n20. \"Dear Mr. President\" letter, August 10, 1943, attached to Stimson Diary.\n\n40. THE F\u00dcHRER IS VERY OPTIMISTIC\n\n1. \"The Polish Ministry for Foreign Affairs to the American Embassy Near the Polish Government in Exile,\" in _FRUS II,_ 410.\n\n2. \"Prime Minister's Personal Minute,\" July 19, 1943, in Gilbert, _Road to Victory,_ 445.\n\n3. Entry of 10.8.1943 in Joseph Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher von Joseph Goebbels_ [The diaries of Joseph Goebbels], ed. Elke Froehlich (Munich: K. G. Saur, 1993), Teil II, Band 9 (hereinafter _Die Tageb\u00fccher 9_ ), 250.\n\n4. Ibid.\n\n5. Ibid., 254.\n\n6. \"Er denkt nicht daran, bis zum Po zur\u00fcckzuziehen\" [\"He has no intention of retreating to the Po\"], entry of June 25, 1943, Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher von Joseph Goebbels_ [The diaries of Joseph Goebbels], ed. Elke Froehlich (Munich: K. G. Saur, 1993), Teil II, Band 8, 532.\n\n7. Entry of 10.8.1943, Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher 9,_ 255.\n\n8. Ibid.\n\n9. Ibid., 260.\n\n10. Ibid.\n\n11. Ibid.\n\n12. Ibid., 261.\n\n13. See Karl-Heinz Friezer et al., _Das Deutsche Reich und der Zweite Weltkrieg_ (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 2007) Band 8, 1192\u20131209.\n\n14. \"die schon erw\u00e4hnte Spekulation auf wachsende und letztlich b\u00fcndnisprengde Divergenzen innerhalb der Feindkoalition\": Ibid., 1194.\n\n41. A CARDINAL MOMENT\n\n1. Cable of June 25, 1943, in _Foreign Relations of the United States: The Conferences at Cairo and Tehran_ 1943 (hereinafter _FRUS III_ ), 10.\n\n2. Entry of August 14, 1943, in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 229.\n\n3. Ibid.\n\n4. \"Dear Mr. President\" letter, August 10, 1943, attachment to entry of August 10, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n5. Ibid.\n\n6. Personal Minute of July 13, 1943, in Martin Gilbert, _Road to Victory: Winston S. Churchill, 1941\u20131945_ (London: Heinemann, 1986), 442.\n\n7. Ibid., Cable T.1043\/3, July 16, 1943, 443.\n\n42. CHURCHILL IS STUNNED\n\n1. In London, Secretary Stimson had told Churchill that with regard to the sharing of atom bomb development (code-named S-1), \"I could only promise to report the matter to the President for the final decision\": \"Brief Report on Certain Features of Overseas Trip,\" August 4, 1943, Stimson Diary.\n\n2. Entry of August 10, 1943, Mackenzie King Diary, Library and Archives Canada, Ottawa, ON.\n\n3. Winston Churchill, _The Second World War,_ vol. 5, _Closing the Ring_ (London: Cassell, 1952), 73.\n\n4. Entry of August 14, 1943, in Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 228.\n\n43. THE GERMAN WILL TO FIGHT\n\n1. Vice Admiral Mountbatten used his pistol to demonstrate the toughness of ice floes\u2014his latest brainwave for floating harbors in the invasion of Normandy: Andrew Roberts, _Masters and Commanders: How Four Titans Won the War in the West, 1941\u20131945_ (New York: Harper, 2009), 405.\n\n2. David Reynolds, _In Command of History: Churchill Fighting and Writing The Second World War_ (New York: Random House, 2005), 363.\n\n3. Philip A. Smith, _Bombing to Surrender: The Contribution of Air Power to the Collapse of Italy, 1943_ (Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama: School of Advanced Airpower Studies, 1997), 63.\n\n4. Sven Oliver Mueller, \"Nationalism in German War Society 1939\u20131945\" in _Germany and the Second World War,_ ed. J\u00f6rg Echternkamp (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2014), vol. 9, no. 2, p. 32.\n\n5. Ibid., 34.\n\n6. Ibid., 30.\n\n44. NEAR-HOMICIDAL NEGOTIATIONS\n\n1. Entry of August 15, 1943, _Field Marshal Lord Alanbrooke: War Diaries, 1939\u20131945,_ ed. Alex Danchev and Daniel Todman (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), 441.\n\n2. Reynolds, _In Command of History,_ 374\u201382.\n\n3. \"The Log of the President's Trip to Canada, August 16\u2013August 26, 1943,\" 2, FDR Library.\n\n4. Entry of August 15, 1943, Arthur Bryant, _The Turn of the Tide: A History of the War Years, Based on the Diaries of Field Marshal Lord Alanbrooke, Chief of the Imperial General Staff_ (New York: Doubleday, 1957), 578.\n\n5. Carlo D'Este, _World War II in the Mediterranean, 1942\u20131945_ (Chapel Hill, NC: Algonquin, 1990), 196. Since over 200,000 Germans were reported \"missing,\" these may include many who surrendered at the war's end.\n\n6. Carlo D'Este, _Warlord: A Life of Winston Churchill at War, 1874\u20131945_ (New York: Harper, 2008), 626.\n\n7. Entry of August 16, 1943, Brooke, _War Diaries,_ 443.\n\n8. Entry of August 15, 1943, Leahy Diary, William D. Leahy Papers, Library of Congress.\n\n9. Entry of August 15, 1943, Brooke, _War Diaries,_ 442.\n\n10. _Foreign Relations of the United States: The Conferences at Washington and Quebec, 1943_ (hereinafter _FRUS II_ ) (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1970), 865.\n\n11. Ibid., 866.\n\n12. Entry of August 16, 1943, Brooke, _War Diaries,_ 443.\n\n13. Annotation to entry of August 15, 1943, in Brooke, _War Diaries,_ 442.\n\n14. Commander George Elsey, interview with the author, September 11, 2011.\n\n45. A LONGING IN THE AIR\n\n1. \"The Log of the President's Trip to Canada, August 16\u2013August 26, 1943,\" compiled by Chief Ship's Clerk William Rigdon, 4, FDR Library.\n\n2. Cable of August 22, 1942, in Susan Butler, ed., _My Dear Mr. Stalin: The Complete Correspondence of Franklin D. Roosevelt and Joseph V. Stalin_ (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), 155.\n\n3. Averell Harriman and Elie Abel, _Special Envoy to Churchill and Stalin, 1941\u20131946_ (New York: Random House, 1975), 225; and entry of August 31, 1943, Mackenzie King Diary, Library and Archives Canada, Ottawa, ON.\n\n4. Entry of August 23, 1943, Brooke, _War Diaries,_ 447. Lieutenant General Henry Pownall, who became one of Churchill's many assistants in writing his memoirs, claimed in his 1943\u20131944 diary that the Sumatra idea, code-named Operation Culverin, was \"a typically Winstonian project, advanced with his usual fatuous obstinacy\": David Reynolds, _In Command of History,_ 404.\n\n5. Harriman and Abel, _Special Envoy,_ 224.\n\n6. Ibid.\n\n7. _FRUS II,_ 691ff.\n\n8. \"The Log of the President's Trip to Canada, August 16\u2013August 26, 1943,\" compiled by Chief Ship's Clerk William Rigdon, 15, FDR Library.\n\n9. P. J. Philips, \"President Is Grim: Only Long Peace Could Justify Sacrifices,\" _New York Times,_ August 26, 1943.\n\n10. Entry of August 25, 1943, Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n11. Samuel I. Rosenman, _Working with Roosevelt_ (New York: Harper, 1952), 387.\n\n12. Ibid.\n\n13. Ibid.\n\n14. Text in \"The Log of the President's Trip to Canada.\" (President's own copy. The alternative wording gave the President a choice, for extra emphasis, as he spoke.) Also as \"Address at Ottawa, Canada, August 25, 1943,\" in _The Public Papers and Addresses of Franklin D. Roosevelt,_ vol. 12, _The Tide Turns,_ comp. Samuel Rosenman (New York: Russell & Russell, 1950; reissued 1969), 365\u201369.\n\n15. Philips, \"President Is Grim,\" _New York Times._\n\n16. \"Address at Ottawa, Canada, August 25, 1943,\" in _The Public Papers and Addresses of Franklin D. Roosevelt._\n\n17. Entry of August 25, 1943, Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n46. THE PRESIDENT IS UPSET\u2014WITH THE RUSSIANS\n\n1. \"Memorandum of conversation Mr. Mackenzie King had with President Franklin D. Roosevelt\u2014Ottawa, Wednesday\u2014August 25, 1943,\" Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n2. Ibid.\n\n3. Ibid.\n\n4. Ibid., \"Conversation with Mr. Roosevelt, Ottawa\u2014August 25, 1943.\"\n\n5. Martin Gilbert, _Road to Victory: Winston S. Churchill, 1941\u20131945_ (London: Heinemann, 1986), 482.\n\n6. Dmitri Volkogonov, _Stalin: Triumph and Tragedy_ (Rocklin, CA: Prima, 1991), 486.\n\n7. \"Conversation with Mr. Roosevelt, Ottawa, August 25, 1943,\" Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n8. Ibid., entry of August 22, 1943.\n\n9. Gilbert, _Road to Victory_ , 482.\n\n10. E.g. Susan Butler, _Roosevelt and Stalin: Portrait of a Partnership_ (New York: Knopf, 2015).\n\n11. Gilbert, _Road to Victory_ , 484\u201385.\n\n12. Harriman and Abel, _Special Envoy_ , 536.\n\n13. Entry of Wednesday, August 25, 1942, Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n14. Ibid., \"Conversation with Mr. Roosevelt. Ottawa\u2014August 25, 1943.\"\n\n15. Ibid., entry of August 31, 1943.\n\n16. Ibid., \"Conversation with Mr. Roosevelt. Ottawa\u2014August 25, 1943.\"\n\n17. Ibid.\n\n47. CLOSE TO DISASTER\n\n1. Entry of August 26, 1943, in Geoffrey C. Ward, ed., _Closest Companion: The Unknown Story of the Intimate Friendship Between Franklin Roosevelt and Margaret Suckley_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1995), 231.\n\n2. Entry of August 29, 1943, Leahy Diary, William D. Leahy Papers, Library of Congress.\n\n3. Entry of August 28, 1943, Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 231\u201332.\n\n48. A DARWINIAN STRUGGLE\n\n1. Entry of 27.8.1943, Joseph Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher von Joseph Goebbels_ [The diaries of Joseph Goebbels], ed. Elke Fr\u00f6hlich (Munich: K. G. Saur, 1993), Teil II, Band 9 (hereinafter _Die Tageb\u00fccher 9_ ), 369. Quotes from this source have been translated by the author.\n\n2. Ibid., entry of 10.8.1943, 260.\n\n3. Ibid., entry of 10.9.1943, 464. Interestingly, addressing reporters' questions in Washington, \"Churchill said Britain wants no more territory: such as Sicily, Pantelleria, etc,\" but that \"islands of chiefly strategic value probably should be held by the Allies.\" However, he also made clear the \"British did not propose to give up any territory\" they considered theirs\u2014\"this in answer to a question about Hong Kong\": \"Churchill Luncheon with Correspondents, September 3, 1943,\" in Raymond Clapper Papers, Personal File, 1942\u201343, Box 23, Library of Congress.\n\n4. Ibid.\n\n49. A TALK WITH ARCHBISHOP SPELLMAN\n\n1. Winston Churchill, _The Second World War,_ vol. 5, _Closing the Ring_ (London: Cassell, 1952), 109.\n\n2. Entry of August 31, 1943, Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n3. Entry of September 6, 1943, Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 236\u201337.\n\n4. Ibid.\n\n5. Mary Soames, _A Daughter's Tale_ (New York: Random House, 2011), 275\u201376.\n\n6. Ibid, 276\u201377.\n\n7. Robert I. Gannon, _The Cardinal Spellman Story_ (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1962), 218.\n\n8. Ibid., 223.\n\n9. \"To many historians, especially but far from exclusively those writing in the first years of the Soviet-American Cold War that followed World War II, Roosevelt was exceptionally naive and foolish to believe he could collaborate with Stalin\": Mark Stoler and Melanie Gustafson, eds., _Major Problems in the History of World War II: Documents and Essays_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2003), 378.\n\n10. John Morton Blum, _V Was for Victory: Politics and American Culture During World War II_ (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1976), 271\u201373.\n\n11. Ibid. _,_ 255.\n\n12. Ibid.\n\n13. Gannon, _The Cardinal Spellman Story,_ 223.\n\n14. Ibid.\n\n15. Ibid.\n\n16. Ibid.\n\n17. Susan Butler, _Roosevelt and Stalin: Portrait of a Partnership_ (New York: Knopf, 2015), 153.\n\n18. Gannon, _The Cardinal Spellman Story,_ 223.\n\n19. Ibid.\n\n20. Ibid., 227.\n\n50. THE EMPIRES OF THE FUTURE\n\n1. Entry of September 2, 1943, Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 234.\n\n2. Simon Sebag-Montefiore, _Young Stalin_ (New York: Knopf, 2007), 193.\n\n3. Ibid., 193.\n\n4. Martin Gilbert, _Road to Victory: Winston S. Churchill, 1941\u20131945_ (London: Heinemann _,_ 1986), 492.\n\n5. Ibid.\n\n6. \"Anglo-American Unity: A Speech on Receiving an Honorary Degree at Harvard University, September 6, 1943,\" in _The War Speeches of Winston Churchill,_ ed. Charles Eade, vol. 2 (London: Cassell, 1952), 510\u201315.\n\n7. Ibid.\n\n8. Ibid.\n\n51. A TRAGICOMEDY OF ERRORS\n\n1. E.g., Douglas Porch, _The Path to Victory: The Mediterranean Theater in World War II_ (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2004), 459\u201361.\n\n2. \"Review of the Situation in the Light of Italian Collapse,\" in RG 218: Records of the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, Box 307, National Archives.\n\n3. Ibid.\n\n4. Carl D'Este, _Patton: A Genius for War_ (New York: HarperCollins, 1995), 533\u201355; Rick Atkinson, _The Day of Battle: The War in Sicily and Italy, 1943\u20131944_ (New York: Holt, 2007), 147\u201349.\n\n5. Nigel Hamilton, _Monty: Master of the Battlefield, 1942\u20131944_ (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1986), 390.\n\n6. Ibid., 398\u2013402.\n\n7. Ibid., 399.\n\n8. Ibid., 388.\n\n9. Atkinson, _The Day of Battle,_ 190.\n\n10. General Mark Clark to author, interview of October 26, 1981, in Hamilton, _Monty: Master of the Battlefield,_ 414.\n\n11. Atkinson, _The Day of Battle,_ 192.\n\n52. MEETING REALITY\n\n1. Atkinson, _The Day of Battle_ , 195.\n\n2. Ibid., 196.\n\n3. Hamilton, _Monty: Master of the Battlefield, 1942\u20131944,_ 393.\n\n4. Atkinson, _The Day of Battle,_ 197.\n\n5. On the island of Cephalonia, for example, more than five thousand Italian troops were massacred by invading German forces, who were told to take no prisoners: Alexander Mikaberidze, ed., _Atrocities, Massacres, and War Crimes: An Encyclopedia_ (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2013), 326 and 750.\n\n6. See Hamilton, _Monty: Master of the Battlefield,_ 404; and Atkinson, _The Day of Battle,_ 190.\n\n7. General Mark Clark to author, interview of October 26, 1981, in Hamilton, _Monty: Master of the Battlefield,_ 414.\n\n8. Ibid.\n\n9. Atkinson, _The Day of Battle,_ 199.\n\n10. Ibid., 203.\n\n11. Ibid., 205.\n\n12. \"Fireside Chat Opening Third War Loan Drive, September 8, 1943,\" _The Public Papers and Addresses of Franklin D. Roosevelt,_ 377\u201380.\n\n13. See Hamilton, _Monty: Master of the Battlefield,_ 405\u20136 and footnote 403.\n\n14. Entry of Monday, September 13, 1943, Ward, _Closest Companion,_ 237.\n\n15. Soames, _A Daughter's Tale,_ 278.\n\n16. Entry of September 7, Moran, _Winston Churchill: The Struggle for Survival, 1940\u20131965_ (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1966), 118.\n\n17. Ibid., entry of September 12, 1943, 119.\n\n18. Ibid.\n\n19. Entry of September 16, 1943, Diary of Harry C. Butcher, Eisenhower Library.\n\n20. Entry of September 13, 1943, Moran, _Winston Churchill,_ 119\u201320.\n\n21. Ibid., 120.\n\n22. Entry of Friday, August 27, 1943, in Alan Lascelles, _King's Counsellor: Abdication and War: The Diaries of Sir Alan Lascelles,_ ed. Duff Hart-Davis (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2006), 156.\n\n23. Cable of September 11, 1943, in Susan Butler, ed., _My_ _Dear Mr. Stalin: The Complete Correspondence of Franklin D. Roosevelt and Joseph Stalin_ (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), 164.\n\n24. Entry of 11.9.1943, Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher 9,_ 479.\n\n25. Rede des F\u00fchrers \u00fcber den Zusammenbruch Italiens am 10. September 1943, <http:\/\/de.metapedia.org\/wiki\/Quelle\/Rede_vom_10._September_1943_(Adolf_Hitler)>. Translated by the author.\n\n26. Ibid.\n\n27. Entry of 12.9.1943, Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher 9,_ 492.\n\n28. Ibid., entry of 10.9.1943, 463.\n\n29. Ibid., 464.\n\n30. Ibid., 460.\n\n31. Ibid., 464.\n\n32. Ibid., entry of 7.9.1943, 438.\n\n33. Ibid., entry of 12.9.1943, 486\u201387.\n\n34. Ibid.\n\n53. A MESSAGE TO CONGRESS\n\n1. Atkinson, _The Day of Battle,_ 212.\n\n2. Hamilton, _Monty: Master of the Battlefield, 1942\u20131944,_ 413.\n\n3. Mark Clark to author, interview of October 10, 1981, in Hamilton, _Monty: Master of the Battlefield,_ 405.\n\n4. Atkinson, _The Day of Battle,_ 207.\n\n5. \"Message to the Congress on the Progress of the War, September 17, 1943,\" in _The Public Papers and Addresses of Franklin D. Roosevelt,_ comp. Samuel I. Rosenman, vol. 12, 388\u2013406.\n\n6. Ibid.\n\n7. Ibid.\n\n54. ACHIEVING WONDERS\n\n1. Entry of 19.9.43, in Goebbels, _Die Tageb\u00fccher 9,_ 533.\n\n2. \"Message to the Congress on the Progress of the War, September 17, 1943.\"\n\n3. Entry of August 31, 1943, Mackenzie King Diary.\n\n4. Ibid.\n\n5. George Elsey, interview with the author, September 12, 2011.\n\n6. Ibid.\n\n7. Andrew Roberts, _Masters and Commanders: How Four Titans Won the War in the West, 1941\u20131945_ (New York: Harper, 2009), 412\u201313.\n\n8. Brooke was equally to blame, plotting with Churchill to postpone Overlord yet again beyond its planned spring 1944 target date, and to demand \"another full-scale Combined Chiefs of Staff conference in early November,\" 1943, \"to try to sell\" the alternative Mediterranean-exploitation strategy to Roosevelt and Marshall: Roberts, _Masters and Commanders,_ 418. \"We should have been in a position to force the Dardanelles by the capture of Crete and Rhodes, we should have the whole Balkans ablaze by now, and the war might have been finished in 1943!!\" Brooke lamented in one of his wildest diary entries of the war: November 1, 1943, in _War Diaries, 1939\u20131945: Field Marshal Lord Alanbrooke,_ ed. Alex Danchev and Daniel Todman (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), 465. Even Roberts, who admired Brooke, was moved to harsh judgment regarding Overlord. \"It had probably been the correct decision not to appoint him as its supreme commander after all,\" he considered\u2014Roberts, _Masters and Commanders,_ 419.\n\n# Index\n\nA | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z\n\n# A\n\nair power: in anti-U-boat campaign, 189\u201390, ,\n\nFDR on, 42\u201343\n\nagainst Germany, , , , , , , , 320\u201321, 324\u201325, ,\n\nagainst Italy, , , , , , ,\n\nagainst Japan, , ,\n\nKenney on, 179\u201380\n\nMarshall on,\n\nin Mediterranean strategy, 196\u201397, , 214\u201315\n\nPortal and,\n\nYamamoto's use of, 182\u201383\n\nAleutians: Allied landings in,\n\nJapan attacks,\n\nAlexander, Sir Harold (general),\n\nin Italian campaign, , , , , 384\u201385,\n\nAllied coalition: Badoglio promises assistance to, 376\u201377,\n\nbalance of power shifts in, 343\u201344\n\nbombs Romanian oil fields, 214\u201315, 227\u201328,\n\nbombs Rome, , , , ,\n\nChurchill threatens unity of, xiv, ,\n\ndistrusts new Italian government, ,\n\nFDR controls war planning and prosecution for, xi, xv, , , 28\u201329, , 43\u201344, 100\u2013102, , , , , , , , , , , , , 314\u201315, , , , 393\u201394,\n\nFDR promotes unity among, , 106\u20137, , 125\u201327, , , , , 292\u201393, , 334\u201335, , , , 358\u201359, , 385\u201386, 396\u201397\n\ngives Normandy invasion strategic priority, 326\u201327, , , ,\n\ngives Second Front strategic priority,\n\nHitler hopes to split, 356\u201357,\n\nlack of combat experience, 36\u201338, , , 51\u201352, 57\u201359, 82\u201383, , , , 98\u201399, , 139\u201341, , 145\u201346, ,\n\nlack of command experience among, 89\u201390, 143\u201344,\n\nlandings in Aleutians,\n\nlosses in Italian campaign, , 328\u201329, ,\n\nlosses in North Africa, 52\u201353, , 140\u201342, 144\u201345,\n\non offensive against Germany, 295\u201396\n\nand race against Soviet western advance, 154\u201356, , , , ,\n\nStalin threatens unity of, 343\u201344, 346\u201347, , , ,\n\ntactical errors in North Africa,\n\ntroop buildup in Great Britain,\n\nTurkey urged to join, , , , , , ,\n\nArnim, Hans-J\u00fcrgen von (general): in North Africa, 140\u201341,\n\nsurrenders, ,\n\nArnold, Henry (general), ,\n\nat Casablanca Conference, 78\u201379,\n\nheart attack, ,\n\nat Quebec Conference,\n\nat Washington strategic conference (1943),\n\nAtlantic Charter (1941), , , , , , , , ,\n\nAtlantic Wall. _See_ Germany: Atlantic Wall defenses in France\n\natomic bomb, development of, xiv, ,\n\nChurchill and, , ,\n\nas FDR's political trump card, ,\n\nand postwar security,\n\nSoviet Union and,\n\nStimson and,\n\nAxis powers. _See_ Germany; Italy; Japan; Romania\n\n# B\n\nBadoglio, Pietro (marshal): defeatist attitude, 377\u201378,\n\nflees Rome, 379\u201380\n\nheads new Italian government, , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\npromises assistance to Allies, 376\u201377,\n\nBalkans, proposed invasion of, , , , , , , 296\u201397,\n\nBullitt presses for, 155\u201356, , 222\u201323,\n\nChurchill and, , , , 208\u20139, , , , 239\u201340, , , , , , 272\u201373, , , , , , , , ,\n\nEden and, , , ,\n\nFDR opposes, , , , , , ,\n\nGiraud and, 155\u201356,\n\nHitler hopes for, 305\u20136,\n\nLeahy on,\n\nMarshall opposes, 295\u201396\n\nsupposed effect on Eastern Front, ,\n\nas unrealistic fantasy, 301\u20132, 311\u201312,\n\nBeaverbrook, Lord: and Second Front strategy, , 218\u201319\n\nat Washington strategic conference (1943), 206\u20137\n\nBenes, Edvard,\n\nBerbers: FDR's interest in,\n\nBeveridge Report (1943): Churchill dismisses, 26\u201327,\n\nU.S. reaction to, 31\u201332\n\nBig Three summit. _See_ Tehran Conference (1943)\n\nBismarck Sea, Battle of (1943), , 179\u201380\n\nBolshevization. _See_ Soviet Union: as threat to Europe\n\nbombing. _See_ air power; atomic bomb\n\nBradley, Omar (general): and invasion of Sicily, ,\n\nBritish Eighth Army, , , ,\n\nflees from Rommel, , ,\n\nBritish Empire. _See_ imperialism\n\nBrooke, Alan (field marshal),\n\naccepts necessity of Normandy invasion (1944), 232\u201333,\n\ncalls for Big Three summit,\n\nat Casablanca Conference, 78\u201379, ,\n\non Churchill, 250\u201351, ,\n\nconfesses weakness of British manpower,\n\nconsidered as Normandy invasion supreme commander, , , , , ,\n\ndissents from Churchill's war strategy, , 235\u201336, , 250\u201351, ,\n\non Eisenhower, 89\u201390\n\non FDR,\n\nand Italian campaign, 295\u201396, 328\u201330\n\nand limits of Mediterranean strategy, , ,\n\non Marshall, , , ,\n\nmilitary background, 212\u201313\n\nopposes Normandy invasion (1944), , 214\u201316, , ,\n\nopposes proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), ,\n\npredicts defeat of Normandy invasion (1944), 215\u201316, ,\n\nat Quebec Conference, , , 328\u201330\n\nrejects Casablanca strategic agreement,\n\nstrategic errors,\n\nview of Eisenhower,\n\nat Washington strategic conference (1943), , , , , 212\u201314, , 240\u201341, , 250\u201351, 253\u201354\n\nBrown, Wilson (admiral): as FDR's naval aide, , , ,\n\nBullitt, William C.,\n\nattacks Welles,\n\non communism, 151\u201352,\n\nmilitary naivet\u00e9, 155\u201357\n\npresses for invasion of Balkans, 155\u201356, , 222\u201323,\n\nreport on postwar Soviet Union, 150\u201359\n\non Stalin, 151\u201352, 222\u201323\n\nStimson and,\n\nas U.S. ambassador to Soviet Union, ,\n\nBurma: proposed reconquest of, , 100\u2013101, , , , ,\n\nButcher, Harry (commander),\n\nbriefs FDR, 169\u201371\n\nByrnes, James,\n\n# C\n\nCadogan, Sir Alexander,\n\nCanada: and Dieppe raid (1942), , 37\u201338, , , , 212\u201313, , , 246\u201347, , , ,\n\nin invasion of Sicily, ,\n\nand Normandy invasion (1944),\n\nresentment against Churchill,\n\nwar production, , ,\n\nCasablanca Conference (1943), xiii\u2013xiv, ,\n\nAllied strategic agreement at, 98\u2013101, 127\u201329, , , 211\u201312, , , 220\u201321, 229\u201331, 237\u201338, , , 250\u201353, , , ,\n\nArnold at, 78\u201379,\n\nBritish chiefs of staff at, 83\u201384\n\nBrooke at, 78\u201379, ,\n\nChurchill at, 5\u20136, , , 69\u201370, 71\u201372, , 100\u2013101, 117\u201318, , 124\u201326, 128\u201329, , , ,\n\nClark at, , , , ,\n\nCombined Chiefs of Staff at, , 77\u201378, , , ,\n\nDe Gaulle at, , 112\u201317, , ,\n\nDe Gaulle refuses to attend, 105\u20136\n\nElliott Roosevelt at, 66\u201368, , 78\u201381, , 91\u201393, 103\u20134, 108\u201310, , , 118\u201320,\n\nFDR at, , 11\u201312, , , 71\u201372, 77\u201381, 82\u201388, 90\u201393, 100\u2013104, 105\u201310, 112\u201323, 124\u201331, 139\u201340, , , , ,\n\nFDR's journey to, xiv, 4\u20139, 11\u201314, 63\u201368, ,\n\nFDR's quarters at, 67\u201369\n\nGerman ignorance of, 65\u201366, 130\u201331\n\nGiraud at, 121\u201323, 124\u201325, ,\n\nGoebbels reacts to, 130\u201334\n\nHopkins at, , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nJacob at, , , 73\u201375, ,\n\nJoint Chiefs of Staff at, , 53\u201354, 59\u201360, , , 82\u201385, 97\u201398\n\nlarge British contingent at, 73\u201374, 83\u201384,\n\nLeahy misses, 10\u201311, 13\u201314,\n\nMacmillan at, , ,\n\nMarshall at, , , , ,\n\nMcCrea at, 4\u20139, 68\u201369, , , , , 109\u201310, , 124\u201325, 128\u201329\n\nMurphy at, 109\u201310, ,\n\npress conference at, 122\u201323, 124\u201329,\n\nReilly at,\n\nsecurity concerns at, 6\u20137, 66\u201368\n\nStalin declines to attend, , , , , , ,\n\nStimson not invited to, ,\n\nas strategic turning point of war, 87\u201388, , , 211\u201312\n\nWatson excluded from, 7\u20139\n\nWedemeyer at, 83\u201384, ,\n\nCasablanca (film), 66\u201367\n\nChiang Kai-shek, , , , , , , ,\n\nChina: postwar weakness of,\n\nU.S. military aid to, , , , 333\u201334\n\nwar with Japan, 19\u201320, , , ,\n\nChurchill, Clementine, , , ,\n\non FDR's Pacific war strategy,\n\nChurchill, Mary, 308\u20139, , ,\n\non FDR, 359\u201360, ,\n\nChurchill, Winston: accepts Joint Four-Power Declaration (1943),\n\naddresses Congress, , , ,\n\nand atomic bomb development, , ,\n\nBritish chiefs of staff dissent from his proposed strategy, 231\u201335, 248\u201349, 250\u201351, ,\n\nBrooke on, 250\u201351, ,\n\nCanadian resentment against,\n\nand capture of Rome, , , , , ,\n\nat Casablanca Conference, 5\u20136, , , 69\u201370, 71\u201372, , 100\u2013101, 117\u201318, , 124\u201326, 128\u201329, , , ,\n\ncharacter and personality, xi\u2013xii, 70\u201371, , , , , , , 256\u201357, 277\u201378, , , 333\u201334, ,\n\nCharles Wilson as physician to, 219\u201321, 252\u201353, 383\u201385\n\nclaims undue credit, xiii, ,\n\nand communism,\n\nconfers with FDR at Hyde Park, xiv, , , , 308\u201312, 313\u201314, , , 381\u201383\n\nconfers with U.S. congressional leaders, 239\u201340, ,\n\nand Dardanelles campaign (1915), , , , , , ,\n\nand De Gaulle, , , , 122\u201323\n\ndismisses Beveridge Report, 26\u201327,\n\ndrinking problem, , , , , ,\n\nexcluded from proposed Alaska summit, , 247\u201348, ,\n\nexpects rapid German collapse, , , , 208\u20139, , , , , , 353\u201354,\n\nFDR demands his cooperation, , 253\u201354\n\nFDR distrusts,\n\nFDR on, xii, 79\u201380,\n\nand Greece,\n\nHarvard speech, , 370\u201372\n\nhealth problems, 219\u201320, ,\n\n\"Iron Curtain\" speech,\n\nand Italian campaign, 208\u20139, , , , , 251\u201352, 274\u201375, , 277\u201378, , , 319\u201320, , , , 373\u201374,\n\nLascelles on, xiii\n\nMackenzie King confers with, 235\u201339, 248\u201349, 396\u201397\n\nMackenzie King on, 245\u201346, ,\n\nMarshall keeps eye on, 254\u201355, 257\u201358\n\nmeets with British chiefs of staff, 246\u201347\n\nmeets with Combined Chiefs of Staff, ,\n\nmeets with Stalin, 247\u201348\n\nmilitary background, , ,\n\nand North Africa landings, xiii, 69\u201371\n\nNorth Africa mission, 254\u201355, 256\u201358\n\nobsessed with Sumatra, 333\u201334\n\nopposes Montgomery, xiii\n\nopposes Normandy invasion (1944), xii, , 201\u20133, , , , , 246\u201347, , 250\u201351, 253\u201354, , , 282\u201383, , , , 313\u201314, 326\u201327, , 398\u201399\n\nopposes proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), xi\u2013xii, , 74\u201375,\n\noverconfidence of, , ,\n\nand Pacific Theater, , , , , 333\u201334\n\nat Pacific War Council meeting (1943), 245\u201346\n\nPatton on, ,\n\npersonal relationship with FDR, xiv, , , , , 313\u201314, 334\u201335, , 367\u201368, , ,\n\nand planning for postwar security, 370\u201372\n\nand planning of United Nations, 21\u201322, 369\u201370\n\npolitical acumen, xii\u2013xiii, xiv, , , , , ,\n\npoor military judgment, xiv, , , , , 211\u201312, , , 272\u201373, , , 311\u201312, , 333\u201334, , , 383\u201384,\n\npostwar reinterpretation of Anglo-American alliance, xii\u2013xiii, , 256\u201357,\n\nand postwar struggle with Soviet Union, 347\u201348\n\nand postwar trusteeships,\n\npredicts defeat of Normandy invasion (1944), 237\u201338, , , ,\n\npromotes closer U.S.-British ties, 368\u201372\n\npromotes \"soft underbelly\" strategy, , , ,\n\nand proposed airborne assault on Rome,\n\nand proposed invasion of Balkans, , , , 208\u20139, , , , 239\u201340, , , , , , 272\u201373, , , , , , , , ,\n\nproposes Allied invasion of Norway, 273\u201374, 301\u20132\n\nproposes Versailles-type conference, ,\n\nand Quebec Conference, 277\u201378, , , , 314\u201315, , 326\u201328, , 333\u201334, , 396\u201397\n\nracist attitudes, , ,\n\nrealistic view of Soviet Union, xiv\u2013xv, , , 368\u201369\n\nreluctantly agrees to Normandy invasion (1944), 241\u201342, , , , , 313\u201314, , , , , ,\n\nreneges on Washington conference strategic agreement, 272\u201375, , 282\u201383, ,\n\nrepudiates Casablanca strategic agreement, , 211\u201312, , 220\u201321, 229\u201331, 237\u201338, , 250\u201353,\n\nand Salerno landing, 383\u201385\n\nand Second Front strategy, , , , , , , , 219\u201320, , 229\u201331, , , 246\u201347, 257\u201358, 271\u201373, 282\u201383,\n\n_The_ _Second World War,_ xiii, ,\n\nsense of entitlement toward India, , , ,\n\nat Shangri-la, 218\u201320, , ,\n\nand Stalin, , , ,\n\nStimson confronts, 274\u201375\n\nSuckley on, ,\n\nsupports imperialism, , , 71\u201372, 79\u201380, , , , , , , , 356\u201357, ,\n\ntakes large contingent to Casablanca Conference, 73\u201374, 83\u201384,\n\nthreatens Allied unity, xiv, ,\n\nand unconditional surrender, 128\u201329, , ,\n\nuncontrolled imaginative tendencies, , , , , , 241\u201342\n\nunderestimates German people, ,\n\nunderestimates Wehrmacht, xii, xiv, 284\u201385, , ,\n\nuninterested in postwar world, 26\u201327,\n\nVictorian worldview, 70\u201371, , ,\n\nvisits Marrakesh, 198\u2013200,\n\nvisits Turkey, 157\u201359\n\nwar strategy discussions with FDR, 74\u201375, 77\u201381\n\nat Washington strategic conference (Trident) (1943), , 201\u20133, , , , 208\u201310, 217\u201319, , , , 241\u201342, 243\u201347, 250\u201354, ,\n\nClark, Mark (general): at Casablanca Conference, , , , ,\n\ncommands Salerno landing, , , 375\u201376, , , 380\u201381, , , ,\n\non need for Allied combat experience, 86\u201387\n\nin North Africa,\n\nand North Africa landings, 85\u201386\n\nopposes proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), 85\u201387\n\nand projected airborne assault on Rome,\n\ncolonialism. _See_ imperialism\n\ncombat experience: Allied lack of, 36\u201338, , , 51\u201352, 57\u201359, 82\u201383, , , , 98\u201399, , 139\u201341, , 145\u201346, ,\n\nCombined Chiefs of Staff, , , ,\n\nagree on Normandy invasion (1944), ,\n\nat Casablanca Conference, , 77\u201378, , , ,\n\nconvene at Washington strategic conference (1943), 212\u201317, 231\u201333, , 240\u201341, , 250\u201351,\n\nEisenhower interrogated by, 88\u201390\n\nand Italian campaign,\n\nLeahy as chairman of, ,\n\nmeet with Churchill,\n\nmeet with FDR, 77\u201378, , 92\u201393, , 240\u201341,\n\nand Pacific Theater,\n\nat Quebec Conference, , , 328\u201331, 334\u201335, , , ,\n\nComintern: dissolution of, , , 343\u201344\n\ncommand experience: Allied lack of, 89\u201390, 143\u201344,\n\nEisenhower on,\n\ncommander in chief: president as, 35\u201337, , , , , , ,\n\ncommunism: Bullitt on, 151\u201352,\n\nChurchill and,\n\nFDR and, , 30\u201332, , , 362\u201363, 364\u201365\n\nGoebbels and, ,\n\nStalin's view of, 151\u201352, ,\n\nCooke, Charles M. (\"Savvy\") (admiral): rejects Washington conference strategy,\n\ncross-Channel landing, proposed (1943). _See also_ Normandy invasion (1944); Second Front strategy\n\nBritish chiefs of staff oppose, , , 74\u201375, , 201\u20132\n\nBrooke opposes, ,\n\nChurchill opposes, xi\u2013xii, , 74\u201375,\n\nClark opposes, 85\u201387\n\nexpected losses in, 56\u201357\n\nFDR opposes, xi\u2013xii, 35\u201338, , , 84\u201385\n\nHandy supports,\n\nHitler and,\n\nHopkins supports,\n\nJohn Hull supports, , ,\n\nJoint Chiefs of Staff support, 51\u201353, 55\u201357, , ,\n\nMackenzie King and, 35\u201336\n\nMarshall supports, , 55\u201357, ,\n\nPortal opposes, 98\u201399\n\nPound opposes, 98\u201399\n\nStimson supports, 49\u201352, , , , , 221\u201322,\n\nas unrealistic fantasy, 51\u201354, , 91\u201392,\n\nand U.S. public opinion,\n\nWar Department expects failure of, 53\u201354, 58\u201359\n\n# D\n\nD-day. _See_ Normandy invasion (1944)\n\nDakar (Senegal): strategic value of, 63\u201364\n\nDardanelles campaign (1915): Churchill and, , , , , , ,\n\nDarlan, Fran\u00e7ois (admiral), , , , ,\n\nassassinated,\n\nDavies, Joseph: mission to Stalin, 230\u201331, , 271\u201372, 282\u201383,\n\nDavy, G.M.O. (brigadier), 102\u20133\n\nDawley, Ernest (general),\n\nDe Gaulle, Charles (general). _See also_ Free French\n\nat Casablanca Conference, , 112\u201317, , ,\n\nChurchill and, , , , 122\u201323\n\nCordell Hull and, ,\n\negocentric and obstructionist character of, 112\u201317, 120\u201321\n\non FDR, 116\u201317,\n\nFDR on, , ,\n\nmeets with FDR, , 112\u201317,\n\nin North Africa, 63\u201364,\n\nrefuses to attend Casablanca Conference, 105\u20136\n\nrelationship with Giraud, 105\u20136, , , , , 117\u201318, 121\u201323, 124\u201325\n\nand restoration of French colonies,\n\nDeane, John (general), , ,\n\nDelano, Laura (\"Polly\"), , ,\n\nD'Este, Carlo,\n\nDevers, Jacob L. (general),\n\nDieppe, Canadian raid on (1942), , 37\u201338, , , , 212\u201313, , , 246\u201347, , , ,\n\nDill, Sir John (field marshal), , , , , ,\n\nat Washington strategic conference (1943), , ,\n\nD\u00f6nitz, Karl (admiral),\n\nDonovan, William J. (colonel),\n\non Stalin,\n\nDoolittle, James (general): bombs Rome,\n\nTokyo raid (1942), ,\n\nDykes, Vivian (brigadier): killed,\n\n# E\n\nEastern Front: effects of Sicily and Italian campaign on, , , ,\n\nFDR on, 42\u201343\n\nGoebbels on, , 267\u201368, 388\u201389,\n\nHitler gives priority to,\n\nSoviet losses on, , , , 346\u201347,\n\nsupposed effect of invasion of Balkans on, ,\n\nEden, Anthony: and proposed Allied invasion of Balkans, , , ,\n\nat Quebec Conference,\n\nEisenhower, Dwight (general), xiii, , , , ,\n\nas Allied commander in chief in Mediterranean, , , 88\u201390, , , , , 169\u201370, , , , , , 262\u201363, , ,\n\nBrooke on, 89\u201390\n\nBrooke's view of,\n\ncancels airborne assault on Rome, , ,\n\ncharacter and personality, 147\u201348,\n\ncommands Italian campaign, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nFDR on, 169\u201371\n\non Giraud,\n\ninterrogated by Combined Chiefs of Staff, 88\u201390\n\nand invasion of Sicily, 261\u201363\n\non lack of command experience among Allies,\n\nMarshall and, ,\n\nand media, ,\n\nmeets with FDR, , 90\u201393\n\nnegotiates for Italian surrender, , , ,\n\nPatton and, 89\u201390\n\non rank and status,\n\nstrategy in North Africa, , , , 88\u201390, , 114\u201315, , , , , 196\u201397,\n\nElsey, George (lieutenant), , 277\u201378,\n\nand Quebec Conference, ,\n\nEmbick, Stanley (general): fears German counterattack through Spain,\n\nopposes Italian campaign,\n\nopposes North Africa landings,\n\nsupports proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), 51\u201353\n\nEurope: FDR on postwar division of, 365\u201366\n\npostwar security of, 153\u201354,\n\nproposed demarcation line with Soviet Union, 154\u201355\n\nSoviet Union as threat to, , 149\u201350, 153\u201355, , 222\u201323, , , , , , , 345\u201346, 360\u201366, 367\u201369,\n\n# F\n\nFa\u00efd Pass, Battle of (1943),\n\nFala (FDR's dog), , , , ,\n\nFarley, James,\n\n_Ferdinand Magellan_ (presidential railroad car), , , 11\u201312, , 176\u201377, , 181\u201384, , , , , , ,\n\nflying: FDR and, 12\u201314, 64\u201367\n\nFour Freedoms, , 347\u201348, , ,\n\nFDR on, , 44\u201345,\n\n\"Four Policemen.\" _See_ United Nations: proposed Security Council\n\nFrance: British evacuate from, , , , , 212\u201313,\n\nGerman Atlantic Wall defenses in, , , 57\u201358, , 86\u201387, , , 237\u201338, , ,\n\nand imperialism, , , , , 118\u201320\n\nNorth Africa considered part of, 113\u201314\n\nand postwar trusteeships,\n\nU.S. wartime relationship with,\n\nVichy. _See_ Vichy French\n\nFrance, proposed Allied landings: in 1942, xiii, 34\u201335\n\nin 1943. _See_ cross-Channel landing, proposed (1943)\n\nFranco-British Expeditionary Force (1940): in Norway,\n\nFredendall, Lloyd (general): dismissed from command, , ,\n\nin North Africa, 140\u201341,\n\nFree French, , . _See also_ De Gaulle, Charles (general)\n\ntimidity and desertion among, 90\u201391\n\nU.S. political relationship with, 106\u20137,\n\n# G\n\nGandhi, Mahatma: hunger strike (1943),\n\nGerman-Soviet Nonaggression Pact (1939), , , , , 361\u201362,\n\nGermany: Allied air power against, , , , , , , 320\u201321, 324\u201325, ,\n\nAllies on offensive against, 295\u201396\n\nArmy. _See_ Wehrmacht\n\nAtlantic Wall defenses in France, , , 57\u201358, , 86\u201387, , , 237\u201338, , ,\n\nBritish chiefs of staff underestimate, ,\n\nChurchill expects rapid collapse of, , , , 208\u20139, , , , , , 353\u201354,\n\nChurchill underestimates people of, ,\n\ncommits atrocities, , , , , 300\u2013301, ,\n\non the defensive,\n\ndefensive war strategy, 303\u20137, 321\u201322, 355\u201357\n\ndevelops jet fighter planes, ,\n\nFDR's view of, 283\u201384, ,\n\nHitler's intuitive understanding of, , , 321\u201324\n\nignorance of Casablanca Conference, 65\u201366, 130\u201331,\n\nJapan reaffirms ties with,\n\nJoint Chiefs of Staff develop strategies for defeat of, 293\u201395\n\nnationalism and racism in, 323\u201324\n\npeople's loyalty to Hitler, , , 320\u201324,\n\npossible separate peace with Soviet Union, , 306\u20137, , , , 356\u201357\n\nprepares to occupy Vichy-controlled metropolitan France,\n\nproclaims \"total war,\" , 132\u201333, 134\u201335, , , ,\n\nproposed disarmament of, 28\u201331, , , 283\u201384, , 365\u201366,\n\nreaction to insistence on unconditional surrender, 129\u201330,\n\nsuppression of dissent in, , ,\n\ntreats Italy as enemy, , , , 387\u201388\n\nuse of slave labor, , ,\n\nwar production, ,\n\n\"Germany First\" strategy, ,\n\nFDR and, , , , ,\n\nGiraud, Henri (general): at Casablanca Conference, 121\u201323, 124\u201325, ,\n\nEisenhower on,\n\nin North Africa, , , , , , ,\n\nand proposed invasion of Balkans, 155\u201356,\n\nrelationship with De Gaulle, 105\u20136, , , , , 117\u201318, 121\u201323, 124\u201325\n\nvisits FDR,\n\nGoebbels, Joseph, xiii, 65\u201366, , , ,\n\non Battle of Kasserine Pass, 145\u201346\n\nand communism, ,\n\nconfers with Hitler, 302\u20137, 355\u201357, 389\u201390\n\ndelivers \"total war\" speech, 134\u201335, , ,\n\non Eastern Front, , 267\u201368, 388\u201389,\n\non effects of Italian campaign, , 388\u201390,\n\non FDR's Message to Congress,\n\non FDR's Ottawa speech,\n\nand Holocaust, 134\u201335, ,\n\non North Africa landings, 69\u201370\n\nreacts to Casablanca Conference, 130\u201334\n\nreacts to invasion of Sicily, 267\u201369\n\nand Second Front strategy, , ,\n\nG\u00f6ring, Hermann (field marshal),\n\nGrant, Ulysses: FDR on, 28\u201329,\n\nGreat Britain: Allied troop buildup in,\n\nanti-American resentment,\n\navoids offensive action against Japan,\n\nevacuates from France, , , , ,\n\nFDR unable to visit,\n\nand imperialism, xii, , , 71\u201372, 79\u201380, , , , , 217\u201318, , , ,\n\nloses world-power status, , ,\n\noccupies India, 217\u201318,\n\nrelationship with Soviet Union,\n\nGreat Britain, chiefs of staff\n\naccused of avoiding battle, , ,\n\nat Casablanca Conference, 83\u201384\n\nChurchill meets with, 246\u201347\n\ndissent from Churchill's proposed strategy, 231\u201335, 248\u201349, 250\u201351, ,\n\nand Italian campaign, , , , , 328\u201331,\n\nlack victory strategy, 97\u201398\n\nloss of confidence by, 212\u201318\n\noppose Normandy invasion (1944), 204\u20135, , , 213\u201314, , , , ,\n\noppose proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), , , , 201\u20132\n\noverconfidence among,\n\nat Quebec Conference,\n\nreject Casablanca strategic agreement, ,\n\nreluctantly support Normandy invasion (1944),\n\nsupport Mediterranean strategy, 55\u201356, , ,\n\nunderestimate Germany, ,\n\nundergo conversion on Allied strategy, 231\u201333, ,\n\nunwilling to risk major casualties, 215\u201316, ,\n\nat Washington strategic conference (1943), , , 207\u201310, 212\u201317, 231\u201333, , 240\u201341, 246\u201347, 250\u201354\n\nGreece: Churchill and,\n\nGuadalcanal, Battle of (1942\u201343), 25\u201326, 182\u201383\n\n# H\n\nHalifax, Lord, , , ,\n\nas ambassador to U.S., 160\u201363, , ,\n\non United Nations,\n\nHall, John L. (admiral),\n\nHalsey, William (admiral): and ambush of Yamamoto, 184\u201385,\n\nHamburg: Allied bombing of, 320\u201321\n\nHandy, Thomas T. (general), 83\u201384, ,\n\ncritical of FDR's war strategy, 293\u201394\n\nsupports proposed cross-Channel landing (1943),\n\nunderestimates Wehrmacht,\n\nHarmon, E. N. (general),\n\nHarriman, Averell, , , , , , ,\n\non Stalin, , 345\u201346,\n\nas U.S. ambassador to Soviet Union,\n\nHitler, Adolf: abandons Battle of Kursk, 265\u201366, , , 343\u201344,\n\nabandons Italian alliance, 302\u20133, , , ,\n\nand Allied Italian campaign, ,\n\ncharacter and personality, , ,\n\ndefensive war strategy, 303\u20137, 321\u201322, 355\u201357,\n\nfears Normandy invasion (1944),\n\nGerman people's loyalty to, , , 320\u201324,\n\ngives priority to Eastern Front,\n\nGoebbels confers with, 302\u20137, 355\u201357, 387\u201390\n\nhopes for Allied invasion of Balkans, 305\u20136,\n\nhopes to split Allied coalition, 356\u201357,\n\nindifferent to Wehrmacht losses, 195\u201396\n\nintuitive understanding of German people, , , 321\u201324\n\nMussolini refuses to meet with, ,\n\norders fight to the death in North Africa, 195\u201396\n\nphysical and psychological decline, , , ,\n\nand proposed cross-Channel landing,\n\nreacts to invasion of Sicily, 265\u201369, , ,\n\nreacts to Italian surrender,\n\nin seclusion, ,\n\nsecret meeting with Mussolini, 268\u201369, , ,\n\nstrategic errors,\n\ntenth anniversary of taking power, , 132\u201333,\n\nand V-bomb weapons, , , 305\u20136, ,\n\nHolocaust, ,\n\nFDR on, 300\u2013301\n\nGoebbels and, 134\u201335, ,\n\nSpellman ignores,\n\nHoover, Herbert, ,\n\nHopkins, Harry, 3\u20134, , , 64\u201365, , 219\u201321, , , , , ,\n\nat Casablanca Conference, , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nlack of military judgment, 34\u201335\n\nSuckley on,\n\nsupports proposed cross-Channel landing (1943),\n\nHopkins, Louise (Macy), , , ,\n\nHull, Cordell, , , ,\n\nand De Gaulle, ,\n\nat Moscow Conference of foreign ministers, 397\u201398\n\nat Quebec Conference, ,\n\nrift with Welles, 292\u201393\n\nHull, John E. (general),\n\ndefects from Washington conference strategic agreement, ,\n\nsupports proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), , ,\n\nHyde Park (New York): FDR confers with Churchill at, xiv, , , , 308\u201312, 313\u201315, , , 381\u201383\n\n# I\n\nimperialism: Churchill supports, , , 71\u201372, 79\u201380, , , , , , , , , 356\u201357, ,\n\nFDR opposes, , , , , 79\u201380, , 108\u20139, , , 117\u201320, ,\n\nFrance and, , , , , 118\u201320\n\nGreat Britain and, xii, , , 71\u201372, 79\u201380, , , , , 217\u201318, , ,\n\nU.S. and, 106\u20137,\n\nIndia: British occupation of, 217\u201318,\n\nChurchill's sense of entitlement toward, , , ,\n\nInonu, Ismet, , ,\n\nIsmay, Hastings (general), ,\n\nat Washington strategic conference (1943), ,\n\nisolationism,\n\nFDR attacks, 45\u201347, ,\n\nLuce on, 162\u201363\n\nMcCormick and,\n\nseen as defeatism,\n\nTaft and,\n\nU.S. and possible return to, , , ,\n\nand U.S. sovereignty,\n\nWillkie on, 162\u201363\n\nItaly: Allied air power against, , , , , , ,\n\nAllies distrust new government of,\n\nBadoglio heads new government of, , , , , ,\n\ncollapse and surrender of, , , , 282\u201383, , 303\u20134, , , , , , , , , , 332\u201333, , , , , , , , 379\u201381, , 388\u201389, 392\u201393\n\nGermany treats as enemy, , , , 387\u201388\n\nHitler abandons alliance with, 302\u20133, , , ,\n\nJoint Chiefs of Staff propose bombing of, ,\n\nRommel in, ,\n\nstrategic importance of,\n\nWehrmacht occupies and reinforces, , 269\u201370, , 284\u201385, , 303\u20134, , , 324\u201325, , , , , 388\u201390\n\nWehrmacht's resistance in, , 373\u201374, , 380\u201381, , , ,\n\nItaly, Allied campaign in (1943), xi, xii. _See also_ Salerno: Allied landing at; Sicily, invasion of (1943)\n\nAlexander in, , , , , 384\u201385,\n\nAllied losses in, , 328\u201329, , ,\n\nBritish chiefs of staff and, , , , , , 328\u201331,\n\nBrooke and, 295\u201396, 328\u201330\n\nChurchill and, 208\u20139, , , , , 251\u201352, 274\u201375, , 277\u201378, , , 319\u201320, , , , 373\u201374,\n\nClark in, , , 375\u201376, , ,\n\nCombined Chiefs of Staff and,\n\neffects on Eastern Front, , , ,\n\neffects on Normandy invasion (1944), 328\u201329\n\nEisenhower commands, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nEmbick opposes,\n\nFDR and, 295\u201396, 297\u201398, , , , , , , ,\n\nGoebbels on effects of, , 388\u201390,\n\nHitler and, ,\n\nJoint Chiefs of Staff and, 99\u2013100, , 297\u201398, , 329\u201330\n\nLeahy and, 329\u201330\n\nMarshall and, , 240\u201341, 295\u201396, , , 329\u201330,\n\nMontgomery in, , , , 375\u201376, , ,\n\nPatton in, 375\u201376\n\nRidgway in, , ,\n\nStalin on, 386\u201387\n\nStimson and,\n\nas strategic failure, , , , , 374\u201375, 377\u201378,\n\nTaylor in,\n\n# J\n\nJacob, Ian (brigadier): at Casablanca Conference, , , 73\u201375, ,\n\non lack of command experience among Allies,\n\nat Washington strategic conference (1943), 248\u201349\n\nJapan: Allied air power against, , ,\n\nattacks Aleutians,\n\nbombing campaign against,\n\ncommits atrocities, , , , 188\u201389\n\nexecutes Allied POWs, 177\u201378\n\nGreat Britain avoids offensive action against,\n\nproposed disarmament of, 29\u201331, , ,\n\nproposed Soviet war with, , , 222\u201323, , ,\n\nreaffirms ties with Germany,\n\nwar with China, 19\u201320, , , ,\n\njet fighter planes: Germany develops, ,\n\nJoint Four-Power Declaration (1943): Churchill accepts,\n\n# K\n\nKasserine Pass, Battle of (1943), 141\u201342, 143\u201344, , , 159\u201360, , , ,\n\nGoebbels on, 145\u201346\n\nStimson on, 144\u201345\n\nKatyn Forest (Poland): Soviet massacre of Polish officers in (1940), , ,\n\nKennan, George,\n\nKenney, George (general): on air power, 179\u201380\n\nbriefs FDR, 179\u201381\n\ndevises new air force tactics, 179\u201380\n\nKersaudy, Fran\u00e7ois,\n\nKesselring, Albert (field marshal), 140\u201341\n\nand German defense of Italy, , 380\u201381\n\nand invasion of Sicily, 262\u201363\n\nKing, Ernest (admiral), , , , 97\u201398, ,\n\nanti-U-boat campaign, 189\u201390\n\ncritical of Normandy invasion (1944),\n\nobsession with rank and status, 146\u201347\n\nand Pacific Theater, , , , 329\u201330\n\nat Quebec Conference, 329\u201330,\n\nat Washington strategic conference (1943), , , ,\n\nKing, Mackenzie (prime minister),\n\nattends Pacific War Council meeting (1943), ,\n\non Churchill, 245\u201346, ,\n\nconfers with Churchill, 235\u201339, 248\u201349, 396\u201397\n\nconfers with FDR, 243\u201344, 247\u201348\n\non FDR, , 27\u201332, , 341\u201342,\n\nand FDR's Ottawa speech, 335\u201336, ,\n\nfriendship with FDR, , 348\u201349\n\nand proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), 35\u201336\n\nat Quebec Conference, , 341\u201342,\n\nand Stalin, 341\u201342, ,\n\nvisits FDR, 23\u201332, 33\u201338, , , , , , , , ,\n\nKluge, G\u00fcnther von (field marshal),\n\nKnox, Frank, , , , 184\u201385\n\nKoga, Mineichi (admiral),\n\nKursk, Battle of, ,\n\nHitler abandons, 265\u201366, , , 343\u201344,\n\n# L\n\nLascelles, Sir Alan,\n\non Churchill, xiii\n\nLeague of Nations, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nLeahy, William (admiral), , , , , , , 190\u201391, , 280\u201381\n\nas chairman of Combined Chiefs of Staff, ,\n\non Churchill's repudiation of Allied strategy,\n\nas FDR's information conduit, ,\n\non invasion of Sicily, 261\u201362\n\nand Italian campaign, 329\u201330\n\nmisses Casablanca Conference, 10\u201311, 13\u201314,\n\non proposed invasion of Balkans,\n\nat Quebec Conference, 329\u201330,\n\nsuspicious of British intentions, ,\n\nat Washington strategic conference (1943), 204\u20135, , 212\u201314, , , ,\n\nLemnitzer, Lyman (general),\n\nLend-Lease Act (1941), , , , ,\n\nLincoln, Abraham,\n\nLippmann, Walter,\n\nLitvinov, Maxim, , ,\n\non United Nations,\n\non U.S.-Soviet relations,\n\nLuce, Henry: on isolationism, 162\u201363\n\n# M\n\nMacArthur, Douglas (general), , , 177\u201378, , , , ,\n\nMacmillan, Harold: at Casablanca Conference, , ,\n\nMaisky, Ivan,\n\nMarrakesh: FDR and Churchill visit, 198\u2013200,\n\nMarshall, George C. (general), , , , 275\u201376,\n\non air power,\n\nBrooke on, , , ,\n\nat Casablanca Conference, , , , ,\n\non Churchill's repudiation of Allied strategy,\n\nconsidered as Normandy invasion supreme commander, 257\u201358, , , ,\n\nand Eisenhower, ,\n\nfears German counterattack through Spain, , , 144\u201345\n\nand Italian campaign, , 240\u201341, 295\u201396, , , 329\u201330,\n\nkeeps eye on Churchill, 254\u201355, 257\u201358\n\non limits of Mediterranean strategy, 99\u2013100, , 240\u201341, , ,\n\nand Normandy invasion, 215\u201316, , ,\n\nopposes Mediterranean strategy, 49\u201350,\n\nopposes North Africa landings, ,\n\nopposes proposed invasion of Balkans, 295\u201396\n\non Pacific Theater,\n\nproposes airborne assault on Rome,\n\nat Quebec Conference, 326\u201329,\n\non rank and status,\n\nsupports proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), 52\u201353, 55\u201357, ,\n\nsupports Washington conference strategic agreement,\n\nsuspicious of British intentions, , 272\u201373\n\nundergoes conversion on Allied strategy, 85\u201388,\n\nat Washington strategic conference (1943), , , , 215\u201316, 231\u201332, ,\n\n\"master race.\" _See_ Germany: nationalism and racism in\n\nMcCormick, Robert: as FDR's enemy,\n\nas isolationist,\n\nMcCrea, John (captain), , 64\u201365,\n\nat Casablanca Conference, 4\u20139, 68\u201369, , , , , 109\u201310, , 124\u201325, 128\u201329\n\nMcIntire, Ross (admiral), 64\u201365\n\nas FDR's physician, , , , , , , ,\n\nMcNarney, Joseph (general),\n\nat Washington strategic conference (1943),\n\nMedenine, Battle of (1943),\n\nmedia: Eisenhower and, ,\n\nFDR's use of, , , 125\u201329, , 170\u201371\n\nMediterranean strategy. _See also_ North Africa\n\nair power in, 196\u201397, , 214\u201315\n\nBritish chiefs of staff support, 55\u201356, , ,\n\nBrooke and limits of, , ,\n\nFDR and, 25\u201326, , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nimpact on Pacific Theater,\n\nJoint Chiefs of Staff on limits of,\n\nJoint Chiefs dissent from, 48\u201354, , ,\n\nMarshall on limits of, 99\u2013100, , 240\u201341, , ,\n\nMarshall opposes, 49\u201350,\n\nas practice for Normandy invasion, 36\u201337, , , , , , 98\u201399, , , , , , , 207\u20138, , , , , ,\n\nStimson on limits of, 274\u201375\n\nStimson opposes, 49\u201350,\n\nMidway, Battle of (1942), ,\n\nmissiles and flying bombs. _See_ V-bomb weapons ( _Vergeltungswaffen_ )\n\nMitchell, John (major): and ambush of Yamamoto, 185\u201386,\n\nMitscher, Peter (admiral): and ambush of Yamamoto, ,\n\nMockler-Ferryman, Eric (brigadier),\n\nMolotov-Ribbentrop Pact (1939). _See_ German-Soviet Nonaggression Pact (1939)\n\nMontgomery, Bernard (general): Churchill opposes, xiii\n\nand invasion of Sicily, 262\u201363,\n\nin Italian campaign, , , , , , ,\n\nin North Africa, , , ,\n\nskeptical of Italian assistance against Wehrmacht,\n\nteaches battle technique, 143\u201344\n\nMorison, Samuel Eliot,\n\nbriefs FDR,\n\nMorocco: sovereignty of, 108\u20139, ,\n\nMorocco, Sultan of: dines with FDR, 108\u201311,\n\nMoscow Conference of foreign ministers,\n\nCordell Hull at, 397\u201398\n\nMountbatten, Louis (admiral), , , , , 212\u201313,\n\nMurphy, Robert: at Casablanca Conference, 109\u201310, ,\n\nin North Africa, ,\n\nMussolini, Benito: arrested and deposed, , , , , 302\u20133, , , 388\u201389\n\nand invasion of Sicily,\n\nrefuses to meet with Hitler, ,\n\nsecret meeting with Hitler, 268\u201369, , ,\n\n# N\n\nNibelungen myth ( _Nibelungentreue_ ) and German solidarity, , , ,\n\nNimitz, Chester (admiral), , ,\n\nand ambush of Yamamoto, 183\u201384, ,\n\nNogu\u00e8s, Charles (general), 108\u20139\n\nNormandy invasion (1944). _See also_ cross-Channel landing, proposed (1943); Second Front strategy\n\nBritish chiefs of staff oppose, 204\u20135, , , 213\u201314, , , , ,\n\nBritish chiefs of staff reluctantly support,\n\nBritish predictions of defeat in, 215\u201316, , , 237\u201338, , , ,\n\nBrooke accepts necessity of, 232\u201333,\n\nBrooke opposes, , 214\u201316, , ,\n\nCanada and,\n\nChurchill opposes, xii, , 201\u20133, , , , , 246\u201347, , 250\u201351, 253\u201354, , , 282\u201383, , , , 313\u201314, 326\u201327, , 398\u201399\n\nChurchill reluctantly agrees to, 241\u201342, , , , , 313\u201314, , , , , ,\n\nCombined Chiefs of Staff agree on, ,\n\neffects of Italian campaign on, 328\u201329\n\nErnest King critical of,\n\nFDR and, , , , , 243\u201344, , , , 311\u201312, , , , , ,\n\nFDR insists on American commander for, 297\u201399, 314\u201315, ,\n\ngiven Allied priority, 326\u201327, , , ,\n\nHitler fears,\n\nJoint Chiefs of Staff support, 98\u201399, , 213\u201314, 221\u201322, , 326\u201327\n\nMarshall and, 215\u201316, , ,\n\nMediterranean strategy as practice for, 36\u201337, , , , , , 98\u201399, , , , , , , 207\u20138, , , , , ,\n\nplanning and staging of, , , , 241\u201342, 243\u201344, , , , , , 294\u201398, , , , , , , , ,\n\nPortal opposes, ,\n\nselection of supreme commander for, 257\u201358, , ,\n\nStimson supports, , , 310\u201311\n\nU.S. Navy opposes,\n\nNorth Africa. _See also_ Mediterranean strategy\n\nAllied losses in, 52\u201353, , 140\u201342, 144\u201345,\n\nAllied tactical errors in,\n\nArnim in, 140\u201341,\n\nChurchill's mission to, 254\u201355, 256\u201358\n\nClark in,\n\nconsidered part of France, 113\u201314\n\nDe Gaulle in, 63\u201364,\n\nEisenhower's strategy in, , , , 88\u201390, , 114\u201315, , , , , 196\u201397,\n\nFDR reviews troops in, 102\u20134, ,\n\nfinal Allied offensive in (1943), , 202\u20133, 207\u20138\n\nFredendall in, 140\u201341,\n\nGiraud in, , , , , , ,\n\nHitler orders fight to the death in, 195\u201396\n\nItalian troops desert in, 195\u201396\n\nmilitary intelligence in, 169\u201370\n\nMontgomery in, , , ,\n\nMurphy in, , 108\u20139\n\nPatton in, , , , , , , , ,\n\nRommel in, , , 140\u201341, , 143\u201346, , , ,\n\nStimson on Wehrmacht in,\n\nVichy French in, , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nWehrmacht's losses in, 195\u201396\n\nWehrmacht's offensive operations in, 139\u201342, 143\u201344\n\nWehrmacht's resistance in, xiii, , 53\u201354, , , , ,\n\nWehrmacht's surrender in, , , , ,\n\nNorth Africa landings (1942), , , 23\u201324, , , ,\n\nChurchill and, xiii, 69\u201371\n\nClark and, 85\u201386\n\nEmbick opposes,\n\nFDR and, xi, 34\u201336, , , 125\u201326\n\nGoebbels on, 69\u201370\n\nMarshall opposes, ,\n\nStimson opposes, , ,\n\nU.S. public reaction to,\n\nNorth Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO): concept of, ,\n\nNorway: Churchill proposes Allied invasion of, 273\u201374, 301\u20132\n\nFranco-British Expeditionary Force in (1940),\n\n# O\n\nOntario: FDR's fishing trip to, 279\u201381, ,\n\nOperation Anakim. _See_ Burma: proposed reconquest of\n\nOperation Anton. _See_ Vichy French: Germany prepares to occupy Vichy-controlled metropolitan France\n\nOperation Avalanche. _See_ Italy, Allied campaign in (1943)\n\nOperation Axis. _See_ Wehrmacht: occupies and reinforces Italy\n\nOperation Barbarossa. _See_ Eastern Front\n\nOperation Bolero. _See_ cross-Channel landing, proposed (1943); France, proposed Allied landing in (1942)\n\nOperation Citadel. _See_ Eastern Front\n\nOperation Giant II. _See_ Rome: projected airborne assault on\n\nOperation Gomorrah. _See_ Hamburg: Allied bombing of\n\nOperation Husky. _See_ Sicily: invasion of (1943)\n\nOperation Overlord. See Normandy invasion (1944)\n\nOperation Priceless. _See_ Italy, Allied campaign in (1943)\n\nOperation Strike. _See_ North Africa: final Allied offensive in (1943)\n\nOperation Symbol. _See_ Casablanca Conference (1943)\n\nOperation Torch, xi. See North Africa landings (1942)\n\nOperation Vengeance. _See_ Yamamoto, Isoruku (admiral): ambushed and killed\n\nOttawa: FDR's speech at (1943), , 335\u201340, , , ,\n\n# P\n\nPacific Theater: Churchill and, , , , , 333\u201334\n\nCombined Chiefs of Staff and,\n\nEleanor Roosevelt tours, , ,\n\nErnest King and, , , , 329\u201330\n\nFDR and strategy in, 25\u201326, , , 41\u201342, , 100\u2013101, 179\u201381, , , 222\u201323, , , ,\n\nJoint Chiefs of Staff preference for action in,\n\nMarshall on,\n\nMediterranean strategy's impact on,\n\nNavy's preference for action in, ,\n\nskip-bombing technique in, 179\u201380\n\nSoviet Union and,\n\nU.S. public opinion on, , ,\n\nPacific War Council meeting (1943)\n\nChurchill at, 245\u201346\n\nMackenzie King attends, ,\n\nPanama Canal Zone,\n\nPan American Clipper (airplane), 12\u201314\n\nPatterson, Cissy: as FDR's enemy,\n\nPatton, George S. (general): on Churchill, ,\n\nand Eisenhower, 89\u201390\n\nerratic behavior,\n\non FDR, 110\u201311\n\nand invasion of Sicily, , ,\n\nin Italian campaign, 375\u201376\n\non need for Allied combat experience,\n\nin North Africa, , , , , , , , ,\n\nPaulus, Friedrich von (general),\n\npeace as war aim: FDR on, 44\u201345\n\nPearl Harbor, attack on (1941), xi, , , , , ,\n\nYamamoto and, , ,\n\nPendar, Kenneth: on FDR, 198\u2013200\n\nPentagon: completed,\n\nP\u00e9tain, Philippe (marshal), ,\n\nPoland: forces in exile and Katyn Forest massacre (1940), ,\n\nGerman atrocities in, 300\u2013301\n\npolio: FDR suffers from, , 176\u201377\n\nPortal, Charles (air marshal),\n\nand air power,\n\nopposes Normandy invasion, ,\n\nopposes proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), 98\u201399\n\npostwar security, planning for, 19\u201323, , 80\u201381, 108\u20139, , , , , . _See also_ United Nations\n\nChurchill and, 370\u201372\n\nFDR and, , , , 27\u201330, , 33\u201334, , 117\u201321, 152\u201353, 159\u201360, , , , 244\u201345, , , 282\u201383, , 338\u201340, 344\u201346, , 362\u201366\n\nPound, Dudley (admiral), ,\n\nopposes proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), 98\u201399\n\npresident: as commander in chief, 35\u201337, , , , , , ,\n\nPrettyman, Arthur (chief petty officer), ,\n\nprisoners of war, Allied: Japan executes, 177\u201378\n\n# Q\n\nQuebec Conference (1943),\n\nBritish chiefs of staff at,\n\nBrooke at, , , 328\u201330\n\nChurchill and, 277\u201378, , , , 314\u201315, , 326\u201328, , 333\u201334, , 396\u201397\n\nCombined Chiefs of Staff at, , , 328\u201331, 334\u201335, , , ,\n\nCordell Hull at, ,\n\nEden at,\n\nElsey and, ,\n\nFDR and, 277\u201378, , , , , , 327\u201328, , 332\u201335, 338\u201339, ,\n\nJoint Chiefs of Staff at, , , , , 326\u201330,\n\nlarge British contingent at, , , ,\n\nMackenzie King at, , 341\u201342,\n\nMarshall at, 326\u201329,\n\nStimson and,\n\n# R\n\nRayburn, Sam,\n\nReilly, Mike: and security at Casablanca Conference (1943), 66\u201368\n\nRepublican Party, , , , , 349\u201350,\n\nReynolds, David, xiii,\n\nReynolds, Maurice (colonel),\n\nRibbentrop, Joachim von,\n\n_Richelieu_ (French battleship), 63\u201364\n\nRidgway, Matthew (general): in Italian campaign, , ,\n\nRigdon, William, 181\u201382\n\nRitchie, Neil (general),\n\nRobinett, Paul (colonel): on lack of command experience among Allies,\n\nRomania: Allied bombing of oil refineries in, 214\u201315, 227\u201328,\n\nRome: Allies bomb, , , ,\n\nChurchill and capture of, , , , , ,\n\nlack of strategic value,\n\nas possible open city, ,\n\nprojected airborne assault on, xii, , 376\u201378, ,\n\nRommel, Erwin (field marshal), ,\n\nBritish Eighth Army flees from, , ,\n\nin Italy, ,\n\nin North Africa, , , 140\u201341, , 143\u201346, , , ,\n\nRommel, Manfred,\n\nRoosevelt, Eleanor, , , , , 205\u20136,\n\ntours Pacific Theater, , ,\n\nRoosevelt, Elliott (colonel): at Casablanca Conference, 66\u201368, , 78\u201381, , 91\u201393, 103\u20134, 108\u201310, , , 118\u201320,\n\nRoosevelt, Franklin, Jr. (lieutenant), 68\u201369,\n\nRoosevelt, Franklin D.: on air power, 42\u201343\n\nand ambush of Yamamoto, , , 188\u201389, 190\u201391\n\nangered by Stalin, , , , 341\u201342, , ,\n\natomic bomb development as his political trump card, ,\n\nattacks isolationism, 45\u201347, ,\n\nattitude toward British Empire, xii\n\nBrooke on,\n\nButcher briefs, 169\u201371\n\nat Casablanca Conference, , 11\u201312, , , 71\u201372, 77\u201381, 82\u201388, 90\u201393, 100\u2013104, 105\u201310, 112\u201323, 124\u201331, 139\u201340, , , ,\n\non Casablanca strategic agreement,\n\ncharacter and personality, , , , , , , 359\u201360,\n\non Churchill, xii, 79\u201380,\n\nand communism, , 30\u201332, , , 362\u201363, 364\u201366\n\nconfers with Churchill at Hyde Park, xiv, , , , 308\u201312, 313\u201315, , , 381\u201383\n\nconsiders fourth term, , , 349\u201350, 362\u201363, ,\n\ncontrols Allied war planning and prosecution, xi, xv, , , 28\u201329, , 43\u201344, 100\u2013102, , , , , , , , , , , , , 314\u201315, , , , 393\u201394,\n\non De Gaulle, , ,\n\nDe Gaulle on, 116\u201317,\n\ndemands Churchill's cooperation, , 253\u201354\n\ndistrusts Churchill,\n\ndomestic political opposition to, , , , , 349\u201350, ,\n\non Eastern Front, 42\u201343\n\non Eisenhower, 169\u201371\n\nand \"endgame\" war strategy, 396\u201397, 398\u201399\n\nexpects postwar struggle with Soviet Union, 347\u201348, , 361\u201365, ,\n\nfears Soviet-German armistice,\n\nFireside Chats, 278\u201379, , ,\n\nfirst sitting president to fly, , ,\n\nand flying, 12\u201314, 64\u201367\n\non Four Freedoms, , 44\u201345,\n\nfriendship with Mackenzie King, , 348\u201349\n\n\"Germany First\" strategy, , , , ,\n\nGiraud visits,\n\non Grant, 28\u201329,\n\nHandy critical of his war strategy, 293\u201394,\n\nhealth problems, , 64\u201365, 164\u201369, , , , , , 367\u201368,\n\non Holocaust, 300\u2013301\n\ninsists on American commander in Normandy invasion (1944), 297\u201399, 314\u201315,\n\ninspection tour of military facilities (1943), xiv, , 175\u201377, , 181\u201382, , ,\n\ninterest in Berbers,\n\nand Italian campaign, 294\u201395, 297\u201398, , , , , , , ,\n\nJoint Chiefs of Staff dissent from his strategy, 48\u201349\n\njourney to Casablanca Conference, xiv, 4\u20139, 11\u201314, 63\u201368, ,\n\nKenney briefs, 179\u201381\n\nknowledge of history and geography, , , 180\u201381,\n\nLeahy as information conduit for, ,\n\nMackenzie King confers with, 243\u201344, 247\u201348\n\nMackenzie King on, , 27\u201332, , 341\u201342,\n\nMackenzie King visits, 23\u201332, 33\u201338, , , , , , , , ,\n\nmakes tactical suggestions, ,\n\nMary Churchill on, 359\u201360, ,\n\nMcIntire as physician to, , , , , , , ,\n\nand Mediterranean strategy, 25\u201326, , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nmeets with Combined Chiefs of Staff, 77\u201378, , 92\u201393, 240\u201341,\n\nmeets with De Gaulle, , 112\u201317,\n\nmeets with Eisenhower, , 90\u201393\n\nMessage to Congress, 392\u201394, 395\u201396\n\non moral basis for war, 336\u201340, 392\u201394\n\nMorison briefs,\n\nand necessity of unconditional surrender, 28\u201331, 59\u201360, , , 120\u201321, 127\u201330, 152\u201353, , , 188\u201389, , , , , , , , , , , 392\u201393\n\nand need for Allied combat experience, 36\u201338, , , 51\u201352, , 82\u201383, , , , , ,\n\nand Normandy invasion (1944), , , , , 243\u201344, , , , 311\u201312, , , , , ,\n\nand North Africa landings (1942), xi, 34\u201336, , , 125\u201326\n\nOntario fishing trip, 279\u201381, ,\n\nopposes imperialism, , , , , 79\u201380, , 108\u20139, , , 117\u201320, ,\n\nopposes proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), xi\u2013xii, 35\u201338, , , 84\u201385\n\nopposes proposed invasion of Balkans, , , , , , ,\n\nOttawa speech (1943), , 335\u201340, , , ,\n\nPacific war strategy, 25\u201326, , , 41\u201342, , 100\u2013101, 179\u201381, , , 222\u201323, , , ,\n\nPatton on, 110\u201311\n\non peace as war aim, 44\u201345\n\nPendar on, 198\u2013200\n\npersonal invitation to Stalin, 230\u201331, , , ,\n\npersonal relationship with Churchill, xiv, , , , , 313\u201314, 334\u201335, , 367\u201368, , ,\n\nand planning for postwar security, , , , 27\u201330, , 33\u201334, , 117\u201321, 152\u201353, 159\u201360, , , , 244\u201345, , , 282\u201383, , 338\u201340, 344\u201346, , 362\u201366\n\nplans United Nations, 19\u201323, , , , 80\u201381, 153\u201354, 157\u201359, , , 309\u201310, , 362\u201363\n\npolio and, , 176\u201377\n\non postwar division of Europe, 365\u201366\n\npostwar political strategy, , 150\u201351,\n\non postwar trusteeships, , ,\n\nprojected Alaska summit with Stalin, , , 266\u201367, , , , , 289\u201390, , 341\u201342\n\npromotes unity among Allied coalition, , 106\u20137, , 125\u201327, , , , , 292\u201393, , 334\u201335, , , , 358\u201359, , 385\u201386, 396\u201397\n\nand Quebec Conference, 277\u201378, , , , , , 327\u201328, , 332\u201335, 338\u201339, ,\n\nreaction to invasion of Sicily, 265\u201366\n\nrealistic view of Soviet Union, 152\u201353, 344\u201345, 361\u201366\n\nreviews troops in North Africa, 102\u20134, ,\n\nand Salerno landing, 385\u201386, 391\u201392,\n\nand Second Front strategy, 35\u201336, , 42\u201343, , , , , , , 191\u201392, , , , , , , 230\u201331, , , , , 271\u201372\n\nsensitivity to feelings of others, 7\u20138, , , , 58\u201359, ,\n\nat Shangri-la camp, 218\u201319, ,\n\non social reform, 31\u201332\n\nSpellman confers with, 360\u201366, ,\n\non Stalin, 30\u201331\n\nas stamp collector, ,\n\nState of the Union address (1943), 41\u201347, , , , , ,\n\nStimson on, , 253\u201354, 298\u201399\n\nstrategic meeting with Joint Chiefs of Staff, 55\u201360\n\nSuckley as confidante of, , 13\u201314, , 64\u201367, , , , , 175\u201377, , 261\u201362, 266\u201367, , ,\n\nSultan of Morocco dines with, 108\u201311,\n\nand Tehran Conference,\n\nunable to visit Great Britain,\n\nurges summit with Churchill and Stalin, 25\u201326, , , 39\u201340,\n\nuse of the media, , , 125\u201329, , 170\u201371\n\nview of Germany, 283\u201384, ,\n\nvisits Marrakesh, 198\u2013200\n\non war criminals, 300\u2013301\n\nWar Department mutiny over his strategy, , 49\u201351, ,\n\nwar strategy discussions with Churchill, 74\u201375, 77\u201381\n\nand Washington strategic conference (Trident) (1943), , 217\u201319, 243\u201344, 250\u201354\n\nand Wehrmacht, 35\u201336, , 284\u201385,\n\nRoosevelt, Theodore, ,\n\nRosenman, Samuel: as FDR's speechwriter, , , , , ,\n\nRussia. _See_ Soviet Union\n\n# S\n\nSalerno, Allied landing at, xii, xiv, , , 379\u201380, . _See also_ Italy, Allied campaign in (1943)\n\nChurchill and, 383\u201385\n\nClark commands, , , 375\u201376, , , 380\u201381, , , ,\n\nFDR and, 385\u201386, 391\u201392,\n\nas tactical trap, , 383\u201385,\n\nWhitehead on,\n\nSauckel, Fritz,\n\nSecond Front strategy. _See also_ cross-Channel landing, proposed (1943); Normandy invasion (1944)\n\nBeaverbrook and, , 218\u201319\n\nChurchill and, , , , , , , , 219\u201320, , 229\u201331, , , 246\u201347, 257\u201358, 272\u201373, 282\u201383,\n\nFDR and, 35\u201336, , 42\u201343, , , , , , 191\u201392, , , , , , , 230\u201331, , , , , 271\u201372\n\ngiven Allied priority,\n\nGoebbels and, , ,\n\nSoviet Union depends on, , , , , , , , , , 229\u201330, , , , , , 271\u201372, 290\u201391, 294\u201395, , , , ,\n\n_Second World War, The_ (Churchill), xiii, ,\n\nsecret weapons, German. _See_ jet fighter planes; V-bomb weapons ( _Vergeltungswaffen_ )\n\nShangri-la (camp), xiv\n\nChurchill at, 218\u201319, , , ,\n\nFDR at, 218\u201319, ,\n\nSherwood, Robert: as FDR's speechwriter, , , ,\n\nSicily, invasion of (1943), , , , , , , , , , , , , 207\u20138, , , , , , , , , , , 261\u201364, 265\u201369, , , , , , , . _See also_ Italy, Allied campaign in (1943)\n\nBradley and, ,\n\nCanada in, ,\n\nEisenhower and, 261\u201363\n\nFDR's reaction to, 265\u201366\n\nGoebbels reacts to, 267\u201369\n\nHitler reacts to, 265\u201369, , ,\n\nKesselring and, 262\u201363\n\nLeahy on, 261\u201362\n\nMontgomery and, 262\u201363,\n\nMussolini and,\n\nPatton and, , ,\n\nStalin on,\n\nWehrmacht evacuates, ,\n\nWehrmacht reinforcement in, , ,\n\nSingapore, 333\u201334\n\nslave labor: German use of, , ,\n\nSmith, Walter Bedell (general): as Eisenhower's chief of staff, , , ,\n\nSmuts, Jan (field marshal), 22\u201323, , 309\u201310, 368\u201369\n\nsocial reform: FDR on, 31\u201332\n\n\"soft underbelly\" strategy: Churchill promotes, , , ,\n\nSoviet Union: Allied air bases prohibited in, 227\u201328,\n\nand atomic bomb development,\n\nBullitt as U.S. ambassador to, ,\n\nBullitt's report on postwar situation, 150\u201359\n\nChurchill's realistic view of, xiv\u2013xv, , , 368\u201369\n\ncommits atrocities, ,\n\ndepends on Second Front strategy, , , , , , , , , 229\u201330, , , , , , 271\u201372, 290\u201391, 294\u201395, , , , ,\n\nexpected Western postwar struggle with, , 347\u201348, , 361\u201365, ,\n\nFDR's realistic view of, 152\u201353, 344\u201345, 361\u201366\n\nHarriman as U.S. ambassador to,\n\nlosses on Eastern Front, , , , 346\u201347,\n\nmassacres Polish officers (1940), , ,\n\nofficial oppression in, 360\u201361\n\nand Pacific Theater,\n\npatriotic nationalism in, , , 364\u201365\n\npossible separate peace with Germany, , 306\u20137, , , , 356\u201357\n\nas postwar world power, 344\u201348, 368\u201369\n\nproposed demarcation line with Europe, 154\u201355\n\nand proposed UN Security Council, ,\n\nproposed war with Japan, , , 222\u201323, , ,\n\nand race against western advance by, 154\u201356, , , , ,\n\nrelationship with Great Britain,\n\nrelationship with U.S., 149\u201350, ,\n\nStalin proposes summit in, 289\u201390,\n\nas threat to Europe, , 149\u201350, 153\u201355, , 222\u201323, , , , , , , 345\u201346, 360\u201366, 367\u201369,\n\nand United Nations, ,\n\nU.S. military aid to, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nU.S. popular view of, 149\u201350\n\nSpain: fear of German counterattack through, 50\u201351, , , 144\u201345\n\nSpeer, Albert, ,\n\nSpellman, Francis (cardinal): and Allied bombing of Rome, ,\n\nconfers with FDR, 360\u201366, ,\n\nignores Holocaust,\n\nStalin, Joseph, , , , ,\n\nangers FDR, , , , 341\u201342, , ,\n\napprised of Casablanca strategic agreement, ,\n\nblames Nazis for Katyn Forest massacre (1940),\n\nBullitt on, 151\u201352, 222\u201323\n\ncharacter and personality, 227\u201328, , 347\u201348, ,\n\nChurchill and, , , ,\n\nChurchill meets with, 247\u201348\n\nclaims of personal military command, 39\u201340,\n\ncomplains of being ignored, ,\n\nDavies mission to, 230\u201331, , 271\u201372, 282\u201383,\n\ndeclines to attend Casablanca Conference, , , , , ,\n\ndeclines to attend proposed summit, , 39\u201340\n\ndemands inclusion in Italian surrender negotiations, , ,\n\nDonovan on,\n\nFDR on, 30\u201331\n\nFDR's personal invitation to, 230\u201331, , , ,\n\nHarriman on, , 345\u201346,\n\non invasion of Sicily,\n\non Italian campaign, 386\u201387\n\nlack of interest in proposed United Nations,\n\nMackenzie King and, 341\u201342, ,\n\nprojected Alaska summit with FDR, , , 266\u201367, , , , , 289\u201390, , 341\u201342\n\nproposes summit in Soviet Union, 289\u201390,\n\nrefuses to allow Allied air bases in Soviet Union, 227\u201328,\n\nsuspicious of British intentions, 271\u201372\n\nand Tehran Conference, ,\n\nthreatens Allied unity, 343\u201344, 346\u201347, , , ,\n\nand unconditional surrender,\n\nas unreliable and uncooperative, 227\u201329, , 334\u201335, 342\u201343, 345\u201346,\n\nview of communism, 151\u201352, ,\n\nStalingrad: defense of, , , , , , , 130\u201332, , , , 149\u201350, 195\u201396, , , , ,\n\nStarling, Edmund (colonel), 6\u20137\n\nStatute of Westminster (1942),\n\nStimson, Henry, , , ,\n\nand atomic bomb development,\n\non Battle of Kasserine Pass, 144\u201345\n\nand Bullitt,\n\nconfronts Churchill, 274\u201375\n\ncritical report on Allied strategy,\n\non FDR, , 253\u201354, 298\u201399\n\nfears German counterattack through Spain, 50\u201351, , , 144\u201345\n\nand Italian campaign,\n\non limits of Mediterranean strategy, 274\u201375\n\nnot invited to Casablanca Conference, ,\n\nopposes Mediterranean strategy, 49\u201350,\n\nopposes North Africa landings, , ,\n\nand Quebec Conference,\n\non rank and status,\n\nsupports Normandy invasion (1944), , , 310\u201311\n\nsupports proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), 49\u201353, , , , , 221\u201322,\n\nsuspicious of British intentions, 202\u20133, , , 272\u201373, ,\n\nand Washington strategic conference (Trident) (1943), , 233\u201334\n\non Wehrmacht in North Africa,\n\nStrong, Kenneth (brigadier),\n\nSuckley, Margaret (\"Daisy\"): on Churchill, ,\n\nas FDR's confidante, , 13\u201314, , 64\u201367, , , , , 175\u201377, , 261\u201362, 266\u201367, , ,\n\nand FDR's health, , 166\u201369, , 367\u201368\n\non Hopkins,\n\nas White House hostess,\n\nSumatra: Churchill obsessed with, 333\u201334\n\nsurrender, unconditional: Churchill and, 128\u201329, , ,\n\nFDR and necessity of, 28\u201331, 59\u201360, , , 120\u201321, 127\u201330, 152\u201353, , , 188\u201389, , , , , , , , , , , 392\u201393\n\nGerman reaction to insistence on, 129\u201330,\n\nStalin and,\n\n# T\n\nTaft, Robert A.,\n\nas isolationist,\n\nTaylor, Maxwell (general): and projected assault on Rome, 376\u201378\n\nTedder, Arthur (air marshal),\n\nTehran Conference (1943), xiv, 371\u201372\n\nFDR and,\n\nStalin and, ,\n\nThompson, Tommy (commander),\n\n\"total war\": Germany proclaims, , 132\u201333, 134\u201335, , ,\n\nU.S. wages, 43\u201344,\n\nTrident Conference. _See_ Washington strategic conference (Trident) (1943)\n\ntrusteeships, postwar: Churchill and,\n\nFDR on, , ,\n\nFrance and,\n\nTully, Grace, xiv, , , ,\n\nTunis: capture of, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nTurkey,\n\nChurchill visits, 157\u201359\n\nurged to join Allies, , , , , , ,\n\n# U\n\nU-boats: air campaign against, 189\u201390, ,\n\n\"Ultra\" (secret intelligence), , , , 179\u201380, , 182\u201384, , , 284\u201385\n\nUnited Nations _._ _See also_ postwar security, planning for\n\nChurchill and planning of, 21\u201322, 369\u201370\n\nCongress and planning of, 20\u201321\n\nFDR plans, 19\u201323, , , , 80\u201381, 153\u201354, 157\u201359, , , 309\u201310, , 362\u201363\n\nHalifax on,\n\nLitvinov on,\n\nproposed Security Council, , , , , 80\u201381, , 161\u201362, , 244\u201345, 364\u201365,\n\nSoviet Union and, ,\n\nStalin's lack of interest in,\n\nWelles plans, 19\u201321,\n\nUnited States: British resentment against,\n\nelection of 1944, , , , , 362\u201363\n\nHalifax as ambassador to, 160\u201363, , ,\n\nand imperialism, 106\u20137,\n\nmidterm elections (1942), ,\n\nmilitary aid to China, , , , 333\u201334\n\nmilitary aid to Soviet Union, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nmilitary mobilization of, , ,\n\npolitical relationship with Free French, 106\u20137,\n\npossible return to isolationism, , , ,\n\npublic opinion on Pacific Theater, , ,\n\npublic opinion on progress of war in Europe, , 294\u201395\n\npublic reaction to North Africa landings,\n\nreaction to Beveridge Report, 31\u201332\n\nrelationship with Soviet Union, 149\u201350, ,\n\nshift in public opinion, 160\u201363,\n\nsovereignty and isolationism in,\n\nwages \"total war,\" 43\u201344,\n\nwar production, , 70\u201371, , , , 393\u201394,\n\nwartime relationship with France,\n\nas world power, 46\u201347, , 106\u20137, , , , , , 362\u201363, , ,\n\nU.S. Army: 82nd Airborne Division, , , 377\u201378, 380\u201381, ,\n\nFifth Army, , ,\n\nSecond Armored Division,\n\nVI Corps,\n\nU.S. Congress: Churchill addresses, , , ,\n\nChurchill confers with leaders of, 239\u201340, ,\n\nplans for United Nations, 20\u201321\n\nU.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, , , ,\n\nat Casablanca Conference, , 53\u201354, 59\u201360, , , 82\u201385, 97\u201398\n\ndevelop strategies for defeat of Germany, 293\u201395\n\ndissent from Mediterranean strategy, 48\u201354, , ,\n\nFDR's strategic meeting with, 55\u201360\n\nand Italian campaign, 99\u2013100, , 297\u201398, , 329\u201330\n\nlack of experience in modern warfare,\n\non limits of Mediterranean strategy,\n\npreference for action in Pacific Theater,\n\npropose bombing of Italy, ,\n\nat Quebec Conference, , , , , 326\u201330\n\nsupport Normandy invasion (1944), 98\u201399, , 213\u201314, 221\u201322, , 326\u201327\n\nsupport proposed cross-Channel landing (1943), 51\u201353, 55\u201357, , ,\n\nsuspicious of British intentions, , 202\u20133, , , , 251\u201352, ,\n\nat Washington strategic conference (1943), 204\u20135, , , 213\u201317, 231\u201333, , 240\u201341, , 250\u201352\n\nU.S. Joint War Plans Committee: rejects Washington conference strategy,\n\nU.S. Navy Department: defects from Washington conference strategic agreement,\n\nopposes Normandy invasion (1944),\n\npreference for action in Pacific Theater, , 275\u201376\n\nU.S. War Department: expects failure of cross-Channel landing, 53\u201354, 58\u201359\n\nmutiny over FDR's strategy, , 49\u201351, ,\n\nundergoes conversion on Allied strategy,\n\n# V\n\nV-bomb weapons ( _Vergeltungswaffen_ ),\n\nHitler and, , 305\u20136, , ,\n\nValentine, Alan,\n\nVandenberg, Arthur H.,\n\nVersailles Peace Conference and Treaty (1919), , , , ,\n\nVichy French: Germany prepares to occupy Vichy-controlled metropolitan France,\n\nin North Africa, , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nVietinghoff, Heinrich von (general),\n\nVilla Dar es Saada (Casablanca), 67\u201369\n\n# W\n\nWallace, Henry,\n\nwar criminals: FDR on, 300\u2013301\n\nWarm Springs (Georgia),\n\nWashington Naval Treaty (1922),\n\nWashington strategic conference (Trident) (1943), , 201\u20133, 204\u201310,\n\nAllied strategic agreement at, 253\u201354, 271\u201376, , 282\u201383, , , , , ,\n\nBeaverbrook at, 206\u20137\n\nBritish chiefs of staff at, , , 207\u201310, 212\u201317, 231\u201333, , 240\u201341, 246\u201347, 250\u201354\n\nChurchill at, , 201\u20133, , , , 208\u201310, 217\u201319, , , , 241\u201342, 243\u201347, 250\u201354, ,\n\nCombined Chiefs of Staff convene at, 212\u201317, 231\u201333, , , 250\u201351,\n\nFDR and, , 217\u201319, 243\u201344, 250\u201354\n\nJacob at, 248\u201349\n\nJoint Chiefs of Staff at, 204\u20135, , , 213\u201317, 231\u201333, , 240\u201341, , 250\u201352\n\nlarge British contingent at, , , , , ,\n\nMcNarney at,\n\nStimson and, , 233\u201334\n\nWatson, Edwin (\"Pa\") (general), 7\u20139,\n\nWatson, James Eli (senator),\n\nWavell, Sir Archibald (general),\n\nWedemeyer, Albert (general), ,\n\nat Casablanca Conference, 83\u201384, ,\n\nsupports Washington conference strategic agreement, 275\u201376\n\nWehrmacht: Churchill underestimates, xii, xiv, 284\u201385, , ,\n\nevacuates Sicily, ,\n\nfanaticism among, ,\n\nFDR and, 35\u201336, , 284\u201385,\n\nHandy underestimates,\n\nHermann G\u00f6ring Panzer Division, 262\u201363\n\nHitler indifferent to losses in, 195\u201396\n\nlosses in North Africa, 195\u201396\n\noccupies and reinforces Italy, , 269\u201370, , 284\u201385, , 303\u20134, , , 324\u201325, , , , , 388\u201390\n\noffensive operations in North Africa, 139\u201342, 143\u201344\n\nordered to fight to the death in North Africa, 195\u201396\n\nreinforces Sicily, , ,\n\nresistance in Italy, , 373\u201374, , 380\u201381, , , ,\n\nresistance in North Africa, xiii, , 53\u201354, , , , ,\n\nsuperior professionalism of, 52\u201353, , , 87\u201388, , , , , 321\u201322, , 388\u201389\n\nsurrenders in North Africa, , , , ,\n\nTenth Army,\n\n3rd Panzer Grenadier Division,\n\n21st Panzer Division,\n\nWelles, Sumner, , , ,\n\nas homosexual,\n\nplans United Nations, 19\u201321,\n\nrift with Cordell Hull, 292\u201393\n\nWestern European Union: concept of,\n\nWhite House: Map Room, xiv, , , , , , 398\u201399\n\nWhitehead, Don: on Salerno landing,\n\nWillkie, Wendell, 349\u201350\n\non isolationism, 162\u201363\n\nWilson, Sir Charles (later Lord Moran): as Churchill's physician, 219\u201321, 252\u201353, 383\u201385\n\nWilson, Sir Henry,\n\nWilson, Maitland (general),\n\nWilson, Woodrow, , , ,\n\n# Y\n\nYamamoto, Isoroku (admiral),\n\nambushed and killed, xiv, , , 183\u201386, 187\u201391\n\neffects of his death, , ,\n\nand Pearl Harbor attack, , ,\n\nuse of air power, 182\u201383\n\n# Z\n\nZhukov, Georgy (marshal),\n\nVisit www.hmhco.com or your favorite retailer to order the book.\n\n# About the Author\n\nNIGEL HAMILTON is a best-selling and award-winning biographer of President John F. Kennedy, General Bernard \"Monty\" Montgomery, and President Bill Clinton, among other subjects. He is a senior fellow at the McCormack Graduate School, University of Massachusetts, Boston. He lives in Boston and New Orleans.\n\n# Contents\n\n  1. Title Page\n  2. Contents\n  3. Copyright\n  4. Dedication\n  5. Maps\n  6. Prologue\n  7. _A Secret Journey_\n    1. A Crazy Idea\n    2. Aboard the Magic Carpet\n  8. _Total War_\n    1. The United Nations\n    2. What Next?\n    3. Stalin's _Nyet_\n    4. Addressing Congress\n    5. A Fool's Paradise\n    6. Facing the Joint Chiefs of Staff\n  9. _Casablanca_\n    1. The House of Happiness\n    2. Hot Water\n    3. A Wonderful Picture\n    4. In the President's Boudoir\n  10. _Unconditional Surrender_\n    1. Stimson Is Aghast\n    2. De Gaulle\n    3. An Acerbic Interview\n    4. The Unconditional Surrender Meeting\n  11. _Kasserine_\n    1. Kasserine\n    2. Arch-Admirals and Arch-Generals\n  12. Photos I\n    1. Between Two Forces of Evil\n    2. Health Issues\n  13. _Get Yamamoto!_\n    1. Inspection Tour Two\n    2. Get Yamamoto!\n    3. \"He's Dead?\"\n  14. _Beware Greeks Bearing Gifts_\n    1. Saga of the Nibelungs\n    2. A Scene from _The Arabian Nights_\n    3. The God Neptune\n    4. A Battle Royal\n    5. No Major Operations Until 1945 or 1946\n  15. _The Riot Act_\n    1. The Davies Mission\n    2. A Dozen Dieppes in a Day\n    3. The Future of the World at Stake\n    4. The President Loses Patience\n  16. _The First Crack in the Axis_\n    1. Sicily\u2014and Kursk\n    2. The F\u00fchrer Flies to Italy\n    3. Countercrisis\n    4. A Fishing Expedition in Ontario\n    5. The President's Judgment\n  17. _Conundrum_\n    1. Stalin Lies\n    2. War on Two Western Fronts\n    3. The F\u00fchrer Is Very Optimistic\n  18. Photos II\n    1. A Cardinal Moment\n    2. Churchill Is Stunned\n  19. _Quebec 1943_\n    1. The German Will to Fight\n    2. Near-Homicidal Negotiations\n    3. A Longing in the Air\n    4. The President Is Upset\u2014with the Russians\n  20. _The Endgame_\n    1. Close to Disaster\n    2. A Darwinian Struggle\n    3. A Talk with Archbishop Spellman\n    4. The Empires of the Future\n    5. A Tragicomedy of Errors\n    6. Meeting Reality\n    7. A Message to Congress\n    8. Achieving Wonders\n  21. Acknowledgments\n  22. Photo Credits\n  23. Notes\n  24. Index\n  25. Read More from Nigel Hamilton\n  26. About the Author\n\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n\nDedication\n\n _or my father Anthony, who passed on well before his years and will always be in my thoughts and memories. Thank you for giving me your strength and confidence._\n\n_For my mother Muriel, the best mom in the world, who taught me everything I know about how to raise my two little girls._\n\n_For my two beautiful little girls, Samantha and Lara, who inspired me to write this book and continue to inspire me every day of my life._\n\n_For everyone else in our family, thank you for your love and support._\n\n_Finally, for my husband, Richard, thank you for believing in me and for always standing beside me. Thank you for sharing your life with me and helping me raise two happy little girls. And thank you for all your help with this book. I love you very much._\n\n# Acknowledgments\n\n ne thing that I've learned in the last year is that writing a book is a collaborative effort. It is an honor and a pleasure to thank the following people for all of their help.\n\nFirst, thank you Jill Stern, for just about everything. Your creative contributions, expressions, and ideas have helped to make this book more than I ever could have made it alone. I would also like to thank your husband Dave and your two children Maddy and Caleb.\n\nI am similarly indebted to Allison Dickens, the best editor a writer could wish for and one of the nicest people I know and to her editorial assistant, Ingrid Powell. Thank you both for all of your hard work.\n\nAnthony Ziccardi, my good friend, you had the foresight to believe in me. If one person could take the credit for making this project a reality, it would have to be you. With all of my heart and soul, I thank you for giving me the opportunity of a lifetime.\n\nNancy Miller, my editor in chief, the Captain of my Ship, thank you, too, for believing in me.\n\nShona McCarthy, Alexandra Krijgsman, Benjamin Dreyer, and Lisa Feuer, the behind-the-scenes people, thank you for your tireless work on this project.\n\nThe credit for the fantastic cover of this book is owed solely to Derek Walls and Gene Mydlowski. Thank you both for a job well done.\n\nTo Jesseca Salky (publicity and marketing), thank you for helping to make Dookie & Dottie household names.\n\nThank you, Nora Korn, my dear friend whom I've known forever.\n\nBesides these wonderful people who helped to make this book a reality, I am equally indebted to the people who exceeded all of my expectations in their work product. First on the list is Roger Carpenter. Thank you for designing my first video cover, which helped tremendously in getting the ball to roll.\n\nThank you, Tom Estey, the best publicist in the world, for all of your help.\n\nGreg Williams and Steve Sherman, thank you for bringing Dookie and Dottie to life.\n\nTony Mora, thanks for all of the great illustrations and your animation.\n\nThere could, of course, be no book without a publisher. Words cannot express my gratitude to Random House and Ballantine Books for offering me the unique opportunity to share my ideas and experiences with the world.\n\nGina Centrello, thank you so much for the honor and privilege of working with you and Random House to publish this amazing book.\n\nFinally, I would like to thank my husband Richard, who has been a tremendous help to me and a wonderful father to our two daughters, Samantha and Lara. I couldn't have written this book without you.\n\n# Contents\n\nIntroduction\n\nChapter One  \nHappier, Smarter Babies\n\nChapter Two  \n[Getting to Know You:  \nBirth through Four Weeks](Cand_9780307481832_epub_c02_r1.htm)\n\nChapter Three  \n[Meet the Real Me:  \nTwo through Three Months](Cand_9780307481832_epub_c03_r1.htm)\n\nChapter Four  \n[An Eager Participant:  \nFour through Six Months](Cand_9780307481832_epub_c04_r1.htm)\n\nChapter Five  \n[Get Up and Go:  \nSeven through Nine Months](Cand_9780307481832_epub_c05_r1.htm)\n\nChapter Six  \n[First Steps:  \nTen through Twelve Months](Cand_9780307481832_epub_c06_r1.htm)\n\nChapter Seven  \n[The Great Communicator:  \nThirteen through Eighteen Months](Cand_9780307481832_epub_c07_r1.htm)\n\nChapter Eight  \n[Me Do This:  \nNineteen through Twenty-four Months](Cand_9780307481832_epub_c08_r1.htm)\n\nChapter Nine  \n[The Preschool Years:  \nTwo Years and Beyond](Cand_9780307481832_epub_c09_r1.htm)\n\nAppendix  \nRecommended Reading and Resources\n\n# Introduction\n\n#\n\n ou may not know me, but we share the same thing: We are parents who want the best for our children. That's why I started my company, the Baby Prodigy Company, and why I am writing this book. I want the best for my children and I want to help other parents, grandparents, and caregivers give their children the best.\n\nBefore my daughter Samantha was born, my husband and I, like all new parents, went out of our way to try to make sure we were prepared for her arrival. We bought a new crib, had her room decorated, and purchased tons of newborn-baby clothes and a slew of toys. We thought we were totally ready, but nothing could have prepared us for what was to come.\n\nWhen the day finally arrived for us to go home from the hospital, I excitedly took out the brand-new outfit my mother-in-law had bought especially for Samantha to wear home. We tried it on her, and to our surprise, it was way too big. I remember my husband running to the hospital gift shop searching for something\u2014anything\u2014that would fit our new daughter. In the end, we had to take her home in her hospital undershirt and wrapped up in two blankets.\n\nI learned an important lesson that day, and I want to pass it on to you: Your baby doesn't need expensive outfits or fancy toys to be happy and stimulated. What she does need is something very ordinary: your love and attention. So save your energy and money and don't shop for what you _think_ your baby needs.\n\nIn the chapters ahead, I share with you the practical techniques that will allow you to provide your baby with exactly what she needs to be smarter and happier. And by the way, when I packed my bag to go to the hospital and have my second daughter, I brought a simple cotton one-sie, size newborn, purchased at a local superstore. It fit like a charm, and for the first few months of her life, our second daughter, Lara, wore mostly those wonderful, practical onesies.\n\nUpon arriving home with Samantha, my husband and I settled in to adjusting to being new parents. Unfortunately, both our families lived 3,000 miles away. In the first few weeks, before anyone came to visit us, we had no extra help, only each other. I have to admit: I was completely unprepared.\n\nI hadn't read that much about what to expect in the first few months of a baby's life. I didn't realize how tired I would be, hadn't thought about what waking up three or four times a night to feed and change Samantha would do to my sleep cycle. After the first week at home, my husband and I were so tired we could barely keep our eyes open during the day.\n\nSamantha was a fussy baby. She cried all the time, and all she wanted was to be held. Even if she fell asleep in my arms, the moment I tried to put her down in her bassinet, she opened her eyes and began to wail. She seemed to be so calm and relaxed when she was being held, so we cuddled her and passed her back and forth, taking turns holding her. But my efforts to keep Samantha from crying took their toll. I had no time for myself. My confidence was low, I was tired, and I was hardly enjoying being a parent. In fact, every time Samantha cried, I thought it was because I was doing something wrong.\n\nBy the time four weeks had passed, we all were starting to feel better. Samantha had settled in, and we were establishing a routine. I thought I was finally getting the hang of motherhood. And then Samantha developed colic. I didn't even know what colic was until we had endured numerous trips to our pediatrician, trying to find out what was wrong with our new daughter. All I knew was that my baby would cry and cry\u2014no matter what I did. I was right back to thinking it was all my fault.\n\nI did notice, however, that her crying now sounded different from when she was first born. The cries were high-pitched, like she was in pain. And there was a pattern to her crying: It lasted for hours, from six p.m. until ten p.m. nonstop, every night. When her pediatrician told me it was colic and would probably last until she was about three months old, I was even more devastated. I didn't know how I could take two more months of her frantic crying. It got so bad that my husband and I would set the timer on the microwave at fifteen-minute intervals and take turns trying to console her. I tried everything to calm her down. Fortunately I discovered that classical music, as well as one or two baby videos that were on the market, helped to soothe Samantha and gave me a much-needed break.\n\nAfter the colic stopped and I had time to get back into a routine, I decided I wanted to find a way to help other moms and dads cope with the tough times in their babies' lives. Before having Samantha I had worked in television production. Remembering what a relief it was when Samantha would settle down in front of a video or quiet herself when classical music was played, I decided to make a video for babies. I wanted it to be both entertaining and educational\u2014a tool to help parents learn fun, stimulating ways to interact with their children.\n\nAnd so I began to research the topic of how infants learn and what they are interested in. I was amazed by what I found. The Baby Prodigy CDs and DVDs are based on my research, and now I'm incorporating that research into this book. The CDs and DVDs were created using fascinating scientific findings about how babies' brains grow and develop\u2014a process that begins well before they even enter this world.\n\nOne of the most important things I came across in my research for my first Baby Prodigy video was how certain types of stimulation can influence your baby's happiness. I remember thinking, _Wow, how wonderful that by stimulating your baby's senses you can affect not only her intelligence but also her happiness._ What parents don't want to do everything they can to ensure their child's happiness? The most important thing to me is the happiness of my two daughters, Samantha and Lara. I know that I would do anything to help them become happy, well-rounded children. And so I decided I wanted to tell the world about this important information\u2014about how you can help your child be happier, and smarter, too!\n\nThis book is part of my quest to spread the word. It is more than just an extension of the Baby Prodigy CDs and DVDs. It is a tool for you to use as parents or caregivers\u2014 a guide to understanding how you can stimulate your baby to make him happier and enhance his natural learning patterns.\n\nWhen my second daughter, Lara, was born, I relived the stress of caring for a colicky baby, but this time I felt much more prepared. I was a much more confident, more educated mother and I found it easier to comfort Lara during those long, traumatic sessions of crying. And when she was happier, I found I was happier, too. As you read this book, remember how important it is for you as a parent, grandparent, or caregiver to be happy. During the first few months of Samantha's life, I had somehow forgotten to enjoy my baby and myself. But once I realized how important it was to take care of myself as well as my child, I became a happy mom. I firmly believe that a happy parent raises a happy child! I hope that you enjoy this book and that your kids grow up to be happy and healthy.\n\n## HOW TO USE THIS BOOK\n\nThe very first chapter discusses the scientific research that has gone into the development of my DVDs and this book. Though neurobiology research sounds as though it may be intimidating, I have tried to give you the most important information in a way that is easy to understand. I hope you will find it as fascinating as I do. If you are interested in reading more of the original scientific research, I have included a list of relevant articles and studies at the end of the book.\n\nAfter chapter 1, this book is divided into sections based on the months of your baby's life, from birth until the wonderful age of two years. Chapter 2 discusses the first four weeks of your baby's life. Every moment of the relationship you and your baby share is special, but this month is unique. I talk about how the most important things you can do for your baby in her early days are to hold her, touch her, and talk to her. I also give you some suggestions of games that are gentle enough for a newborn who is adjusting to the wide world of sensory stimulation.\n\nChapters 3 through 8 cover months two through twenty-four, and chapter 9 offers a peek into the wild world beyond the second birthday. In each chapter, I discuss the ways in which your baby is developing, milestones she may be reaching, and how you can play with your baby to stimulate growth in the important areas of verbal skills, fine and gross motor skills, and spatial development. You will find games using common household objects, suggestions for books that are best for each age group, and ideas for toys that will be stimulating for your baby.\n\nMy goal in this book is to help you to see that every moment you spend with your baby can be an enjoyable learning experience. Other baby books are more comprehensive, talking about your post-pregnancy body and your baby's development. There is a wide variety of child-care books that are useful resources for information about a baby's feeding, sleeping, and physical well-being. I even recommend several of my trusted favorites in chapter 1.I do provide some information about your child's expected development, but mostly as background to explain some of the games I suggest you incorporate into your daily routine with your child. For an infant or child, there is no substitute for loving stimulation. You and your baby's caregivers can ensure that your baby grows up in an atmosphere conducive to being smarter and happier.\n\nFinally, the appendix contains a list of resources, from books to websites to recommended videos and television shows.\n\n## A WORD TO CAREGIVERS\n\nThere have been many studies done that focus on the role of nonparental caregivers in infants' lives and development. These studies differentiate between the unique bonding attachment that parents and their children share and the attachment formed between a child and a nonpar-ental caregiver. While I have always been sure, and studies now confirm, that there is no bond like that between parents and their baby, a close attachment to a caregiver plays an important role in a child's learning and development. Warm and caring relationships with adults provide children with the basis for learning. A caregiver who is sensitive to a child's unique combination of individual developmental and cultural characteristics can help that child establish self-confidence and self-worth from the earliest moments of their time together.\n\nWhether you are reading this book as a parent who is at home full-time with your child, as a parent with a full-or part-time job, or as a caregiver who is entrusted with building a relationship with a child who is not your own, I hope you will use this book to discover new ways to view your everyday caring routines as fun-filled opportunities for learning.\n\n## A NOTE FOR PARENTS OF CHILDREN WITH SPECIAL NEEDS\n\nNo matter where your baby is developmentally, she can still benefit from your attention and positive stimulation. I have not included a separate section with specific activities for babies with special needs because many of the games and activities I suggest are appropriate and enjoyable for _any_ child. Whether your baby was born prematurely and has developmental delays, has very specific needs, or has a particular diagnosis, she can still benefit from the games and activities in this book. If you find that an activity is too stimulating or challenging for your child, I recommend simply flipping back a chapter or two and trying another activity. An important part of making every moment with your child a positive learning experience is reading her cues to understand what she finds fun and interesting. And remember, all children develop differently and in many directions at once. At the same time, don't minimize something you think is important. If you have ongoing concerns about your baby's development, you should absolutely communicate them to your pediatrician.\n\n## A FINAL NOTE FOR EVERYONE\n\nIt is an awesome responsibility that is passed to you as a parent when you are handed your newborn baby. It can be overwhelming to think that you are entrusted with the physical, emotional, and mental development of the tiny creature that blinks up at you from the hospital swaddling. But there is no need to panic or feel intimidated. I want to remind you that the best way to enhance your baby's happiness and intelligence is through the attention and stimulation you provide in simple, common, day-to-day caretaking and rituals. Every day is full of experiences that stimulate and teach your baby, both directly and indirectly. I hope that this book helps you to recognize the many opportunities that await you and your baby and provides you with ideas for hours of enjoyable interactions.\n\n#\n\n s I began to research childhood brain development in order to develop the Baby Prodigy DVDs, CDs, and videos, I had to educate myself on how the brain worked. This chapter is by no means an effort to provide you with a full education in neuroanatomy; it is a simple overview of the biology and development of the brain, with an emphasis on the areas that are developing most rapidly during your child's first years of life. It's my goal to make this chapter on the science of the brain as basic and nonintimi-dating as possible. If, after reading this introductory material, you are as fascinated by the workings of the brain as I am, you may want to read more deeply on this subject. In the appendix, Recommended Reading and Resources, I suggest some works that explore in detail the subject of your child's developing brain.\n\nWhen reading this chapter you may be surprised\u2014as I was when I began my research in this area\u2014by the discovery that many of the stimulating activities that promote brain growth and development in your baby are activities that we, as parents and caregivers, practice _naturally and instinctively._ In 1996, the Families and Work Institute held a conference at the University of Chicago entitled \"Brain Developments in Young Children: New Frontiers for Research, Policy, and Practice.\" Experts from the fields of neuroscience, medicine, education, human services, media, business, and public policy discussed what was known about the developing brain and how that knowledge should inform efforts to improve results for children and their families. Their top recommendations have been distilled into a list of ten important guidelines for promoting healthy brain development in children:\n\n  1. Be warm, loving, and responsive.\n\n  2. Respond to your child's cues and clues.\n\n  3. Talk, read, and sing to your child.\n\n  4. Establish rituals and routines.\n\n  5. Encourage safe explorations and play.\n\n  6. Make television watching selective.\n\n  7. Teach through discipline. Be consistent and loving. Supervise and set limits.\n\n  8. Recognize that your child is unique and expect him to succeed.\n\n  9. Choose quality child care and stay involved.\n\n  10. Take care of yourself.\n\nLater in this chapter I talk briefly about how each of these guidelines affects how your child's brain becomes \"wired.\" I touch on how relationships with parents and caregivers\u2014as well as the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, textures, and feelings children experience\u2014help to develop the structure of the brain and shape the way your child thinks, learns, and behaves for the rest of his life. But first, a short introduction to the most important and complex structure in your body: your brain.\n\n## AN OVERVIEW OF THE BRAIN\n\nThe fully formed adult brain is a three-pound mass that allows us to think, move, feel, see, hear, taste, and smell. It controls our bodies, receives and analyzes information, and stores our memories.\n\nApproximately 100 hundred billion long, wiry nerve cells, or neurons, send and receive electrochemical signals to and from the brain and the nervous system. The glial (meaning \"glue\") cells are even more numerous and act as a support system for the neurons.\n\nThe brain itself is covered by a tough coating called the dura and floats in a cushion of cerebrospinal fluid, surrounded and protected by the hard bones of your skull. The brain and the spinal cord make up the central nervous system. The brain consists of roughly four parts:\n\n### THE CEREBRUM\n\nAlso known as the frontal lobe, this intricate, wrinkled part of the brain, along with its covering, the cortex, is responsible for complex processing and high-level functions, including the following:\n\n  *   behavior\n\n  *   abstract thinking\n\n  *   problem solving\n\n  *   attention\n\n  *   creative thought\n\n  *   emotion\n\n  *   intellect\n\n  *   reflection\n\n  *   judgment\n\n  *   initiative\n\n  *   inhibition\n\n  *   coordination of movements\n\n  *   eye movement\n\n  *   sense of smell\n\n  *   muscle movement\n\n  *   physical reactions\n\n  *   motor skills\n\nThe cerebrum itself has an extremely complicated structure, containing the right and left hemispheres of the brain; the occipital, parietal, and temporal lobes; and the corpus callosum.\n\n  *   **The right and left hemispheres**. Control many physical and mental functions. The right side of your brain controls the left side of your body, and the left side of your brain controls the right side of your body! The right hemisphere governs temporal and spatial relationships; analyzes nonverbal information such as pattern recognition, line orientation, and complex auditory tones; and communicates emotion. The left hemisphere works to produce and understand language and controls other cognitive functions. In most people, the left hemisphere of the brain is dominant over the right in deciding what response to make.\n\n  *   **The occipital lobe.** Controls vision and reading.\n\n  *   **The parietal lobe.** Has some visual, language, and reading functions, but primarily governs sensory combinations and comprehension of stimuli. Your sense of touch is dependent on your parietal lobe.\n\n  *   **The temporal lobe.** Also pitches in on visual and language duties, but is more strongly associated with hearing, auditory and visual memory, music, behavior, and emotion, including strong emotions such as fear. The temporal lobe plays an important role in an individual's sense of identity.\n\n  *   **The corpus callosum.** Keeps communication flowing between the left and right sides of the brain.\n\n### THE BRAIN STEM\n\nSometimes called the lower brain, this section controls motor and sensory pathways to the body and face, and governs vital centers of the body, including the cardiac, respiratory, and vasomotor centers.\n\n### THE CEREBELLUM\n\nLocated just above the brain stem, the cerebellum also governs the cardiac, respiratory, and vasomotor centers. It also coordinates your sense of balance and muscle movement.\n\n### THE LIMBIC SYSTEM\n\nFinally, the limbic system lies above the brain stem and under the cortex. It consists of a number of interconnected structures that researchers have linked to hormones, drives, aggressive behavior, strong emotions and the physiological changes that accompany them, temperature control, and memory formation.\n\n## HOW YOUR BABY'S BRAIN DEVELOPS\n\nYour baby's brain begins forming just three weeks after conception and continues its development over a lifetime. While genetics do predispose us to develop in certain ways, researchers have found that parents and caregivers have the ability to influence brain growth in awesome ways. Proper stimulation will make your baby's brain grow denser, quicken his thought processes, and enhance his perceptive capabilities. With the right brain stimulation, experts tell us, your child will be smarter, more competent\u2014 even happier.\n\nBabies are born with 100 billion neurons\u2014roughly the same number they'll always have. Although they come into the world with all the neurons they need, and then some, the architecture of a baby's brain is far from developed. Over the next three years, until a baby's brain reaches nearly 90 percent of its adult size, trillions of connections\u2014 called synapses\u2014are formed between neurons. Synapses act as bridges, establishing the brain's circuitry. The higher the quality of the synaptic connection, the quicker the brain can process information.\n\nBy the age of three, your child will have developed an estimated 1,000 trillion synaptic connections. The type and quality of these synaptic connections are determined by the kind of stimulation a baby receives from her world. The more a synapse is used in daily life, the more it is reinforced. A synapse that is not used often enough is eventually pruned away. Or, as neuroscientists like to say, \"cells that fire together wire together.\"\n\nMy favorite analogy to illustrate how synapses are strengthened or discarded over time compares them to the trails created by travelers who are making their way through a previously uncharted wilderness. Footpaths that are frequently traveled soon become easily accessed and eventually become roadways that allow travelers to move quickly and efficiently. Other paths, which started out as equally possible routes but which are not traveled frequently, soon become overgrown, unused, and finally impassable.\n\nIn the first three years of brain development, production of synaptic connections far outpaces elimination. By the age of three, your child's brain has nearly twice the number of synapses as yours. For the rest of her first decade, production and elimination of synapses are virtually equal. Beginning in early adolescence and continuing for the rest of her life, elimination of discarded synapses becomes the dominant process. Researchers use the term \"plasticity\" to describe this creating, strengthening, and discarding of synapses and neuronal pathways in response to the environment. Essentially, because the brain develops in an adaptive way, it will adapt to both positive and negative environments.\n\nSo what does this mean for _your_ baby? In a nutshell: For the first three years of her life, the stimulation she receives and the experiences she has will influence how her brain will be wired as an adult.\n\n## BABIES ARE LEARNING MACHINES\n\nFrom the moment your baby is born, he is interacting with his environment. And these interactions will shape the development of his brain as he grows. Babies who receive warm, responsive care from the beginning of their lives are more likely to thrive and to show more resilience later in life than those who receive lesser care. On the most basic level, we know that good care facilitates good brain development.\n\nYour baby is a learning machine. Everything is interesting to him. So how can you have the most enriching impact on your child's brain development?\n\nAt birth, the lower brain largely controls your newborn's behavior. All of her reflex motions, even her cycles of crying and sleeping, are functions of the brain stem and the spinal cord. The rest of her brain\u2014the cerebrum, cerebellum, and limbic system\u2014develops at a more leisurely pace, which gives you an opportunity to enhance your baby's environment and experience to shape her developing mind.\n\nYou'll be encouraged to know that you don't need fancy gizmos to help your baby reach her full potential. _You_ are your child's greatest tool for learning, enjoyment, and development. A smarter, happier baby is one who receives normal, loving, responsive care that provides her with many opportunities to experience the sights, sounds, smells, textures, and emotions of everyday life. The stimulation provided by this interaction with you and her environment will strengthen the structure of her brain. One form of stimulation that has been proven to be of significant benefit is language. Language is fundamental to cognitive development, and the simple act of talking\u2014and listening\u2014to your child is one of the best brain-building exercises I can recommend.\n\n## PUTTING SCIENCE INTO PRACTICE\n\nIn the chapters that follow, I offer you concrete ideas for practicing the kind of care and creating the kind of environment that will allow your child to thrive. I encourage you to take a conscious approach to promoting your child's happiness and confidence. In doing so, you'll raise a smarter child. Before you turn to the next chapter and start looking at specific suggestions, I want to briefly return to the ten guidelines for promoting brain development that I mentioned at the beginning of the chapter. Whether your child is one month old or two years old, there are ways to promote her growth by paying attention to each of these areas in your daily care routines.\n\n  1. **Be warm, loving, and responsive.** Cuddling, rocking, and letting your child focus on your loving expression helps her to create memories, which in turn will allow for a smooth flow of information as she learns to access them efficiently. Secure attachments are the basis of all of your child's future relationships.\n\n  2. **Respond to your child's cues and clues.** Learn to read your infant's nonverbal signals and understand his cries. Translate your toddler's early attempts at language. Become familiar with his facial expressions and body language. Responding quickly and appropriately builds trust and reduces stress. A secure child is more likely to be curious and open to new experiences and stimulation.\n\n  3. **Talk, read, and sing to your child.** Repetition is important in both building language skills and understanding speech. The more you talk to your child, the more the language-sensitive parts of his brain will grow. Reading and singing to your child foster anticipation and participation.\n\n  4. **Establish rituals and routines.** Repeated positive experiences help neurons form strong connections that help a child learn what to expect and how to react. Daily rituals and routines strengthen the creation of memories that will be accessed in increasingly complicated ways.\n\n  5. **Encourage safe explorations and play.** Encourage your baby or toddler to explore his world. Sensory input is valuable stimulation, and children learn through play.\n\n  6. **Make television watching selective.** Watch television with your child and talk about what you are seeing. Educational programming is enhanced when it is an interactive event.\n\n  7. **Teach through discipline. Be consistent and loving. Supervise and set limits.** Teaching your child self-control takes time, as this is governed by one of the more slowly developing parts of the brain. Never hit or shake a child. Brain research shows that such treatment can have long-term negative effects.\n\n  8. **Recognize that your child is unique and expect him to succeed.** Children have different growth rates, both mentally and physically. Work with your child's temperament to help him see the connections between his actions and your response. Encourage positive self-esteem.\n\n  9. **Choose quality child care and stay involved.** Be sure that any caregiver involved in your child's life responds quickly and warmly to your child's needs.\n\n  10. **Take care of yourself.** The responsibility of child rearing is daunting, and providing your child with quality stimulation can sometimes be challenging and occasionally overwhelming. Ask for help if you need it. Rest and recharge as needed, and never feel guilty. You are doing important work.\n\nIf you want to read more about current research and thinking in the field of neuroscience and children, I have listed a number of fascinating books and articles in the appendix.\n\nYou're ready to get to work\u2014and you have been all along. Raising a happier, smarter baby is no more difficult than enjoying each day you spend interacting with your own wonderful, amazing child. I hope you're inspired by the chapters that follow and that you'll engage with your child with the full understanding of how science and care-giving come together to allow your child to reach his full and rich potential.\n\n#\n\n _hen our second daughter, Lara, was born, I felt a lot more confident taking her home from the hospital than I did when we brought our first daughter, Samantha, home. Although I realized we now had twice the work ahead of us and new obstacles to face, I still felt confident\u2014after all, I'd already done this once! However, what I didn't do two years earlier was take care of myself and let our friends and family help while I recovered from a painful C-section and the shock of being a new mom. So when Lara came along, I vowed I would take care of myself, as well as the children. Now that our daughters are five and three, I look back and see how much easier it was for all of us the second time around. I learned that for me to be a happy person and a happy mom, I had to accept help and, more important, take care of myself!_\n\n_Barbara, Samantha and Lara's mom_\n\n## HOMECOMING\n\nThe day you have dreamed of is finally here: You're taking your new baby home from the hospital. In the final months of your pregnancy, you probably fantasized about this precious time\u2014the peaceful moments you would spend rocking your baby, sipping herbal tea in the spotless nursery. You may have convinced yourself that you'll quickly return to your normal schedule and life now that you and baby are finally home. I know one mother who was quite certain, after leaving the hospital on December 23, four days after a difficult Cesarean delivery, that she could still manage to finish the holiday decorating that had been interrupted by the baby's arrival, including wrapping presents for her five-year-old.\n\nThere is nothing more wonderful than coming home with the tiny baby you've been thinking about for the last nine months, but I feel compelled to warn you that if you're like most of us, over the next few hours, days, or weeks, you'll be shaken out of your beautiful daydream and you may have to alter your ambitious plans. I can definitely guarantee\u2014whether this is your first baby or your fourth\u2014 there will be times in these early weeks when the reality of your new responsibility overwhelms you. But you don't need to panic. Many others have been exactly where you are now and survived! There are time-tested techniques that will keep you and your baby happy and connected in these early days together.\n\n### SOME IMPORTANT ADVICE FOR NEW PARENTS\n\nTo set your newborn on course to being a smarter, happier baby, there is a single piece of advice that it is imperative you follow in the first weeks. And that is to _take care of yourself._ Accept all offers of help: extra hands, prepared meals, or any other conveniences friends and family may offer. You will need all your strength, both mentally and physically, to be the best parent you can be to your newborn. For the moment, forget all of the clothing and toys and gadgets you received at your baby shower or rushed out and bought in the weeks before the baby was due. Your baby comes out of the womb with an instinct for survival, and for the next few weeks, her needs are simple and repetitive: food, clean clothes, shelter, and, most important, you. So make sure that you're able to be there for her. Simply holding your baby and spending time with her promotes bonding and a sense of security that will comfort and satisfy her. And, as the days pass, you'll gradually be able to establish the patterns of feeding and sleeping that work best for your baby and your family.\n\n### TOP THREE TIPS FOR THE FIRST FOUR WEEKS\n\n**Make sure you get enough sleep:** Newborns sleep from twelve to twenty hours in a twenty-four-hour period, waking and sleeping in short intervals. Since a newborn may want to eat as often as every two hours, take advantage of your baby's sleepy periods and sneak in a nap whenever you are able.\n\n**Things You Need\/Things You Don't**\n\nDespite what all the baby catalogs would have you be-, lieve, the material needs of a newborn are surprisingly minimal. Here's a short list of what I couldn't have done without\u2014as well as those things I can't believe I thought I would need!\n\n**Most Useful Items for a Newborn** :\n\n  * **100 percent cotton onesies.** My babies lived in these for the first few weeks.\n\n  * **Cotton receiving blankets** have a multitude of uses including wiping up spit-up, keeping baby propped on his side, and swaddling.\n\n  * **A front pack or sling for carrying your baby** will be an investment you never regret, especially if you have a colicky baby.\n\n  * **An infant car seat** is required for you to leave the hospital with your baby.\n\n**Make sure you get enough nourishment:** It is recommended that women who are breast-feeding consume an extra 400 to 500 calories per day beyond the caloric intake necessary to maintain their normal (pre-pregnancy) weight. If you are bottle-feeding your baby, you still need to pay attention to your diet. Eat healthy meals and avoid excess caffeine or sugary treats. Good nutrition will help you maintain your energy level.\n\n**Trust your instincts:** There are many, many child-care and parenting books; I recommend several that I like later Getting to Know You.: Birth through Four Weeks\n\n  * **A diaper bag.** You won't believe how much stuff there is to carry around for such a tiny creature!\n\n  * **A good baby-care reference book.** Invaluable for answering those nagging middle-of-the-night questions and concerns.\n\n  * **Baby wipes.** Lots and lots of baby wipes.\n\n**Least Useful Items for a Newborn** :\n\n  * **A portable crib or playpen** is something you can wait to purchase. For the first month, your baby will probably be in her crib, worn in a front pack or sling, or in the arms of an adoring parent, relative, or caregiver.\n\n  * **Baby swing.** Babies under six weeks do not have strong muscle control of their heads and necks, and slumping in swings can be dangerous.\n\n  * **Fancy, frilly, scratchy outfits** may look adorable, but may not be the most comfortable against tender newborn skin.\n\n  * **Plush crib toys** can be a hazard for newborns.\n\nin this chapter. But when it comes down to knowing what will work best for the little person who has entered your life, you must learn to trust your instincts. What is right for your sisters son or your best friend's daughter may not be right for your baby. And what worked for your first baby may not work at all for your second. When you have questions\u2014and you will\u2014consult the library of books from child-care experts or check in with your family, friends, or pediatrician. And after weighing all their good advice, decide what works best for you and your baby.\n\n**Book shelf Title**\n\nWhile I'm sure you can't wait to start sharing your favorite childhood books with your new baby, I've chosen the books listed below especially for you! A newborn baby is often overwhelming, and even if it's not your first child, there's always a time when you can use a little impartial reassurance. It's vital that you feel confident and educated as you parent your new baby, and while information from family and friends can be invaluable, I know how important it is to have an instant resource available for those middle-of-the-night consultations.\n\nThe following books are time-tested resources and address many of the basic questions and concerns parents have. This book list is not meant to be exhaustive. It simply offers my opinion on some of the best resources for parents of babies and young children. I hope you will use the recommendations below for guidance and then combine the information you read with your own instincts and the advice of family and friends to arrive at the solutions that work best for you and your child.\n\nFeel free to read sections aloud to your baby as you comb through these books. While she may not be enthralled by the story line, at her age, it's the sound of your voice, not the content of your speech, that matters.\n\n  * **_Dr. Spock's Baby and Child Care_** by Benjamin Spock, M.D., and Stephen J. Parker, M.D. The acknowledged classic, offering practical advice to new parents for more than sixty years.\n\n  * **_Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Newborn_** by Penny Simkin, Janet Whalley, and Ann Keppler. This complete and authoritative guide to all aspects of childbearing, from conception to the early days of infancy, is full of well-organized and clearly presented information. The three authors have more than 100 years of combined experience in the field of childbirth. Need I say more?\n\n  * **_Secrets of the Baby Whisperer_** by Tracy Hogg with Melinda Blau. With advice that is reassuring and down-to-earth, _Secrets of the Baby Whisperer_ suggests simple programs that can bring peace to your household and let you relax into parenting.\n\n  * **_The Baby Book_** by William Sears, M.D., and Martha Sears, R.N. In this encyclopedic guide, Dr. Bill Sears and Martha Sears, drawing from their experience both as medical professionals and as parents, provide authoritative, comprehensive information on virtually every aspect of infant care.\n\n  * **_Touchpoints: The Essential Reference_** by T Berry Brazel-ton, M.D. Brazelton offers the kindly, reassuring approach of your own family physician, providing a chronological account of the basic stages of early childhood.\n\n  * **_What to Expect the First Year_** by Arlene Eisenberg, Heidi Murkoff, and Sandee Hathaway. A classic, with a friendly question-and-answer format, that covers everything you might want to know about your baby's first year, as well as much you never knew you would need to know!\n\n  * **_Your Baby and Child: From Birth to Age Five_** by Penelope Leach. Written by a psychologist and expert in child development, who is also the mother of two, this book addresses what your child is doing, how she is feeling, what she is experiencing, and how she is developing, from birth through kindergarten.\n\n## BONDING WITH BABY\n\nYou have probably heard a lot of talk about \"bonding\" with your newborn. Bonding is sometimes used interchangeably with the word \"attachment,\" but from a scientific point of view the two terms have distinct meanings. According to scientists, the concept of bonding refers to the tie a parent feels toward an infant. It occurs most naturally during the first hours or days after birth, when the experience of meeting your baby cements your connection with her and you form a permanent bond with this enchanting little individual.\n\nFrom a scientific point of view, which is distinctly lacking in warm and fuzzy reciprocation, however, your baby does not bond with you! Rather, an infant becomes attached to her caregivers over time. This attachment, which is as much a lifelong commitment as bonding, is based upon the shared interactions that occur over the weeks and months of early childhood.\n\nScientific definition aside, what you really need to know is that these first four weeks are a critical time during which your baby depends on you to provide the kind of consistent, dependable, responsive care that will allow her to become secure and confident in herself and others. So how can you promote bonding and attachment?\n\nThe most important thing you can do during these first few weeks of life is to hold and touch your baby. Don't rely on plastic baby carriers or car seats that double as infant easy chairs. Front carriers and fabric slings make it simple to keep your baby close to you all day long. My daughter\n\n**Dookie Says**\n\n _\"I love it when my daddy lets me lie on his chest when he's taking care of me. It's so warm, and I can hear the sound of his heart beating. It makes me feel so relaxed. I think I'll take a nap!\"_\n\nA great activity to try with your baby to promote bonding and attachment is something called \"kangaroo care.\" This concept, developed in the 1980s in an intensive-care nursery in Bogot\u00e1, Colombia, is now used for many premature babies and in neonatal intensive-care units around the world. But your baby does not have to be premature to enjoy the benefits. Modeled on the needs of baby kangaroos, who are born only partially developed and then immediately hop into their mother's warm pouch, where they continue their development for months before emerging into the world, kangaroo care means nothing more than just holding your baby (often wearing only a diaper) against your own naked skin. Drape a blanket over your baby's back to keep him warm and just sit together. You can chat with your baby, be silent and allow him to listen to the comforting sound of your heartbeat, rock in a chair, or sit perfectly still. You can even peacefully drift off for a nap together.\n\nSamantha was the most content when she was being held and snuggled, so my husband and I would take turns wearing her in a front pack and carrying her around the house as we tended to our own daily routines. Don't worry about \"spoiling\" your newborn. Your baby will gradually begin to develop patterns of eating, sleeping, and quiet alertness that will allow you to establish a routine that teaches her how to spend time in an environment other than the crook of your arm.\n\n## SLEEPING AND WAKING\n\nBy the end of this first month you may begin to notice some patterns to your baby's daily needs and moods. Her feeding times may start to become more regular\u2014every three to four hours is average\u2014although during growth spurts she may want to eat more. She will be awake and alert for longer periods of time, but she will still sleep about sixteen out of twenty-four hours.\n\nSome babies at this age mix up night and day\u2014they sleep all day and wake up and expect company at night. By the age of one month, you can help your baby shift onto the schedule followed by the rest of your household by using the following techniques:\n\n  *   Prolong your baby's periods of alertness during the day. I suggest several fun ways of doing this later in this chapter.\n\n  *   Try limiting daytime sleeping to three- or four-hour intervals, gently waking your baby if she is intent on sleeping for more than four hours at a time during the day.\n\n  *   Have your baby sleep in different places during the day and night. During the day, have him nap somewhere other than his crib or bassinet\u2014for instance, in his stroller. Place him in his own bedroom or crib at night, so he will come to associate his crib with a long, quiet sleep.\n\n  *   Make nighttime more conducive to sleep. Darken the room, use quiet voices or whispers when your baby wakes in the night, don't turn bright lights on for changing, feeding, etc.\n\n  *   Make sure your baby isn't being _over_ stimulated during the day. All babies need adequate daytime rest. Babies who receive too much stimulation can easily become overtired and may be unable to settle down to sleep well at night.\n\n## THE SIX STATES OF SLEEP AND WAKEFULNESS\n\nYour newborn baby isn't just either asleep or awake. Believe it or not, most infants cycle in and out of six states of sleep and wakefulness. Because the way each baby transitions from each state to the next and the amount of time your baby spends in any one particular state will vary, it is helpful to be able to identify your child's state of wakefulness.\n\n**Deep sleep:** Your baby is very quiet and relaxed. Her breathing is rhythmic, and while she may make spontaneous movements, she rarely awakens.\n\n**Light sleep:** Your baby's eyes are closed, but he makes faces and sounds and seems generally restless. Babies may pass through this state on the way to a drowsy awake state or to a state of deep sleep.\n\n**Safety Watch: Back to Sleep**\n\n Always put your baby to sleep on a firm surface on her back. Babies who are not put to sleep on their backs are at higher risk for sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS), the unexpected and sudden death of an apparently healthy infant, usually while the baby is asleep or in bed. If your baby seems uncomfortable sleeping on her back, try swaddling her snugly in a thin blanket.\n\nYour newborn's sleeping area should also be free of loose blankets, pillows, and plush toys. Sleeping facedown on a lambskin, soft mattress, or even a quilt has been linked to suffocation deaths. One-piece sleepers can keep your baby warm on cold nights, eliminating the need for blankets or quilts. Until your baby can roll over, you should never leave her unattended on her tummy on a soft surface (even a blanket or quilt).\n\nSince your baby will be spending all her sleeping time on her back, it is very important to remember to let her spend time on her tummy. Not only will this promote her developing muscle coordination and strength in her neck and shoulders, it will also keep her head from becoming flat as a pancake in the back! Just be sure to keep an eye on her during tummy time.\n\n**Drowsy:** Your baby is awake, but appears sleepy. Her activity level varies and her eyelids droop. She may appear cross-eyed. To wake her fully, you may stimulate her by talking to her, touching her, or picking her up.\n\n**Quiet alert:** Your baby will lie still, his eyes open and bright. His breathing will be regular and calm, and he will\n\n**Games Siblings Play**\n\n Unfortunately, a newborn baby may not be very interesting to an older sibling. As far as the older child is concerned, this new addition to the family is noisy and garners more than his fair share of the attention. Some older children initially want nothing to do with the new baby, and you should try to respect their feelings and not force any unwanted interactions. Don't worry, however. Even if they get off to a less than loving start, with a little time, your children will develop the special bonds that only siblings can share.\n\nExplain to the older child that new babies are not big enough or strong enough to play the kinds of games that an older kid enjoys playing. You may want to explain that new babies require a lot of care in doing things that bigger kids can do for themselves. If your older child wants to be involved, include her in baby-care routines that are appropriate to her age. Let her hold the baby and help with diapering, dressing, or bath time; let her burp the baby or help give him his bottle. And, of course, the entertainment value of a younger sibling cannot be underestimated. Let her talk and sing to her new sibling. Teach her to be respectful of the baby's need for space. Show her how to recognize the signs that mean the baby's had enough playtime and needs to rest.\n\nmake eye contact and focus attentively on sounds. This is the best time for you to try some of the stimulation techniques I suggest in the sections below.\n\n**Active alert:** Your baby is fussy and fidgety. She is affected easily by hunger, fatigue, or overstimulation. Her eyes are open, but her gaze is not as clear as while in quiet alert, and she does not focus attentively.\n\n**Your Baby's View: Swaddling**\n\n Have you ever been to a spa and enjoyed a body wrap? If so, you'll immediately understand why your j\u00ee|%Q baby finds swaddling so comforting. If not, I recommend that you try it! But in the meantime, imagine that you are lying in an unfamiliar environment, and you are trying to relax. It's brighter than you're used to, and maybe noisier, too. You're exhausted, but you've had so much stimulation, you're too wound up to sleep. Now imagine someone comes into the room and dims the lights, the outside sounds become muted, and warm blankets are pulled snugly around your body. You're gently wrapped, enveloped in soft fabric. Unable to twitch restlessly or wriggle around, you allow your muscles to relax. You are cocooned in comfort. Your eyes grow heavy and you fall asleep.\n\nVoil\u00e0! You have succumbed to the calming effects of being swaddled. This technique can be used to soothe an overstim-ulated or overtired baby. Swaddling provides a sense of security that most newborns enjoy. Once your baby is a month old, swaddling can interfere with her exploration of motor development, and it is best to stop wrapping your baby.\n\nTo swaddle your baby, place her diagonally on a receiving blanket with the top left corner folded down about six inches. Pull the lower left corner over her left arm and across her body. Tuck the corner of the blanket in under her right side. Take the lower right corner and bring it up over her body, tucking the tip under the piece you have just wrapped across her. Take the top right corner of the blanket, pull it across her right arm, and tuck the top in around her back. She should be wrapped snugly, but not too tightly. If your baby protests at having her hands confined, swaddle her using the same technique, but bring the fabric under, rather than over, her arms.\n\n**Crying:** A baby who has reached this state needs comforting. If she is not hungry, she may be overstimulated. For ideas on how to recognize and calm a baby who has had too much stimulation, see the section below on reading your baby's cues.\n\n## BABY STEPS\n\nWhenever you compare your newborn to a list of \"shoulds,\" it's crucial to remember that babies are individuals and follow very different timetables. I was positive my daughter began offering me full, happy smiles when she was just two weeks old. No matter what they say, I'm convinced it wasn't \"just gas.\" Another mother swears her son was completely impassive until he was almost six weeks old. \"He just didn't seem to have much of an opinion about anything at first,\" she says. Now, at six months old, he is charmingly expressive.\n\nBy the end of one month, your child should achieve some, or all, of the milestones listed below. If you are concerned about your child's rate of development, consult your pediatrician.\n\n**Did You Know?: Your Baby's Senses**\n\n **Sight**\n\n  * Your newborn baby can focus on objects at a distance of about seven to fifteen inches, roughly the distance of his mother's face when he's feeding.\n\n  * If an infant is interested in an object, she can track it along a 180-degree arc above her head.\n\n  * Newborns are attracted to objects that have a high contrast between light and dark colors, especially patterns in black and white. They also notice shiny objects.\n\n  * You may notice that your baby is sensitive to bright lights. If you dim the lights, he may open his eyes wider and focus on objects more intently.\n\n**Hearing**\n\n  * Babies can hear and react to sound, even in the womb.\n\n  * Sudden or loud noises may cause him to startle.\n\n  * Your baby may also respond to voices, especially those that are higher-pitched.\n\n  * If you played particular music or talked to your baby while he was in the womb, he will be able to recognize the sound of your voice, or even a specific tune.\n\nWithin the first four weeks, your baby should be able to:\n\n  *   lift his head briefly\n\n  *   focus on a face\n\n  * Babies also like sounds that remind them of familiar sounds they heard while in the womb. The sound of your heartbeat may be comforting.\n\n  * Does your baby suddenly grow less fussy when he hears the dishwasher or other appliances? External sounds such as those of a dishwasher, vacuum cleaner, or washing machine may remind your baby of similar sounds in the womb. Our daughter Samantha's favorite calming sound was the blender!\n\n**Smell**\n\n  * Your baby is born with a refined sense of smell. For instance, she is able to recognize the difference in smell between her mother's milk and another mother's milk.\n\n**Taste**\n\n  * Your baby may react to sweet, sour, salty, and bitter.\n\n  * Babies often prefer sweet-tasting items.\n\n**Touch**\n\n  * Infants enjoy being stroked, rocked, caressed, gently jiggled, or bounced.\n\n  * They are most comfortable when they are snug and warm. Most babies will not tolerate extremes of hot and cold.\n\nYour baby may be able to:\n\n  *   respond to a noise with a startle, by crying, or by becoming quiet\n\n  *   track an object held directly above her face and moved slowly to one side or the other\n\nIt is possible that, by the end of four weeks, your baby may:\n\n  *   smile\n\n  *   vocalize by cooing (as well as by crying)\n\n## BABY TALK\n\nDon't worry about not knowing what your baby wants\u2014 from the instant he emerges into this world, he has ways of communicating with you, but it might take you some time to understand him. By her third week at home, one couple had nicknamed their daughter \"The Little Dictator\" for her habit of loudly and clearly issuing her demands. The nickname, by the way, still applied by the time their daughter had turned two! Other parents, though, report that their child's miscellaneous noises and motions seem to have no pattern. Generally, however, by paying attention to what your newborn baby is saying, you can lay the groundwork for the early development of communication skills.\n\n### HOW BABIES COMMUNICATE\n\nCrying\n\nCrying is your preverbal baby's way of telling you something: He's tired, hungry, cold, bored, sick, or simply needs to be held. Cries are different, and you will learn to differentiate between your baby's vocal expressions.\n\n  *   **Hungry:** Your baby starts with short cries that build to a steady rhythm of wails.\n\n  *   **Tired:** Exhaustion is expressed through a distinctive pattern of short wails, followed by a longer, louder cry. If left alone, this type of crying will continue until he falls asleep.\n\n  *   **Bored:** Your baby may have a period of cranky fussing that starts with irritable noises and soon escalates to crying if he is left unattended.\n\n  *   **Overwhelmed:** This cry is similar to a tired cry, but your baby may also turn away from you when you try to comfort him.\n\n  *   **Uncomfortable:** To understand what may be bothering your baby, consider her environment. If she is too cold, she may be shivering or have goose bumps in addition to crying. If too hot, she may pant slightly and be flushed. If she has a gas pain, her cry will be piercing and sharp and come on quite suddenly with little or no preliminary fussing.\n\n  *   **Colic:** If your baby has regular periods of sustained crying that occur around the same time each day, she may be suffering from colic. (See the sidebar on Colic on page 34.)\n\n**Colic**\n\n The word \"colic\" can strike fear into even the most experienced parents' hearts. Colic is basically sustained crying by an otherwise healthy infant that occurs at generally regular times on a generally regular basis. Pediatricians sometimes use the \"rule of three\" to diagnose colic. A baby has colic when he cries for longer than three hours every day for more than three days a week, and when the crying goes away when the baby is about three months old.\n\nAbout 20 percent of all babies get colic, and it affects all infants equally\u2014boys get it as often as girls; firstborns as often as later children. Although there are many theories, ranging from food allergies to immature nervous systems to the particular temperament of each child, no one knows for sure what causes colic. What _is_ known is that colic is at the extreme end of normal crying behavior, and it is a harmless, though distressing (particularly for the parents), condition.\n\nYour baby may begin to have episodes of colic around the age of three weeks. Although colic is not thought to be due to pain, a baby with colic may look uncomfortable. She may lift her head, turn red in the face, or draw her legs up to her tummy. She may refuse to eat during her colicky time or have difficulty falling and staying asleep. The important thing to remember is that babies with colic are _healthy_ babies. However, if your baby seems at all ill and has sustained crying, call your pediatrician, and she can help you determine if it is illness or colic.\n\nAs the mother of not one but two colicky babies, I'm here to tell you that there is no single, simple treatment to \"cure\" colic. There are a number of ways to try to soothe your colicky baby, but before I tell you what they are I want you to understand the most important message for the parent of a baby who has colic: _Do not blame yourself._ You are not the cause of your baby's distress. You have done nothing wrong, and you are not a bad parent if you are unable to completely comfort your infant during these crying episodes. Having a baby with colic can be stressful for the whole household. Try to relax and remember that your baby will eventually outgrow this phase.\n\nIn addition to muttering the mantra \"This too shall pass,\" here are some suggestions for trying to make life easier for you and your colicky baby:\n\n  * Walk or rock your baby. Try holding her in various positions.\n\n  * Put her on your shoulder and massage her back, as if you are trying to burp her.\n\n  * Place your baby on her tummy on your knees and rub her back or gently bump her up and down\n\n  * Try an infant swing or vibrating baby chair. Babies under eight weeks should not be put in an infant swing, as they cannot hold themselves upright. Some bassinets have a vibrating feature, or you can try rocking her in a cradle.\n\n  * Go for a ride. Put your baby in the car seat and take a drive. Other parents swear by the vibration and sounds of a washing machine or clothes dryer. Do not place your infant on top of any surface unless you will be standing there _the entire time._\n\n  * Finally, if you feel like you are at the breaking point, try to get away from your baby's crying. Trade \"colic shifts\" with your spouse, or cash in a favor from a grandparent or friend (often a baby's cry is not as upsetting to people who are not her parents). If you must, put the baby in her crib where she is safe and secure, simply close the door to her room, and take five minutes for yourself.\n\nOne of my daughters would sometimes quiet down when I put on certain CDs or videos. At the very least, soothing music in the background can provide a nice contrast to the steady cries!\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Let's Talk about It_\n\nOnce you can identify what your baby is \"talking\" about, you can begin to name the feelings she is expressing: \"Oh you're crying because you are hungry. Let me feed you.\" \"I bet that wet diaper is uncomfortable; let's change it.\" \"You're very tired, aren't you? How about a nap?\" Use your baby's name and a conversational tone as you help her to learn to associate a response with her particular request.\n\nCooing\n\nAs any enamored new parent will attest, sweet baby coos are the most adorable of the nonverbal communications. Your baby's mews, coos, and sighs are all precursors to verbal development. You can help lay the groundwork for future verbal skills by talking to him in the high-pitched tone he prefers, singing, playing music, and exposing him to soft sounds of many different varieties.\n\n**Did You Know?: Reading Your Baby's Cues**\n\n From the moment your baby looks up at you in the delivery room, you may have the feeling that he's trying to tell you something. And he may be. From birth, babies have the ability to communicate a wide range of needs. If you pay attention, you will soon know what your baby likes or dislikes and what he may want at any given time.\n\nWatch your baby and see if you can observe any of the following common means of infant communication:\n\n  * **Fussing, crying:** I'm hungry; I'm tired; I'm not comfortable; Where are you? I want you now!\n\n  * **Rooting, wakefulness, sucking on hand or lip:** I'm hungry, and if you feed me now, I won't cry.\n\n  * **Heavy eyelids:** I'm sleepy.\n\n  * **Eye contact with bright alert eyes and intent stare:** Pay attention to me.\n\n  * **Vocalizing with coos or noncrying sounds:** Let's talk.\n\n  * **Looking away or breaking eye contact:** I'm tired and need a break.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _A Night at the Opera_\n\nMake dinnertime a dinner theater experience. Sing and talk to your baby while she nurses or takes her bottle. Make up silly songs about changing diapers, having a bath, and lying in her bed. You don't have to be Pavarotti for\n\n**Toy Chest**\n\n From birth through the first four to six weeks, your baby is not too interested in anything but eating, sleeping, and bonding with you. Still, what parent can't resist buying their baby a few toys? Here are some things that your baby will actually be able to enjoy in her first month:\n\n  * **A mobile:** A black-and-white or primary-colored mobile that can be safely mounted on a changing table or crib rail will provide baby with visual stimulation.\n\n  * **Black-and-white items:** Toys or pictures in high-contrast black-and-white patterns are easy for your baby to focus on. Simple faces or shapes are most interesting to very young infants.\n\n  * **CDs:** Most babies love music. Experiment to see what your child likes best. Good choices are classical music or simple, instrumental arrangements.\n\nyour baby to be enthralled. It's the tone and timbre of your voice that she will respond to\u2014not your ability to span five octaves.\n\n#### _Does This Ring a Bell?_\n\nUsing a plush toy with a small, soft bell inside, shake the toy on one side of your baby's head, then the other. He may turn his head or focus his eyes in the direction of the chiming sound.\n\n  * **A brightly colored ball, or a rubber or plush toy:** Move the ball slowly across your baby's range of vision to help her coordinate her eye muscles.\n\n  * **And, of course, your baby's favorite toy: You!** Move into her range of vision and let your baby study your face, Gently touch her hands to your nose, eyes, ears, and mouth as you name the body parts. (This is a game she'll love later and will eagerly participate in when she is developing language. Playing this game with such a young baby will begin to create a memory for her.) Let her clutch at your skin, hair, or clothing to experience different textures. Hold her in your arms as you sing to her or tell her a story, or simply let her snuggle close and hear your heartbeat. All the things a loving parent does naturally with her newborn are positive stimulating activities that are building blocks to the more advanced skills your child will begin to rapidly develop.\n\nSmling\n\nNo that's not just gas! Babies as young as four weeks old can offer you true smiles to show they are content. Smile at your baby often, and one day she will smile back!\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Mirror, Mirror on the Wall_\n\nEncourage smiles and other facial expressions by holding your baby in front of a mirror. Although she will not recognize herself until she's around fifteen months, she will enjoy studying the very different faces of an infant and an adult.\n\n#### _Monkey See, Monkey Do_\n\nHold your baby close to your face. Make different faces and show emotion. Your baby should be able to mimic some of your facial expressions. Try shaping your mouth into an O or sticking out your tongue to see if she will copy you. Although responsive smiling usually begins around six weeks, try giving her some big smiles; you may be rewarded with an endearing toothless grin in return.\n\n## THE LITTLE THINGS: FINE MOTOR SKILLS\n\nAlthough your new baby won't begin working on her fine motor skills for a little while yet, one of the tests she will be given at birth gives you an idea of just how quickly she can progress. This test, called the Apgar score, after Dr. Virginia Apgar, who first developed it in the 1950s, uses a numbered scale to evaluate a newborn's physical condition. The test is given within a minute of birth, and then again five minutes after birth. A score between 7 and 10 is considered \"normal.\" A score of 6 or less indicates that the infant is in some distress. Don't immediately panic if your baby's first score is on the lower side of normal, or even slightly below normal. A traumatic birth may result in lowered scores, but your baby's second score should show marked improvement as the delivery room team stabilizes his condition.\n\nFive factors are evaluated and scored, with the totaled scores giving your baby's Apgar score.\n\n## HOW IT ALL FITS: SPATIAL DEVELOPMENT\n\nYour baby is curious about the world around her and from birth can see well enough to be interested in objects and people at a distance of up to fifteen inches away. If you think your new baby is looking at you expectantly, she may well be. Babies will seek eye contact when they want to be stimulated. They will turn away or pull back to break contact when they need a rest. Your baby's vision will show improvement by about two months of age, and will continue to sharpen and expand its range until it has developed to 20\/20 vision by about six months old. In these early weeks, your baby will like to look at human faces, round shapes, highly contrasting light and dark colors (particularly black and white), and slowly moving objects (particularly shiny ones).\n\n**Safety Watch: A Word about Monitors**\n\n  I can sympathize with every new parent who cannot resist the temptation to sneak into his baby's room and rest a hand on his infant's back\u2014just to make sure she's breathing. One mother confessed that she would check on her daughter once or twice a night up until she was one year old. The natural instinct of any parent to protect his or her child is so strong that it's hard to blame anyone for wanting to monitor the baby during every minute of every day.\n\nThere are a wide variety of baby monitors available to help ease any worries you may have about your baby while you're not right in the room with him. There are monitors with cameras that link to video screens elsewhere in the house, providing a video image that corresponds with the various grunts, squeaks, and snorts that a newborn infant makes day and night. There are simple monitors that allow you to hear sound only.\n\nThere are even monitors designed to attach to your infant with thin wires to let you know how she is breathing.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Follow the Bouncing Ball_\n\nUsing a brightly colored rubber or plush ball about two inches in diameter, hold the ball about twelve to fifteen inches above your baby's head and slowly move it up and down, side to side, in and out. Watch how her ability to track the ball improves each week. Make sure to play this game when your baby is in a state of quiet alertness\n\nThis type of monitor is often used on premature babies, allowing their parents to keep track of how their baby's immature lungs are functioning. These monitors may also be used with babies who have had episodes of apnea (periods where they stop breathing) or babies who have a family history of SIDS.\n\nThere are benefits and drawbacks to these more complex monitors. We used a sleep apnea monitor with our second baby. The alarm went off twice, and I felt like I lost ten years off my life each time! Of course, if your baby is at risk for any breathing-related distress and your pediatrician has recommended a respiratory monitor, the potential benefits far outweigh any potential drawbacks, such as dealing with wires, machinery, and false alarms.\n\nVideo and sound monitors might give anxious parents peace of mind, but they can have drawbacks, too. Stories abound of private conversations or moments that were overheard or unintentionally viewed by unsuspecting bystanders when parents forgot there was a monitor on in the nursery!\n\nand stop when she turns her head away or no longer follows the ball with her eyes.\n\n## GET UP AND GO: GROSS MOTOR SKILLS\n\nFrom the moment your baby is born, he begins working on his gross motor skills. It's important that you support your baby's head and neck during the first few weeks as he gains control of the muscles in his neck. As your baby grows, he develops muscle control from the top down. He begins by learning to balance his head, which is quite heavy relative to the rest of his body weight, and then to control his arm movements, and then to control his legs. Really, it's just a matter of strength, coordination, and practice before the floppy-headed infant in your arms develops into the creeping, crawling, walking, and running tornado that will whirl through your house over the next several years.\n\n**Dottie Says**\n\n  _\"Its never too early to start pampering yourself. A gentle massage feels wonderful and really relaxes me. I love to hear my mommy's voice and feel her gentle touch. I can really tell how much she loves me.\"_\n\nThe language of touch is the first language that your baby will understand. Massage can calm and soothe your baby as it communicates your love and care for her. Your hospital or birth center may offer postpartum baby massage classes, which are a wonderful way to meet other new mothers while gaining confidence in your newborn massage technique.\n\nYour baby should be naked to enjoy a massage. Since many new babies don't like the feeling of being naked, use a light blanket to cover the parts of her body you are not touching. If you like, you may use a light massage oil on your baby's body, or you may use just your hands. Make sure you warm your hands before touching your baby. Talk or sing to her during the massage, telling her what you are doing. In the first month, be sure to use a very gentle touch. When your baby is older, you can exert more pressure. Once you have touched your baby, keep at least one hand in contact with her until the massage is over. Don't massage your baby's tummy if she's just eaten, and be sensitive to her reactions. If she does not seem to be enjoying the massage, stop right away. You can always try again when she is a few weeks older.\n\nIf she is enjoying the massage, you can vary the strokes you use. Try rubbing in light circles or stroking from top to bottom. Here are some other motions you can try:\n\n  * stroking with an open palm\n\n  * stroking with just your fingers\n\n  * lightly \"raking\" with your fingertips\n\n  * gently tapping with your fingertips\n\n  * massaging arms and legs with a gentle \"wringing\" motion\n\nAs your baby begins to gain greater control over his body, you can help him figure out how it all comes together gether by doing such simple things as changing his position. He can't move himself from side to side, or from back to stomach, but he may enjoy the different perspective and feeling of these different positions. Always make sure you support your baby on his side by placing a rolled-up receiving blanket or cloth diaper on either side of him, so he does not unexpectedly roll backward or onto his face. Never leave your baby unattended during \"tummy time\" or allow him to lie facedown on any soft surface or blanket.\n\nAnother way you can help your baby become comfortable in her skin is through movement. Experiment with walking, dancing, rocking, or gentle bouncing while holding your baby to allow her to experience the sensation of moving through space. Be careful to support her head and keep her body close to yours so she feels secure. If she seems agitated, try slower or smoother movements. Short, abrupt movements may startle or confuse some babies.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Shall We Dance?_\n\nPut on a CD and waltz around the room with your tiny dance partner. Change the music and try a rocking cha-cha step. Experiment to see what pleases your baby, whether it's a rhythmic bounce to some rock and roll, or a gentle glide to a composition by Debussy. The Baby Prodigy _Musical Pacifier_ CD series is a perfect accompaniment for a pas de deux. One baby I know was comforted without fail by a free-spirited sixties-style whirl around the living room to John Lennon's \"Free as a Bird.\" Make sure that the music is not too loud and that your baby feels securely supported as you dance.\n\n#\n\n _y husband and I were wondering when our baby was going to do something exciting. After putting up with weeks and weeks of sleepless nights, I felt like a cute baby trick would be the least he could do for me. One day, when he was about ten weeks old, I was taking him out for a stroll and I stopped to admire a dog. I said, \"Look, honey, it's a doggie!\" He looked right at me and gave me the biggest smile. He did something for me, all right\u2014he completely melted my heart._\n\n_Beverly, Connors mom_\n\n## WELCOME TO YOUR NEW LIFE\n\nAs you slowly emerge from the sleepless daze of the past four weeks and begin to get into the groove of this whole parenting thing, you'll be delighted to discover that the adorable tiny bundle you brought home from the hospital is becoming a curious and interactive little person. These early months give you a taste of what is to come as your baby begins to express her desire to learn more about the world.\n\nAs your baby begins to study her environment in earnest, you may begin to feel pressured to be the best teacher you can be. You may suddenly start noticing all the products offered in various baby catalogs and become overwhelmed by the wide range of \"educational\" toys on the market today. But don't get too stressed out about how to ensure your budding genius graduates with honors from the college of her choice. In fact, you are probably doing\u2014 quite naturally\u2014many of the things that most effectively promote brain development. What's important to remember, especially with infants at this stage, is to avoid over-orchestration and overstimulation. At this age, and for the rest of your baby's early development, learning occurs just as much in informal activities as in structured ones.\n\n## SETTLING IN\n\nAs your baby matures, she will be able to maintain for longer periods of time the quiet alert stage I discussed in the last chapter. The number of interactive opportunities for stimulating your baby's senses and interests increases as her capacity for focus increases. Most of the activities suggested in the last chapter become more and more interesting for both you and your baby to play. As you stimulated your infant over the past four weeks, you were laying the groundwork in her memory for some of the games in this chapter.\n\nLast month you may have felt like you were simply playing with and talking to a very beautiful little doll. Over the next few months, try some of the same games and see what an interactive little partner you now have. A baby who tracks a black-and-white plush toy when he is three weeks old may be eagerly reaching for the same toy when he is nine weeks old. The slippery little fish who at three weeks would wriggle and fuss in the bath now begins to calm down as soon as you begin to sing his special bath-time song.\n\nThe shared enjoyment you and your baby are experiencing is laying the groundwork for your child's social development. Toward the end of three months, stuffed toys become a great tool for strengthening baby's early social skills. When you chat with teddy bears or converse with stuffed elephants, you are modeling communication skills and setting the stage for those long babbling conversations between older babies and their precious plush friends.\n\nYour baby's growing interest in objects and people will begin to expand to the world beyond his nursery. Start getting baby out and exposing him to the whole big world. Your baby will still love being in a carrier or sling, which gives him a feeling of security, while he is exploring a whole new sensory experience. One mother who raised her young daughter in New York City took the opportunity of running errands to introduce her daughter to the world.\n\nShe did all of her chores by bus or subway, so her daughter could enjoy a vast array of sights, sounds, and smells. When the baby had had enough, she would simply turn her face into her mother's chest and have a nap.\n\nYou don't have to live in a city to give your baby a wide range of experiences. If you live in a suburban area where you need to drive, then drive to a park or to the mall, put the baby in a front carrier, and take a stroll as he absorbs all the different sensations. If the weather permits, take your baby outside in the stroller. If the weather's lousy, choose an indoor location, such as the mall, or take a tour of your house. Even just standing and looking out the window with him will give your baby something new to focus on.\n\nVary the type and amount of stimulation your baby is getting. As a rough rule of thumb, you'll want to provide your baby with opportunities for stimulation during _at least half_ 'of his waking hours. Make sure that the activities range from low key and soothing to more stimulating and exciting.\n\nDifferent areas of your baby's skills develop more noticeably at different ages. From one to three months, the gross motor skill development is very easily apparent. Head control improves, as does posture\u2014your baby no longer scrunches up into a little ball at every opportunity. Kicking is an exciting new exercise. Your baby's hands are a constant source of wonder and interest, too, as your child now learns she can move them in and out of the range of her vision and, shortly thereafter, that she can reach for the things that interest her.\n\n**Dottie Says**\n\n _\"I love it when Mommy takes me with her on her morning runs. Sitting in the jogging stroller is a great way to watch the whole big world go by.\"_\n\nJogging with your baby is great exercise for you and an exciting outing for her. But make sure you always use the right equipment, and be sure her head and neck are well supported. At this age, your baby could suffer serious injuries if bounced or jostled vigorously. Avoid any bouncing activities that could shake or jar your baby's unsupported head or neck. Don't run with your baby in a front carrier or pack, and make sure to reject any roughhousing or physical games\u2014 like tossing baby up into the air\u2014in favor of nonjarring activities.\n\n## SLEEPING AND WAKING\n\nNo promises, but toward the end of the third month, your baby may start sleeping through the night. Now, don't get too excited yet. I define \"sleeping through the night\" for a baby at this age as staying asleep for at least six consecutive hours. That means you may have a baby who wakes for a midnight feeding and then sleeps right through until just before six\u2014or you may have a baby who wants to take his six hours between nine p.m. and three a.m. and then have company until he is ready for an early morning nap around six a.m. Unfortunately, \"sleeping through the night\" almost never means you can log the eight blissful hours of solid sleep you enjoyed pre-baby!\n\n**Did You Know?: Hiring a Caregiver**\n\n  Now that your baby is nearing three months old, I want to briefly talk about caregivers other than you or your partner. Whether you will be returning to work or are simply hoping to have an occasional babysitter, you will need to make the important decision of who will care for your baby when you are not able to be with him. I talk about this more in the next chapter, but to get you started thinking about what your baby needs from caregivers other than his parents, consider the following:\n\n  * All caregivers are an important part of your child's development and learning.\n\n  * Warm and caring relationships with adults provide children with the basis for all types of learning.\n\n  * Caregivers should see everyday caring routines as opportunities for expanding a child's brainpower.\n\n  * You should allow yourself about six to eight weeks to hire someone.\n\n  * Plan to spend time with a new caregiver before having her fly solo, so you can observe how she interacts with your baby and get used to the way she does things. (Which might not be the same way _you_ would do it, but you do have to be comfortable with her style.)\n\n  * Communicate an attitude of trust in the caregiver. Your baby will take his cues from you.\n\nIf you will be placing your child in home or institutional day care, or plan on hiring a caregiver before the end of the third month, skip ahead to the next chapter to read about what to look for in all kinds of child-care situations.\n\nAt this age, a baby who is following a textbook course of development (and congratulations if yours is\u2014I hope you know how lucky you are!) would wake about the same time each morning, eat, stay awake for a bit, nap, wake again, enjoy lunch, then have another nap followed by a longer period of afternoon wakefulness, eat \"dinner\" and take an evening nap before waking for the last feed of the night, and then go back to bed for six (or more) hours of sleep.\n\nEven if your baby hasn't read that particular book, the good news is that as his patterns of eating, sleeping, and waking become more apparent, you can encourage a more regular schedule by actively managing the different parts of your baby's day: wakings, feedings, naps, outings, and baths. Try to ensure that these activities occur at or near the same times every day. Start stretching the periods between feedings by getting the baby interested in other things. After a feeding, instead of letting your baby drop off to sleep, try to engage him in an activity you know he enjoys.\n\nMost parenting books have extensive sections on sleep that apply to babies at this age. There are many different approaches, and you can do some research and come up with the method that works best for your family and your baby.\n\n## STIMULATING YOUR BABY\n\nAs I've already mentioned, most parents naturally do the things that provide infants with stimulating environments\n\n**The Midnight Diaper: To Change or Not to Change**\n\n  It's possible that by now you have been able to master the unobtrusive diaper change: super speedy and done in dim light. If you have this skill, then your baby may not even twitch once she falls asleep after a feeding. You can always change her diaper before you begin the middle-of-the-night feeding, although you then risk a crying jag that can disturb the whole household.\n\nAnd so I'd like to propose a radical diapering strategy that lets everyone get back into bed in pursuit of those six straight hours of blissful shut-eye: Dare to skip that midnight diaper change! As long as there is no poop, simply scoop your baby out of bed, feed her, and slide her back into her crib. Disposable diapers are superduper absorbent, and will keep moisture away from baby's skin until she awakens you for her early morning feeding. Of course, if your baby has a dirty diaper, or a diaper rash or other skin condition, you'll have to continue with late-night diaper changes along with the late-night feedings. But in order to promote a trend toward sleeping through the night, don't stimulate your baby during these feedings by chatting, turning on lights or music, or playing games. Sit quietly, let baby eat in as sleepy a fashion as possible, and slip her back into bed.\n\nfor growth. You're probably not even aware of the daily things you do that all work together to help to stimulate your baby and reinforce the connections in her brain that are forming daily.\n\nJust for fun, here's a short list of some of the things you\n\n**Taking a Bottle**\n\n  If you are breast-feeding, now is a good time to get your baby started on accepting a bottle. It is undeniably useful to be able to leave an occasional feeding to someone else. If you are planning to go back to work, and even if you intend to pump breast milk, someone else will have to give your baby a bottle or two during the day. Some babies have no trouble switching between breast and bottle, but others are fussier about the switch.\n\nHere are a few tips to make acceptance of the bottle easier for both of you:\n\n  * Start to offer a bottle (either breast milk or formula) somewhere around six to eight weeks.\n\n  * Wait until your baby is hungry, but not frantically so.\n\n  * Have a substitute feeder\u2014someone other than baby's Mom\u2014offer the bottle. (In fact, Mom, it's probably best if you leave the room, if not the house. Remember, your baby's acute sense of smell will let her know if her preferred milk source is nearby!)\n\n  * When offering the baby a bottle, cuddle her and maintain eye contact, just as when she nurses.\n\n  * Don't let one successful bottle-feeding make you complacent. Even if you are primarily breast-feeding, offer a bottle once or twice a week. As your baby gets older, he will become more willful\u2014and possibly pickier. If he is not used to the bottle, he may reject it outright.\n\ndo that provide your baby with positive stimulation. See how much you do without even trying!\n\n  *   **Love:** _Of course I love my baby_ is what you are probably thinking, but treating your baby with loving care makes her feel secure. A secure baby is more willing to explore her environment and to initiate interactions. The tone of voice, the quality of touch, and the focused attention that a loving parent lavishes on his or her child is the cornerstone of your baby's happiness and confident development.\n\n  *   **Relate:** Be sure to relate to your baby on a level she can understand. Simple explanations of daily activities stimulate the connections between actions and words. Your baby is a learning machine. Understanding your baby's cues and being responsive to her needs foster security and, later, independence.\n\n  *   **Appreciate your baby's character:** Your baby is a unique individual\u2014one that you as a parent no doubt find endlessly delightful and entertaining. How you respond to his own particular quirks and charms shapes his experience of the world. Always be appreciative of your baby's abilities, and have positive expectations for his development.\n\n  *   **Have fun:** Every time you play with your baby, you create a new learning experience. So go ahead: indulge yourself and him with silly songs, games, or funny voices or by dancing around a room or rolling on the floor.\n\n  *   **Give space:** Quickly learn to read your baby's cues to understand when she has had enough stimulation. As you become attuned to your baby's thresholds for stimulation, you know when to politely tell Aunt Jane that her favorite niece has had enough \"kootchy-coo\" for one morning. You also give your baby \"space\" in another sense of the word by providing a secure environment for her ongoing explorations.\n\n  *   **Let baby be boss:** You pick up your son when he cries; you soothe your daughter when she is fussy. Let your baby tell you what he needs, then follow your instincts.\n\n  *   **Realize that timing is everything:** Whenever you respond promptly to your baby's request, you facilitate the connections in your baby's brain that govern cause and effect. You learn to judge your baby's states of alertness and drowsiness and can then play with her and soothe her at the right times.\n\n  *   **Use positive reinforcement:** More good cause-and-effect training here! Your enthusiastic support of everything from burps to tummy rolls sets the tone for a lifetime of encouraging your child to explore his developing skills.\n\nSimply by being an attentive and responsive parent you are doing exactly what your child needs to reinforce the neural connections and pathways that are rapidly forming\n\n**Games Siblings Play**\n\n It's almost impossible to predict how your older child may react to the realization that the newest member of the family is settled in for the long haul. Articulate toddlers may tell you that they'd like the baby to go back to the hospital. Older siblings may not exhibit any signs of jealousy and may, in fact, be overzealous in their attempts to care for \"their\" new baby. You can expect to walk the fine line of meeting all your children's needs for your time and attention for the rest of your life. But right now, there are a few things you can do to help everyone bond and adjust to their new relationships as brothers and sisters.\n\nThe most important thing you can do is stress to your older child that the love in your family isn't divided between each person in the family; rather it just keeps growing bigger to accommodate everyone.\n\nin her developing brain. Raising a smarter, happier baby is easy once you understand that simply caring for your child in a warm and responsive way provides positive benefits in these important early years.\n\n## BABY STEPS\n\nFrom the end of the first month to the end of the third month, your baby begins making the huge developmental leaps that you will continue to marvel at\u2014probably for the rest of her life!\n\nRemember that you have bonded with your baby through caregiving, so it's perfectly logical that allowing an older sibling to help with basic baby care will help to forge a stronger bond between them. Allow an older child to help with feeding, burping, diapering, and bathing as much as he is able. An older child can be a \"babysitter,\" watching or playing with the baby as she sits in her bouncy chair or lies in her crib.\n\nLet your older child \"help\" the baby by opening baby gifts and showing the baby any new toys. (It's perfectly fine for the older child to try out the toy for the baby!)\n\nTeach your older child how to show things to the baby slowly, allowing the baby time to study them carefully. Let the older child show the baby his books, games, and schoolwork. Make sure he understands the baby's way of showing appreciation: with smiles and long intent gazes. Monitor the interactions carefully to help your older child learn the signals for when the baby has had enough stimulation.\n\nBy the end of two months, your child should achieve the milestones listed below. If you are concerned about your child's rate of development, consult your pediatrician.\n\nDuring the second month, your baby should be able to:\n\n  *   smile back at you when you smile\n\n  *   respond to a noise with a startle, by crying, or by becoming quiet\n\n  *   vocalize by cooing (rather than crying)\n\n  *   track an object held directly above her face\n\n  *   lift her head while on her stomach\n\n  *   hold her head steady\n\n  *   pay attention to a very small object\n\n  *   grab hold of an object held to the tips of her fingers\n\n  *   reach for an object\n\nIt is possible that by the end of the second month, your baby may:\n\n  *   lift her head 90 degrees while on her stomach\n\n  *   laugh\n\n**Dookie Says**\n\n  _\"Why won't this big person leave me alone? He keeps leaning in close to me and talking loudly. I try looking away, but that just makes him pick me up and bounce me around. When I start to cry, he shows me toy after toy after toy. I can't even concentrate on them all. Oh, I don't want to play like this. I think I'm going to scream!\"_\n\nAn important thing for you to remember, as you try some of the suggestions in this chapter for stimulating your baby, is to pay close attention to your baby's signals. Make sure the stimulation you are offering is age-appropriate. It's easy to tell when you're on the right track: Your baby will be smiling and engaged. If he starts to look bored, bothered, or bewildered, gear down. Give him a couple of minutes to collect himself while you flip back a few chapters and find a simpler activity to try. Remember, stimulating or soothing your baby needs to be fun and satisfying for both of you.\n\n**Toy Chest**\n\n  Now that your baby is spending more time awake and interested in her surroundings, you can expand your repertoire of entertainment devices. You will want to have a number of options for your baby to explore during the day. When choosing toys for your baby at this age, consider the following:\n\n  * Is this a toy that soothes or stimulates?\n\n  * What senses does this toy stimulate?\n\n  * Is this toy something he can watch or something he can actively play with?\n\nAlthough your baby will now really appreciate a wider variety of toys, you don't have to clean out your local toy store. You can create toys that will fascinate your baby by using simple household items. When using household items, be sure they are safe. Your baby is approaching the age where her mouth is as important for exploring as her hands. From this point on, your baby will consider any object a plaything\u2014 an exciting new toy to be handled and explored. You'll need to ensure that there are no sharp edges, objects are not too tiny, and the things you don't want her to handle are out of range. Flip ahead to the next chapter for more specific tips on safe toys.\n\nHere are some of my favorite ways to turn household items into toys:\n\n  * Spoons (shiny), keys (jingly), and tassels (brightly colored) can be clipped securely to an elastic and strung above your baby's head in her crib. Your baby will happily stare at this homemade mobile\u2014and you can change objects as often as you like.\n\n  * Light and colorful things like aluminum pie plates, decorated paper plates, and ribbon streamers move easily in air currents. When your baby is able to swipe at objects, she will enjoy making these kinds of things swing and sway.\n\n  * A mirror gives your baby the opportunity to study an object she still finds fascinating: a face. (However, she won't recognize herself until around fifteen months.)\n\n  * Make a paper plate maraca (see p. 73.) and hold it where your baby can see it as she listens to the rhythmic shaking.\n\nIf you simply can't resist temptation as you pass a children's shop (and what parent can?), here are some suggestions for toys that your baby will enjoy both now and in the coming months:\n\n  * rattles or toys that make sounds\n\n  * toys that light up or flash or change color\n\n  * CDs of classical music or children's lullabies\n\n  * plush animals with different textures: shaggy, smooth, scaly\n\n  *   follow an object from one side to the other\n\n  *   smile without being prompted\n\nBy the end of the third month, your baby should be able to do all of the above and may also be able to:\n\n  *   lift her chest off the ground by using her arms while on her tummy\n\n  *   roll over (one way)\n\n**Safety Watch: Infant CPR**\n\n  One of the most important things you can do to ensure your child's safety is to take an infant CPR class. Check with your hospital to see if it offers one for new parents. The CPR technique for babies under one year differs from the one for babies one year and older, so plan to take a refresher course when your baby turns one.\n\n  *   turn toward your voice\n\n  *   blow a raspberry\n\n  *   keep head level as she is pulled into a sitting position\n\n## BABY TALK\n\nBy the end of the third month your baby is realizing that he lives in a world made up of sounds. He's also beginning to make the connection that all these sounds mean something. By now you have probably become adept at interpreting your child's cries. You can easily tell when he is hungry, uncomfortable, or tired, and you can respond promptly and correctly. As he becomes confident that his needs are being met, he will begin experimenting with other types of communication.\n\nThe way you communicate with your baby is shifting. You now need to talk _with_ instead of _at_ your child. Quite\n\n**Your Baby's View: When Enough Is Enough!**\n\n  Imagine this scenario: You're at a party and find yourself trapped behind the buffet table with the most dreaded of all party guests: the close-talking boor. She leans in and rapid-fires question after question at you\u2014\"How _are_ you? Where's your precious baby? Have you gotten him to sleep through the night yet? No? Do you want to know what I did? Where did you get those adorable shoes?\" Your head begins to ache. You answer in a monotone, with curt sentences.\n\nShe presses closer.\"Here, try some of this ham salad. Oh, you're a vegetarian? Well, have some bean dip. No? What's the matter\u2014you're not hungry? Try some finger sandwiches. Go on\u2014try one bite.\" You glance away and maybe take a step backward.\n\nShe's relentless. She moves closer still and grabs your arm. \"Here, look at pictures of our family vacation. See, there's Ralph doing the hula. And here's little Suzy's ballet rehearsal.\" This time you turn your whole body away and wave at a friend across the room. You don't want to be rude, but if she doesn't give you some space, you're going to have to say something\u2014or even simply walk away.\n\nNow imagine that you're trapped at this same party, with the same ill-mannered guest. But you can't talk, or wave to your friend to rescue you, or walk away. The next time your baby gives you a signal that your attentions have become overpowering, be a polite parent and excuse yourself from the party, before you force your baby to be rude.\n\nsimply, babies who are talked to a great deal become talkative. You can still continue a running commentary as you move through your day, as I suggested in the previous chapter, but now you need to pause occasionally, listen to the input from your tiny audience, and respond to his \"comments.\" At this age, babies are very interested in repetition, tone, and cadence. And by using your body\u2014gestures and facial expressions\u2014you make whatever you are saying even more compelling.\n\nThe interactions you have with your baby at this age lay the foundation for her social talking. Your baby will soon get the idea that conversation is a two-way street. And the more social talking a baby experiences, the more practice talking she will attempt on her own time. Over the next few months, her sound making may take on a conversational rhythm with pauses and repeated tones and sounds.\n\nWhen chatting with your baby, don't oversimplify what you are saying. Speak conversationally and be sure to pause to allow for a reply. If you really want a big response, use a higher-pitched voice or a singsong tone (called \"parentese\" in some parenting books). Babies are more responsive to a voice with this sound, and soon you should be rewarded with a wide range of coos, gurgles, and giggles, often accompanied by gestures and wriggles as your baby jumps into the conversation with you.\n\nOf course, reading to your baby is another way to stimulate the language centers of her brain. By three months, a baby can pay attention to pictures in books and will enjoy sitting on your lap as you name the objects on the page. In the bookshelf section of this chapter, I suggest several books with simple, colorful illustrations and rhythmic language that should capture your child's attention.\n\nMost important of all, _listen_ to your baby and respond verbally each time he makes noises at you. And remember, when your baby becomes quiet, closes his eyes or looks away, or begins to fuss, he's telling you he's had enough chatter for the moment. Be respectful and spend some time in a companionable silence.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _The Name Game_\n\nPointing and naming games are of great interest to babies of this age. It's an especially good game to play with body parts. By doing this, you can incorporate two other important learning tools: questions and gestures. When your baby is in a quiet alert stage, begin by pointing to a part of your face\u2014the part of your body your baby is most interested in looking at at this age. Ask her \"What's this?\" as you point at your nose. Expect a look of intense concentration as she takes in your question. \"This is Mommy's nose,\" you tell her. And then touch her on the nose. \"And this is baby's nose.\" Watch as she begins to anticipate both the question and the touch.\n\n#### _And Today's Guest Is..._\n\nMake like a talk show host and interview your baby. Use a high-pitched voice to ask your questions, and then wait for him to reply before translating his answer for the studio audience. Add gestures: pretend you're holding a microphone up to him as you wait for a reply. If his \"answer\" is astonishing or hilarious, exaggerate your response.\n\n#### _A Classic Crowd-Pleaser_\n\nIncorporate touch and language by playing games like \"This Little Piggy\" Or sing \"Itsy-Bitsy Spider,\" using your fingers to walk up your baby's tummy as the spider crawls up the waterspout and trailing your fingertips down his body to illustrate \"down came the rain.\" Be creative and discover how many other nursery rhymes and songs lend themselves to a multisensory experience.\n\n#### _The Echo Game_\n\nWait for your baby to make a specific sound\u2014not a cry or a grunt, but a coo or a gurgle. Imitate the noise back to him. It's likely he will mimic the noise back to you again. Vary the tone of your voice as you imitate each noise he makes. Soon you'll begin to feel as if you're carrying on a conversation\u2014in a second language you didn't even know you spoke: baby-ese.\n\n## THE LITTLE THINGS: FINE MOTOR SKILLS\n\nAs your baby's motor control has developed, she has discovered to her delight that there are fascinating little things attached to the ends of her arms. These entertaining objects weave in and out of her field of vision and sometimes even find their way into her mouth. Yes\u2014your baby has discovered her hands. At first her hand movements are totally random, but as the weeks go by, she will\n\n**Bookshelf**\n\n  When you sneak out for that rare escape to a nearby bookstore or, better yet, bookstore\/caf\u00e9, you will find a slew of books that will be appropriate for your one- to three-month-old. Here I offer general guidelines and a few of my specific favorites. Be prepared to read some of these over and over again, as they might become well-loved favorites that your baby may demand for months and months before moving on.\n\nKeep in mind that by two months, babies can focus on and pay attention to pictures in a book. They don't know what the pictures actually mean, but this is a first step in emergent literacy.\n\n**Books for You**\n\n  * **_Baby Mind: Brain-Building Games Your Baby Will Love_** by Linda Acredolo, Ph. D., and Susan Goodwyn, Ph. D.\n\n**Books to Enjoy with Your Baby**\n\n  * Board books with photos of other babies that can be propped up on crib or blanket\n\n  * Small plastic photo albums of family and friends\n\n  * **_Color Zoo_** by Lois Ehlert\n\n  * **_Baby Shapes_** by Helen Dorman\n\n  * **_Freight Train_** by Donald Crews\n\n  * **_Big Red Barn_** by Margaret Wise Brown\n\n  * **_Tickle, Tickle_** by Helen Oxenbury\n\n  * **_Pretty Brown Face_** by Andrea and Brian Pinkney\n\n**Books for Your Older Child**\n\n  * **_Julius, the Baby of the World_** by Kevin Henkes\n\nbe able to move her hands more purposefully. Even if your baby enjoyed being swaddled as a newborn, it's important now that you leave her hands free so that her random hand movements can become controlled. From eight to ten or twelve weeks of age, toys that are light, easy to grasp, and make some sound can help your baby establish a connection between herself and her hands.\n\nAs your baby begins to explore his ability to control his hands in order to touch something he is looking at, you can help him make the connection by purchasing or making lightweight fabric rattles that can fasten around his wrists. As he waves his arms around, the noise will capture his attention and direct his eyes to what his hands are doing.\n\nAfter twelve weeks, your baby no longer needs the noise to direct his attention to his hands; he knows exactly where they are and is intent on watching them. As he practices bringing his hands together in front of his face, then spreading them apart, then moving them out of sight, you can offer him opportunities to enhance his fine motor skills by handing him objects and letting him explore different sounds and textures.\n\nYour baby will use his hands to explore things through tactile sensation. You'll notice that although he becomes more and more accurate at reaching out to touch objects, he still has trouble picking them up. It will be several months before he develops the ability to use his fingers and thumb in the pincer grip that lets him manipulate smaller objects. At about three months he will use a two-handed approach to trapping objects, dragging them toward himself, often between his wrists, then scooping them up with his palms.\n\nOffer him a variety of surfaces to explore: rugs, fabrics, smooth and rough surfaces. Attach an activity board to the side of his crib. He may only swipe at it for now, but it offers all kinds of tactile, visual, and tonal stimulation.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Mini Conductor_\n\nAllow your baby to grasp your forefingers in her fists. Slowly move your hands back and forth, up and down. She will follow the movement of her hands with great interest. Add some music (of course we like the Baby Prodigy _Musical Pacifier_ CD series!), and ta-da\u2014your baby's conducting her first symphony.\n\n#### _Silk and Satin, Leather and Lace_\n\nScraps of fabric give your baby a chance to explore different sensations. Offer him a washcloth or a blanket with a smooth satin edge. Let him lie on the leather couch in the living room (and stay right next to him, because if you glance away for even a minute, I guarantee that will be the moment your little darling learns to roll over!) or hand him a plush animal. At first he may grasp the objects in his fist, but in a few months he will be able to feel the different fabrics more sensitively, using his fingertips.\n\n## HOW IT ALL FITS: SPATIAL DEVELOPMENT\n\nLike a camera coming into focus, your baby's vision improves at two months, then again at four months, and finally reaches 20\/20 at or around six months. Before three months, infants see best with their peripheral vision. They notice movement and can appreciate high-contrast patterns. Many of the games from the previous chapter will continue to delight your two-month-old. As her vision continues to develop, your baby becomes increasingly aware of her environment and able to study things by staring right at them. She can now follow objects that move in a circle (like mobiles). Our oldest daughter was absolutely fascinated by the ceiling fan. We would turn it on at high speed, at low speed, with the light fixture on or off. I even added a brightly colored tassel to the pull string. It was good for at least five minutes of silence as she stared wide-eyed at the rotating fan, as if hypnotized. Later, she would wave her arms toward the ceiling, like she was carrying on a sign-language dialogue with the whirring blades.\n\nNow that your baby is aware of the visual world around her, you need to ensure that she has something interesting to look at. I'm not recommending that you rush out and buy mobiles or mirrors or picture books and cover every inch of your baby's waking environment. Remember, _all_ objects are new to your baby, so she will enjoy almost anything you show or hand to her. Color, shape, sound, and weight are what make things interesting to babies. Remember, too, that you do not want to overstimulate your child. Don't offer more than one or two objects at a time, and be alert for any signs that your little one has had enough stimulation.\n\nHere's a short list of common household sights and objects to get you thinking about what kind of everyday things can provide visual stimulation for your child.\n\n  *   shadows on painted walls\n\n  *   venetian blinds\n\n  *   ceiling fans\n\n  *   faces\n\n  *   white paper plates with simple black or red shapes or simple faces\n\nYour baby is still attracted to black-and-white images, but as he approaches the end of his third month, he is growing more attracted to some primary colors, especially red. A study headed by Dr. Melanie J. Spence at the University of Texas at Dallas School of Human Development showed that infants of three months are able to differentiate between black and white and primary colors and that they prefer red and yellow over blue and green.\n\nAlong with an improvement in their vision, babies also begin to experience an improvement in their ability to control the movements of their arms and hands. As I discussed above, your baby will find her hands endlessly interesting. This interest in looking at things and reaching for things is the beginning of hand-eye coordination.\n\nBy the end of the third month, your baby will be able to purposely swipe at things. Toys such as a woolly ball can be strung up above his crib, so the ball is about ten inches from his face. He probably will not yet reach for these toys with the intent of grabbing them. Right now he's still concentrating on making those unpredictable hands and arms move the way he wants them to! He will bat at the ball, sometimes connecting with it to make it swing. You can also hang a light rattle as well. The sound, combined with the movement when he makes contact, will be very satisfying to him indeed.\n\nIn addition to mastering hand-eye coordination, your baby is on the way to developing his understanding of cause and effect!\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Playing Catch_\n\nHold a brightly colored ball about twelve inches away from your baby's face and just below eye level. (A ball that squeaks or has a bell is even better for capturing his attention.) Watch as your baby looks first at his hands and then at the ball, and then brings his hands together to clasp the ball. This exercise stimulates hand-eye coordination. Entertain your baby and yourself by adding your best sports announcer's play-by-play: \"Sam goes deep in center field. He sizes up the hit; he's looking at his glove, the ball, his glove... and... what a grab! He's got it, ladies and gentlemen! That's the third out and Team Baby wins the World Series.\"\n\n#### _Shake Your Booties_\n\nTreat your baby to a low-tech rhythm section by making maracas. Set two paper plates face-to-face, then staple around the edges of the plates, fastening them together but leaving an opening at the top. Fill with dried rice, beans, or seeds. Staple the opening securely shut and decorate the plates with bold colors and simple shapes. Keep the beat to your own singing, or shake along with a favorite CD selection. Don't let your baby get her hands on this instrument, however; she could open it, and the filling could be a choking hazard.\n\n## GET UP AND GO: GROSS MOTOR SKILLS\n\nAs your baby's control over her body moves downward, from head to feet, she begins to develop more strength in her torso. She enjoys being propped up in a sitting position, but you need to be careful. Until she is five or six months old, she will probably gradually slump or slide down in the place where you have propped her, and will be unable to wriggle back up into a comfortable position. Fabric \"bouncing chairs\" can provide her with exactly the kind of firm slope that allows her to sit up and see what's going on without collapsing over in a saggy heap! When she can lift her head and shoulders out of the chair, you can let her try supported sitting without the chair.\n\nIf you're using a bouncy chair you'll soon notice that your baby is also hard at work on mastering control of his legs. He'll quickly figure out that his legs, which used to jerk and twitch spastically, can now kick in a smooth and coordinated bicycle style.\n\nAs your child begins to develop his own personal physical-fitness program of kicking, arm waving, and rolling over, you need to be sure to provide him with plenty of opportunities to practice unrestricted movements. But be careful: Many parents have discovered their baby has mastered the new skill of rolling over only after they hear the distinctive thump and wail of a small body dropping off a bed as they stand nearby folding laundry! Allow for plenty of floor time (the safest place for practicing his rolling-over skills) and don't keep him cooped up in a stroller or baby seat. \"Tummy time\" is still important, as your baby works at strengthening his neck, shoulder, and forearm muscles.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Ready for Takeoff_\n\nLet your baby fly! Hold her securely with her belly resting on the inside of your forearm and your hand cupping her chest. Drape one of her legs on either side of your arm and use your free hand for additional support. Slowly and smoothly at first, and then at varying speeds, move her away from and then back toward your body. Add interesting noises like whooshes and engine sounds as she waves her arms and legs and \"flies\" from place to place.\n\n#### _Seesaw_\n\nWith your baby lying on his back, gently grasp his wrist and pull him upright to a sitting position. Make sure he is strong enough and has enough muscle control that he can hold his neck steady as you bring him up. Steady him in a sitting position for a few minutes, then slowly lower him back down. Add funny expressions to your face as you pull him toward you and sound effects as you lower him.\n\n**Safety Watch: Bathing Your Baby**\n\n  While you may have been able to get through the first month of your baby's life with simple towel baths, the day has come when both you and your baby are confident enough to graduate to bathing in a baby tub or sink.\n\nBy about two months, most infants enjoy being naked and will kick and splash gleefully. Instead of tensing themselves against the water, babies now delight in the sensation of floating and are thrilled to learn that with the water supporting some of their weight, they can do their best and hardest kicking. This kind of gross motor stimulation is important for your baby's physical development and has the added benefit of leaving your baby relaxed and thoroughly exercised. Scheduling a bath before your baby's evening feeding can be beneficial in promoting a good night's sleep.\n\nAlthough many parents may find bathing a squirming, slippery baby an intimidating prospect (I know I did!), a few simple tips can make bath time your baby's (and your) favorite time:\n\n  * A baby bathtub that can rest on the counter or fit in the sink will spare you backache. Or if you have a big enough sink in your kitchen or bathroom, you can pad the sink with towels to make a safe bathing place. Make sure that you turn the faucet away from your baby or wrap it with a washcloth to avoid scalding drips.\n\n  * Before beginning the bath, collect everything you need: towels, clean clothing, warm water.\n\n  * If you're still shaky about washing your baby's hair, undress him and swaddle him in a towel on your lap. Holding him on your lap or in a football hold (your hand supporting his head and neck, his body tucked under your arm), rinse his hair and wash his face.\n\n  * Support his head and neck with one hand, his bottom and thighs with the other, and lower him into the bath. Hold him while he gets used to it, then remove your hand from his bottom. Keep supporting his head and use your free hand to wash and play.\n\n  * Lift your baby from the tub by sliding your hand back under his bottom and gripping one of his thighs. Keep a good grip\u2014he'll be slippery. Gently lay him down on a large, soft towel and pat him dry.\n\n  * Baby lotions are not necessary but can smell nice. You should never use talcum powder on your baby; if you want to use a powder, look for one with a cornstarch base.\n\n#### _Take Your Mark, Get Set..._\n\nLet your baby lie on her tummy on the floor. Place your hands behind her feet and let her push off against your palms. At first she'll probably just be flexing and strengthening her legs, but before you know it, she'll have coordinated her efforts and be able to push off and scoot forward on her chest. Toward the end of the third month, this is a great exercise to stimulate creeping, the precursor to crawling.\n\n#\n\n  _was so happy the day that Debbie could sit on my lap and hold her head still to look at me. No more wobbling! Even more exciting was the day she could sit up and play. It doesn't seem that long ago that I would prop her up, and then have to run right over to stop her from tipping to one side. She seems so excited to explore her newfound abilities. I love watching her little hand reach out for her toys. And, at last, her big sister is able to play new kinds of games with her\u2014games that are interesting to both of them! Debbie has so much more to do now that she sits up\u2014and so do we._\n\n_Denise, Debbie and Daisys mom_\n\n## TIME FLIES\n\nIt's amazing to think that your baby is a quarter of the way to her first birthday already. All the adorable outfits you bought when she was first born no longer fit. She's wriggling out of the little plastic bathtub she used to be able to swim in. And after a full day of carrying her in the baby carrier, you need a few more yoga stretches to work the kinks out of your back before bedtime. It seems like every time you turn around, she's grown another inch or gained a few more pounds. But she's doing so much more than just adding upward spikes to the growth chart in her baby book. Even as you measure her physical progress, take the time to marvel at the amazing bounds she's made in emotional and intellectual development. The stimulation you provide in all your interactions with your child keep her entertained and engaged, even as important neuronal connections continue to be formed and enhanced.\n\nYour baby's interest in the world at large is exploding. She's exploring her environment at a phenomenal pace\u2014 there's so much to discover and learn!\n\n## AN INTREPID EXPLORER\n\nOver these next few months, you'll be able to add all kinds of milestones to the baby book as your child embarks on new adventures in eating, conversing, and playing. First foods, first \"words,\" and first teeth are all introduced into your relationship. You'll also notice that your baby is more actively _initiating_ interactions that stimulate all of his senses. He may be reaching out toward you, eagerly touching you, and exploring your mouth, nose, and ears with his finger. One father jokes that he was sure his son would grow up to be a dentist, given the baby's early and intense interest in exploring his father's molars for minutes at a time.\n\nYour baby's vision and memory are becoming more strongly linked. He will begin looking for dropped objects\u2014 and expecting you to notice he has dropped something as well. He may begin showing caution or fear by turning away, crying, or clinging at the sound of strange voices or when exposed to new situations. His verbal communications become clearer as he makes his moods known by fussing, or by calming himself, more deliberately. And of course, his mouth becomes another tool in his ongoing quest for knowledge as he explores the taste and texture of everything he comes in contact with.\n\nThe activities and stimulation you provide as you interact with your baby during these months will serve as early lessons in cause and effect. At first it will dawn on your baby that she can elicit your smiles and attention by smiling or verbalizing. Later, as you offer her a rattle to hold, she'll figure out that shaking the toy causes it to make a sound. Still later, she'll realize that holding her arms out toward you results in being scooped up for a cuddle. What all this means for you is that you now have an active participant in the games that you've been playing all along. You'll notice that some of the activities suggested in this chapter are similar to those in the previous chapter. Repetition is an important part of solidifying the connections your baby is making through the activities you do with her each day. For newborns, the games I suggested in the previous chapters laid the foundation for the creation of early\n\nGames Siblings Play\n\n  Much to your older child's interest and\u2014I hope\u2014delight, his baby sibling is turning into an interactive, admiring playmate. Your baby's smiles and laughs can charm her siblings as much as they charm you. Steer your older child toward rhyming or singing games where he can handle the actions and words and the baby can provide the appreciative audience. Some of the early favorites for toddler-led games in our household included:\n\n  * **Peekaboo.** The best of all the games in terms of eliciting a satisfying reaction from the baby.\n\n  * **Ring around the Rosie.** I would modify this game so that I held the baby in one arm and used my free hand to hold my older daughter's hand as we slowly spun in a circle. This works best when baby is in a front carrier. The \"all fall down\" part adds a greater thrill when you participate as well!\n\n  * **Old MacDonald.** You can provide the lyrics and leave the animal noises to the older child. It won't be long before the baby clamors to join in.\n\nmemories. Now you can build on those memories as you stimulate your older infant at a different level. Your relationship becomes more interactive each day, and it is important that you allow for your baby's participation. She will be eager to assert herself.\n\n## SLEEPING AND WAKING\n\nI know you're hoping that this is the point where I tell you that your baby will be sleeping straight through the night. And I hate to disappoint you, but with two children of my own, I know better than to make any promises. What I _can_ tell you is that by now, your baby may be sleeping up to eight consecutive hours each evening\u2014and of course, we've all heard of those lucky parents whose little angels are consistently logging a solid twelve-hour stretch of shut-eye each night.\n\nWhat is important at this stage of development is that you and your partner have a clear philosophy about sleep. You may decide that it's important to teach your baby how to fall asleep on her own and how to resettle herself if she wakes in the night. You may decide that you want to lull your child to sleep each night, singing lullabies and rubbing her back until she is soundly sleeping. You may decide that co-sleeping, which is also sometimes called a family bed, is the right approach for your family. There are many parenting books specifically devoted to the subject of children and sleep. I've listed a few in the appendix. Consult them for help in determining which method is best for you.\n\nAccording to most baby books, the \"average\" baby, between the ages of three and six months, will sleep between fourteen and sixteen hours a day. Now repeat after me: \"There is no such thing as an average baby!\" Some babies need more sleep, some less. Your baby will establish her own routine, but I can offer you a few basic tips for enhancing good sleep habits:\n\n  *   **Encourage longer, more regular naps with longer periods of wakefulness between them.** By the fifth month, your baby should be able to stay awake for about three and a half hours at a stretch. Help her expand her awake time by engaging her in activities she enjoys before offering her a feeding. Be careful not to overstimulate her when you _do_ want her to go to sleep.\n\n  *   **Keep to a schedule.** As much as possible, keep meals, outings, and baths at or around the same time each day. Routines will help your baby learn to anticipate what is expected of her.\n\n  *   **Whenever possible, put your baby to sleep in his crib.** He will soon associate his crib with sleep.\n\n  *   **Whenever possible, put your baby in his crib when he is drowsy, but still awake.** This will help him to learn to fall asleep on his own.\n\n## STIMULATING YOUR BABY\n\nIn every interaction with your child, you should be aware of how you can actively stimulate more than one of her senses and enhance all the connections that are forming. It may sound intimidating, but I want to reassure you that your natural instincts in caring for and playing with your child remain your best tools in enhancing and encouraging your baby's development.\n\nAt this important stage, when your baby is learning that he can have an effect on your behavior, it is important that you watch carefully and observe how your baby signals you. You may have a very outgoing baby who has great motor control and can use his body, such as by waving his hands or pointing, to express his desires. Or your baby may be a strong communicator who has developed a particular pattern of sounds to indicate what he wants. What's key here is observing the patterns of your baby's behavior and consistently and appropriately acknowledging what he is telling you through his nonverbal communications. Pay attention and learn what those grunts and hand waves mean to your baby, so you can react appropriately. Your reaction will reinforce the concept of cause and effect as well as increasing his ability to communicate\u2014both important milestones.\n\nPay attention to what your baby likes to look at. She will be showing clear preferences at this age. Make sure she has interesting objects to focus her attention on in her immediate environment, but don't overwhelm her. She is still only able to really concentrate on one thing at a time.\n\nFrom about six months on, your baby may be interested in observing moving objects, as long as the movement isn't too quick or jerky. Many parents introduce their children to DVDs or videos, like those in the Baby Prodigy series, at this time. The videos can focus their attention with classical music and show simple objects that they find interesting.\n\n**Your Baby's View**\n\n  What if you were set loose in the most fascinating store in the world, stocked with merchandise that you just couldn't wait to explore? You might be staring at a table full of unbelievably cute shoes, or a counter full of beauty products, or a display of gourmet cookware, or a wall full of flat-screen TVs, or a gym full of high-tech exercise equipment... You get the idea. Of course you'd stare at all the items and maybe tentatively touch one or two. But you might feel overwhelmed by all there was to look at, to smell, to sample.\n\nFinally, after agonizing deliberation, you decide. And from that moment you know what you want. You will not be deterred. You stride toward your prize, ready to claim it. You pick it up, admire it, and prepare to take it home.\n\nAnd then someone comes over and snatches it from your hand.\"No! No!\" she exclaims loudly, talking to you as if you're simpleminded.\"Don't touch that.\"\n\nYou're dumbfounded\u2014and perhaps more than a little upset. _Well, what the heck did they show me all that stuff for?_ you think as you head home, dejected and empty-handed.\n\nThis is how your baby may feel when set loose in your home. Before offering your baby a confounding array of choices, be sure that you are willing to hand over whatever he finally chooses as most interesting. Nobody likes to be tempted and then denied!\n\nSit with your baby while he watches a video or DVD and observe his reactions carefully. If he is smiling and engaged, he is ready for age-appropriate video entertainment. If he becomes fussy, turns away, or cries, he is overstimu-lated by the changing images, and you need to gear down and find his level of comfort with visual stimuli.\n\nOver the next few months, your baby's responses will grow more selective. She will turn her head in the directions of sounds she prefers. She will reserve her high-wattage grins for the people she loves best. Your baby's actions will also become more deliberate. This is a direct result of ongoing fine-tuning of the neuronal pathways that play a role in organized and purposeful communication. Although these changes may be the most remarkable that you observe in your baby during these few months, they are only a few of several areas undergoing important development.\n\n## BABY STEPS\n\nFrom the beginning of the fourth month to the end of the sixth month, your baby will make significant progress, especially in the area of gross motor control. The skills he develops over these three months are the skills that he needs to crawl, walk, run, and climb, so enjoy the little bundle in your arms while you can.\n\nBy the end of the sixth month, your child should have achieved the milestones listed below. If you are concerned about your child's rate of development, consult your pediatrician.\n\n**Feeding Your Baby: Starting Solids**\n\n  Depending on your pediatrician's recommendations, at some time between your baby's fourth and sixth months, you will get the go-ahead to begin introducing solid foods. In the first few months of solid feedings, the amount of food your baby consumes is secondary to the _experience_ of learning about different eating techniques (spoon versus fingers), flavors and textures, and the social aspects of mealtimes.\n\nBefore you can introduce the first bite of baby cereal, your baby must be able to sit upright unsupported and be able to swallow rather than suck. Don't worry if your baby isn't too interested in eating at first, and never force a baby who isn't interested to continue to eat.\n\nIt's easy to find advice on what to feed your baby. There are baby cookbooks for those people who want to prepare all of their baby's first meals by hand. There are prepared baby foods that are organic or all-natural. Your friends with babies of their own might offer advice as, no doubt, will family members. Your pediatrician can also set you on the right\n\nBetween the beginning of the fourth month and the end of the fifth month, your baby should be able to:\n\n  *   lift her head upright when lying on her stomach\n\n  *   laugh\n\n  *   follow an object as it is moved above her face from one side to the other\n\n  *   hold her head steady\n\ntrack. The next chapter will talk a bit about good early finger foods, but for now, here's a list of general tips that I found handy when first introducing solids to my children:\n\n  * **Gruel is great**. Yes, Oliver Twist may have grown weary of it, but a very thinned-out version of cereal is your best bet for pleasing early eaters. I used rice cereal thinned with breast milk until it wasn't much thicker than soup.\n\n  * **One for you, one for me.** Spoons, that is. Your baby will be as interested in grabbing the spoon as she is in the food that's on it. If you're really serious about getting the food into her, provide a second spoon for her entertainment between bites.\n\n  * **Bowls of cereal are easily confused with finger paints.** If you want to discourage your baby from splashing around in her dinner, keep the bowl close to you. She'll be just as happy drawing patterns on her tray with the drips that fall from the spoon!\n\n  * **The bigger the bib, the better.** Enough said. Except that you may also want to wear an apron to protect you from the inevitable swat that sends a spoonful of cereal flying.\n\n  *   roll over\n\n  *   grasp a rattle\n\n  *   reach for an object\n\n  *   make a razzing sound\n\n  *   bear some weight on her legs when supported\n\n  *   turn in the direction of a voice\n\n  *   verbalize a few vowel-consonant combinations\n\nBy the end of the sixth month, your baby should be able to:\n\n  *   sit without being supported\n\n  *   stand if holding on to something\n\n  *   pass an object from hand to hand\n\n  *   pick up a small object in a pincer grasp\n\n  *   babble steadily in vowel-consonant combinations\n\n  *   feed herself a cracker or piece of cereal\n\n  *   say \"ma-ma-ma\" and \"da-da-da\" (although not discriminately)\n\n**Dookie Says**\n\n  _\"I don't understand why Daddy gets so frustrated at dinnertime. This stuff they're giving me is so interesting. When I try to grab it, it just squishes through my fingers. I can draw on my tray with it, too. And the spoon! It's so much fun to wave it around and it makes a great noise when I bang it on the table. Daddy just keeps saying \"No!\" and pushing my hands away and taking the spoon. I guess this eating thing is not as fun for him as it is for me!\"_\n\nNo parent wants to raise a child without manners. But the early days of feeding solids are not the time to be a stickler for Emily Post's rules of etiquette. Remember that your baby is now capable of integrating multiple senses to learn about new experiences. Eating and playing with food or utensils is a part of that process. Be sure to make your child's early exposure to mealtimes a positive experience. Believe me, you'll have years and years during which you can remind him to take his elbows off the table during dinner!\n\n**Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho! It's Off to Work We Go**\n\n  For many working parents, the beginning of the fourth month signals a return to work and a need for high-quality child care for their baby. Deciding on another person to take care of your baby when you are not able to will be one of the most important decisions you make as a parent. One of the most common worries is that your baby will come to love her daily caregiver more than she loves you, her parents. I want to reassure you that no matter how much your baby loves her alternative caregiver, she will always love you in a completely unique way. The bond that you have created by interacting and stimulating your baby over the early months of her life is unbreakable.\n\nHowever, your child's attachment to his caregivers is vital to his development. Studies show that babies attach to the people who give them companionship and stimulation, not necessarily to people who attend only to their physical needs. You have spent the last few months consciously stimulating your baby in natural ways that will enhance his potential and development. You _know_ what your baby needs to be smarter and happier, and it is important that you find a child-care situation that continues to let him thrive. A child who experiences consistent, dependable care that is responsive to his signals and needs will develop a lasting confidence that his needs will be met, which in turn leads to a trust both in others and in his ability to communicate what he needs.\n\nWhen evaluating any type of child-care situation, whether one-on-one or group care, consider the following important guidelines.\n\n**One caregiver** :\n\n  * Make sure the caregiver is sensitive to each child's needs and unique individual developmental and cultural characteristics.\n\n  * Notice whether the caregiver's interactions with your infant are frequent and of high quality.\n\n  * Ensure that the caregiver responds to both verbal and physical signals from your baby.\n\n**A home, institutional, or other group day care situation** :\n\n  * Check to see if the caregivers have attended courses, workshops, or staff development programs.\n\n  * Be satisfied that the staff can bond strongly with your child.\n\n  * Look for small groups of children.\n\n  * Ensure that there is a primary caregiver assigned to infants and toddlers.\n\n  * Look for scheduling that keeps a child with an assigned caregiver for as long a period as possible. Children attach most securely to a person who gives them companionship and stimulation on a regular basis\u2014not simply to the person who meets only their physical needs. Make sure your baby gets a chance to really get to know the caregiver who is looking after her.\n\n  * Ask about staff turnover; it should be low.\n\n  * Be an active, participating parent.\n\nShould you be worried when your baby does attach to her caregiver? Absolutely not. In fact, a 1991 study from the University of Minnesota Center for Early Education and Development, which reported on attachment and bonding, showed that children with secure early attachments are more likely in later years to:\n\n  * be better problem solvers\n\n  * form friendships and be leaders\n\n  * be more empathetic and less aggressive\n\n  * engage the world with their confidence\n\n  * have higher self-esteem\n\n  * be better at resolving conflict\n\n  * be more self-reliant and adaptable\n\nIf you choose to or have to go back to work, base your child-care decisions on what you have learned about your baby in these early months. When you are able to make knowledgeable decisions about child-care situations, you can return to work\u2014confident that your child will continue to thrive. And, of course, there is plenty of time during the day\u2014before you go to work, and once you have returned home\u2014when you can focus exclusively on your baby, giving her the kind of stimulation she most enjoys and playing the games you have both come to anticipate and enjoy.\n\n## BABY TALK\n\nFrom the beginning of the fourth month to the end of the sixth month, you can expect to see a leap in your baby's language development. Action and response games take on new weight as your baby engages in meaningful two-way communication with you. At first her responses will simply be a gleeful smile or a wriggle of delight. Soon she will be mimicking sounds back to you. Pay attention to how your baby responds to your overtures. When you are talking to your baby, make sure you face her and look at her face for her response. She will learn that her expression will lead you to continue the conversation. My daughter loved a game called \" 'Round and 'Round the Garden\" (see below) when she was about five or six months old. When I got to the part that immediately preceded the tickle under her chin, she would tense with excitement, her eyes wide with anticipation. Sometimes she would even burst out laughing before the tickle. I loved seeing how she learned what was coming next, her expectant gaze on mine as she waited for her favorite part of the game.\n\nAs your baby goes into his sixth month, you will notice that his comprehension is beginning to sharpen. He may recognize names (Mommy, Daddy, those of siblings) and basic words such as \"no,\" \"bye-bye,\" or \"bottle.\" Your baby begins to attach meaning to words through repetition. So although you may not feel like saying \"bye-bye\" to the dog every time you leave the house, it's a good idea to do so. Adding a wave helps by connecting a gesture to the word.\n\nBy the same token, showing and telling become important ways to emphasize language. Use single words as you show baby common items. For instance, when changing your baby, hold up the diaper and tell him, \"Diaper. Let's change your diaper.\" At lunchtime, show him the spoon and say, \"Spoon. We eat lunch with a spoon.\" Allow your baby time to process each concept as you introduce it.\n\nWhile you may get tired of repeating yourself, rest assured that your baby can't get enough of the same words, stories, or songs. Have a few favorites that you can use consistently. Whether it's \"Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star\" or \"Itsy-Bitsy Spider\" or traditional nursery rhymes like \"Hey Diddle Diddle\" or \"Humpty Dumpty,\" rhyme and repetition help your baby develop an ear for the rhythm of speech and the flow of words. If you have any doubts about the power of this approach, I can tell you that one mother of a now nine-year-old girl recently told me that her daughter still recites _The Cat in the Hat_ from memory. Not surprisingly, it had been one of her favorite stories as a baby.\n\nYour baby is also discovering how to use his developing language skills to be sociable. Unfortunately, your little chatterbox does not possess the skill of volume control at this point! Be prepared for full-volume displays of his whole repertoire of laughs, squeals, and babbling\u2014even at inopportune times.\n\nBooks remain a great source of stimulation for your baby at this age. They can also provide you with opportunities to allow your baby to practice nonverbal response. When looking at a picture book, ask your baby questions like \"Where's the kitty?\" (or doggie, or baby, or Mommy, etc.). Pause and give her a chance to respond. At first she may glance expectantly at you, waiting for you to answer. Soon, she will begin to connect the word \"kitty\" with the picture on the page and will direct her gaze to the book. One day, no doubt to your surprise and pride, she will touch the book, placing her little finger right on the picture of the kitten.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Classic Rhythm and Rhyme_\n\nThere are many rhyming games you can play with your baby that combine hand movements or touch with short, rhythmic sentences. Here are a few of my favorites:\n\n**'Round and 'Round the Garden:** _'Round and 'round the garden, goes the teddy bear_ (rub your hand in a circular motion on your baby's tummy). _One step, two steps_ (slowly walk two fingers up from baby's tummy to chest, pause dramatically, and then swoop in for the last line). _Tickle me under there!_ (tickle your baby under her chin).\n\n**This Little Piggy:** _This little piggy went to market_ (wiggle baby's big toe). _This little piggy stayed home_ (wiggle second toe). _This little piggy had roast beef_ (wiggle third toe). _And this little piggy had none_ (wiggle fourth toe). _And this little piggy_ (hold pinky toe) _cried \"weee weee weee\" all the way home_ (run your fingers up baby's legs and end with a gentle tickle).\n\nTry varying the game by changing words or skipping a toe and see if your baby notices.\n\n**Pop Goes the Weasel:** Have your baby sit on your knees, facing you, to play this game. Hold her securely under the arms until she has mastered sitting unsupported\u2014then you can hold her by the hands or wrists for more excitement.\n\nGently bounce your knees as you sing: _All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought it was all in fun..._ (pause, and then give a big bump with your knees as you sing) _POP! goes the weasel._\n\nMake sure you pause before the big bounce and \"POP!\" so your baby can anticipate what is coming. Once she knows the song, she may try to pop herself up\u2014or even vocalize to \"POP!\" along with you.\n\n#### _Farmyard Fun_\n\nAnimal sounds are a big hit with babies in this age group. When you point out a particular animal to your baby\u2014in a book, on the street, in your home\u2014make the corresponding sound and encourage your baby when he makes similar sounds. _Moo, Baa, La La La_ by Sandra Boynton is a great book to use when introducing this concept.\n\n#### _Teddy Bear T\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_\n\nHelp your child develop language and social skills at the same time by using his favorite stuffed toys or plush puppets to carry on conversations. You can have the plush playmates talk to each other, to your baby, and to you. Change the pitch and intonation of your voice for each character. If you're fluent in a second language, perhaps \"Se\u00f1or Gato\" or \"Mademoiselle Chat\" can help you to begin to introduce words and phrases. (For more on bilingual babies, see the next chapter for ages seven through nine months.)\n\n## THE LITTLE THINGS: FINE MOTOR SKILLS\n\nDuring the early part of this time period, your baby is still working on gross motor skills. As she gradually begins to master the movement of her arms, torso, and legs, she'll\n\n**Bookshelf**\n\n  Your baby may be starting to become more interested in sharing a \"reading\" experience with you. Most babies of this age enjoy looking at realistic pictures, especially of family members. Remember that your baby still considers all books fair game for tasting and tugging, so no first editions just yet! Following are some of my favorite reading materials for four- through six-month-olds:\n\n  * plastic\/vinyl books for bath time\n\n  * a small photo album with family and pet pictures\n\n  * fabric books that are washable for cuddling and chewing\n\n  * _Clap Hands_ by Helen Oxenbury\n\n  * **_That's Not My Puppy..._** by Fiona Watt and Rachel Wells\n\n  * **_Pat the Bunny_** by Dorothy Kunhardt\n\n  * **_Moo, Baa, La La La_** by Sandra Boynton\n\nbegin to refine her ability to use her hands. By four months your baby will swipe at things that interest her. Swiping will quickly turn into grabbing. Your baby will enjoy grabbing on to any object you hand her. If her hands are clenched into fists, try offering her objects by touching them to the back of her hand. But it won't be long before she is reaching for things with an open palm and figuring out how to grab on to them. Babies at this age will enjoy handling most objects you offer to them\u2014and many you don't (like your earrings, hair, nose, etc.). Finally, she'll move on to picking items up with her forefinger and thumb in what is called a pincer grasp.\n\nMake sure your baby has a wide range of things to practice grabbing on to. Squishy throw pillows in different fabrics and textures are easy to grab; small plastic containers filled with objects like beans or marbles or paper clips make noises and shift balance as they are handled (see cautionary note below if using objects with small parts); small plush toys have different parts to grab and explore (look for ones that have bells or rattles inside); different types of paper are visually interesting and make sounds when crumpled.\n\n**An Important Note of Caution:** I see nothing wrong with letting your baby play with common household items but you must be _very careful_ to ensure his safety. Remember that, at this age, your baby explores with his mouth as much as his hands! Be sure that lids on containers are tightly sealed if small objects are inside, or use empty plastic medicine bottles with childproof caps. Make sure that containers are clean and free of paper labels that might be gummed off. Avoid using containers or items that held or contain toxic paints or other dangerous substances, and be sure nothing has sharp edges. Unless you are completely sure you're offering your baby a totally child-safe toy, do not let your baby out of your sight or reach! Instead, join your baby in his exploration of these fascinating household items.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Patty-cake and Clap Hands_\n\nAny games that draw your baby's attention to his hands are good at this stage. Demonstrate by clapping your own hands, then hold your baby's hands and guide them through the finger play as you sing along. You'll be surprised at how fast he catches on.\n\n#### _The Cup Clutch_\n\nYour baby may already be able to curl her hands around a bottle and help support it. Now let her explore how her fingers can work to clutch the rim of a small plastic cup or Tupperware container. Put the cup or container down on a flat surface in front of her and watch as she figures out how to pick it up by grabbing it along the edge.\n\n#### _Chomping Cheerios_\n\nBy six months your baby will probably enjoy munching on pieces of cereal. Let him practice his pincer skills by putting a few pieces of cereal on a tray in front of him. It's unimportant whether he actually eats the cereal. The task of picking up small items is what's important. But remember, since your baby also explores _everything_ by putting it in his mouth, you should be sure that you offer him something that is safe to eat and monitor him closely so that you know he is swallowing safely.\n\n**Toy Chest**\n\n  During these few months, common household objects can offer your baby plenty of opportunity for entertainment and exploration. Remember to offer only one or two choices at a time. Don't overwhelm your little one with too many options. Some good items to have on hand for improvisational toys are:\n\n  * wooden spoons\n\n  * plastic dishes\n\n  * plastic containers with tight lids (fill them with objects that make interesting sounds securely sealed into the container)\n\nYour baby will also enjoy playing with:\n\n  * balls\n\n  * simple rolling toys\n\n  * easy-to-grasp plush animals\n\nIf you just can't stay out of the toy stores and know that you're going to make at least one purchase for your baby at this age, I'd recommend getting one of the many kinds of activity tables that are available. These usually have a cloth seat that is surrounded by a plastic tray with different moving toys attached. Sometimes the seat spins around; on some models you can fold down legs to make the table stationary or fold them up under the rounded base to let the whole unit rock from side to side. Your baby can practice standing, spinning, and rocking and will enjoy making all the moving parts of the toys whirl, sway, and jingle. This toy will last well into the next few months and is a great way to keep busy little bodies occupied but safely in one place!\n\n**Safety Watch: Toys and Playthings**\n\n  Childproofing your baby's environment becomes more and more extensive as she grows. In the next chapter I talk about some of the things you need to do to help keep your baby safe once she begins crawling. Right now, as you begin to introduce a variety of toys and objects to your child for her to handle, you need to evaluate the safety of each item. For instance, you should never, ever allow your baby to play with plastic bags of any type. As you consider what household items might make an intriguing toy for your intrepid explorer, consider the following:\n\n  * Can this item break?\n\n  * Are there sharp edges?\n\n  * Is it too heavy?\n\n  * Will it be toxic if eaten, licked, or gnawed?\n\n  * Does this object contain items that are a choking hazard?\n\n**_One final note:_** Some toys or containers may hold items that could be a choking hazard for your child. If you choose to let your child play with such a toy (a paper plate maraca filled with dried beans, for example), make sure you stay with her while she is handling the object, so you can step in and redirect her attention if you need to take the toy from her for safety reasons.\n\n## HOW IT ALL FITS: SPATIAL DEVELOPMENT\n\nThis period is the beginning of real coordination and purposeful movement for your baby. He now realizes that he can reach toward an object that interests him and can touch it to cause a reaction. As his gross motor control progresses, he will become even more aware of how to move and affect his environment.\n\nHe is also becoming aware that there is a relation between visual, auditory, and sensory input. At this stage, he will love to play games that involve giving and taking, like the _Hot Potato_ game listed below.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Counting Cars_\n\nMost infants love to watch passing traffic. If you live on a well-traveled road, pull up a seat at a window with a good view of the road and settle in. If your street is quiet, a visit to a local caf\u00e9 or park might be a good way to watch traffic. As you hear a car approaching, call his attention to the sound of the motor: \"Here comes the car!\" Your baby will fix his attention on the vehicle and turn his head to watch it speed out of sight. Soon he will begin to anticipate the arrival of the car when he hears the approach of the engine. Discuss the cars with him as they pass by: \"Look, that car is red. There's a truck.\"\n\n#### _Hot Potato_\n\nPass a tennis ball or a squishy plush ball back and forth. Hand it to your baby and exclaim in delight as she clutches\n\n**Dottie Says**\n\n  _\"Mommy loves to take me out visiting. I know she wants to show off how cute and clever I am. In the beginning, I didn't mind meeting all these new people. The truth is, it was kind of a blur. But now! Well, it's sort of scary. Just the other day, some lady calling herself \"Auntie\" tried to pull me out of Mommy's arms. Who is this lady and why is she taking me away? She looked so different from Mommy that it made me cry.\"_\n\nAround six months, your baby may develop what is commonly referred to as \"stranger anxiety.\" Up until now, you may have had the kind of baby that you could hand off to anyone, anywhere without a peep. And suddenly, even Grandma's smiling face can cause an outburst. Your baby is simply trying to deal with too many new and unfamiliar stimuli.\n\nNow that his awareness of his environment is heightened, he needs time to process each of these stimuli\u2014from a distance. Help him find his comfort zone by asking people he doesn't see regularly to let him study them from a distance before they swoop in to touch or hold him. And though it takes the tact of an international diplomat, ask family to be respectful of his need for a little space at first, especially if it's been a while since he has seen them.\n\nMost important, don't worry about this perfectly normal developmental phase and remind your friends and relatives that it's nothing personal.\n\nit to her. Hold out your hands with an expectant look and see if she will pass the ball to you. In no time at all she'll catch on to the game and squeal with delight when you pass her the ball.\n\n## GET UP AND GO: GROSS MOTOR SKILLS\n\nYour baby is on the threshold of real independent movement. He can already roll over, prop himself up on his arms when lying on his belly, and sit up when propped. It's only a matter of time before he learns how to push himself up to sit, creep, or crawl and maybe even pull himself up to stand.\n\nAs he begins to challenge himself physically, his vestibular system (a nerve system centered in the brain stem and linked very closely with the cerebellum and inner-ear mechanism) is developing and allowing him to discover new things about balance and coordination. In your baby's early months, you have helped to stimulate the development of this system, although probably unconsciously. Every time you rocked, carried, or swayed your baby in your arms, you were stimulating this developing system.\n\nAccording to scientists, the vestibular system is one of the first parts of the brain to begin to function after conception. Dr. Richard M. Restak, author of _The Brain: The Last Frontier_ and _The Infant Mind_ , cites evidence accumulated in recent years that points to early vestibular stimulation as crucial in normal brain development. Rocking, jiggling, and moving rhythmically all stimulate the\n\n**Exercising with Your Baby**\n\n  Your baby is experiencing the exciting notion that his body is under his control. And now that you're a few months postpartum, you may be wishing your body would be back under your control! Exercises that you and your baby can do together are great for enhancing his gross motor development and easing yourself back into shape. Start these simple exercises early and gain strength as your baby gains weight.\n\n**Baby bench press.** Tones your biceps, upper chest, and shoulders. Lie on your back with your knees bent and feet flat. Place your baby facedown on your chest with your hands supporting him under his arms. Slowly raise your baby off your chest until your arms are fully extended. Slowly lower baby back down to your chest.\n\n**The butt bounce.** Tones your hips, waist, and buttocks. Sit on the floor with your legs extended. Sit your baby on your lap, with your hands supporting his back and shoulders. \"Walk\" forward on your buttocks, twisting your torso as you go.\n\nvestibular system. Infants who are stimulated by rocking have been shown to gain weight faster, develop vision and hearing earlier, and demonstrate distinct sleep cycles at an earlier age.\n\nAnother study, by Dr. Ruth Rice of Texas, has shown that fifteen minutes, four times a day, of rocking, rubbing, rolling, and stroking a premature baby will greatly enhance that baby's ability to coordinate movement. She makes a further link to cognitive development and the ability to learn.\n\n**Rock and roll.** Tones your abdominals and strengthens your back. Lie on your back with your knees bent and your lower legs held in the air parallel to the floor. Let your baby lie facedown on your shins with his armpits just over your knees. Support him under the arms. Tucking your chin, slowly raise your head and shoulders and rock forward, curling up as your toes touch the floor. Hold for a minute, and then gently roll back, lowering your head to the floor and bringing your lower legs back to parallel.\n\n**Peekaboo sit-ups.** Tones your abdominals. Sit on the floor with your knees bent and feet flat on the floor. Rest your baby on his back on your thighs. Hold his hands or wrists. Keeping your lower body still, gently roll back until your back is flat on the floor. Ask your baby, \"Where's Mommy?\" Roll back up and say \"Peekaboo!\" Don't forget to breathe during this exercise. To make it more challenging, roll halfway up and hold for 30 seconds, before coming all the way up. Bonus: Letting your baby coax you into a giggling fit during this exercise works your abdominals twice as much!\n\nYour baby will still enjoy being rocked. And if he enjoys it, you can add other movements, such as spinning or dipping or swooping from side to side.\n\nIt's important to let your baby learn about her developing motor skills and coordination by letting her try as much as she wants. Allow her space to try to creep. Of course, along with this desire for more movement comes a certain amount of frustration. But don't be too quick to jump in and move your baby if she isn't getting where she wants to be as quickly as she wants to. Babies learn by\n\n**Did You Know?: The Vestibular System**\n\n  The vestibular system refers to the receptors located in the inner ears. Semicircular canals on either side of the inner ear form arches in three different planes that are able to register movement of the head in any direction. It allows us to perceive weight and the effects of gravity.\n\nBut the vestibular system is also very closely related to the entire physiology of our bodies. Overstimulation, particularly of the visual system, can provoke motion sickness, which can be thought of as the vestibular system signaling to the digestive system that something is wrong.\n\nThe vestibular system also strongly influences muscle tone, communicating to the muscles how much they need to counteract the downward pull of gravity. This comes into play each time we perform an activity requiring balance or expend physical effort to climb stairs, adjust to changing levels (as when riding in an elevator), or recover our balance when we step in a hole.\n\nVestibular sensations contribute to the development of the nervous system before birth. The fetus's activity, which is sensed by this system, contributes to brain development during gestation.\n\nFor infants, turning over, being held upright, or being rocked or carried provides necessary vestibular stimulation. As your child grows, she provides herself with all the stimulation she needs: running, jumping, swinging, turning somersaults, or walking on a balance beam.\n\ndoing, and frustration can play an important role in motivating your child to develop the skills that allow her access to the things she wants.\n\nOne of the most frustrating steps in the development of movement is the fact that a baby who wants to creep forward often ends up moving backward instead. Your baby may become incredibly frustrated the first few times she tries to move toward an object and discovers herself scooting farther away from it instead. You can help her to discover forward movement by letting her push off with her feet against the palms of your hands when she is on her stomach.\n\nOf course it's a good idea to have a few diversionary tactics up your sleeve, since your baby's constant quest for independent motion can mean a lot of wriggling, rolling, and slithering\u2014often at inopportune times, like during a diaper change or in the bath! When you need your baby to stay still for a few minutes, make sure you give her something else to do by offering visual stimulation. Hang pictures or tape shiny, interesting paper to the wall near her changing table. Offer easy-to-grip bath toys in the tub. Make sure your baby doesn't come to consider the necessary pit stops as roadblocks on her path to locomotion.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Surfin' Safari_\n\nBy about five months, most babies love supported standing. Let your baby stand on your knees as you hold her wrists for balance. As she becomes more secure on her feet, slowly move your knees from side to side and let her follow the motion. As she finds her balance, you can vary the ride by lifting one knee higher than the other or by gently bouncing both knees in varying rhythms.\n\n#### _Stand Up, Sit Down_\n\nWhile he's in a seated position, let your baby grasp your fingers. Depending on how much support he needs, you can close your hands around his wrists or upper arms. Gently pull him up, letting him bear as much weight on his legs as he wants to. Continue to support him as he folds back into a sitting position.\n\n#### _Thrill Ride_\n\nHold your baby firmly under her arms as you slowly spin in a circle. Let her legs fly out behind her. Vary your spinning speed and raise and lower her as you turn. Don't get so dizzy that you lose your balance! Watch your baby's face carefully as you play this game. She should be smiling or laughing, not looking worried. If she doesn't enjoy this kind of thrill just yet, you can hold her in your arms as if to rock her and try some gentle spins or side-to-side swoops.\n\n#\n\n _s a second-time parent, you often think you've seen it all. You're confident that with your second child, you know exactly what's supposed to come next and when. Our first daughter didn't crawl until she was a little over nine months old. My husband and I waited patiently every day for weeks, wondering when she'd achieve that milestone. Once she did, we figured we knew the timetable for crawling. So of course we confidently predicted that our second daughter would learn to crawl on the same schedule._\n\n_One day, when our second daughter was six months old, I noticed she had scooched herself up onto her hands and knees. She was rocking back and forth, as if she was going to take off and go. As an experienced parent, I knew she couldn't be ready to crawl yet; she would crawl when she was nine months old\u2014like her sister did. Imagine my shock when suddenly she just took off Fromthat day on, my smug confidence was gone. This second baby was a whirlwind who loved getting into everything she could._\n\n_Amy, Katherine and Taylors mom_\n\n## A WHOLE NEW WORLD\n\nOver these next three months, you can expect to see your baby's mastery of her developing skills kick into a whole new gear. You will really be able to appreciate how the stimulation you have provided her with since she was a newborn pays off. For example, the hours you have spent rocking your baby and stimulating her gross motor control will allow her to sit unsupported, and then to act upon her increasing desire to crawl. Most parents find this a particularly fulfilling time in their baby's development. It is very rewarding to see the ways in which your stimulation and interaction help shape your child into a confident, happy, and curious baby who is able to quickly process the input from all her senses as she explores her world.\n\n## HERE, THERE, AND EVERYWHERE\n\nThe beginning of your baby's seventh month marks the beginning of a very physical half year. Your baby is learning to sit up on her own; to get around on her own by creeping, scooting, or crawling; and to balance herself on her feet. All of these skills require a great deal of physical effort on your baby's part, and you will see her practicing them endlessly. She is ready to control the body that she has previously worked so hard to command. If you have a very physically active baby, I can promise you that your days of attending to various grown-up chores as your baby sits propped up and watching are over. Get ready to ratchet up your own physical level of activity as you keep up with your newly mobile, endlessly curious little whirlwind.\n\nBut don't think these three months are only about action. Even as your baby works to advance his mobility, he is changing in an amazing number of other ways. He has now discovered that he can use his hands to explore things by means other than grabbing them and moving them to his mouth. He can now touch, pat, and stroke, allowing him to explore the surfaces of items too big to grasp. Texture becomes much more interesting to your baby as he begins to understand that he can learn about things through sensation. Dropping things becomes an endlessly fascinating game as he learns that he can clasp and unclasp his fingers.\n\nYour baby's speech and language capacity is also developing rapidly during this period. She begins to comprehend that the babbling sounds she makes can be social overtures. Babies at this age enjoy \"conversations\" immensely, and your response to their babbled conversation is a crucial part of early language stimulation. Your baby is also learning to connect words to objects. That's right. You didn't just imagine that she looked at her stroller when you said \"go for a walk.\" Or looked right at her father when someone said \"Daddy.\"\n\nYour baby is also working on communicating with you on a more sophisticated emotional level. His crying can signal unhappiness or frustration or rage or fear. Just as it was important to understand what your baby's earliest cries signaled, it is now important to be attuned to what he is telling you when he dissolves into tears. Other emotional developments manifest themselves in an increase of stranger anxiety or sleep disturbances. In this chapter I offer some hints for dealing with these new and often intense feelings.\n\nYour baby is at an exciting developmental stage as she gains control and mobility over these three months. How you respond to her ceaseless need to discover all she can about the larger world that has opened up to her is vitally important to her growth as a smarter, happier baby. Think back to the earlier chapters of this book and the logical way in which your baby has progressed. And how your earliest stimulation has led naturally to this point. Simply by interacting with your baby in a nurturing and responsive way, you've given her the tools she needs to acquire new skills. As she moves through this next developmental stage, remember that babies grow in patterns. From birth they are programmed to be explorers. And it's your job to provide a safe, encouraging environment for their explorations.\n\n## SLEEPING AND WAKING\n\nThe good news is that your baby may finally have settled into a fairly predictable sleep schedule. The bad news is that most babies consolidate their two naps into one longer nap during this time period. Of course, if your baby has always been a good sleeper, the twice-a-day napping\n\n**Games Siblings Play**\n\n  This is a great period for older children. Their baby sibling can now move around enough to play some interactive, physical games but is not so mobile that she can get into all her big brother's or sister's toys. Enjoy this brief moment of peace in your household! Here are some games that are perfect for a crawling baby and her bigger siblings.\n\n  * **Follow the Leader.** Let the older sibling take the lead as he or she encourages the baby to follow on a (safe) obstacle course around furniture, under tables, and over pillows that have been strewn on the floor.\n\n  * **Chase Me.** Reverse the situation and let the baby take the lead as his brother or sister follows him around. \"Gonna getcha\" is the heralding cry of this game as the bigger child manages to grab a tiny toe or ankle before allowing the baby to break free. Be sure to caution the older sibling not to tackle the younger too hard, and watch the first few games to be sure the older child understands that baby isn't indestructible.\n\n  * **Catch or Fetch.** Perfect for babies who can only sit, and easily modified for those who are crawling. Have your older child and baby sit facing each other and gently roll a ball back and forth.\n\nmay persist into his second year. As long as your baby's nighttime quality of sleep is good, don't worry about how much\u2014or how little\u2014sleep your baby requires during daylight hours.\n\nEnsuring a good night's sleep for your baby may require a little more effort right now, mainly because your baby has learned to keep himself awake. If you haven't experienced any sleep difficulties with your baby in the past, don't panic if they surface during these next few months. Whereas in the past he would simply doze off uncontrollably whenever he needed rest, these days excitement, tension, or simply an unwillingness to miss out on any of the action around him can keep him awake well past a reasonable bedtime.\n\nIf you are struggling with your baby's sleeping patterns, there are many child-care books that suggest various techniques for helping babies to fall\u2014and stay\u2014asleep. I don't have a particular program to ensure that your baby sleeps well, but I can offer these few simple steps that worked with my kids and may help prime your baby for a good night's sleep. It's been my experience that a baby who learns to welcome nighttime sleep now is well on the way to being a child who obediently trots off to bed when he is older.\n\nRelaxing bedtime routines:\n\n  *   **A warm bath.** Your crawling baby is probably dirty by the end of the day anyway. Use the sleep-inducing powers of a warm soothing bath to set a bedtime mood.\n\n  *   **A sleepy atmosphere.** Dim lights, quiet, and a minimum of outside distractions will encourage relaxation and sleep.\n\n  *   **A song or a story:** Spend some time cuddling your baby while singing or reading. Gently rock and listen to a favorite CD of soothing songs or classical music. (At our house, music always resulted in a relaxed and drowsy state\u2014often for me as well as my daughters\u2014so we gathered some of our favorites onto the Baby Prodigy _Musical Pacifier_ CDs. You can use ours or make your favorite mix.) It's important to let baby wind down after a busy day of learning.\n\n  *   **Tucking everybody in.** Make sure your baby has her favorite cuddly or comfort object. Put a favorite animal to bed first, tucking it in and kissing it good night.\n\n  *   **Banishing any fear of the dark.** If your baby doesn't like total darkness, make sure he has a night-light.\n\n  *   **See you tomorrow.** Kiss your baby good night and let him know you'll see him in the morning.\n\nYour baby may also be experiencing an increase in night waking. By nine months (or sooner) most babies have given up middle-of-the-night feedings. It is not likely that your baby is waking from hunger. Instead, he may be awakened by loud noises, becoming too cold, an internal disturbance (a dream, perhaps, or something physical like a gas pain or cramp), or teething pain. Believe it or not, babies who do not get enough sleep during the day are often unable to settle into a deep sleep at night and stay there.\n\nDid You Know?: Self-Comforting\n\n  As your baby learns to let herself drift off to sleep, she may employ a variety of behaviors to help her relax and unwind. While you may prefer a hot bath and a cup of chamomile tea to help you ease off to dreamland, don't be surprised if your baby chooses any of the following techniques:\n\n  * **Sucking**. The most basic of all comforting habits for babies. Your baby may choose to suck his fingers, a pacifier, a toy, or a corner of a blanket. Sucking is often combined with other activities, like pulling on his ears, or twisting his hair. Some babies twist their hair so much that they actually start to pluck it out.\n\n  * **Cuddlies.** A blanket, a favorite plush toy, a piece of fabric. Your baby will need this object for comfort and will refuse to relinquish it, even when it becomes worn to a shadow of its former self. If your baby is particularly attached to a particular toy or blanket, buy duplicates and keep them on hand for backups. I can't tell you how awful it is to arrive home after a long trip and unpack, only to find you've left Mr. Bunny back at the hotel.\n\n  * **Rhythmical movements.** Rocking, rolling from side to side, or rocking on hands and knees. This may be soothing to some babies. Others may gently bop their head against the mattress or the head of their crib.\n\nIf your baby wakes in the night, my advice is to go to her and comfort her by laying your hand on her back and gently rubbing or patting. You can offer her a soothing whisper or just tell her, \"Ssshhhhh.\" Do not turn on lights, pick your baby up, or introduce any stimulation (like music). Often your baby will fall back to sleep the moment she feels your hand on her back. If your baby persists in crying or shows other behavior that concerns you, then by all means make sure that she is not sick or otherwise in pain.\n\nThis light sleep, and subsequent restless waking, is common in babies when they are mastering new activities like sitting or crawling, or pulling themselves to a standing position. With an older baby, you may be summoned to his room by a cry, only to find him standing at the rail of his crib. So intent is he on mastering this new skill that he cannot help himself from trying at any opportunity. Unfortunately, until he becomes skilled at letting himself back down, he will stand there stuck, tired, and probably screaming in frustration until you come in and give him a hand.\n\nThese brief night wakings will go on for much of your baby's first year. Don't panic, however, at the thought of never having a solid night's sleep of your own. As your baby internalizes some of the self-comforting techniques above, he will learn to put himself back to sleep from these episodes of waking.\n\n## STIMULATING YOUR BABY\n\nAs your baby spends more and more time wakeful and engaged with the world around him, your opportunities for providing positive stimulation increase. From the seventh through ninth months, you can help your baby become\n\n**Alarm Clock Trick**\n\n  If your baby has gotten herself into a pattern of waking at a certain time every night, you can try this easy trick to see if you can break the pattern. Say your baby is waking at 4:00 each morning, bright, cheerful, and ready to begin her day. And say that you, perhaps, would prefer a more civilized 6:00 a.m. wake-up call. Try setting an alarm clock to wake your baby at 3:00 or 3:30. When she wakes up, go in, comfort her, and soothe her back to sleep. Do this for a week, and then don't set any alarms. After a week of resetting your baby's built-in body clock, you may find that she sleeps through her 4:00 a.m. internal alarm and wakes a bit later. If this doesn't correct your problem, then you may have a bona fide early bird\u2014and my deepest sympathies.\n\nsmarter and happier by using the time you spend with him to focus on enhancing motor, cognitive, and language development. Simple old-fashioned games and activities are often the best way to do this.\n\nContinue to talk to your baby about what you are doing as you move through the day. Using language in relation to ongoing events is one of the strongest ways to enhance brain development in that area. Be aware that the language exposure your child benefits most from is \"live\" language. At this age, language as heard on television is perceived as nothing more than noise. Furthermore, experts believe that information embedded in an emotional context affects neural circuitry more powerfully than information alone. This seems to be particularly true when your baby is learning concepts such as \"more,\" as in \"Here are _more_ Cheerios\" as you hand her another bowl, or \"later,\" as in \"We'll play with the doll _later;_ now we are getting dressed.\"\n\nYour baby will also be testing and improving his cognitive skills, developing a sense of object permanence (the idea that objects, people, and things are present even when he can't see them) and a sense of herself as an independent individual. Mirrors are appealing to babies at this age, as are games like peekaboo and hiding toys under blankets. Stranger awareness, often accompanied by anxiety, is a natural by-product of these developments.\n\nMotor skills are steadily developing as well. Surmounting repeated frustrations, your baby will practice sitting, standing, and crawling. Each skill he masters allows him more opportunities for exploring and sensory stimulation.\n\nChildproofing takes on a whole new importance once your baby reaches this stage. It is vitally important that you provide your baby with a safe environment so he can have the freedom to explore without danger. For parents, these next few months should be a time of extreme vigilance. Let your baby's growing vocabulary be helpful here. Teach your baby words and phrases like \"Don't touch,\" \"Ouch,\" \"Dangerous,\" \"Hot,\" and \"Boo-boo.\"\n\n## BABY STEPS\n\nFrom the beginning of the seventh month to the end of the ninth month, your baby will begin to discover the ever-expanding range of his coordination. From sitting to\n\n**Safety Watch: Babyproofing Your Home**\n\n  There are many babyproofing kits on the market that can help you to make your home safer for your little explorer. But there are also simple, common-sense steps you can take to make your home safer. Here's a long, but by no means comprehensive, list of baby-proofing techniques for your home.\n\n**Kitchen**\n\n  * Install latches on drawers and cabinets that contain items that might harm baby.\n\n  * Remove all poisons or toxic materials from under the sink and place them in locations high enough that even a standing baby won't be able to reach them.\n\n  * Remove magnets from the refrigerator; if they fall and break, your baby can swallow the magnet. Flat, business card-type magnets are okay, although your baby may gnaw on them once he removes them from the fridge.\n\n  * Wash out all bottles of cleaning fluid and other toxic chemicals before throwing them in the trash or recycling bin. Just one drop can be harmful to babies.\n\n**Bathroom**\n\n  * Remove all soaps, razors, and shampoos from the edge of the tub.\n\n  * You may want to cover the bathtub spout to protect your baby from bumping her head on it during bath times.\n\n  * Put a lock on the toilet lid.\n\n  * _Never_ leave an infant alone in a tub. Babies can drown in just an inch or two of water.\n\n**Baby's Room**\n\n  * Any types of mirrors, busy boxes, or crib attachments should be installed on the wall side of the crib so your baby can't use them as a stepladder on her way to climbing out of her crib.\n\n  * Remove mobiles from the crib.\n\n  * Always use the straps on your changing table, and never leave your baby unattended on a surface higher than the floor.\n\n**In General**\n\n  * Cover all electrical outlets, even those behind furniture. It's amazing where those tiny hands can reach.\n\n  * Turn your hot water down to 120 degrees to lessen chances of accidental scalding.\n\n  * Keep houseplants away from your baby. Some are toxic.\n\n  * Move hanging cords from phones, answering machines, and other electronics out of your baby's reach.\n\n  * Do not use tacks or staples to secure electrical cords to walls or molding. Duct tape may be unattractive, but your baby is less likely to pull it off the wall and swallow it.\n\n  * If you have a brick or stone fireplace, consider installing a bumper pad. Think about putting bumpers around glass coffee tables as well. It's probably best to remove glass coffee tables altogether, as the panes may not support the weight of a baby who manages to climb atop the table.\n\n  * Keep your baby away from home exercise equipment. It's easy for small fingers to get pinched or stuck.\n\n  * Cords from window blinds or shades should be lifted out of reach or shortened.\n\n  * Separate dog or cat food from baby. Your baby could choke on a piece of kibble, or your dog could perceive your baby as stealing its food and snap at him.\n\n  * Block off dog or cat doors so your baby does not take to using them as well.\n\n  * Put gates up at the top and bottom of stairs.\n\n  * Get the number of your local poison control center and tape it up in a visible location as well as by each phone. Program it into your cell phone if appropriate. Keep a bottle of syrup of ipecac in your medicine cabinet, but don't use it unless instructed by your pediatrician or poison control center.\n\nstanding, from using bottles to eating finger foods, from crawling to cruising, every activity is an opportunity to explore new frontiers.\n\nBy the end of the ninth month, your child should have achieved the milestones listed below. If you are concerned about your child's rate of development, consult your pediatrician.\n\nSometime between the beginning of the seventh month and the end of the eighth month, your baby should be able to:\n\n  *   feed herself a cracker\n\n  *   babble using a combination of vowels and consonants\n\n  *   say \"Mama\" or \"Dada\" (indiscriminately)\n\n  *   sit without support\n\n  *   work to get a toy that is out of reach\n\n  *   pass an object from one hand to the other\n\n  *   pick up a tiny object in a pincer grip\n\n  *   push to her hands and knees and rock back and forth\n\n  *   bear some weight on her legs when supported\n\n  *   stand, holding on to objects\n\n  *   pull to a stand from sitting\n\n  *   \"cruise\" walk by holding on to furniture\n\n  *   play patty-cake or wave bye-bye\n\n  *   play peekaboo\n\nBy the end of the ninth month, your baby should be able to:\n\n  *   understand the meaning of certain words (like \"no\")\n\n  *   say \"Mama\" and \"Dada\" (with appropriate meaning)\n\n  *   say other simple words (like \"bye\")\n\n  *   drink from a cup\n\n  *   crawl quickly and with intent\n\n  *   stand alone, without support\n\n  *   take a few steps without support (Yikes!)\n\n  *   respond to a simple command when combined with hand gestures (your saying \"Give a hug\" with your arms held out)\n\n**Your Baby's View**\n\n  Imagine that you've finally gotten away on your dream vacation\u2014maybe to France or to Greece. You've been on a lovely tour through the streets of the city but are tired and thirsty. You'd love to have a cold drink. There's no caf\u00e9 handy, but you see someone not far ahead and hurry to catch up to her. \"Where could I get something to drink?\" you ask. You are met with a blank stare. The dreaded language barrier looms between the two of you. Thinking quickly, you mime sipping from a cup and are rewarded with a huge smile and hand gestures that direct you just down the street and around the corner, where you find a charming caf\u00e9. _That wasn't so hard_ , you think, as you sit down and repeat the sipping gesture while pointing at the coffee cup on the table across from you. _We understood each other perfectly._\n\nSimple sign language can help your baby as she turns her babbled \"foreign\" speech into recognizable English. By about eight months, babies usually have sufficient motor coordination to begin to make simple signs and gestures to communicate basic needs. Recent research in neuroscience has shown that there is significant overlap between the areas of the brain that control the mouth and speech and the areas that control the hands and gestures. These areas are thought to develop in tandem, with progress in one area enhancing ability in the other. If you are interested in trying sign language with your baby, see the Bookshelf section in this chapter for a few titles that will help you to learn more.\n\n## BABY TALK\n\nYour baby is at an important developmental stage regarding language. But what's important is not that he learns to say particular words or even mimic speech by parroting words back, but that he begin to understand what words mean and how they relate to things. At this age, your baby needs to have plenty of opportunities to listen to conversation, the chance to grasp the meanings of the words he recognizes, and a positive social response when he attempts to join the conversation.\n\nIf you think about it, you've become quite accomplished at understanding what your baby needs or wants over the last few months. In fact, she's been able to communicate her needs very clearly. And she's beginning to understand you as well. Before a baby can speak, she understands dozens of words. When you say, \"Let's put your shoes on,\" and your baby crawls over to her shoes, it's not just a coincidence. Be sure to label items, taking care not to refer simply to \"them\" or \"it.\" Asking your baby \"Where is the ball?\" as you search the room will make a stronger connection than saying \"Where is it?\"\n\nWhat you'll notice over these next few months is the pleasure your baby takes in using sounds, and then syllables that sound like words, to express herself. You will hear lots of babbling as your baby tries out sounds, tones, volume, and conversational rhythms that please her.\n\nIf you speak a second language and would like your baby to be bilingual as well, this is a good time to begin. If one parent speaks a second language, that parent should primarily use that language when speaking to the baby. The other parent should use the language he or she is most comfortable speaking in.\n\nContinue to make reading a daily part of your baby's routine and set an example by letting your baby see you read. Show them \"Mommy's (or Daddy's) books.\" Reading to your baby should be an interactive experience. Take time to point out items of interest on the page and be prepared to revisit favorite books and pages over and over again.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Everything Has a Name_\n\nTake your baby for a walk around the house or the neighborhood, pointing out objects as you go. Repeat words often and make sure that your baby is looking at the objects as you name them. Pay attention to what interests your baby. If you are walking outside, and she hears a dog barking and looks around, help her to find the dog. Once she has located it visually you can tell her: \"There's Mr. Smith's _dog._ The _dog's_ name is Blackie. The _dog_ says 'woof, woof'\" Remember to positively acknowledge any comments your baby offers.\n\n#### _Sing-along_\n\nSongs like \"Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,\" or \"The Wheels on the Bus\" help your baby learn the patterns and intonations of language. Lots of repetitive words allow plenty of chances for your baby to chime in with similar sounds.\n\n**Bookshelf**\n\n  Your baby is able to recognize certain pictures and to indicate which pictures she would like to look at. Board books remain the best choice, as the interest in exploring the paper pages of an illustrated book may result in rips. Exploration of books shouldn't be discouraged, however. Keep a supply of back issues of glossy magazines full of colorful pages on hand. Your baby will enjoy turning pages, crumpling sheets, and generally using the magazine for her own purposes.\n\n**Books for You**\n\nAs I mentioned above, there are several books that tell you how to teach your baby to use infant sign language. Here are a sampling of the many that are available:\n\n  * **_Baby Fingers: Teaching Your Baby to Sign_** by Lora Heller\n\n  * **_Baby Sign Language Basics_** by Monta Z. Briant\n\n  * **_The Baby Signs_** series by Linda Acredolo, Ph. D., and Susan Goodwyn, Ph. D.\n\n  * **_Baby's First Signs_** by Kim Votry and Curt Waller\n\n**Books to Enjoy with Your Baby**\n\nBooks you read to your baby now will likely continue to be favorites well into their second year. Make sure you choose books you enjoy, as you will be reading them over and over again in the coming months! Some of my favorites include:\n\n  * _Read-Aloud Rhymes for the Very Young_ by Jack Prelutsky, illustrated by Marc Brown\n\n  * **_Let's Try_** by Amy MacDonald and Maureen Roffey\n\n  * **_Babies Start Here_** by Bill Gillham and Liz Pichon\n\n  * **_I See_** by Helen Oxenbury\n\n**Dookie Says**\n\n  _\"Eating has become so much more interesting now that I can put the food in my mouth all by myself. Everything feels so different. In fact, a lot of the time, I never even get around to eating what Daddy gives me because it's just so much more fun to squish, smear, smash, and poke at whatever he's offering.\"_\n\nThe development of the pincer grasp opens new frontiers in the dining experience for you and your baby. At this age, your baby is able to effectively gum a wide variety of foods, and you can incorporate lots of new tastes and textures into his diet. Start with foods that are mushy, with a texture just slightly more coarse than pur\u00e9ed baby foods, and move on to manageable sizes of foods that are easily gummed to a consistency that is easy to swallow or that melt in the mouth. Firmer items should be small enough that they don't pose a choking hazard, and softer foods can be slightly larger. If your baby has food allergies or is sensitive to some foods, follow your pediatrician's advice for introducing new foods. And remember, these foods are not meant to meet your baby's full nutritional needs. Your baby will still be getting breast milk or formula and baby cereal. At this age, these food choices are strictly to introduce your baby to the _concept_ of other foods and self-feeding. Most babies will enjoy some or all of the following:\n\n  * whole wheat bagels, bread, or crackers\n\n  * unsalted rice cakes\n\n  * easy to grab O-shaped cereal (without added salt or sugar)\n\n  * puffed rice, corn, or wheat cereal\n\n  * cheese such as Edam, Gouda, baby Swiss, or Havarti\n\n  * chunks of fruit such as banana (very ripe and soft), pear, mango, peach, or melon\n\n  * vegetables (cooked until very tender) such as carrots, broccoli (florets only), mashed peas, or sweet potatoes\n\n  * pasta of various sizes and shapes\n\n  * scrambled egg yolk\n\nDo not offer your baby foods that are a choking hazard or can be sucked into the windpipe, including:\n\n  * whole grapes\n\n  * raisins\n\n  * popcorn\n\n  * nuts\n\n  * whole peas\n\n  * raw vegetables\n\n  * hard fruits (apples, unripe pears)\n\n  * chunks of chicken or meat, including hot dogs\n\nOnce your baby's molars come in toward the end of the first year or the beginning of the second, you may introduce some of these foods, but carefully.\n\nSongs with rhymes will help your baby hear the small differences in sounds. If you don't have an extensive repertoire of baby-friendly tunes, check out the music section at any department store. There are many CDs with songs specifically for children. Be sure that you sing along; it's your interaction with your child that is most beneficial.\n\n#### _Command Performance_\n\nTeach your baby any of the adorably classic baby \"tricks\" and help them link the actions to the words. The positive feedback that your baby will get from both you and equally charmed adults will encourage a positive link between words, actions, and reactions. Some of the simple actions with the highest _\"AWWWWW\"_ factors include waving bye-bye, giving a hug, and blowing a kiss.\n\n## THE LITTLE THINGS: FINE MOTOR SKILLS\n\nAs your baby begins to gain command of his gross motor skills by learning to sit without support, you will notice a parallel development of his fine motor abilities. Once he has more control over his body, his hands become more and more exciting to him. Over the next few months, he will practice picking up objects with his fingers, passing objects from hand to hand, and releasing his grip on objects, allowing them to drop to the floor. It's likely that your baby will still try to further explore all the exciting objects he finds, from carpet fuzz to dog food, by putting them in his mouth. What this means for you is that the time you will gain in your day as your baby learns to amuse himself for brief periods will need to be spent attending to housekeeping! For the next few months it is important to keep your baby's environment cleaner than usual.\n\nThe development of the pincer grasp\u2014using the forefinger and thumb to delicately pick up even the smallest of items\u2014means that your baby can practice feeding himself. There are many appropriate foods to let baby experiment with. I suggest some in the box in this section (see pp. 130\u2013131).\n\nDuring this time, your baby may also begin to show a reliable preference for using one hand or the other. You can help your baby become more competent with her hands by offering a wide variety of items to allow her to experiment with her new skills. Hand her a spoon to hold at supper-time or hand her the washcloth while she's in her bath. You can encourage your baby's growing interest in texture by letting her explore and stroke different surfaces like carpeting, grass, wood or tile, or even family pets.\n\nBe conscious of gesturing when you speak to your baby. Let him watch as you use your hands. Show him how to operate pull toys, using his hands to move the string to bring the toy closer. From now on, your baby is learning how to use objects not only by experimentation, but also by observation.\n\n**An Important Note of Caution:** As I indicated earlier, I see nothing wrong with letting your baby play with common household items, but you must be _very careful_ to ensure his safety. Be sure that lids on containers are tightly sealed if small objects are inside, or use empty plastic medicine bottles with childproof caps. Make sure that containers are clean and free of paper labels that might be gummed off. Avoid using containers or items that held or contain toxic paints or other substances and be sure nothing has sharp edges. Unless you are completely sure you're offering your baby a totally child-safe toy, do not let your baby out of your sight or reach! Instead, join your baby in his exploration of these fascinating household items.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Fishing for Toys_\n\nTie pieces of wool yarn to your baby's favorite toy and help her to learn how she can drop or throw the toy and retrieve it by pulling on the yarn. Don't leave your baby alone with any type of toy that has a pull string attached.\n\n#### _Big and Little_\n\nOffer your baby similar items of differing size\u2014your sock and his sock, a big ball and a little ball, a tiny plush animal and a larger one of the same type. He will explore how best to grip and hold objects of varying size. Don't forget to explain to him as you do this that some objects are \"big\" and some are \"little.\" A toy that is ideal for this type of game is the plastic or wooden rings that stack on a spindle. As your baby grows older, he will begin trying to replace the rings on the spindle after he handles them.\n\n#### _Fill 'Em Up_\n\nYour baby will become very interested in putting things into containers and taking them out again. Begin with simple, easy-to-grasp items, like small wooden blocks or\n\n**Toy Chest**\n\n  Household items still make the best and most interesting toys for your baby. During these few months, your baby is focused on mastering crawling; finding, grasping, and examining items of varying sizes and textures; developing expectations about what will happen next; and exploring concepts of permanence and cause and effect. All the toys from the previous chapters can be put to use in more sophisticated ways. Here's a list of other age-appropriate toys to jump-start your imagination. I hope it will get you thinking about what other kinds of common items make wonderful toys that allow you to stimulate your baby in all sorts of ways:\n\n  * pots and pans with lids\n\n  * stacking toys like rings on a spindle or boxes that fit inside one another\n\n  * a jack-in-the-box or other pop-up toys\n\n  * couch cushions for makeshift obstacle courses\n\n  * scarves and pieces of fabric for peekaboo games\n\n  * plush toys for comforting and modeling conversations\n\n  * toys on strings\n\n  * mirrors\n\n  * a flashlight (to play spotlight games and create shadows and patterns)\n\n  * soap bubbles for catching and chasing\n\n  * beanbags\n\n  * activity boards or books with a variety of textures, sounds, and parts that move\n\n**Teething**\n\n  Around six months\u2014sometimes earlier\u2014you should discover your baby's first little pearl of a tooth, usually one of the lower incisors. Once you've made this milestone discovery, teeth will begin erupting fast and furiously for the remainder of the year. By about eight months, most babies have their four front teeth on the top as well as two bottom incisors. By the end of the ninth month, you'll probably see four top and four bottom teeth. Molars generally make their appearance sometime around your baby's first birthday.\n\nHow can you tell your baby is teething? Well, everyone's experience is different, but in general you can be on the lookout for some or all of the following signs:\n\n  * drooling\n\n  * a rash on the face or chin (from all the drooling!)\n\n  * biting (to produce pressure on the gums)\n\n  * pain or discomfort\n\nsquishy balls, and a container that has a wide opening (even a simple box without a lid will do). Show your baby how she can pick objects up and put them in the box. Over the next few months, as her dexterity increases, vary the complexity of the shapes and the size of the opening of the container. This game is also fun in the bath. Provide your baby with plastic cups of varying size and demonstrate how to fill them with bathwater, and then pour it out. Be aware that your baby will probably try to bring the cup filled with water to her mouth\u2014most likely with startling results!\n\n  * general irritability\n\n  * a temporary loss of interest in feeding or nursing\n\n  * ear pulling or the rubbing of cheeks or mouth\n\n  * chewing, chewing, chewing (on anything and everything)\n\nFor some babies, cutting teeth seems to be a breeze. Others have a harder time of it. If your baby seems very uncomfortable, there are a few different remedies you can try to ease teething pain and pressure. Experiment and see what brings your baby the most comfort as you wait for those new teeth to break through.\n\n  * Over-the-counter pain-relief medications may help soothe your baby through the worst of her teething pains.\n\n  * Try offering her cold, hard things to bite on. Most baby stores sell special teething toys that can be stored in the freezer and used for icy relief.\n\n  * Rub her gums with your finger or a cold washcloth. The counterpressure on her swollen gums may bring relief.\n\n#### _The Mystery Box_\n\nTeach your baby about causality and textures at the same time by creating a \"mystery box.\" Cover the open end of a large cardboard box with a piece of fabric with a large hole in the center. Fill the box with a few items of varying textures that are easy to grasp, like scraps of velvet fabric, cotton balls, a plastic spoon, a piece of bark from a tree, a leaf\u2014be imaginative! Show your baby how he can put his hand through the fabric to feel the items, then pull his hand out to more closely examine his prize. (You must not your baby alone with this toy, as he might decide to \"try\" one of the objects in his mouth. If you are going to leave him alone, be sure items in the box are large enough and nontoxic so as not to prove dangerous if baby should decide to taste them.)\n\n## HOW IT ALL FITS: SPATIAL DEVELOPMENT\n\nYour baby is beginning to learn how she and other objects take up space in the world. She will be very interested in games that involve hiding and discovering objects and will probably have a renewed fascination with mirrors and the objects (aside from her own image) that appear in them. Once your baby is crawling, she will explore spatial relations by crawling over, under, or through objects. And when your baby is pulling to a stand or even cruising by the end of the ninth month, she will have added an entirely new dimension to her perception of the world. She is no longer limited to the flat world of crawling along the floor.\n\nThe concepts of both object permanence\u2014the knowledge that an object is still present even when he can't see it\u2014and causality\u2014the exploration of how things work or relate\u2014will come to the forefront of your baby's knowledge over the next few months. You may see your baby rolling his ball or pushing his truck across the floor, only to go after it and push it away again. He is not trying to get the truck or ball as much as he is testing his mastery over his space.\n\nGames that allow your baby to explore all of these new relationships between himself and his surroundings will not only be entertaining but will also enhance his confidence and promote his ability to access references, make judgments, and develop expectations of success at various tasks.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Bubbles, Tiny Bubbles_\n\nAnother of our favorite bath time or outdoor games was blowing soap bubbles. Both of my daughters were captivated by the floating bubbles and would reach out, trying to catch them. When they succeeded in touching one, they would laugh in delight as it popped in their hands. This game is particularly fun outdoors, where you can blow bubbles close to the ground and encourage your baby to crawl after them.\n\n#### _Soooo Big_\n\nAsk \"How big is baby?\"\u2014or Kitty or Daddy, or Brother, or Sister\u2014and help your child to spread his arms as wide as he can while you exclaim \"Soooo big!\"\n\n#### _Hide-and-Seek_\n\nThis less-sophisticated version of the classic game involves covering your face, or a toy, or your baby with a cloth or blanket. Ask your baby, \"Where's [fill in the blank]?\" Pull the cloth or blanket away and exclaim, \"There's [fill in the blank]!\" or \"I see [fill in the blank]!\" Before long, your baby will be eagerly reaching out to pull the covering off the hidden object and crowing in delight at his discovery. This version of peekaboo helps to develop your baby's understanding of object permanence, and I guarantee it will be a favorite game.\n\n#### _Is the Glass Half-full or Half-empty?_\n\nUse four baby bottles or sippy cups to explore the difference between full and empty. Fill one bottle with water. Pour half into another, add some food coloring to one of the bottles, and then pour the colored water into a third bottle. Mix the colored water with the plain and watch as they turn the same color.\n\n## GET UP AND GO: GROSS MOTOR SKILLS\n\nMovement is vitally important for an infant during this time period. The more your baby is allowed to move freely and practice his budding motor skills, the more fine-tuned his motor pathways become and the more adept his developing brain will be at controlling and coordinating the movements necessary for sitting, standing, crawling, and walking.\n\nIt's amazing to watch how fast your baby learns to propel herself from one point to another. Much of her movement is motivated by her increasing desire to reach objects of interest. Your baby may follow the common developmental pattern of creeping (wriggling along on her belly), to crawling (moving on hands and knees, on hands and feet, or some combination of those four limbs, including the odd-looking but common \"tripod\" approach, where one knee is on the floor and one leg sticks straight out to the side for more speed), to cruising (standing and pulling, lurching, or shuffling from one piece of furniture to the next). Or your baby may be a \"scooter,\" one who scoots along on her behind, propelled by her hands. I should warn you that most scooters tend to skip crawling altogether in favor of going straight to walking.\n\nThis active stage of babyhood calls for increased vigilance on your part. It's important to remember that your baby needs to learn to sit back down once he's pulled himself to a stand. This can be a trial-and-error process, resulting in more than a few bonks to the head.\n\nThe good news is that babies' skulls are specifically designed for this period of rough use. The soft spot (fontanel) on the top of their head is not fully closed, and the flexible nature of their skulls means that a bop to the head may be painful but not always serious. (Of course, if your baby hits his head hard enough to get knocked out or fails to cry right away after a fall, it could be a sign of a concussion. Standing is best practiced barefoot on wood floors or carpeted surfaces.) If your child is a real daredevil and is inclined to hurl himself around with little regard for his noggin, you can buy colorful foam pieces that fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Use them as moveable floor pads until your child is steady on his feet.\n\nThe bad news is that your baby will seem to have his most spectacular bumps and bruises right before a doctor's checkup or a visit from his grandparents! I can remember more than one occasion when I had to bring my younger daughter to family gatherings sporting a spectacular bruise and egg combination on her forehead. So do all you can to keep your baby safe until she is confident in her balance. Remove her socks on slippery wooden or tile floors, do not let her practice standing at the edge of the bathtub\u2014or anywhere in the bathroom (trust me on this one!)\u2014and avoid baby shoes indoors so she can use her toes to grip the ground as she learns to balance.\n\nIn these few months, your baby is working toward mastering an incredibly complex set of skills, and you can expect this undertaking to occupy her day and night. Sitting and creeping render anything higher than the floor a new danger zone. Crawling lets your baby explore all corners of your home, and forces you to consider your housekeeping standards and furniture placement. Crib bars make excellent supports for standing, and it's likely your baby will decide that bedtime is as good a time as any to work on her new skill. Unfortunately, once she's standing in her crib, she may realize that the padded crib bumper also makes an excellent stepping-stone. If you don't want her figuring out how to get up and out of the crib just yet, better remove the bumpers now.\n\nDon't let these new challenges frustrate you or cause you to limit your baby's freedom to move and explore on his own. Gates, baby-proofing kits, and constant vigilance are your best investments in maintaining your own peace of mind as your baby makes his way through this key developmental period.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain_\n\nPile up cushions or pillows to make a climbing mountain. Make sure there is adequate padding on all sides of the base of your mountain. Create a tunnel out of a blanket draped over two chairs. Tip large, clean cardboard boxes on their sides. Encourage your baby to crawl up, over, into, through, and around.\n\n#### _In the Spotlight_\n\nUse a flashlight to illuminate toys or different spots in a room. Your baby should crawl toward the lit objects. Once he has the hang of the game, point the flashlight at the floor and let him chase the circle of light from its beam.\n\n#### _Stand Up, Sit Down_\n\nKneel facing your baby, holding his hands in yours. Sit down on the back of your legs while your baby sits on the floor. Say, \"Stand up\" as you pop up to your knees. Help your baby as he stiffens his legs and rises to standing. Say, \"Sit down,\" and lower yourself down again. Keep your baby supported as he figures out how to plop down on his diaper-cushioned behind. Repeat until your knees can't take it anymore.\n\n#### _Dance Party_\n\nPlay up-tempo music for a rockin' dance party as you help your baby learn to \"dance\" on her own. Begin by holding her by the waist and gently bouncing her up and down as she kicks her legs to the music. As she becomes steadier on her feet, hold her under the arms and let her bounce on her legs. When she is standing with confidence, you can hold her hands and let her bounce herself. Throw in special effects via a glittering disco ball and have a blast!\n\n**Dottie Says**\n\n  _\"I can't believe all the things I can do now. I can move to wherever I want. No one needs to carry me for me to be able to look at things. And there are so many interesting things down here. And I get all sorts of new things on my lunch tray. Some are tasty, but others make very excellent pastes and creams. I love to smoosh things between my hands. Can I help it if I get an itchy head right in the middle of squashing up some cottage cheese or eating applesauce, and I have to scratch the itch? But Mommy's driving me crazy\u2014she's always swiping at my face with a cloth or grabbing my hands and washing them off. When I'm wearing the pretty outfits from Grandma, all I hear is 'Don't crawl in that dirt!' How am I supposed to get anything done when I have to get wiped down all the time?\"_\n\nSad, but true: That little doll you were able to dress in sweet outfits is now a grime-accumulating, dust-and-dirt magnet that may rival Pigpen from the Charlie Brown gang. But too much focus on keeping your baby spotless can inhibit her from the necessary explorations that will help her to refine and expand her new skills. So when you see your baby heading toward that slightly muddy patch in the garden, take a deep breath and remind yourself that she's entirely washable\u2014and so are her clothes!\n\n#\n\n _ne of the most exciting days in my life was watching our daughter take her first steps. Even though she'd been showing signs she was ready to walk, it still caught me completely off guard. I was in the kitchen, starting dinner one night, and turned around to get a pot out of the cabinet, and there was Megan, taking her first steps toward me! I'll never forget her little hands waving in the air back and forth to balance herself as she tottered over to where I stood. Although my daughter is now five, I can still recall those wonderful images ofthat day and how proud and excited I felt. I can still see her expression of excitement and great big smile as she stomped her feet._\n\n_Allison, Megan's mom_\n\n## STEP BY STEP\n\nThe drive toward independence that started with your baby learning to sit up by himself, then creep, and then crawl is now pushing him toward the finish line of true toddlerhood. The amazing rate of development that you noticed over the past three months will continue as your baby moves toward his first birthday. More than ever, you need to find creative ways to stimulate the neural pathways that are becoming increasingly defined.\n\nIt's not hard to become engrossed in play with babies of this age\u2014they are real charmers! But they are also approaching an age (and attention span) where it can be tempting to offer them a video or television show in order to get a little time for yourself. Be alert for any tendencies to do this and try to focus instead on spending time interacting with your baby. (By the way, I'm obviously not opposed to babies of this age viewing appropriate videos! But be sure that you are watching the Baby Prodigy\u2014or other\u2014 videos _with_ your baby. Take advantage of this rare time when your baby is sitting still to talk about the interesting things that are happening on the screen.) And remember, everything in moderation.\n\nThe stimulation you can provide for your baby during these months will enrich him mentally, physically, and emotionally. It is your thoughtful interactions with your baby over the course of any particular day that give him both the tools and the confidence he needs to progress to the next level of growth.\n\n## NO STOPPING ME NOW\n\nIt's likely that during these months and somewhere around his first birthday, your baby will learn to walk independently. One minute he will be cruising around the room, hanging on to the couch or piano bench, and the next he will be experimenting with letting go and balancing unsteadily on swaying legs. Expect a whole lot of hollering as he looks for his balance and ends up on his behind. And then, probably when you least expect it, you will be privileged to see his excited reaction as he masters his first steps on his own. Once he realizes he can walk, he will want to attempt it again and again. Remember that your cheers and applause will motivate him whenever he accomplishes a few wobbly steps. But if he seems reluctant to repeat this amazing feat, don't push. He will be walking and running before you know it. Too soon. Trust me.\n\nYour baby will also begin to add single recognizable words to her vocabulary during this time, and will hold forth at length\u2014and often at considerable volume\u2014in her own language of vowels and consonants that imitate the tones and rhythms of adult speech. It's likely, too, that one of the first words your baby will utter will be the all-powerful \"NO.\" Even if your baby doesn't master verbal naysaying, you can expect that she will at least learn to shake her head in an emphatic no. Experts refer to this pattern of behavior as \"negativism,\" and you can expect to see it increase in intensity over the next year or so. It's your baby's way of asserting some independence and expressing an opinion. Does she really mean it each time she shakes her head or says no? Probably not, but new words and new head movements are acquired skills\u2014and she needs to practice them, whether it's appropriate or not. You'll quickly learn to discern when a no really means yes.\n\nYour baby will discover new ways to play with his existing toys\u2014whether it's building a stack from the blocks that he used to pass from hand to hand or gnaw on, or initiating a game of \"catch\" by purposely rolling his ball across the floor to you. On more than one occasion, I peeked around a corner, concerned because my daughter was being so quiet, only to find her immersed in some game of her own invention. As his fine motor dexterity increases, your baby will become more interested in toys and other objects with moving parts. By the end of the twelfth month, he will be trying to understand _how_ things work as his concept of causality is strengthening. It's important to spend time explaining things to your baby, even if he doesn't seem to take it all in immediately, as he is truly becoming interested in figuring out what makes things tick.\n\nYour baby will also blossom as a social butterfly during these months\u2014as long as she is secure in the knowledge that you are nearby. If you try to leave her, however, you will quickly be made aware of her growing separation anxiety, which peaks around one year.\n\nBy the end of the twelfth month, most babies have mastered the ability to pick up even the tiniest of objects in a precise grip and usually enjoy feeding themselves a wide variety of foods. Your baby may even be experimenting with drinking from a sippy cup or even a regular, baby-sized mug.\n\n**Did You Know?: Let Your Baby Be the Boss**\n\n  Now, before you panic and think I'm encouraging you to raise a pint-sized monarch who insists you bow to her every whim, I want to be clear that I am talking about letting the child take the lead _during designated playtimes only._ In fact, during these next few months, when negativism is first rearing its stubborn little head, you need to be conscious of beginning to set limits and impose discipline in the context of everyday behavior.\n\nHowever, when you are down on the floor, engrossed with your baby in an interactive game, let her call the shots. You will be helping her to become assertive and to learn to behave in a way motivated by her own desires or emotions. According to experts, connecting emotions to behavior and thought is key in developing creative, critical thinking.\n\nThis is a wonderful time for you and your baby to truly enjoy each other's company. The games you have been playing in previous months will become more interactive as the connections in your baby's brain that have been stimulated over and over again grow ever more sophisticated and interconnected.\n\n## SLEEPING AND WAKING\n\nDuring these months your baby's sleeping patterns probably won't differ much from those displayed in the past three months. If your baby still takes a morning and an afternoon\n\nYour Baby's View: Separation Anxiety\n\n  Understanding why your baby becomes anxious when you leave is as simple as putting yourself in her shoes.\n\nThink of all the times during the day (and maybe even at night) when you check in on your baby. Perhaps you are in the kitchen, making a quick list of groceries needed so you can run out and shop. You realize that your baby, who has been crawling around the kitchen, has moved into the dining room. When you stick your head out of the kitchen, your baby catches your eye, gives you a big smile, and returns to her task of putting blocks into a bag. You smile back and return to what you were doing. When you finish, you come out of the kitchen and join her in the dining room. During the day, you and your baby check in with each other dozens of times. Sometimes she crawls after you to see where you're going; sometimes you follow her. You just expect to be able to keep an eye on each other.\n\nNow suppose that your baby is sitting in her favorite spot, filling her bag with blocks. When you check in with her, she smiles but begins dragging her bag across the room. You wonder where she's heading, but seeing your concerned expression, she sits back down and smiles, just like always. Reassured, you return to what you were doing. When you\n\nnap, he may drop the morning nap around this time. Some babies, however, just love their naps and will happily continue to take two a day. If you find that your baby is having difficulty sleeping at night or is staying up too late at bedtime, you may want to help him to power\n\ncheck for her again, she's gone. Disappeared without a word. You look through the house. No sign of her. You don't know where she is, or if she's coming back. Depending on your personality, your reaction might range from irritation that she didn't check in before she went to another room or sheer panic that she's lost forever. From that moment on, a pattern is established. If she's packing up her blocks, you worry she's planning to leave.\n\nIt's not that much of a leap to understand, then, how your baby feels when you leave without letting her know. Your baby will quickly detect the pattern that precedes your leaving her. Usually it's pretty obvious: a babysitter shows up. But even if she's home with your partner, she may notice you picking up your keys or putting on your coat. Even though your leaving may be met with heartbroken sobs and a pitiful clutching at your clothing, it's important that you do not sneak out on your baby. You need to let her know you are going out. Reassure her that she is with someone who cares for her and that you will return. Use the same phrase each time you leave. I always told my daughter, \"Mommy is going out now but will come back soon, because Mommy _always_ comes back.\"\n\nAfter a while, the pattern of your leaving and returning will become acceptable to your baby, and a quick trip to the store will no longer be preceded by a storm of tears and protest.\n\nthrough his morning without a nap and consolidate his sleep into a bigger block during the night.\n\nYour baby may also have trouble falling asleep on his own, wake during the night, or refuse to settle after awakening in the night. This type of interruption in your baby's\n\n**Bye-Bye, Bedtime Bottle**\n\n  If the end of the twelfth month is approaching, and your baby still depends on sucking on his bottle to fall asleep, it's time to help him to break the habit. Now that he has teeth, it's important to get him in the habit of falling asleep with a clean mouth. Going to sleep with a mouth slick with milk or juice can lead to tooth decay and may even damage your baby's permanent teeth, which are still beneath his gums. Begin to create a new bedtime ritual of tooth washing with a baby toothbrush or washcloth (no toothpaste is necessary, but if you feel compelled, use just the tiniest amount of baby toothpaste) and of mouth rinsing (from a cup! a big-boy cup!). Steel yourself for a few days of pathetic whimpers or crib-shaking rages, depending on your baby's personality, as he gets used to the new routine.\n\nsleep pattern is not unusual and is most likely the result of the growing intensity of any separation anxiety your baby may have. During the day, your baby can crawl around after you, keeping you in view whenever he becomes anxious. However, at night, he is completely alone and confined in his crib, and this may feel more traumatic than daytime separations.\n\nIf this is happening with your baby, and leaving him to \"cry it out\" isn't an option for you, you can go into your baby's room at his first cry and stand by his crib. Rub his back soothingly, but don't engage in conversation. Leave while he is drowsy, but before he falls asleep, so he doesn't become dependent on your presence to drift off.\n\nA bonus by-product of your baby's newfound abilities in sitting, standing, and being able to move toward objects she desires is the increased possibility that she will be able to occupy herself if she wakes with the dawning light and decides she is up for the morning. Leave a few favorite toys or books in her crib at night, and you may just be rewarded with thirty extra minutes of precious shut-eye in the mornings.\n\n## STIMULATING YOUR BABY\n\nYour baby's curiosity and appetite for knowledge is amazing to watch. She will become curious about how things work\u2014studying the wheels on a favorite pull-toy or inserting various items into the VCR. She will also watch you closely, mimicking your everyday activities, from talking on the telephone to sweeping the kitchen floor. She will eagerly reach for tidbits of food from your plate, and attempt to insert herself into her older sibling's activities.\n\nAs your baby discovers his inner scientist, conducting field studies in every subject from physics (dropping bits of food from his high chair), to anthropology (becoming fascinated with the idea of coloring or writing), to zoology (the relentless pursuit of the family cat), your role becomes that of his ever-helpful research assistant. Provide him with plenty of opportunities to explore things that interest him. Be sure to tell him the names of objects when talking to him, and offer simple explanations for how things work. Try to relate new concepts to ones he is familiar with: \"I see you are playing with your red car. The car rolls on the wheels.\" Show him the wheels as you spin them. \"Wheels turn 'round and 'round to make things go. Just like in 'The Wheels on the Bus.' \" Then launch into the song.\n\nOf course, the role of a scientific explorer is not without its dangers and pitfalls. Turn back to the previous chapter and review the baby proofing tips (see pp. 122\u2013124). Remember that once your child is standing and walking, a whole new, three-dimensional world of accidents awaits. In the box that follows, I've added a few other tips to make your house safer for a baby who is spending more and more time standing and cruising.\n\n## BABY STEPS\n\nFrom the beginning of the tenth month to the end of your baby's first year, she will attempt to first master and then refine a wide range of activities that expand her areas of independence. From cruising to walking, from eating baby cereal to dinner with the family, from calling the guy at the video store \"Dada\" to learning to call for \"Dada\" at five-thirty in the morning when she wants to get out of her crib (and if your baby doesn't know to call for Daddy in those predawn hours, I suggest you teach her how!), your baby is becoming more capable of expressing her opinions and her desires.\n\nBy the end of the tenth month, your child should have achieved the milestones listed below. If you are concerned about your child's rate of development, consult your pediatrician. Your baby should be able to:\n\n**Safety Watch: Childproofing for Walking Babies**\n\n  Once your child is up and on her feet, there is so much to discover: shelves full of knickknacks, the tablecloth (and everything on top of it) that covers the dining room table, the kitchen stove... Every room in the house has many new surfaces to explore. To help keep your baby safe from common hazards, here are some safety tips:\n\n  * When cooking, turn all pot handles inward; use back burners only, whenever possible.\n\n  * Stove knobs that are within the baby's reach should be babyproofed. This is particularly important on a gas range, where turning the knob slightly may release gas without igniting the burners.\n\n  * Never take pills in front of your baby; children mimic what they see. Also, never refer to medicine, vitamins, or over-the-counter medications as \"candy.\"\n\n  * Keep dangerous or sharp items away from the edges of tables and countertops, where baby might reach up and grab them.\n\n  * Keep trash containers out of baby's reach.\n\n  * Move coatracks or tall floor lamps behind large pieces of furniture or otherwise out of the way; your baby can easily tip these over onto herself.\n\n  * Remove plastic dry cleaner bags before bringing dry cleaning into the house. This plastic is easy to tear apart and choke on.\n\n**Safety Watch: CPR**\n\n  Don't forget to take a refresher CPR class before the end of your baby's first year. The techniques used for children one year and older can differ slightly from those used for infants.\n\n  *   pull to a stand from sitting\n\n  *   stand while holding on to something\n\n  *   play peekaboo\n\n  *   move from lying on her stomach to a sitting position\n\n  *   use a pincer grasp effectively\n\n  *   cruise (using furniture to balance when walking)\n\n  *   understand (but not always obey) a simple command, like \"No!\"\n\n  *   stand alone without holding on for balance\n\n  *   balance in a squat while playing\n\n  *   organize a one-step motor sequence, such as pushing, throwing, or \"catching\" a ball\n\n  *   say \"Mama\" or \"Dada\" discriminately\n\n  *   drink from a cup\n\nSometime between the beginning of the eleventh month and the end of the twelfth month, your baby should be able to perform all of the skills listed above, as well as:\n\n  *   walk well\n\n  *   play patty-cake or clap hands\n\n**Dookie Says**\n\n  _\" 'No, no, no!' That's all I hear. I want to pull the kitty to me; that's why she's got that long tail, right? But as soon as I grab on, Daddy says, 'No, no!' So I crawl over to the window. It should be easy to stand up if I balance using these long curtains. I'm nearly standing when Mommy runs over, saying 'No, no!' I wonder if those crayons in my sister's bedroom taste good? I guess I'll never know. I almost had one in my mouth when... you guessed it: 'No, no!' How come there's so much to do and they won't let me do any of it?\"_\n\nIt's difficult at this age\u2014and it's only going to get more difficult over the next year or so\u2014to prevent yourself from blurting out an urgent \"No!\" when you see your baby heading for trouble or mischief. But too much nay-saying can frustrate your adventuresome baby (not to mention it teaches the little mimic a word you'll soon wish he'd never learned). Instead of issuing an immediate \"No,\" try to redirect your baby with gentle instruction: \"Kitty doesn't like it when you tug her tail. Let's pet her instead.\" Or \"It's dangerous to pull on the curtains. Try to stand up near the couch.\" Even if baby can't yet understand the whole meaning of what you're saying, he'll get the idea with your expression and movements as you gently direct him in another direction. The more positive you can be when defining and enforcing these early limits, the more likely it is your baby will be agreeable to following your rules.\n\n  *   wave bye-bye\n\n  *   say single words other than \"Mama\" and \"Dada\" with discrimination\n\n## BABY TALK\n\nAs your baby approaches her first birthday, many of you eager parents are awaiting the utterance of her first \"real word.\" Sure, \"Mama\" and \"Dada\" made your heart melt, but when there's clearly so much your baby wants to make known, you can't help but think that once she's able to talk, she'll ease up on the frustrated crying and behaviors that she so often directs right at you. Like the time you finally figured out\u2014after much pointing at the refrigerator and its contents\u2014that she wanted milk. And then realized\u2014 when your irritated customer hurled her sippy cup across the room in a rage\u2014that she really wanted the yogurt on the shelf _next to_ the milk.\n\nI'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you here and tell you that it's highly unlikely your baby will have mastered the niceties of verbal communication by the end of her first year. However, all of your interactions and games during the past few months have stimulated the parts of her brain that govern both receptive and productive speech, and you can continue to improve communications and help your baby become confident that she can make herself understood.\n\nOver these few months, your baby's _receptive_ speech capabilities will evolve. You can make a simple request such as \"Please bring me the shoes,\" and your baby can let you know that she has heard you and understands. She will either crawl over and get the shoes or glance at the shoes, acknowledging she has heard the request, and then return to what she was doing\u2014essentially refusing to do the task (see negativism, above).\n\nThe more you use gestures and show emotion when you are speaking to your baby, the more receptive she will be to what you are saying. This works equally well whether you are expressing encouragement or enthusiasm or trying to discourage a behavior that is dangerous or unwanted. So, remember, when you are praising your baby\u2014 \"What a good job of standing up!\"\u2014you should also offer her a bright smile and perhaps even a round of applause. By the same token, a frown or a stern expression should accompany a warning: \"Don't touch! The radiator is _hot_!\" Pay close attention to your baby's reaction. Depending on how attuned she is to your nonverbal communications, you must be prepared to modulate your behavior accordingly.\n\nYour baby's _productive speech_ \u2014using her communication skills to make herself understood\u2014is improving as well. She will use facial expressions and gestures, along with babbled sounds, to express herself. Her babbling\u2014or \"jargoning,\" as it is called by some experts\u2014has the inflections and rhythms of speech. Sometimes a few words are even recognizable: \"baybeee\" or \"mama\" or \"no.\"\n\nYour baby _wants_ to learn speech, and you can help him by repeating the correct word when you hear him make an effort. If he points to his bottle and says \"baba,\" you can respond, \"That's right. It's a bottle.\" Make sure you give positive, not negative reinforcement. You don't want to dampen his enthusiasm by saying \"Not baba; say 'bottle.' \"\n\nAt this stage of language development, remember, it's the thought that counts.\n\nHelp your baby develop language skills by remembering these few key concepts:\n\n  *   **Be an attentive listener.** Pay attention to what your baby is trying to tell you. Respond positively when he makes an effort to get your attention.\n\n  *   **Label everything**. Tell your baby the name of things, places, colors, and people.\n\n  *   **Welcome discussion**. Give your baby a chance to respond, either verbally or nonverbally.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Opposites Attract_\n\nIt has probably become obvious to you by this point that babies learn in patterned ways. Introducing _concepts_ through play is an excellent way to help your baby begin to make distinctions. Use your imagination and see how many more ways you can illustrate some of the following concepts:\n\n  *   **In and out.** Put toys in a box, take them out again.\n\n  *   **Up and down.** Using a Mylar balloon on a string, let it float \"up,\" pull it back \"down.\"\n\n  *   **Empty and full.** Fill up a cup with water, and then pour it out (particularly good in the tub).\n\n  *   **Happy and sad.** Stand in front of a mirror with your baby. Exaggerate your facial expression. Your baby may begin to mimic you.\n\n  *   **Opposites**. Be creative and make up your own games for this concept.\n\n#### _Easy as One, Two, Three_\n\nIt's not too early to begin introducing numerical concepts. Count the steps up to the second floor of your house. Count the Cheerios on your baby's high-chair tray. Count the steps down the hall. While he probably won't start doing algebra until grade school, you are laying the groundwork that will help your baby begin to understand the concept of one versus many.\n\n#### _Repeat after Me_\n\nWalk around the house with your baby, taking an inventory. Point to a book on the bookshelf and say, \"Book.\" Take a cookbook off the kitchen counter and repeat, \"Book.\" Go into your baby's room and pick up a favorite story and say, \"Book.\" Now go into your room and take the paperback from your nightstand. Hold it up and look puzzled. \"What is this?\" Give your baby a chance to answer. He might say anything from \"bhphftth\" to \"buh\" to \"boo\" to \"gah.\" No matter the answer, smile, nod, and exclaim with delight _\"Yes! Book!\"_ Celebrate your mutual brilliance and repeat. You can play this game endlessly with all the objects in your house.\n\n**Bookshelf**\n\n  Reading to your baby continues to be important, and over the next few months you may be rewarded with the adorable sight of your baby, sitting quietly in his room, \"reading\" to himself. Of course he's not actually reading the words, but he's learning valuable lessons like how to turn a page and to recognize the juxtaposition of words and pictures on a page. Because your baby is more mobile and is very intent on exploration, it's good to have your baby's favorite books within easy reach. If you have special editions or particular picture books you want to save, keep them out of reach and bring them out at times when you sit and read together. Your baby will be very interested in books with flaps or pop-up elements, but be warned: These types of books rarely stay intact.\n\nHere are some of my choices for the bookshelf during these months:\n\n  * **_\"More More More,\"Said the Baby: Three Love Stories_** by Vera B. Williams\n\n  * **_Ten, Nine, Eight_** by Molly Bang\n\n  * **_Where Is Maisy?_** by Lucy Cousins\n\n  * **_Find the Teddy_** (and others in this series) by Stephen Cartwright\n\n  * **_Old Mother Hubbard_** by Colin Hawkins and Jacqui Hawkins\n\n  * **_Peek-a-Boo, You_** by Roberta Grobel Intrater\n\n## THE LITTLE THINGS: FINE MOTOR SKILLS\n\nWith sitting up mastered and her hands free to pick up and explore objects at will, your baby will constantly be looking for new opportunities to examine different items. You will notice that your baby is becoming more precise in her movements. She may attempt to stack one block on top of another, or look for ways to hold a third toy, when she already has one in each hand. Continue to offer her chances to explore textures and shapes, but allow her independence in choosing playthings. Filling a plastic laundry basket with an assortment of favorite toys and household items like plastic spatulas or wooden cooking spoons or plastic containers of various sizes allows your now-mobile baby to access playthings on her own. The idea of taking things out and putting them in is very attractive to babies at this age, and she will enjoy emptying the basket and then returning all the items to the basket over and over again.\n\nYour daily domestic routines will also be of great interest to your baby. Try to involve him by allowing him to mimic your actions. If you are doing laundry, give him an empty basket and a few items of clothing to \"sort.\" When you are cooking, offer him a few pots and pans and a wooden spoon and let him \"stir\" and bang out rhythms to his heart's content. Grocery shopping can be the highlight of your baby's day, especially if you let him help drop the items into the cart.\n\nMost babies are very interested in watching you write or draw, and your baby may enjoy scribbling with large, easy-to-hold crayons. If your baby is one who is not too fastidious, he may also enjoy finger painting.\n\nOutdoors, you can let her help with yard work, keeping a careful eye on her as she pulls up blades of grass or crumbles dirt from the garden between her fingers. Show her how to pick up tree leaves and release them into the breeze.\n\nSimple musical instruments, like small xylophones, tambourines, or drums, give your baby the opportunity to coordinate movement to create pleasing sounds. Toys that require the pushing of buttons or the twisting of knobs will let your baby practice her fine motor skills. You may have to spend some time demonstrating how a particular activity works, but before long, your baby will develop the hand-eye coordination and concentration necessary to master these types of toys.\n\nIf your baby has been learning sign language (see chapter 5), you may be amazed at the sudden surge in his vocabulary as he begins to master more complicated hand movements.\n\n**An Important Note of Caution** : I see nothing wrong with letting your baby play with common household items, but you must be _very careful_ to ensure his safety. Be sure that lids on containers are tightly sealed if small objects are inside, or use empty plastic medicine bottles with childproof caps. Make sure that containers are clean and free of paper labels that might be gummed off. Avoid using containers or items that held or contain toxic paints or other substances, and be sure nothing has sharp edges. Unless you are completely sure you're offering your baby a totally child-safe toy, do not let your baby out of your sight or reach! Instead, join your baby in his exploration of these fascinating household items.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Jam Session_\n\nHand over a couple of pots or some larger plastic containers and a wooden spoon and cover your ears! During these months, your baby's learning is still based in repetition and the discovery of patterns, so don't expect any Charlie Watts-style flourishes yet.\n\n#### _\"Handy\" Little Entertainments_\n\nHand motion games, like \"Itsy-Bitsy Spider\" and \"Wheels on the Bus,\" that you have been playing all along with your baby will become even more popular during these few months. Your baby will be likely to join in when you begin a game of patty-cake, clapping along and patting her hands together.\n\nAnother favorite to introduce now is \"Where is Thumb-kin?\" Show your baby at first, and then help her to manipulate her fingers through the motions. It will be a while before she can raise each finger independently.\n\nHold your hands up in two fists and sing (to the tune of \"Fr\u00e8re Jacques\") _Where is Thumbkin?_ (wiggle one thumb). _Where is Thumbkin?_ (wiggle the other thumb). _Here I am. Here I am_ (make your thumbs \"bow\" to each other). _How are you today, sir? Very well I say, sir. Run away_ (hide one hand behind your back). _Run away_ (hide the other hand behind your back). Bring both hands out and\n\n**Toy Chest**\n\n  As your baby heads toward her first birthday, she is learning mostly by mimicking. As she watches you go about your daily routines, she may demand to try to hold the broom or crawl off with the dustpan, or insist on unfolding the clothes that are neatly stacked in the laundry basket. For the next few months, she will happily play with whatever she sees you \"playing\" with. With her interested in mobility and intent on standing, cruising, and walking, your whole house has potential as a play structure, and the most common items become objects of desire. Whether you let your baby \"help out\" by giving her full-sized objects or you hit the toy stores in search of mini items, most babies will enjoy playing with the following:\n\n  * vacuum cleaners they can push around (be aware, however, that your baby may be sensitive to, or even afraid of, the sound of the vacuum)\n\nstart again with \"Where is Pointer?\" Repeat for all five fingers.\n\n#### _The Life of the Party_\n\nYou're never too young\u2014or old\u2014for a rousing game of pin the tail on the donkey. Make sure to hang the picture of the donkey low enough that your crawling baby can reach it. Use double-sided tape to make it easy for her to stick the tail on. Be creative and invent new games: pin the\n\n  * unbreakable plates, cups, and other containers\n\n  * wooden spoons for stirring\n\n  * pots and pans\n\n  * toy telephones\n\n  * rag dolls\n\n  * miniature plastic foods\n\n  * household items with buttons, like TV remotes or calculators (if you give your baby a remote or any battery-operated object, remember to remove the batteries, as they can become dangerous if chewed or broken by baby's inquisitive fingers)\n\n  * key rings with old keys\n\n  * a wallet filled with expired membership cards or even pieces of colored cardboard (No coins, ever!)\n\nblanket on the donkey's back, or pin the flower on the donkey's ear. Besides encouraging manual dexterity, this is a great hand-eye coordination exercise, as your child tries to stick the tails (ears, blankets, flowers, etc.) on the correct part of the picture.\n\n#### _Feeding the Birds_\n\nMake some feathered friends when you head out to the park, duck pond, or backyard. Show your child how to crumble up crackers or stale bread. Let your child take the crackers out of the box or the bread out of the bag and work at throwing small pieces.\n\n#### _Just Another Day at the Office_\n\nGive your child an old computer keyboard and let her bang out a few memos. Keep a close eye on her so she doesn't pull any caps off the keys or otherwise work any small parts loose. While she's typing, talk about some of the letters she is pressing.\n\n## HOW IT ALL FITS: SPATIAL DEVELOPMENT\n\nDue to all the motor development and movement that he is mastering over these next few months, your baby is now working on spatial development in new dimensions. He has to learn that to crawl under a table, he will need to duck his head. He will spend time figuring out just how far he has to go to lower himself from a stand to the floor. And once he begins to walk... well, then there's those tricky questions of just how close he is to a sharp edge or solid object as he starts to lose his balance. No question about it: This is a stressful time, full of bumps, bruises, and, quite likely, unexpected trips to the pediatrician or emergency room. One mother I know joked that her son would have benefited from an emergency room frequent-flier-type program during the months when he was learning to walk. The best advice I can offer is to stay calm and encouraging as your intrepid athlete attempts seemingly impossible feats of balance and speed. And don't forget to have a ready supply of ice, antibacterial ointment, and Band-Aids!\n\nWhen your baby isn't scooting, crawling, standing, or walking (or falling), she is likely to be exploring hand-eye coordination. She will be interested in putting things in and taking them out. She will put lids on pots, books in the VCR slot, and toys in the toilet (unless you're careful!). Although she may not be able to sort different shapes, she will clearly grasp the purpose of shape-sorter toys and, with your guidance, may enjoy fitting the shapes into their various holes.\n\nKeep playing music and musical games with your baby. Researchers believe that music can help prime the neural pathways that play a role in spatial reasoning. Classical music in particular seems to enhance certain kinds of thinking. Studies have shown that after listening to classical music, adults are able to perform certain spatial tasks\u2014like putting together a jigsaw puzzle\u2014more quickly. Researchers think the complexity of the structure of classical music is what stimulates the brain to solve spatial problems more easily. So be certain to keep music a big part of your baby's life. The benefits can be both immediate and long-lasting.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Soccer Star_\n\nSupport your baby under his arms and let him kick a lightweight ball or Mylar balloon. Switch around to let him be goalie and gently roll the ball or balloon toward him as he sits on the floor. He will reach toward it to catch or stop it before it rolls past him.\n\n#### _Puzzle Solver_\n\nYour baby may be ready to try placing large wood puzzle pieces in their correct spots. Picture puzzles that have the same picture on the board (so when you lift the puzzle piece you can see the same picture) give your baby a visual cue as to where each piece belongs. At first you will have to help him replace each piece of the puzzle, but before long, your baby will be able to try a few variations in order to get the piece to fit.\n\n#### _Kitchen Chemistry_\n\nSet your baby up with pots with lids, plastic containers with lids, measuring spoons that are attached on a ring, and plastic mixing bowls that nest one inside the other. Bring out the towels and dare to fill a few of the pots with a small amount of water. Offer measuring cups that can be used to scoop and dump. Your baby and your kitchen floor may get a little wet, but I can guarantee that your budding chef will have a great time.\n\n## GET UP AND GO: GROSS MOTOR SKILLS\n\nAt some point over the last few months, you probably paused midway up a flight of stairs or jumped on a bus, having run half a block to catch it, gazed down at the chunky baby in your arms, waited to catch your breath, and then sighed, \"I can't wait until you can walk.\"\n\nAll I can say is \"Be careful what you wish for!\"\n\nWhether your baby walks well before a year or several months after his first birthday, his first steps herald an important stage of development. Much like the evolution of man to an upright posture, your baby's ability to get up off the floor where he has spent most of the past year opens new horizons that are unbelievably exciting.\n\nAnd although it seems like those first steps happen overnight, walking does not happen all of a sudden. For the past few months your baby has been practicing and trying out the components of walking. But it's a process of trial and error. Continuing to offer your baby positive stimulation during this time will allow him to develop confidence in the sequence of walking and allow him to happily master this ultimate achievement of sensory and motor abilities.\n\nIf your child isn't walking around the one-year mark, don't worry. Not all babies are in such a hurry to be upright and mobile. If your baby has always been laid-back in temperament and is crawling or scooting to get where he wants to go, try to be patient and think of this as a grace period before you are hurled into the constant motion that is toddlerhood.\n\nSome babies may also begin to show an interest in climbing. Once your baby can pull to a stand, it's a good idea to remove all extra blankets, crib bumpers, and large stuffed toys from the crib. Some particularly adept little gymnasts may even figure out how to get out of the crib by their first birthday. Don't make it any easier for them!\n\n**Dottie Says**\n\n  _\"Now that I'm walking I can't help but notice all of Mommy's beautiful shoes. Whenever I can, I get into her closet and play with them. I can't wait to wear my own shoes. I think I'd like some cowboy boots and some ballet slippers and some high-heeled sparkly pumps and maybe some little strappy sandals and most certainly a pair of tall boots. Yes, now that I can walk, I definitely need a shoe for every occasion.\"_\n\nNow it's just possible that you can't bring yourself to walk past a shoe sale. But if you've been thinking that just because your baby is walking, you can justify your craving for a pair of adorable suede loafers by buying them for her, or if you expect your new walker to share your shoe fetish, well, it's only fair to warn you that you're likely to be disappointed. In fact, the best kind of shoe for a new walker to wear is no shoe at all. Your baby will, in fact, start out using her toes to grip the floor as she practices standing. The more flexibility her feet have, the more she can count on them to help her find her balance. As long as her feet are warm and she is on a safe, clean surface, your baby is best off barefoot. If she will be outdoors, or needs shoes for a special occasion (I admit it, I couldn't resist those tiny patent leather Mary Janes with bows), then try to find shoes that have the following features:\n\n  * flexible soles that bend when your baby takes a step\n\n  * leather, canvas, or cloth uppers that can breathe and have give\n\n  * nonskid bottoms\n\n  * padded back and side edges\n\n  * plenty of room\n\n  * a cut that doesn't inhibit ankle movement\n\n**Games Siblings Play**\n\n  Until your baby is steady on his feet and walking proficiently, this can be a tricky time to keep sibling play civilized. You'll need to stay close by to ensure that your older child doesn't interfere with your baby's attempts to balance. Watch out for roughhousing or any way of \"helping\" the baby to walk that is really only a thinly veiled excuse for dragging him across the room. For the next few months, encourage floor games that let your baby interact with his big brother or sister in a more equal way. Here are a couple of suggestions for games that are fun for both the large and small participants:\n\n  * **Robo-baby.** Purchase a remote-controlled toy, like a race car. Allow your older child to operate the remote and encourage your baby to crawl after the toy. This game does require your supervision, especially as you teach your baby that the point is to chase the toy, not catch it and claim it. And teach your older child that the point is not to run over his younger sibling with the toy!\n\n  * **Upstairs, downstairs.** You can play this game only if you have baby gates at the top and bottom of your staircase (which you should!) and are willing to supervise the entire time, but it does teach your baby a valuable skill she eventually needs to master. Have your older child crawl up the stairs on his hands and knees to demonstrate to your baby how to climb up. Once she has the hang of going up, challenge your older child to demonstrate safe ways to come back down the stairs, like bumping down on his bottom, or turning around and crawling back down feetfirst. It won't be long before your baby is proficient at going up and down the staircase in a \"safe\" manner.\n\n  * **Bath-time brouhaha.** It's likely that your baby already loves bath time. Make it twice as fun by letting your older child join the baby in the tub. Give them plastic cups for pouring, toys for floating, or blowing bubbles. Be prepared for a wet bathroom floor, as splashing is inevitable!\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _A Stroll(er) around the Park_\n\nInstead of keeping your baby buckled into her stroller the entire time you are out, look for a grassy spot and let her experiment with standing and walking, using her stroller for support. Remember that if she is pushing her stroller out in front of her, she can't see where she's going. Nor does she know how to control her forward momentum. So keep your hand on the handle of the stroller to keep it all under control.\n\n#### _For Budding Gymnasts_\n\nYou may be able to find a parents' group or other playgroup that has climbing and crawling equipment suitable for your baby. When our daughter was this age, I purchased a plastic baby climber with a short slide. Although this was an outdoor toy, I moved it right into the playroom, and it kept us busy all winter long. My daughter loved crawling through the holes, hiding underneath, and wriggling her way onto the platform and down the slide. Don't let bad weather put a damper on your baby's physical activity.\n\n#### _Ride 'Em, Cowboy_\n\nToward the end of your baby's first year, he may become interested in sitting on sturdy riding toys that can scoot, roll, or rock. He will need your help at first, both for balance in getting on and off the toys and in making them move. Make sure the toys have rounded edges and are quite low to the ground (easy for him to swing a little leg over and not so tall that a little tumble becomes a big deal), and never let your baby use them near stairs or other inclines. Don't be surprised if your baby isn't ready to coordinate all the steps needed to properly operate a ride-on toy. For the next few months he may just enjoy crawling on and over it or even just sitting on that cute stuffed rocking horse you got him.\n\n#### _Bubble-Wrap Hoedown_\n\nTape a piece of bubble wrap (with the big bubbles) to the floor and have a rootin', tootin', stompin' good time.\n\n#### _Beanbag Basketball_\n\nPractice tossing an easy-to-grab beanbag into a trash can. Start out with a trash can that's low to the ground, or even a laundry basket, and work your way up to a taller, narrower \"hoop.\" Show your child how he can throw underhand, toss overhand, or slam dunk!\n\n#\n\n _ometimes the first word doesn't come quickly enough for us parents. We are always coaxing and waiting, and then, when we least expect it, it comes out of the blue. My daughter Lara was always very quiet. We were always waiting for that one word we could understand besides Mama and Dada. One Saturday afternoon we were in the car. I was driving, Barbara was in the passenger seat, and Lara was sitting quietly in her car seat in back. All of a sudden someone screamed, \"CARRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!\" The word was perfectly clear and shouted with urgency. My car swerved wildly as I frantically looked from side to side, shouting, \"WHERE? WHERE'S THE CAR?\" Once I had calmed down, I shot Barbara a dirty look; she knows it makes me crazy when she comments on my driving. But she didn't seem to be taking me too seriously; in fact, she was laughing pretty hard._\n\n_\"It wasn't me, it was Lara!\" she said. And I started to laugh, too. In the midst of our laughter, Lara began to holler, \"CAR, CAR, CAR!\" From that day forward, it was her favorite word. It certainly got everyone's attention._\n\n_Richard, Samantha and Lara's dad_\n\n## BYE-BYE, BABY\n\nI'll admit it: I wanted to be able to think of my active, vocal one-year-old as a sweet, compliant baby\u2014unfortunately, she seemed to have other ideas! From voicing strong opinions about what she ate, to what she wore, to where she went, my precious little baby had turned into a strong-willed individual who\u2014if I wasn't willing to get her what she wanted\u2014would simply stroll across the room, climb the bookshelf, and get it herself! If you're reading this and nodding your head knowingly\u2014well, welcome to toddler-hood!\n\nThis is an amazing period of development in your child's life. Every minute of every day is an opportunity for learning and exploring, and your child is eager to experience it all for himself. Sometimes all this stimulation can be overwhelming, though, and at those times your \"baby\" returns, needing cuddles, reassurance, and support.\n\nAs your baby moves into being a toddler, the most important advice I can offer to you is \"Don't rush it!\" It is just as important now that you be attuned to your child's moods and needs as it was when he was a helpless infant. Obviously, the way you relate to your child has evolved into a more interactive relationship. Now you'll talk together, walk together, and play together\u2014learning to understand and respect each other's opinions and ideas. The thing that hasn't changed is the importance of your role in stimulating your toddler as his brain continues to develop in increasingly sophisticated ways.\n\n## IN LEAPS AND BOUNDS\n\nThis period, from the beginning of the thirteenth month through the end of the eighteenth month, represents a particularly intense learning period for a toddler. He has a greater command over his motor skills as he learns to walk, run, or climb to get what he wants. Your toddler is driven to practice these skills, often to the point of exhaustion and teary breakdown. Bumps and bruises continue to be commonplace over these months, and you may have grown more relaxed about the spectacular tumbles practiced by your early walker.\n\nYour child can operate her arms and hands with ease, reaching out and grasping whatever interests her and exploring it in detail. Games that involve taking out and putting back in are still of great interest to the one- to one-and-a-half-year-old child.\n\nYour toddler may be sleeping somewhat less, leaving more time for exploring. And explore he will. Not because he has a particular purpose in mind, but simply because there are so many things to look at, touch, smell, taste, and listen to. His senses are in a constant state of stimulation. Everything is new to your little explorer, and it's important that you provide a variety of stimulation for all his senses as he plays and learns.\n\nOver these few months, you may also notice a shift from exploring to experimenting. Your toddler is relying on her memory (short as it is at this point) as a point of reference. She may begin to recognize similarities and differences in objects and start to organize her world by comparing, contrasting, and sorting.\n\nBy about fifteen months, toddlers can recognize themselves in a mirror. Along with this increased self-awareness comes an awareness of others. They begin to have an interest in other children and will be willing to play with them. At first this play takes the form of playing alongside a companion, each child involved in separate activities, called \"parallel play,\" and later it evolves into true social interaction.\n\nYour child's increasing language skills, both in understanding and using speech, will also be developing in a sophisticated way as she begins to link words to objects, emotions, and overall context.\n\n## SLEEPING AND WAKING\n\nAt the start of toddlerhood, your child will begin extending her awake time and cutting back her sleep time. For instance, if she is napping twice a day at one year, by the end of the eighteenth month, she may be ready to give up her morning nap or consolidate her morning and late afternoon nap into one longer, midday snooze.\n\n**Did You Know?: Your Toddler's Senses**\n\n  Interacting with your child in ways that stimulate her senses to promote maximum mental development is just as important now as it was when she was an infant, first learning about the world. Before you read on and see how intensely and instinctively your toddler uses her senses, I want you to take a moment and look back to chapter 2. From birth, your baby has relied on her senses to navigate an unknown world, and throughout this book, I've offered you age-appropriate ways to stimulate your child's senses. Now, after a year, it's amazing to consider the developments that have taken place since those early weeks.\n\n**Sight**\n\n  * Your toddler has 20\/20 vision, but his visual attention is still untrained. Anything in his field of vision is equally attention-worthy. He spends all day being bombarded with images. While his eyesight is keen, he still needs help with focus.\n\n  * The concept of perspective is forming in your toddler's mind. She can recognize herself (or you) when looking in a mirror.\n\n  * Familiar objects are easily recognizable, even when viewed from peculiar angles. Your toddler is very interested in objects that are revealed in ways that change their everyday appearance, such as toys viewed through a sheer curtain, or his own elongated shadow.\n\n**Hearing**\n\n  * Your toddler's ears are assaulted with sounds, and it can be difficult for him to focus on a single auditory stimulus. It's amazing to think that the baby who would startle when you turned on the vacuum cleaner now barely acknowledges you when you call his name from two feet away!\n\n  * Most toddlers like listening to, and making, music. The music you used to stimulate or soothe your child when she was an infant will be just as effective now that she is a toddler.\n\n  * Your child can probably identify some common sounds and react appropriately. For instance, pointing at the door when the doorbell rings. Or saying \"Dada?\" expectantly when she hears a car in the driveway.\n\n**Smell**\n\n  * Unlike the sensitive baby nose that could recognize her mother's breast milk, your toddler's sense of smell is somewhat less discerning. You need to take care, since your young scientist is just as interested in smelling cleaning fluid or nail polish remover as he is in stopping to smell the roses.\n\n**Taste**\n\n  * The baby that was so adventurous in tasting new bits of finger foods may have morphed into a toddler with a limited palate. Offer but don't force new foods and continue to entice your toddler with foods of varying textures, colors, and shapes. Just as infants may show a preference for sweets, your toddler may have discovered the joys of sugar. No matter how much he'd prefer candy to veggies, hold firm and limit sweet treats.\n\n**Touch**\n\n  * While your infant may have loved being touched, your toddler loves to do the touching. Exploring through tactile sensation is incredibly important. Unfortunately, this type of exploration frequently includes tearing pages out of magazines, pulling hairs out of the cat, or reprogramming the VCR. Try to create a childproofed environment in your home where touching is never off limits and there is an assortment of safe objects that will let your child explore concepts such as soft, smooth, scratchy, or nubby.\n\nAlthough your active toddler needs between ten and twelve hours of sleep each night, his newfound physical talents may allow him to discover how to climb in and out of his crib, making middle-of-the-night or super-early-in-the-morning waking a bit harder to deal with. (Because even though they know how to climb _in_ as well as _out_ , my girls only ever seemed to want to practice the _out_ part!) Unfortunately, if your child is an accomplished crib es-caper, there's little you can do about it. Some children's specialty stores sell tents that you can put over the top of a crib. These lightweight fabric screens may help to discourage untimely escapes.\n\nThere are a few other challenges that center around sleep that you may encounter over these months: difficulty with transitions from napping to awake, and the common toddler problem of becoming overtired.\n\nTransitioning from being asleep to awake and vice versa can be hard even for adults, so it's reasonable to expect it to be a challenge for your little one. The key is to gently ease them in and out, just as you would want to be gradually awakened and allowed to fall asleep. If you need to wake your toddler from a long nap (either because of your schedule or because if she keeps sleeping she'll be up all night!), be sure to allow for at least a half hour of cuddling and quiet attention to help her transition from being snug in her cozy bed to loose and on the move.\n\nIt's difficult to prevent these little busybodies from becoming overtired, which can lead to trouble sleeping. Your toddler is so busy practicing his new skills that he will often push himself to the point of physical exhaustion. Be alert for a drop in coordination, especially when combined with exciting or tense situations. Your toddler cannot recognize that he is tired and will not stop and rest. You need to rescue him\u2014or risk a total meltdown. Over these next few months, you can try introducing the concept of quiet time\u2014moments when your toddler can rest and recharge without actually taking a nap. Go into your child's room with him and spend quiet time just sitting. You can read, or talk, or listen to a music or story tape. If you're lucky, your toddler may adapt to this idea, and you'll be able to convince him to spend this quiet time in his room alone.\n\n## STIMULATING YOUR TODDLER\n\nThe key word for stimulating your toddler over the next few months and into the second year is \"encouragement.\" Toddlers learn through exploration and opportunity, so provide her with a safe space in which she can move and\n\n**Toddler R &R**\n\n  What's the key to being a well-rested and refreshed parent? Having a well-rested and refreshed toddler! The following tips are as useful for stressed-out adults as they are for overtired tots:\n\n  * Wake up at the same time each day. Yes, even on weekends.\n\n  * Go to bed at the same time each night. Okay, grown-ups, you can have a little more leeway on this one\u2014but only by an hour or so.\n\n  * Don't keep going until you're frantic. If a task is getting too frustrating, take a break.\n\n  * Recharge when your batteries are lowest. If you\u2014or your toddler\u2014have a midafternoon lull and just can't keep your eyes open, don't reach for caffeine or plop your child down in front of a stimulating video. Instead give in to the call of your biorhythms and take a brief but refreshing nap.\n\nexplore. She will delight in crawling under, climbing over, and bouncing around.\n\nEncourage your child's newly discovered independence by providing him with accessible baskets of toys, books, and other playthings. Let him enjoy his new ability to choose what he would like to examine and practice his freedom to pick something out of the basket and drop it to the floor with a satisfying _thump._ Your toddler's attention span is improving, and he can concentrate on a single toy for a brief period of time. But while he will take the time\n\n**A Few Words about Discipline**\n\n  There are entire books devoted to techniques for instilling a sense of discipline in toddlers. And having survived two toddlers of my own, I can see why it's needed. If you are looking for a game plan for taming a particularly difficult toddler, check the appendix at the back of this book for some ideas on where to start. In the meantime, here are a few words to bear in mind when your toddler's natural curiosity is about to get the best of both of you:\n\n  * Restrain. Yourself, that is. Don't immediately resort to yelling, \"No, no!\" or \"Don't!\" or \"Stop!\" expecting your child to stop in the middle of what he is doing. A toddler loves a challenge and won't necessarily back off from further confrontation. Always be prepared to back up your words with action. Don't allow yourself to become angry, categorize your child as \"bad,\" or jump on every little infraction. Choose your battles when setting limits and be consistent.\n\n  * **Refrain.** As in the chorus of a song. Toddlers have limited memories, so you can't expect them to remember all the rules all the time. Be prepared to repeat the same message over and over again. Again, consistency is the key to helping toddlers understand what is and isn't appropriate.\n\n  * **Retrain.** What I really mean here is \"redirect,\" but I couldn't resist the rhyme! When your toddler's headed for trouble, you need to head him off first with another, equally intriguing option. Eventually your child will understand that while it's not okay to bang on the TV screen or windowpanes with his toy hammer, he is allowed to hammer away at pots and pans, or blocks of wood, or even the kitchen floor.\n\nto examine an object or a toy before moving on to the next, he still does not have a long memory, and so you may notice that he will keep coming back to the same toy with equal enthusiasm over and over again. This means there's no need to include every toy in the toy box. A better idea is to rotate a succession of favorite toys, so he always has something \"new\" to explore.\n\nEncourage and stimulate your toddler's language boom by responding to her questions, babbles, and commands using a grown-up voice and grown-up words. Listen carefully when she talks to you, make eye contact, and respond, even if you're not one hundred percent sure what she's said. When you think you do know what she's saying, repeat her request back to her in other words. For instance you might respond to a request for \"mo meee\" by saying, \"Would you like more milk?\" Read to her and label common objects seen in your home, on your walks, and in the grocery store. Sing songs or chant rhymes; the repetition and rhythmic tones will capture your child's attention as it helps her vocabulary grow. Greet your toddler's verbal efforts with enthusiasm and encouragement, and you'll soon have a confident communicator.\n\n## TODDLER STEPS\n\nFrom the beginning of the thirteenth month to the end of the eighteenth, your child will be rapidly developing her mobility, her fine motor skills, and her speech. And it's probably not happening in the same kind of steady linear progression that was so satisfying to chart in her baby book\n\n**Toy Chest**\n\n  The best toys for your toddler are simple things that let him explore his world, begin to understand how things work, establish context, and mimic grown-up routines. Here are some easy-to-find items and toys that I've used with my girls for hours of fun and stimulating learning:\n\n  * **Water.** It can be plain, bubbly, iced, colored, cool, warm. Let your child splash, pour, measure, spill, float things, or immerse herself (all under supervision, of course!).\n\n  * **Mud, clay, or dough.** Roll, squish, mold, and shape it. You can make your own safe Play-Doh or buy commercial brands, or just go outside and get filthy playing in some good squishy mud.\n\n  * **Sand.** Pile it, pour it, make it wet. If you can't get to the beach, fill a box with sand and have a sandbox in your backyard or, on rainy days, your own mini-island in the middle of the kitchen. Keep a toy broom handy for the inevitable sandstorm on the kitchen floor.\n\nduring the early months. That's because she's not really a baby anymore\u2014she's a toddler! And toddlers develop in uneven leaps and bounds, perhaps taking a few unsteady steps one day and, a few weeks later, running across the lawn as they chase their favorite ball. Children in this age range can vary widely in their development, so the lists below purposely cover a variety of skills.\n\nYour baby who was walking by her first birthday may\n\n  * **Blocks.** Stack them up, knock them down, pound them, line them up. Choose small, easy-to-hold wooden blocks with animal pictures or letters of the alphabet on them and they can be used in whole new ways as your child grows.\n\n  * **Sorting toys.** Provide simple wooden shapes that fit easily into large holes. You will still have to help with maneuvering the shapes to fit into the holes, but your child may begin to recognize and match the shapes. You can use foam board and cut out the outlines of simple shapes such as squares, circles, and triangles. Help your child replace the shapes, like you're solving a simple jigsaw puzzle.\n\n  * **Cups and other containers.** Fill, empty, or pour from one to another. Your toddler will begin to grasp concepts like full and empty.\n\n  * **Light balls, beanbags, or Mylar balloons.** Catch, throw, and kick.\n\n  * **Crayons, finger paints, and paper.** Scribbling is an exciting exercise in cause and effect for your toddler.\n\nbe running by the time she is fifteen months old. Another child may not run with confidence until he is a year and a half or older. But he may have an extensive vocabulary and be using simple two-word sentences by the time he is sixteen months. Because there is such a wide range of developmental ability at this age, don't make yourself crazy by comparing your child solely against this list, or even against one or two or her friends.\n\nYou have spent a year with this little person, and you, better than anyone else, know if she is developing appropriately, based upon her personality and physical strengths and weaknesses.\n\nOf course, as you know by now from reading the earlier chapters, if you ever have any questions or concerns about your child's rate of development, you should consult your pediatrician.\n\nSomewhere between the beginning of the thirteenth month and the end of the fifteenth month, your child should have achieved many of the milestones listed below. Your toddler should be able to:\n\n  *   easily pull up to standing\n\n  *   cruise with confidence\n\n  *   play patty-cake\n\n  *   scribble with a crayon\n\n  *   sort objects into containers\n\n  *   build a stack of two or more blocks\n\n  *   walk well\n\n  *   walk up steps with help\n\n  *   climb\n\n  *   run\n\n  *   use simple sentences (\"What that?\" or \"Give me.\")\n\n  *   understand and (sometimes) follow simple commands\n\nSometime between the beginning of the sixteenth month and the end of the eighteenth month, your child should be able to perform all of the skills listed above as well as be able to:\n\n**Did You Know?: Development of Premature Babies**\n\n  If your baby was born prematurely, you may find that he is not reaching the milestones listed in each chap-ral\u00ebo ter in this book within the expected age range. Although you and your pediatrician are no doubt carefully monitoring your baby's development, there are certain delays that are common among premature infants that may especially stand out as they move into toddlerhood. Conditions that are often present in premature children and that gradually resolve over the first two years of life may include:\n\n  * abnormal muscle tone\n\n  * mild delays in growth\n\n  * mild delays in achievements of skill\n\n  * behavioral problems that may inhibit attaining milestones\n\nMany parents and pediatricians evaluate a preemie's development according to a scale of \"adjusted age.\" That is, a baby who was born two months premature and who is now fourteen months old would be an adjusted age of twelve months and would be reaching milestones accordingly. By the time a child is two or older, she has generally caught up from any mild or temporary developmental delays.\n\nIf your toddler is frustrated by any of the games or activities suggested in this chapter, review earlier chapters for ideas on how to tailor the stimulation you provide to suit his attention and abilities. Remember, helping your child reach his potential is not just about having a smarter baby; it's about having a happier baby as well.\n\n**Dottie Says**\n\n  _\"Ooh, look what I've found in Daddy's pocket. It's his phone. Wow, I love pushing all these buttons. Oh, cool, it's ringing. Someone's talking! 'Bah, Ma-ma-ma-ma, ah-gook, no! No! Bye.' Gee, that was fun. Now which button did I push again?\"_\n\nOnce your highly imitative toddler becomes enamored of your phone, or PDA, or remote control, you need to be sure that the versions she is allowed to play with are completely disabled. Or take your chance with the consequences.\n\nHere's an unbelievable-but-true baby and phone story: Our one-year-old daughter snagged her dad's cell phone. My husband was in the other room talking to a client on the house phone, and I overheard the whole exchange. First my husband said to his client, \"Sure, I'll hold.\" Then I heard our daughter babbling away, obviously in intent conversation. How cute it was that she was imitating her dad! A few minutes later I heard my husband laughing and exclaiming,\"What do you mean, it was a baby on the line?\" By now our daughter had abandoned the cell phone and moved on to another activity. And then it dawned on me. I picked up the cell phone and checked the call log, and sure enough, my husband had been put on hold so his client could take a speed-dialed call from our one-year-old daughter!\n\n  *   drink from a cup\n\n  *   remove a piece of her clothing\n\n  *   throw a ball overhand\n\n  *   use a spoon\n\n  *   kick a ball forward\n\n  *   name body parts\n\n  *   name an object in a picture\n\n  *   have a vocabulary of up to fifty recognizable words\n\n## TODDLER TALK\n\nBeginning to use language appropriately\u2014like excitedly yelling out \"CAR!\" when she sees one on the highway (okay, so maybe it's not always _appropriate)_ \u2014is a hallmark of your toddler's verbal development. From babbling with a conversational tone but few recognizable words, to issuing commands like a mini-Mussolini\u2014\"Me go!\" \"Cookie!\" \"Juice!\"\u2014your toddler is learning how words, concepts, emotions, and actions interact. Like most developing skills over these months, toddlers'verbal talents may vary widely. One mother claims her son never said a word until his eighteenth month, when one morning he calmly told her, \"I don't like cereal. I want toast and butter.\"\n\nAnother mother recalls how she wished for earplugs just for a few hours of relief from the nonstop chatter of her fifteen-month-old daughter, whose earliest words included, \"What's that?\" Worn down by her daughter's relentless quest to have everything in her field of vision labeled\u2014\"That's a couch.\" \"That's a crack in the sidewalk.\" \"That's salmon steak.\"\u2014the beleaguered mom would beg her little darling to \"Please, please, let's just be quiet for one minute,\" as other parents commented on how nice it was to have such a talkative toddler.\n\nWhether you're coaxing your strong, silent type to say a few words or rapidly feeding the voracious vocabulary of an early talker, you can still provide important stimulation that will help your toddler learn how to truly communicate and understand the importance of language.\n\nIn the beginning of this second year and up until the end of the eighteenth month, it is likely that new words will come slowly. But each new word that is learned is practiced with a variety of intonations, as your child learns to communicate emotions and meanings. Consider the following variations of a simple word:\n\n\"Dog!\" exclaimed in excitement might mean: \"I see a dog.\"\n\n\"Dog?\" could be asking: \"Is the dog coming over to me?\"\n\n\"Dog!\" accompanied by a disappointed shake of the head and exasperated tone might mean: \"The dog went the other way.\"\n\nIt is your job to help your budding linguist communicate clearly by mirroring back to her the intent of her comments. For example, when she says \"Dog!\" while out walking, you can repeat back, \"Yes, that's a dog,\" or \"Yes, I see the dog, too.\"\n\nBy around eighteen months, your child will likely experience a huge jump in the number of words she knows, from around 30 to around 200 (or, in some cases, 400 or more). The numbers continue to increase exponentially. By the time your child starts kindergarten, she will have a vocabulary of more than 2,000 words. If your child isn't saying any words by fifteen months (including \"Mama\" or \"Dada\"), didn't babble before his first birthday, or makes only unintelligible sounds (even to you), you may want to discuss his speech development with your pediatrician. Among other possibilities, your child's hearing may be impaired, making imitative speech difficult or impossible.\n\nBooks continue to be important learning tools, and reading becomes much more interactive. Your toddler can now identify pictures in the books that interest her, pointing to various objects, and you can use these opportunities to encourage your child to answer simple questions. For instance, when your thirteen-month-old points to a cat, ask her, \"What does the cat say?\" Your eighteen-month-old might be able to answer a question as complex as \"What color is the cat?\" Use your imagination when reading and be creative with how you use your toddler's favorite books.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Hello, Who's Calling, Please?_\n\nOne of the most interesting items to toddlers is a phone. The allure of talking on the phone, whether it's your home telephone or a cell phone, is irresistible. Toy stores offer many versions of pretend phones, but I found that my kids were most satisfied by the real thing. An old phone without a cord or a cell phone with the battery removed will quickly become a favorite toy. Hold your own phone as you pretend to call your child and engage her in conversations. This is a great opportunity to model basic good manners, such as saying \"Hello, How are you?,\" and \"Good-bye\" appropriately.\n\n#### _What Comes Next?_\n\nUse your imagination and find lots of times to play this game. I used it most often when getting my children dressed in the morning. Ask your child, \"What does [child's name] wear next?\" as you look at her clothes. Your child may point to an item of clothing, and you can tell her, \"Yes, the diaper comes next,\" as you put on her diaper. Continue asking the question and naming all her pieces of clothing as you get her dressed for her day. Try this game in reverse at night: \"What comes off next?\"\n\n#### _Show and Tell_\n\nHelp your child connect words and actions by offering a play-by-play of your daily activities. \"Mommy is making a sandwich for lunch\"\u2014go into the kitchen. \"We need bread\"\u2014show slices of bread. \"I cut some tomato with a knife\"\u2014show tomato and knife\u2014and so on. You may feel silly carrying on a monologue at first, but as your child's vocabulary increases, start offering places where he can fill in the blanks. For example, if you are going outside, begin by saying, \"Mommy is putting on her...\" and then hold up your shoe and pause, seeing if your child can fill in the blank.\n\n#### _Where Is It? What Is It?_\n\nAnother naming game that is a particularly good distraction at bath time is to ask your child, \"Where is [child's name]'s nose?\" At first you will touch your child's nose, or elbow, or fingers, or toes each time after you ask the question.\n\n**Bookshelf**\n\n  Over the past year, it has probably become apparent what your toddler is most interested in. For some children it's trucks, cars, or emergency vehicles; one of my daughters was crazy about kittens; the other couldn't get enough of farm animals; and I know several toddlers who were fascinated with dinosaurs before they could talk. This is a great time to indulge your child's interests through books. Toddlers are generally so active that reading time may take a backseat to playtime. But if you follow your child's lead and choose books that interest him, you will be able to maintain a ritual of reading together, even with the most active of toddlers. Here are a few of my favorite books for this age:\n\n  * **_Dig Dig Digging_** by Margaret Mayo and Alex Ayliffe\n\n  * **_Who Said Moo?_** by Harriet Ziefert and Simms Taback\n\n  * **_Sleepy Me_** by Marni McGee\n\n  * **_My First Word Touch and Feel_** from Dorling Kindersley\n\n  * **_Hello, Lulu_** by Caroline Uff\n\n  * **_The Baby's Word Book_** by Sam Williams\n\nBefore you know it, your child will be touching the correct body part at your prompting. And soon after that, he may begin to be able to answer verbally if you point to his nose and ask, \"What is this?\"\n\n## THE LITTLE THINGS: FINE MOTOR SKILLS\n\nWith her hands now completely under her control and with complete confidence in her ability to reach, grasp, hold, and drop items, your toddler is actively engaging in a wide range of activities that help hone her developing fine motor skills. Over these few months, your child will particularly enjoy putting things in and taking them out of containers, imitating the act of drawing or writing by attempting her own scribbling, stacking, sorting, and stringing. It's easy to provide her with opportunities to practice all these skills without investing in expensive toys or activity boards. I found this stage particularly helpful, as it was the perfect opportunity to begin to teach my toddlers how to help with cleanup. No matter how many toys were scattered throughout the house, my daughter was more than willing to follow me around and help me collect toys in the big plastic laundry basket we used as her toy box.\n\nUse the following list of activities to inspire your own creativity in stimulating your busy toddler.\n\n  *   Putting in and taking out. Have an assortment of boxes, containers, and paper bags available to your child, and offer a variety of objects of different weights and sizes.\n\n  *   **Scribbling.** Tape paper securely to a table or the floor and let your child use extra-thick crayons to experiment with cause and effect as she moves the crayon across the page.\n\n  *   **Stacking.** Let your child play with wooden or cardboard blocks, toys that stack one inside the other, and plastic containers of varying size.\n\n  *   **Sorting.** Give your toddler different-colored socks, different shapes of pasta, different kinds of cereal, or other objects of varying size.\n\nAll these activities will reinforce the brain wiring that is taking place as your toddler's fine motor coordination develops, so don't think you have to direct your child to any one particular activity. Remember, repetition is key for your toddler in mastering any task. The games below offer some simple activities your toddler will enjoy and that promote manual dexterity.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Architect at Work_\n\nUse wooden blocks to create simple patterns, such as rows, towers, or pyramids. Encourage your child to imitate your structures and then let him build his own design for you to copy.\n\n#### _Speed Racers_\n\nEmpty paper towel tubes are just the right size to use as tunnels for small toy cars or balls. (If your child is still putting things in her mouth, supervise her carefully, as items that can fit through a cardboard tube of this size can pose a choking hazard.) Hold the tube steady and let your child drop items into it, then watch as they shoot out the other end.\n\n#### _Grocery Bagger_\n\nThe next time you grocery shop, put cans and lightweight paper products in the same bag. Put the bag on the floor and let your child help you unpack. You'll be able to get all the other groceries put away without interference, and your child will love \"helping.\"\n\n#### _Treasure Hunt_\n\nThis game is particularly fun to play outside, although it can work as an indoor event as well. Take a small plastic bucket\u2014one that your child can comfortably carry\u2014and head outside to explore. Let her choose objects to put in the bucket, encouraging her to pick up leaves, pluck blades of grass, and pick up stones, twigs, or handfuls of sand. Your child will love to carry (as well as dump) the bucket full of treasures, and plucking, twisting, picking, and scooping are all great ways to practice hand movements and dexterity.\n\n## HOW IT ALL FITS: SPATIAL DEVELOPMENT\n\nAll the aspects of your toddler's development are coming together in a remarkable combination of skills that result in some amazing advances in his development of spatial relations. Both his visual-spatial (determining distance, sorting shapes, recognizing patterns, and sequencing and ordering) and his motor-spatial (navigating around objects, balancing, and moving at varying speeds) skills will continue to sharpen through this year and the next. It's interesting to note that the right hemisphere of the brain, which controls self-awareness, art, music, and creativity, also controls spatial relations.\n\nSo, while your toddler's left brain is hard at work mastering language, recognizing patterns, and organizing spatial information, his right brain is helping him figure out how to negotiate the living room by walking rather than crawling. It's amazing to see how each element of your child's development is suddenly interrelating with many other elements and allowing your toddler to perceive his world in a complex way.\n\nHelping your toddler to process all this new sensory input is as simple as making sure that the activities you do stimulate multiple senses and allow him to continue his burgeoning work in integrating all his new skills.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Bang on a Drum All Day_\n\nYou know how much your toddler loves to bang on things: pots, coffee tables, high-chair trays\u2014whatever is available. Pounding toys, such as those on which he can use a hammer to bop pegs through round holes, are great for developing spatial relations skills. At first you will have to help him fit the colorful round pegs in their holes and perhaps lend a hand when hammering the pegs down, but before too long, your child will be happily banging away. This simple\n\n**Your Baby's View: Making Friends**\n\n  Imagine that you're assigned to a huge, complex, multitask project at your office. For months, you've been logging an incredible number of days at the office, just gathering the necessary information and organizing it into usable forms. Everything is just now starting to make sense, and you're ready to really buckle down and master the subject matter. Once you do, you'll be ready for the big presentation.\n\nOne day, your boss comes into the office with another person. You're introduced, and your boss tells you that you'll be spending some time with this person. You say hello and maybe even register that this new coworker looks very nice. You even feel like you could like her. But you're busy. So very, very busy. And so, without making any chitchat, you return to your project.\n\nBut your coworker's busy, too. As busy as you, it seems. And so the two of you settle down to work in companionable silence. Perhaps you glance up once in a while and exchange brief smiles. Or you borrow the tape dispenser from your coworker's desk. Or lend her a pen. Maybe one day your boss takes the two of you to lunch, where you each vie\n\ngame combines sorting, fitting shapes into holes, developing the hand-eye coordination necessary for using a hammer to pound the peg in, learning cause and effect, and experiencing some fine sonic stimulation as well. Whew! Now that you know what he's working on, wouldn't you just rather take an aspirin for that headache instead of hiding the hammer after a morning of endless pounding?\n\na little for attention as you discuss your projects. Even though you don't speak much or share the workload, you feel a real camaraderie with this person; you perceive that you're like-minded individuals.\n\nWhen it comes right down to it, you're glad to share space with this person. It's companionable, and you both seem to be doing the same sort of thing. Maybe one day, when you've mastered your project, the two of you can hang out together. You really do believe you've become quite fond of her.\n\nEarly social interactions between toddlers are not much different from the scenario described above. For the next year or two, your child will be perfectly happy playing _alongside_ his peers. Experts call this way of playing \"parallel play,\" and it simply means that while an older child or an adult is often able to tailor an activity to draw a toddler out of his own single-minded exploration, another toddler is happy to simply share space and engage in her own pursuits.\n\nAs your toddler becomes a master of his basic language, cognitive, emotional, and motor skills, he will become more able to participate in cooperative play. In the meantime, let your child enjoy the companionship of others his age, but don't attempt to force them to play together.\n\n#### _Motion and Music_\n\nTurn on whatever music inspires you and your child. Dance, jump, or run in circles. Crouch down and walk like a duck, prance like a horse, tiptoe like a mouse. Let your child stretch her imagination as you work on rhythm and balance. The bonus? A nice aerobic workout for you.\n\n**Dookie Says**\n\n  _\"I love to watch my videos. I can pick them up by myself and I can almost work the VCR. Well, I would be able to, if I could ever get to it, but Mom and Dad have moved it behind the cabinet doors. Oh, well. I can always ask them to put on the TV for me. And I do. Over and over again\u2014all day long. See how quiet I am? I'm not bothering the grown-ups and they can take care of all their grown-up chores. Why don't they let me watch as much as I want?\"_\n\nThere are any number of studies these days regarding toddlers and television watching, and as the creator of a video and DVD series, I'll be the first to say that I don't agree with the inflexible rule of absolutely no watching TV shows, DVDs, or videos, ever. In fact, there are many experts who agree with my philosophy that TV shows, DVDs, and videos can have educational value and can introduce your child to a rich fantasy world that might include talking animals, crazy puppets, or spellbinding scenery.\n\nWhat is important to remember is that TV, DVD, or video viewing, like any treat, is best in moderation. And it's not bad to have a few general rules:\n\n  * Always be sure that what your child is watching is age-appropriate.\n\n  * Limit the amount of time your toddler spends watching the television.\n\n  * Set a positive example: Don't leave the television on all day in the background; don't watch your favorite show when you are playing a game with your toddler.\n\n  * Make watching a favorite DVD or video a special event. Sit together, cuddle, and talk about what you see.\n\n#### _Hide-and-Seek_\n\nThis game is a popular way to build spatial awareness, and it's easy to play either indoors or out. It's also a great way to incorporate number concepts as you teach your child how to count to ten while someone hides.\n\nStart by \"hiding\" underneath a blanket and letting your toddler \"find\" you. Then hide her under the blanket. Add variety and work on naming body parts by grabbing a leg or an arm. Ask \"Is this a _leg_ I feel under here? Is it an _arm?\"_ Whip the cover off to announce in a satisfied voice, _\"Nope!_ 'It's [child's name].\" Simple? Sure. But a guaranteed crowd-pleaser\u2014trust me.\n\nAs your child gets more mobile, begin by hiding in plain sight. Crouch behind a chair so part of you sticks out. Or hide behind the curtains. Or a skinny tree. Call out \"Where's Mommy [or Daddy, or whomever]?\" and let your toddler locate you by your voice. This will also teach her to play by calling out her own version of \"Where am I?\" which will (hopefully) prevent those heart-stopping moments when she manages to hide so well you really can't find her!\n\n## GET UP AND GO: GROSS MOTOR SKILLS\n\nFrom being cradled in your arms, to kicking on her back in a stroller, to sitting in a bouncy seat, to sitting in a high chair, to crawling, to cruising, and now to walking, your toddler has slowly and steadily been working to get her growing body under her control. From this point on, your toddler will likely make a steady progression in mobility\n\nSafety Watch: Childproofing for Climbing Toddlers\n\n  There's something very enticing about things that are out of your toddler's reach. And there are more ways than you can think of to get to those things. Now that he has the ability to move around upright, combined with stacking skills\u2014well, there's nowhere he can't go! It's your job not to stop him from working on this new climbing skill but to keep him safe while providing some places where it's safe to practice under your supervision.\n\nPlastic climbing gyms are small and can fit even in a cramped playroom. They often have cutouts on the bottom for crawling through and a slide for a quick trip down. Outdoor play structures also provide good opportunities for climbing practice, and many parks have structures that are scaled to toddler-size.\n\nIt's important to make your home as climb-proof as possible. Favorite furniture for climbing includes: cribs, book-\n\nand speed. And unfortunately this desire for speed is coupled with a complete disregard for her personal safety. You'll need to perfect the art of sticking close without hovering, of calmly wiping away tears and assessing damage, and, most likely, of speed-dialing your pediatrician and rattling off the status of the injury like an extra on _ER._\n\nMany toddlers love to participate in specially designed gym classes that include bouncing on trampolines, playing with huge swaths of parachute cloth, and swinging from\n\nshelves, chairs, coffee tables (or, for the ambitious, kitchen and dining room tables), countertops, step stools, and dressers (ever notice how the knobs are like the handholds on the rock-climbing wall at the gym?). Take a look around your house and see what needs to be done to limit dangerous climbing.\n\n  * Make sure bookcases are anchored to the wall.\n\n  * Move furniture away from windows and install window guards.\n\n  * Fold up step stools and put them away.\n\n  * Store the most rickety of chairs, for the time being.\n\n  * Leave a pile of pillows on the floor next to the crib to cushion late-night missteps.\n\nIf your toddler is an inveterate climber, you'll need to keep a close eye on him. It's not just the heights he might reach that could be dangerous, it's also the dangerous things that you may store up high, thinking they are safe, that are now within his curious reach.\n\nbars. Look for a facility with well-padded surfaces (including the poles and beams supporting the equipment) and a staff that specializes in tiny tumblers.\n\nThis year can be a nerve-racking time as your toddler becomes proficient on her feet at all speeds. Try not to worry too much. Toddlers are incredibly resilient and fearless (they have to be!), and with your encouragement and protection will come through this developmental phase unscathed!\n\n**Games Siblings Play**\n\n  Play between older siblings and toddlers must still be carefully supervised. Early walkers are still getting their balance and may be intimidated by older, faster-moving kids. Younger siblings who are now able to get into all of the \"big kid\" stuff may also frustrate older children. On the other hand, older children are often more than happy to take the lead, and toddlers love to imitate, so there are still many opportunities for harmonious family fun. Here are a few ideas for games that should entertain children both large and small:\n\n  * **Zookeeper.** Let your older child pretend to be a variety of zoo animals. Designate your toddler as zookeeper and give him a plastic bucket filled with toy foods. Put the older child in the crib (cage), and have the toddler make the rounds to feed the roaring lion, chattering chimp, barking\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Olympic Gymnast_\n\nUse a long two-inch-by-four-inch board. For younger toddlers, start with encouraging them to walk on it while it lies flat on the ground. As they become older, lift the board a few inches off the floor with a stack of bricks (outside) or books (inside) to make a more challenging balance beam. Start with it turned so your toddler is walking on the wider side of the board. Hold her hands for balance and help her cross from one side to the other.\n\nseal, and trumpeting elephant. Offer them a chance to reverse roles and let your toddler make the animal noises.\n\n  * A Grand Parade. Break out the musical instruments and noisemakers and let your older child be parade marshal and lead you and your toddler on a noisy march throughout the house or neighborhood. Wearing costumes or silly hats adds to the fun.\n\n  * **Going on a Bear Hunt.** A variation of the parade. Memorize the book _We're Going on a Bear Hunt_ by Michael Rosen and Helen Oxenbury and march around the house or yard chanting and acting out the story.\n\n  * **An Evening of Theater.** Pick a favorite book that your older child knows well. Read aloud as your older child acts out the story and favorite characters. Make sure that you and your toddler offer enthusiastic applause and even a standing ovation at the end of the performance.\n\n#### _Magic Carpet Ride_\n\nHave your child sit on an extra-large bath or beach towel. Grab the end of the towel and _slowly_ pull her across a bare floor. You can swirl her in circles, swish her from side to side, or build up to some speed on the straightaways. Just make sure that your child is ready for takeoff, or instead of happy squeals, you'll hear the _thunk_ of her head bumping the floor as she tips backward off her \"magic carpet.\"\n\n#\n\n _t seems like yesterday that I was helping Richard feed himself. I remember him opening his mouth, frantic for me to get that spoon in there. Sometimes I would juggle two spoons, just to make sure I had a second spoonful ready to go as soon as he gulped down the first spoonful But now it's a whole different story. It seems like every day he grows more and more independent. I love watching him as he succeeds in accomplishing even the smallest tasks. Sometimes when he's eating and I see that it takes him a few minutes to get even one tiny pea with his fork, I try to step in and help. But every time I try to help, he says. \"No, Mommy! Me do. Me do!\" I appreciate this new independence in so many ways as I watch him each day. He wants to do everything himself, no help from Mommy\u2014 no matter how long it takes. And, honestly? It makes me proud._\n\n_Linda, Taylor and Richard's mom_\n\n## I DID IT MY WAY\n\nOl' Blue Eyes may have thought he had the market cornered on independence, but over these six months you'll discover that Sinatra's got nothing on your toddler when it comes to sheer force of will. The toddler's rallying cry is \"Me do!\" And yet, sweetly, your toddler still needs your reassurance that it's okay to persevere at these tasks.\n\nAnd your job is to stand back and let him do it. To allow your child to forge ahead in trying and mastering the skills he is acquiring, you will need the cheerful encouragement of a cheerleader, the patience of a saint, the negotiating skills of an international diplomat, and the ability to move at the speed of a three-toed sloth. In fact, the next time you are marveling at how time is passing in slow motion as you endure the endless wait required while a determined twenty-month-old dresses himself each morning, remember that allowing your child to practice simple skills will provide the stimulation that those areas of his brain need to make such tasks easy and routine.\n\nAs for what you can do about the potential embarrassment of venturing out in public with a twenty-month-old who has successfully dressed herself in an outfit of her own choosing\u2014you're on your own. One woman I met told me her child's favorite outfit to wear outside was pajamas. I can't tell you how many times I was accompanied to the grocery store by a tutu-clad, feather-boa-flaunting, wand-waving, sparkly-red-shoe-wearing \"Princess\"!\n\nAs your child barrels toward her second birthday, you may often find yourself marveling at the relatively verbal, relatively coordinated, endlessly energetic little person you have raised. During these months that go so fast, be sure to take some time to acknowledge how all the early stimulation and attention you have lavished on your child has paid off. If you really want a sense of how much your child has developed and where her early potential has taken her, turn back to the earliest chapters in this book and play with your toddler some of the games I recommended for infants. You may be surprised to see that certain games will evoke a memory and even an enthusiastic response.\n\nCompare her reactions to the stimulation as an infant with her reaction to the games as a toddler. I'll bet you will be amazed at how sophisticated her skill levels have become. And it should be clear how the relatively simple activities that stimulated her as an infant have laid the groundwork for the more complex stimulation she now thrives on.\n\n## A STEADIER PROGRESSION\n\nNo matter how quickly your child zoomed ahead in certain areas as an infant or early toddler, as he approaches two, you may feel like he and his peers are all sort of leveling out, developmentally speaking. From the beginning of the nineteenth month to your child's second birthday, toddlers progress steadily, showing a more moderate but constant rate of development. You can expect to see a steady improvement in all areas: language, motor, cognitive, social, and emotional skills. Abstract concepts such as passage of time and emotions like empathy are beginning to develop along with social awareness and longer memory span.\n\nPerhaps the word that best sums up your toddler over these next few months is \"intense.\" Think of your toddler as an anthropologist studying a newly discovered tribe. You might catch her staring at you intently as you take out the dishes and set the table. Perhaps later that week you might find her setting plates down in front of her teddy bears. In fact, toddlers spend up to 20 percent of their time just watching and studying behavior. They internalize what they have observed by imitation and repetition.\n\nYour toddler is also intent on using his developing language skills to gather more information. \"Why?\" or \"What?\" may become the most frequent word you hear. You need to acknowledge the importance of this information gathering by answering these questions each time they are asked. Even if it _is_ the one-hundredth time you've explained why he shouldn't eat from the dog's dish.\n\nFine motor skills have improved immensely to the point where your toddler can manipulate levers, switches, and keys. This manual dexterity, combined with his unlimited interest in how things work, makes toys that \"do something,\" like pop-ups or games where he can press buttons, very popular.\n\nImproved physical strength and coordination let your toddler actively pursue some of the activities she sees that look so interesting. It will help if you can begin to find stimulating activities that will channel some of her physical energy.\n\n## SLEEPING AND WAKING\n\nYour toddler's sleep needs are the same as they were in the previous six months: ten to twelve hours at night and possibly a one- to two-hour nap in the afternoon. Their growing brains and bodies need time to rest and recharge. If you have already helped your toddler learn how to drift off on his own at night, it's likely you'll have fairly smooth sailing from this point on. If your toddler has bad sleep habits or requires your attention whenever he wakes, you may be in for a stormy ride.\n\nFrom about nineteen to twenty-four months, toddlers may experience interrupted sleep for several reasons: teething (second molars come in at around twenty months), night terrors, simple but significant stresses (like new babysitters, a move, a new school, or a temporarily absent parent), and trouble processing the day's events. If you've taught your child how to settle herself after waking, this brief window of disturbed sleep patterns shouldn't cause any problems down the road. If you're starting to panic as you read this and are thinking that you had better break some bad habits now, there are several parenting experts who are known for their expertise in sleep issues. Look for books by someone whose philosophy on getting toddlers to sleep most closely matches your own:\n\n  *   **Jody Mindell** stresses calming, consistent routines and teaching the child how to fall asleep independently.\n\n  *   **Richard Ferber** prefers consistent routines, a transitional object, and a firm emphasis on teaching children to fall asleep on their own.\n\n  *   **T. Berry Brazelton** explains relaxing routines and self-comforting techniques\u2014methods for reinforcing your toddler's growing sense of autonomy.\n\n  *   **William Sears, M. D.** , teaches establishing nighttime rituals, including \"parenting\" by rocking her or lying down with her rather than \"putting\" your child to sleep.\n\n  *   **Marc Weissbluth, M. D.** , offers a step-by-step program for instilling good sleep habits.\n\nWhat you may have noticed in the quick summary above is that no matter what approach they take to resolving sleep issues, the experts all agree on one thing regarding toddlers and sleep: routine. A routine of any kind is important for toddlers. As your toddler struggles with her desire for independence, it is reassuring, even relaxing, to her to know what is coming next. So, particularly at bedtime, a consistent routine may mean a smoother transition from awake to asleep.\n\nFollowing is the bedtime routine in our household, which has existed, in more or less the same order, for the better part of five years. Although there are a lot of steps, it's not as complicated as it seems\u2014especially after doing it every night for five years! Once you find the right bedtime groove, you can speed through some sections while lingering over others. Don't worry: Your child will let you know if you've left anything important out! It's also a good idea (if a little controlling) to write down the bedtime routine for any babysitter or occasional caregiver.\n\n### BEST BEDTIME ROUTINE\n\n  *   **Go wild:** Get those giggles and wiggles out. Let your toddler run naked through the house, jump on a mattress (set on the floor, please), and generally go crazy. Join in as much as you want! Let the revelry continue for all of ten minutes, then swoop her off to the tub.\n\n  *   **Soak your troubles away:** Slip your child into a relaxing warm bath. Don't encourage wild splashing play or general rowdiness (it's not safe in the tub anyway!). Use a washcloth to give a massage and cuddle her dry, rather than briskly rubbing.\n\n  *   **Attend to details:** Brush teeth, put on diapers and pjs, all in a low-key manner.\n\n  *   **Unwind:** Sit together and talk or play quietly. Many toddlers like to review their day before going to sleep. You can talk about what she did from the time she woke up right until going to bed. Processing the information from the day in this way will help your toddler to relax.\n\n  *   **Good night, good night, good night:** Get her ready to go to bed by wishing everyone a good night: siblings, parents, pets, favorite toys, the moon. Use your judgment in how long you want to spend on this\u2014as your child gets older, she'll quickly figure out this is a great way to stall.\n\n  *   **Story time:** Snuggle together in a big chair or on the bed and read a few books. Or, make up a story that features your child. My husband does this, and it makes him a favorite at bedtime.\n\n  *   **A little night music:** Turn on some soft classical music. Of course, both my daughters loved the Baby Prodigy _Musical Pacifier_ CDs!\n\n  *   **Mood lighting:** The total darkness that helped your baby sleep through the night may petrify your toddler if he awakens. Use a small night-light to cast a reassuring glow.\n\n  *   **Kiss and go:** Tell your child one last good night, tuck her in with a kiss, and leave without hesitating. Don't let yourself get suckered back for another kiss, or for a drink of water, or to find a missing toy.\n\nIf you linger outside your toddler's door after you've put her to sleep, you will hear her chatting away in what some parenting experts call \"crib narratives.\" Just as you relived\n\n**Your Baby's View: Leaving the Party**\n\n  Imagine you've just spent a lovely day with dear friends. It's been loads of fun, but it's getting late. You're tired and, quite frankly, ready for bed. Your friends see you to your room and wish you a good night. As you get into bed, your curiosity starts to nag at you. There's a sliver of light showing under your door, and if you listen carefully, you can hear the murmur of your friends' voices and maybe the clink of silverware. What are they doing out there? Is it a party? Why didn't they encourage you to stay? You begin to toss and turn. What, exactly, might you be missing? You think about getting out of bed, maybe you even swing your feet over the edge. But you're tired, and now maybe a little paranoid. They brought you to your room, didn't they? Left you lying here in the dark. Why don't they want you? And so you lie awake in the dark, wondering what you might be missing out on.\n\nEvery day is one big party to your toddler, and separation at nighttime can make him acutely aware that the party continues even after he's left. It will help your child to feel like he's not missing out if you can make his sleeping environment as welcoming as possible. Special sheets may make his bed more inviting, a favorite plush toy can become a bedtime companion, and a white noise machine or relaxing music can mask the distractions of other household sounds. The goal is to have your child _prefer_ to stay in his bed.\n\n**Did You Know?: Nightmares and Night Terrors**\n\n  As your toddler's imagination and memory grow and improve, she may begin waking at night from nightmares. Stress, illness, change, or certain medications can all provoke bad dreams. Unlike an adult, however, a toddler cannot dismiss the fearful scenes that wake her in the middle of the night as \"only dreams.\" If your child is having nightmares that are disturbing her sleep, she will need your help to feel secure enough to go back to sleep. Make sure she feels safe, even if it means turning on the light or leaving a night-light on. Reassure her that she isn't in any danger from whatever scary creatures are haunting her sleep. Let her talk about her bad dream, especially if the memory of it is still with her in the morning.\n\nIf your child wakes you in the night with his screaming and thrashing but doesn't appear to acknowledge you when you arrive at his bedside, he may be experiencing night terrors. Don't try to wake him or restrain his flailing limbs. A\n\nlived the day with your child as part of the bedtime routine, she will now review for herself. This reliving and interpreting of her day gives her a feeling of mastery and allows her to work out any frustrations she may have experienced.\n\nOne mother remembers how her toddler daughter would demand each night to \"talk about my day.\" The two would sit together at bedtime, and the mother would patiently retrace each step of her daughter's day, from waking\n\nnight terror should abate within ten to fifteen minutes, and your child will have no recollection of the event the next morning. Most children who experience night terrors stop having them by the time they are starting grade school\u2014 around age six.\n\nHow can you tell if your child is having a nightmare or a night terror?\n\n  * **Bad dreams** occur more frequently and during the later, lighter stage of REM (rapid eye movement) sleep. Your child will likely wake from a nightmare and may be able to describe his dream. Bad dreams are relatively brief, but your child may remain upset for a while after waking.\n\n  * **Night terrors** occur less frequently and during very deep, non-REM sleep. Your child will likely be unable to recall an episode of night terror. Your child will not be fully awake, although his eyes may be slightly open or staring. Night terrors last longer than a bad dream, and your child will likely continue to sleep once they end.\n\nto pulling on pajamas, highlighting any particularly interesting moments. No detail was too small for her daughter to review. Once Mom had left the room, the little girl could be heard saying firmly, \"Talk about my day _again.\"_ She would then run through the same dialogue, sometimes twice. After about half an hour or forty-five minutes of chatter, thered be complete silence and a blissfully sleeping child.\n\n## STIMULATING YOUR TODDLER\n\nAs you watch your busy toddler move through her day, it is clear what child-care experts mean when they say, \"Play is a child's work.\" Over these next six months, your child will begin to enjoy _symbolic_ play\u2014feeding her dolls, making a \"house\" out of blocks, causing two stuffed animals to carry on a conversation. This symbolic play grows out of your child's study of you and her desire to imitate behaviors.\n\nImitative play is still important. Your toddler learns by helping, and you can enhance his experience by making such learning fun. Let your toddler practice fine motor skills by turning on the faucets and \"washing\" plastic dishes and cups while you make dinner. Give him a child-sized broom or vacuum cleaner and have him help you clean house. Show him how he can water plants by pouring from a small pitcher, or teach him how to hang up his clothes on easy-to-reach pegs. Give him a doll and let him take care of his \"baby\" throughout the day.\n\nAs she approaches age two, your child will become more and more confident in her large motor skills. Give her plenty of opportunities to challenge her growing sense of balance on her feet. She is probably already proficient at crawling up stairs; now is the time to teach her how to creep down backward. Your child will still love music and the opportunity to dance. Use music as a background for any kind of movement games. Help your child tune in to the different rhythms around her: knocking on doors, clapping in patterns, hammering on pegboards.\n\nYour toddler is also ready, willing, and able to begin to play with others. While much of her play in her second year will be parallel play, which I discussed in the previous chapter, she will definitely benefit from regular social interactions with her peers.\n\nConversation becomes a two-way street during these months, and your child will usually understand simple commands. You can help her link these commands to concepts through repetition and visual clues. Urgently saying, \"Don't touch! The stove is hot. It will hurt your hand,\" while shaking your head and making sure your facial expressions register great concern will have much more of an impact than saying, \"No. Stop that this instant.\"\n\nThe clearer you can be in your communication, the easier it will become to instill discipline and a willingness to listen. Although, as your child gains more and more of a sense of independence, she may decide that obeying what she hears is not a priority. By around eighteen months, your child is developing an independent basic sense of right and wrong.\n\nYou may even see glimmers of self-discipline. I would often hear my daughter Lara saying, \"No. No. No,\" to herself. I soon learned to check on her whenever I heard her saying \"No,\" as it usually meant she was in the process of doing\u2014or about to do\u2014something she knew she shouldn't.\n\n## TODDLER STEPS\n\nFrom the beginning of the nineteenth month to his second birthday, your toddler will be steadily linking multiple skills in increasingly sophisticated ways. An activity as simple\n\n**Dookie Says**\n\n  _\"My friend is coming over today. Mommy says we're going to play. But when he gets here, he just takes all my toys. Look! He's got my favorite car. When I grab it from him, he gets mad and pushes me. When he tries to play with my car\u2014it's my favorite\u2014he puts his hand too close to my mouth. So I bite it! Now everyone is telling me 'Bad.' And he's the one who took my car. I'm not sure this 'playing' is such a great idea.\"_\n\nAs he approaches his second birthday, your toddler is certainly ready to begin to spend time with other children his age. But it is important not to lose sight of the fact that for your nineteen- to twenty-four-month-old, there is only one person who counts: him. In fact, most toddlers are not really ready for cooperative group play until they are three or older. Here are a few things you can do to begin to help your child learn how to behave when he's having a playdate, and it won't be long until he learns how to be happily engaged in sharing and playing with a friend or two.\n\nas building a tower of blocks involves not just the gross motor skills to go and get the blocks off the shelf, or the verbal skills to ask you for his blocks, but also the manual dexterity to pick up the blocks, the visual-spatial relation to decide which to stack, and the hand-eye coordination to place one on top of the other.\n\nAs he did from his twelfth to eighteenth months, your toddler will continue to develop at his own rate, surging ahead in some areas and progressing more slowly in others.\n\nPlaydate Strategies:\n\n  * **Set a good example.** Make sure you are on your best behavior. Model good manners (say please and thank you), smile, and use a pleasant voice. Take turns.\n\n  * **Don't force togetherness.** Two toddlers enjoying different but similar activities in the same room defines a successful playdate at this age.\n\n  * **Don't interfere.** If the two friends are \"working something out,\" I generally try to stay out of the picture unless physical harm seems imminent.\n\n  * **Do have duplicate toys.** If your child has a favorite toy, keep a duplicate on hand that can come out during play-dates. At this age, similar but different isn't better and sharing isn't an option. If you're going to play with balls, it's better to have two red balls than one red and one blue.\n\n  * **Have a snack at the ready.** A little treat can go a long way in promoting togetherness and preventing hunger-induced crankiness.\n\nAs you look at the list below, consider whether your child is making consistent progress in any given area.\n\nOf course, if you have any questions or concerns at all about your child's rate of development, you should consult your pediatrician.\n\nSomewhere between the end of the nineteenth month and his second birthday, your child should have achieved the milestones listed in the previous chapter, as well as those listed below. He should be able to:\n\n  *   \"feed\" a doll or stuffed animal\n\n  *   wash his hands\n\n  *   speak clearly and be understood by others\n\n  *   brush his teeth (with help)\n\n  *   put on a piece of clothing\n\n  *   put on shoes\n\n  *   jump up off the ground\n\n  *   stand on one foot if holding onto something\n\n  *   carry on an understandable conversation\n\n  *   identify friends by name\n\n## TODDLER TALK\n\nMany toddlers just shy of two years old use simple sentences with verbs and may be beginning to add adverbs or adjectives. But even if your toddler isn't a chatterbox, she may already be communicating at levels above those of her more verbose peers. The use of gestural speech is considered by some experts to be the most reliable indicator of your toddler's understanding of the rules of communication. If your child is able to use her body and gestures to clearly communicate language, she is likely on the verge of bursting forth with a torrent of words.\n\nYour toddler is constantly working on his speech development. One of the most important ways you can help your child improve his communication skills is by continuing to support a running dialogue throughout your day. Always make sure you allow him plenty of chances to initiate a conversation, even if his first attempts are nonverbal.\n\nThe conversations your toddler has on her own are also important in helping her to understand the role of language in interpreting actions and events. In the book _Narratives from the Crib_ , Dr. Katherine Nelson analyzed the monologues of a typical toddler when left alone in her crib. She theorized that these monologues are not simply practice of word mastery but an attempt to make sense of daily experiences.\n\nAs your child's speech becomes more fluid, he launches into the next stage of language development, which is not simply using words as labels but beginning to address concepts and express his thought processes. As your child starts to use language in a more sophisticated way, you will encounter some examples of what I call \"toddler grammar\"\u2014 a use of grammar that makes perfect logical sense, while not exactly following recognized grammatical rules. For instance:\n\n  *   **Subject-verb relationship.** If your toddler wants to go with Daddy to the store, he may say \"Go Daddy?\" If he knows that Daddy is going to the store, he may state, \"Daddy go.\"\n\n  *   **Plurals**. What could be easier? Just add an \"s\" at the end of a word to indicate more. Like \"mouses\" or \"foots\" or \"tooths.\"\n\n  *   **Past tenses**. Past tense is created by adding a \"d.\" Your toddler may say things like \"I goed\" or \"Kitty eated.\"\n\nIt's important that you do not discourage these early attempts at complex language. As your toddler struggles to make sense of the English language's admittedly complex grammar structure, you can help him by offering quick and understanding responses that keep him interested in continuing to communicate his thoughts. Make sure you answer him using proper grammar. Eventually, he will begin to pick up on the grammatical nuances.\n\nSinging, reading, and reciting nursery rhymes are all still important ways of stimulating your toddler's developing language skills. Create stories about things you see every day, encourage your child to repeat simple rhymes along with you, and let her hold the book and turn the pages as you finish reading each one.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _I Wonder, I Wonder_\n\nMake up stories about everyday objects and people. For instance, if you are going for a stroll to the park and see a dog walking on a leash, start a story with \"I wonder where the dog is going?\" Your younger child may simply turn and look at the dog expectantly; your older toddler may answer something like \"Park.\" Pick up the story from your child's cue. \"Yes, the dog is on his way to the park. When he gets there, he will chase a ball and run and play. What will we do at the park?\" This kind of dialogue stimulates both conversational and imaginative skills.\n\n#### _The Name Game (Reprise)_\n\nIn chapter 3, I talked about how your very tiny baby was interested in labeling things. That interest enjoys a resurgence, and this time your toddler loves to do the naming herself. Add another element by using a descriptive word for things you are naming. For instance, when setting the table, show your child a plate and say, \"Here is a blue...\" Pause and let her shout out \"Plate!\" Then hold up another and say \"And here is a red...\" Before you know it, your child will be jumping in to add the adjective as well as the noun.\n\n#### _Life as a Musical_\n\nMake even the most mundane tasks enjoyable, by encouraging your toddler to sing along with you as you set basic sentences to song. Getting dressed in the morning becomes a whole new enterprise when you sing (to the tune of \"Farmer in the Dell\"): \"We're putting on your shirt. We're putting on your shirt. Hi, ho, here we go! We're putting on your shirt [and pants, and socks, and shoes].\" Other great tunes to use include: \"Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,\" \"She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain,\" or \"I've Been Working on the Railroad.\" Use your imagination and transform a trip to the grocery store into a Broadway show.\n\n## THE LITTLE THINGS: FINE MOTOR SKILLS\n\nBy now your child has increasingly skilled manual dexterity and wants to try to perform tasks using her fingers and hands. She may insist on getting herself dressed, making food, or trying to pour her juice. While she can't always do everything she wants to do easily, it is important that you remain encouraging. Be creative and find ways that let her\n\n**Monkey Hear, Monkey Say**\n\n  Here's a small but important reminder: Watch what you say within earshot of your toddler! He is constantly on the lookout for new words to add to his vocabulary. If you slip up and let something out that you wish you hadn't, don't make a big fuss, even if he tries repeating it one or two times. Remember, _any_ kind of attention is good attention as far as your toddler is concerned. I myself have managed to prune my strong language down to a fierce _\"Darn it!\"_\n\nEven if it feels strange at first, I think you'll find that it's not so difficult to adapt to G-rated speech. But I will admit it raises an eyebrow\u2014and has been known to induce a smirk or two\u2014when, in attempting to get my point across in the midst of a heated discussion with adults, I feel compelled to use one of my kid-friendly \"expletives.\"\n\nbe successful at the tasks she attempts: choose outfits with large, loopy buttonholes, give her a measuring cup full of cereal and let her pour it into the bowl. Then use a tiny pitcher and teach her how to pour liquids into a cup (two-handed works best!).\n\nBetween the ages of eighteen and twenty-four months, your toddler is also likely to become very interested in drawing or scribbling or other forms of artistic expression. Your budding artist is exercising both his fine motor skills and his visual acumen with these early works of squiggles, lines, and dots as he learns that he is able to control his hand to create particular visual patterns. Experts categorize the early phases of working with crayon and paper as \"disordered scribbling\" and \"controlled scribbling.\" Both of these stages of exploration are more about the control of motion than anything else, so your toddler will like working with a dark crayon on large sheets of paper that are taped securely to the floor or table. That way he can concentrate on the connection between movement of his hand and what appears on the paper. Different colors of crayon can add additional stimulation.\n\nYour toddler will enjoy many kinds of manipulative art over these next few months. Clay, finger painting, painting with a brush, using stamps, drawing, and cutting and sticking all encourage exploration in different mediums.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Costume Box_\n\nToddlers love dress-up, and easy-to-slip-on clothing lets them practice dressing themselves while engaging in imaginative play Capes, smocks, long scarves (supervise carefully if she is wrapping it around her neck), tutus, aprons, large pieces of fabric with slits (like ponchos), vests, and hats, hats, hats are all easy for your toddler to put on herself. Both boys and girls will enjoy creating costumes and dressing up. Be sure not to discourage creativity. If your son wants to wear a tutu, let him go for it!\n\n#### _Mixed-media Artists_\n\nLet your toddler explore his love of drawing and painting in a variety of ways. Use food coloring to tint shaving\n\n**Bookshelf**\n\n  Books should continue to be a big part of your toddler's life. Sturdy board books will let an independent child easily turn the pages by herself. Old magazines, especially toy catalogs, can provide hours of \"reading\" fun and are great for launching discussions. It's likely that your child will attach herself to a favorite story. After raising two toddlers, I have lost count of how many times I've read _Goodnight Moon_ over the years. Trips to the library or bookstore, where a variety of books can be reviewed to see what might capture your toddler's interest, can be both fun and helpful in breaking her out of the \"read it again\" rut.\n\nThere are so many wonderful, exciting books for toddlers that it's hard to recommend specific titles. Choosing books to share with your toddler becomes a personal experience. But if you're stuck for ideas, ask your friends for suggestions or visit a website like Amazon.com and take a look\n\ncream or even whipped cream and let him spread it around. (It looks like marbled paper when it dries.) Color grains of rice with food coloring, then spread a thin layer of glue on a piece of paper and let him sprinkle on a design. Buy finger paints for the tub. Or let him paint with his feet. Make sure you use washable, water-based paints. Some parenting books suggest you allow your child to finger paint with different foods or juices. Personally, I never wanted to encourage either of my daughters to play with her food, but I can see the appeal of creating an edible work of art!\n\nat some of the lists of books enjoyed by other parents. There are also books that recommend other books, such as Kathleen Odean's _Great Books for Babies and Toddlers_ and _How to Get Your Child to Love Reading_ by Esm\u00e9 Raji Codell. The list below includes some tried-and-true books that my girls have loved.\n\n  * **_Good Night, Gorilla_** by Peggy Rathmann\n\n  * Any Dr. Suess book, especially **_The Cat in the Hat, Green Eggs and Ham_ ,** and **_Fox in Socks_**\n\n  * **_Owl Babies_** by Martin Waddell and Patrick Benson\n\n  * **_Jesse Bear, What Will You Wear?_** by Nancy White Carl-strom\n\n  * **_Go Dog, Go!_** by Philip D. Eastman\n\n  * **_Chicka Chicka Boom Boom_** by Bill Martin, Jr.\n\n  * **_What Mommies Do Best\/What Daddies Do Best_** by Laura Numeroff Joffe\n\n#### _A Penny Saved..._\n\nThis is a game that needs to be played under close supervision to ensure no coins are swallowed. Find a plastic jar or container with a fairly wide mouth and neck. Give your toddler a pile of pennies and let her drop them into the jar. Add water and a lid and slosh the pennies around. Talk about how heavy the jar becomes. Empty the jar, refill it with water, and drop in the pennies one by one until the water overflows. Simple experiments like these allow your child to practice motor skills while learning simple lessons in cause and effect.\n\n**Left- or Right-Handedness**\n\n  Only 5 to 10 percent of the general population favors their left hand, and scientists theorize that the trait of left- or right-handedness is genetically determined. When both parents are lefties, their child is more than 50 percent likely to also be a lefty. When one parent is left-handed, the likelihood drops to about 17 percent, and when both parents favor their right hands, their child has only a 2 percent chance of being left-handed. In any case, toddlers don't usually decide on a dominant hand until after age three, and in fact many children at this age are equally proficient with their left and right hands.\n\n#### _No Greater Gift_\n\nYour toddler will love to unwrap things. Start out by wrapping favorite toys or books. Don't use too much tape or complicated ribbons and knots. You can wrap with newspaper, tissue, or recycled wrapping paper. In fact, the presentation of the \"gift\" is beside the point. Your child will love the discovery that comes with uncovering the object itself.\n\n## HOW IT ALL FITS: SPATIAL DEVELOPMENT\n\nAs your toddler's spatial development continues to grow more sophisticated over these next six months, the activities you do together can become increasingly complex. As you watch your child attempt to master a new skill, you\n\n**Dottie Says**\n\n  _\"I love to draw so much. I'm quite a good artist. I scribble and scribble. And I have the nicest crayons. Everyone says I'm very talented. But the other day, I was just finishing an extensive mural on my bedroom wall when Mom walked in. And I have to say, she didn't seem pleased at all. In fact, she scrubbed my work right off the wall. I don't know what's wrong. I thought she loved my coloring.\"_\n\nIt's bound to happen at least once: Your aspiring artist will suddenly turn graffiti artist. If you discover that your walls have been redecorated, first take a deep breath and count to ten. Your toddler doesn't know she's done anything wrong, and you don't want to squelch her creativity by yelling at her or punishing her. You need to help her understand that there are appropriate places to draw. If you catch her in the middle of the act, pull out a piece of paper and redirect her to it. Let her finish her project and then explain that walls are not for drawing on. Give her a towel and let her help you clean the wall. Then show her how you can hang art that's been done on paper on the wall for the same effect. If she persists in decorating your walls, you may want to invest in a standing easel. It may be that she prefers to work standing up.\n\ncan know that he is working hard at bringing to bear on a particular task all the separate pieces of his development.\n\nGiven the \"Me do!\" nature of your toddler as she approaches her second birthday, you may not be so surprised when I tell you that one of the best kinds of stimulation you can offer is letting her figure things out on her own. For instance, if she's working on one of those wooden puzzles where pictures of animals or other objects are taken out and replaced in spaces with a matching picture, she may immediately know _where_ a particular piece belongs (good visual skills) but may have trouble fitting the piece into the space in exactly the right way (developing fine motor skills). Let her try to fit the piece in the correct spot. But be sure to lend a hand before frustration ruins the fun of the new challenge. At this age, a bit of a challenge can be good\u2014as long as your child can feel she has succeeded.\n\nSo whether your child is exploring sequencing by lining up a row of different-sized blocks or fitting together a nesting toy, or is working on hand-eye coordination by attempting to make a straight line on paper or put a puzzle piece in place, or accurately using his spoon to get a mouthful of oatmeal, you need to let him try on his own. Be encouraging, and learn to know when to step in and offer the support that will let him be successful at his efforts.\n\nMany of the games I've suggested to enhance fine and gross motor skills are also naturally conducive to developing your toddler's spatial skills. As you may have surmised, by around age two, your child will benefit most from stimulation that does not simply concentrate on one discrete area but requires him to use multiple skills in concert.\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Tennis, Anyone?_\n\nUsing your hands (for younger toddlers) and plastic spatulas (for older), bat a Mylar balloon back and forth. To make it more challenging, put an obstacle between you and your child and try to get the balloon from one side to the other. If this game occasionally starts to resemble golf more than tennis as your toddler swats the balloon once it lands on the ground, don't worry. It's the same idea. Besides, two words: Tiger Woods.\n\n#### _Discovery Table_\n\nYou can buy fancy tables just like they use in preschools, or you can simply get a long, shallow plastic container (with a lid is best) and place it on a low table. Fill the container with cotton balls, or rice, or kernels of corn, or sand, or water and let your child decide how to use it. He may make roads for his cars in the sand, or experiment with what will float or sink in water. Toddlers love to poke and twist and mash, so fill the box with a dough (real or a Play-Doh\u2122 mixture that has been tinted with food coloring) and let him pretend to make bread or pizza. Use your imagination and find new ways for your toddler to explore dimension and texture. Let him squeeze and twist, and build things up and knock them down. And when he's done, just pop the lid on the container and store it until the next time.\n\n#### _Button, Button, Who's Got the Button?_\n\nLet your toddler develop her visual memory and problem-solving skills by playing this game with three large plastic\n\n**Toy Chest**\n\n  Since your toddler is continuing to develop both intellectually and physically over these months, you need to offer toys that will stimulate your child's expanding range of talents and interests. Toys like baby dolls or miniature kitchen sets that allow toddlers to imitate grown-up life can promote imaginative play and motor skills. Toys of varying shapes or sizes stimulate developing spatial skills. Toys with buttons or levers that, when manipulated, cause motion or reveal something provide both an opportunity to work on manual dexterity and early lessons in cause and effect. Art supplies promote creativity and experimentation. Riding and pushing toys challenge increasingly sophisticated gross motor skills.\n\nMake sure that the toys you choose are age-appropriate. Toys that are too difficult for your toddler to operate will be frustrating at best and dangerous at worst. Pick toys that are in line with your child's interests. If he's passionate about dinosaurs, look for puzzles with a dino theme or for plastic dinosaurs that he can manipulate. If you have a daughter who loves dolls, get a doll stroller, a bottle, and some simple items of clothing so she can fully \"take care\" of her baby.\n\ncups and an object small enough to fit under them. (Don't actually use a button, though. The object should not be so small that it poses a choking hazard.) Turn the three cups over, with one covering the object. Encourage your child to point to one of the cups, and then lift it up to reveal whether or not the object is there. As she becomes more\n\nIf you get a toy that seemed great in the store but is too challenging for your toddler, wait until he has lost interest and simply store the toy for future exploration. He'll be ready for it before you know it.\n\nAt this age, toy stores can be a treat for both children and adults. Here's a list of a few things that will make great playthings for the next few months and probably over the next few years:\n\n  * play kitchen set with real or plastic food\n\n  * toddler tape player and tapes\n\n  * puppets (finger puppets are easier for younger toddlers; older children may be able to manipulate hand puppets). Old socks, when decorated, can make great puppets!\n\n  * alphabet or number blocks\n\n  * large building block systems\n\n  * shape sorters\n\n  * sand boxes and sand toys\n\n  * dolls and accessories\n\n  * noise-making instruments like tambourines, maracas, drums, or xylophones\n\nskilled at remembering which cup hides the object, slowly shuffle the cups around. Letting her lift the cup to reveal the object adds another dimension to this game. We do this exact same demo in the first Baby Prodigy video.\n\n## GET UP AND GO: GROSS MOTOR SKILLS\n\nAs your adventurous, physical toddler continues to push the limits of physical space, you may notice a period where he slows down or suddenly refuses to participate in a rough-and-tumble game he once enjoyed. One mom remembers how her son, who used to be a terror on the playground slide, suddenly refused to both climb up and slide down. It wasn't until she learned that while out with a babysitter, he'd gone zooming down the slide, only to land firmly and probably painfully on his butt, that she understood his reluctance to return to his daredevil tactics on the playground.\n\nYour toddler's increasing capability to remember events and to link cause and effect may now cause him to become intimidated or even fearful. As much as you want to safeguard your toddler, you should not become overprotective or try to discourage his adventurousness. It's a fine line you'll need to walk for the next few months, or even year.\n\nYour toddler is on a path of increasing coordination and confidence. Over the past six months you encouraged and challenged your child to safely test his skills against new obstacles. You should continue to look for ways to stimulate his gross motor coordination in combination with other developing skills. Use the games below as suggestions for how to incorporate other skills along with climbing, running, and balancing.\n\n**Safety Watch: Covering the Basics**\n\n  Now that your toddler is a better communicator, you can begin the incredibly important project of teaching him some basic safety lessons. Start now and repeat them often, and eventually your warnings will take hold. As the parent of any toddler knows, the most innocent places or activities can be fraught with danger for your mobile disaster magnet. I could fill a whole chapter with items or situations that are potentially dangerous to your toddler, but instead I offer the list below simply as a starting point for you to develop your own safety program for your toddler to follow.\n\nTeach the dangers of\n\n  * sharp or pointy\n\n  * hot\n\n  * stairs\n\n  * electrical outlets or cords\n\n  * tubs, pools, or other bodies of water\n\n  * small items that don't belong in the mouth\n\n  * poisonous substances (houseplants, medicines,\"grown-up\" drinks like coffee or alcohol)\n\n  * traffic\n\n  * pets (your own and strange animals)\n\n**Games Siblings Play**\n\n  As you approach the two-year mark with your toddler, I hope that your children have settled into a routine of enjoying each other's company. Of course, I can pretty much promise you that your older child will sometimes feel claustrophobic or irritated by the attentions of her younger sibling. And that your toddler will generally consider himself his sister's biggest fan\u2014or stalker.\n\nWhile appreciating that some private time for each child will be both appreciated and necessary, you can continue to create opportunities for mutually satisfying play.\n\n  * Lion Tamer. Hugely popular in our household. One person (usually me) got to be the lion tamer. Everyone else was a lion. I would command my beasts up onto couches and footstools. Have them sit up, beg, roll over, and roar. Both my children would completely get into the spirit of\n\n### GAMES\n\n#### _Catch It on a Bounce, Catch It on the Fly_\n\nUse a large rubber ball and let your child practice catching it after one bounce. Call out \"Bounce\" before sending it her way. The next time, gently lob the ball underhand, calling out \"Fly\" Encourage your child to call out \"Bounce\" or \"Fly\" before sending the ball back to you. Begin the game by standing just a step or two apart. As you get better, take steps backward and increase the distance between you. This game combines language, anticipation, and hand-eye\n\nthings\u2014so much so that, even when I was done, two little \"lions\" would continue to roam around the house.\n\n  * **Follow the Leader.** Have a slightly bossy older child in the house? Here's the perfect chance for her to tell her little brother or sister just what to do\u2014and have the satisfaction of watching the younger child do it. With younger toddlers, supervise to make sure that the older child doesn't do anything that is unsafe for either child.\n\n  * **Pop Bottle Bowling.** Use empty two-liter bottles and a large rubber ball. A narrow hallway makes an excellent bowling alley. Teach your toddler how to roll the ball by swinging it from between his legs (a \"diaper roll\") as opposed to a sidearm roll. Numbering the bottles from one to ten can be a good way to let the older child keep score by either adding up the numbers on the bottles standing (lowest score wins) or the numbers on the fallen bottles (highest score wins). It's also a great way to introduce numbers to your toddler.\n\ncoordination. You may wonder how it works the larger motor skills. Those skills come into play as you both chase after all of the bounces or flys that you miss!\n\n#### _Red Light, Green Light, Yellow Light_\n\nA classic game with an added twist. As you know, red light means \"stop,\" green means \"go,\" and yellow means \"hop!\" For a younger child, you'll play the game while keeping an eye on him as he learns to make his body match your commands. As he gets older, you can turn your back after you say green, and spin around as you say red. Make sure you pause after saying \"Red\" and use your body language to give him a clue as to when you are going to turn around.\n\n#### _Walk Like a Duck_\n\nOr hop like a frog, or trot like a horse, or skitter like a mouse, or sway like an elephant. Adding animal noises makes this game even more fun. Remember to let your child have a chance to take the lead and decide what kind of creatures you will be.\n\n#\n\n _ow exciting it has been to watch our daughter develop over the last two years. We have loved watching her reach all of her developmental milestones. My husband and I have also reached our own parental milestones. We've taught our daughter, and she's taught us, too. Now, as she enters into the preschool years, we are excited to continue to learn and grow with her. I am also proud to say that I have learned so much about myself through my daughter and have become not only a better parent, but also a better person. I have cherished every moment and will always remember the first time she smiled, the first word she said, and the first steps she took. I look forward to her next steps in growing and learning as well as our next steps as parents._\n\n_Lindsay, Casey's mom_\n\n## MOVIN' ON\n\nI spent my daughter's second birthday in sort of a daze. Not because I couldn't figure out where two years had flown, although that was surely part of it, but because the little baby I had struggled with in our hospital room as I tried to dress her in her little homecoming outfit was now a walking, talking marvel of a child.\n\nI was proud as I watched her \"host\" her first party, greeting the friends who had arrived at the teddy bear tea, pouring cups of juice from a tiny pitcher, playing a rousing game of pin the tail on the donkey, and gleefully unwrapping her presents. And I was amazed, too. In simple ways that were nonetheless remarkable to me, she was able to nearly seamlessly integrate all the skills that I had watched her develop over the past years.\n\nShe had grown so much. And I had enjoyed helping her to reach this point. In fact, as I let her help me slice her birthday cake, I was already starting to look forward to the amazing growth and development to come.\n\n## THE NEXT LEVEL\n\nYour child has passed through infancy and through tod-dlerhood and is now on the threshold of his preschool years. His brain is still growing and increasing in density. In some ways, his ability to learn and your ability to influence his happiness and intelligence is no different from how it was when he was born. Each experience he has still plays a role in strengthening existing neuronal connections or continuing to pave new ones. But as he moves into his third year of life, your child has gone beyond practicing simple fine and gross motor skills and mastering basic language functions. He is now working on developing increasingly more sophisticated types of cognitive, social, and emotional responses.\n\nAs intimidating as this may sound, I want to reassure you that you do not have to do anything different from what you've been doing all along: providing your child with stimulation that is appropriate to his temperament and ability. The good foundations for learning and developing, which you have helped your child to form from infancy until now, can help to make this next step in his growth lots of fun for both of you.\n\nStimulating your preschool child is as intensive an undertaking as introducing your newborn to her world. It would take another book to fully discuss the developmental stages from preschool to kindergarten. But I wanted to give you a peek at what sort of developments lie ahead and offer you a perspective from which to observe, and participate in, this next stage in your child's life.\n\n## HOW AND WHAT PRESCHOOLERS ARE LEARNING\n\nYour child has been learning from you since the day she was born and will continue to learn from you whether or not you are always conscious of teaching her. At the early preschool stage, there is still not much distinction between playing and learning. In fact, think of play as an activity your child engages in as a way of learning.\n\nFrom learning her cues in infancy to picking up on clues in toddlerhood, you have learned what your child needs and wants. In these early preschool years, the best way to provide ongoing stimulation is to let your child continue to lead you. If you follow her interests and continue to expose her to new experiences, you will be teaching her on a daily basis. In the preceding chapters, the stimulation you provided your baby and toddler was aimed at enhancing basic, developing skills. With your preschooler, that attention has paid off. The interactions, stimulation, and experiences you provide in the following areas can be more sophisticated and still fun!\n\n### LANGUAGE\n\nThe thrill you experienced when your baby uttered her first word may turn to frustration as she can now use language in ways that may exasperate you. Stammering or stuttering, using baby talk, chattering nonstop, picking up \"naughty\" words or experiencing the power of \"bathroom talk,\" using angry words (the first \"I hate you\" is an arrow to any parent's heart but an inevitable wound)\u2014all these variations of the power of language will be explored by your preschooler.\n\nWhat is truly exciting about your preschooler's increasing mastery of language is she can now begin to use language not just to talk about what is going on around her, but to express things that are in her head. Language continues to develop at a phenomenal pace during the preschool years, especially in the following ways:\n\n  *   use of pronouns\n\n  *   ability to question: What? Why?\n\n  *   using words to control personal behavior\n\n  *   using words to control other's behavior\n\n  *   using words to boost self-esteem or ask for approval\n\n  *   using words to express abstract ideas\n\n### FINE MOTOR SKILLS\n\nYour child's mastery of fine motor skills opens the door to all kinds of experiences during her preschool years. She will be able to dress herself, to help you cook by stirring and mixing\u2014or even cracking the eggs\u2014and to draw or use art materials with increasing creativity. Observe your child carefully and always be ready to offer her a chance to try her skills at a new activity. Even if she is not successful at first, with practice and encouragement she will quickly master new tasks. Your child's increased manual dexterity means that she is also ready for simple instruction on musical instruments _if she remains enthusiastic about the lessons_.\n\nYou may notice that as your child moves into her preschool years, she will abandon some of the toys you purchased to promote her fine motor skills. Puzzles or games with knobs and buttons may lose their appeal when stacked up against something as interesting as sorting the silverware into the right compartments in the drawer or helping you roll the socks in the laundry.\n\nMany preschoolers do become interested in playing card games. This is an activity that is good for their fine motor skills, as well as their newly forming interest in numbers.\n\n### GROSS MOTOR SKILLS\n\nJust as your toddler pushed the physical limits of his body in all his activities, your preschooler will continue to learn how to use his body in ways that are both fun and practical. During the preschool years, your child may begin to acquire the physical skills that will distinguish him as an athletic adult. Playing ball, swimming, taking dance classes, mastering the balance and strength needed to ride a tricycle, learning to ski, even playing basic games like tag and hopscotch\u2014all these activities will enhance his endurance, balance, and confidence.\n\n### SPATIAL RELATIONS\n\nYour child will begin to express more sophisticated concepts of spatial relations through language, using abstract ideas like in front of, behind, or beside. Her understanding of spatial relations in combination with her visual skills will gradually become apparent as her artwork becomes more representational and sophisticated.\n\n## NEW CHALLENGES AND NEW OPPORTUNITIES\n\nAlthough your preschooler has mastered an impressive number of skills, his learning process is still racing ahead as his brain continues to grow at a phenomenal rate throughout his third year. And while he may be confidently using language and boldly displaying his physical skills, there are new areas where proper stimulation can help promote learning, satisfaction, and confidence. Here's a quick preview of areas where providing the right kind of stimulation can make your preschooler happier and smarter.\n\n### EARLY EDUCATION\n\nWhile no child who is being nurtured and stimulated at home _needs_ to attend preschool, a quality preschool program can offer your child a wide range of experiences. By the age of three, some children are ready for the more formal structure of a preschool. Look for a preschool with quality, highly trained instructors and a philosophical approach to learning that mirrors your own.\n\nPreschools can be based on any one or a combination of philosophies. The list below is a sampling of what philosophies you might find as you begin to research preschool options in your area. This list was drawn from www.parentspress.com\/edupreschooltypes.html, which also offers a brief definition of each philosophy:\n\n  *   Montessori\n\n  *   Waldorf\n\n  *   Reggio Emilia\n\n  *   developmental\n\n  *   Bank Street\n\n  *   parent co-operative\n\n  *   play-based\n\n  *   High\/Scope\n\n  *   academic\n\n  *   religious\n\nExperts generally agree on the advantages of preschool\u2014for instance, the opportunity to play with a group of other children of the same age, formal and age-appropriate lessons, and the chance to use lots of toys and equipment you may not have at home. You may benefit from having a form of child care outside your home that is more reliable than a caregiver who does not have a substitute in case of illness or unexpected absence.\n\nAre there disadvantages to sending your child to preschool? Well, your child will risk a greater exposure to germs, and may spend part of his first year coming down with more illnesses than you can imagine (particularly if he is an only child and has not had a lot of exposure to common colds and child ailments). He may have to be toilet trained (a whole other book, believe me!). A program that is too academically rigorous for your child can lead to stress and burnout. You will have less flexibility in scheduling the time you spend with your child. And the cost may be prohibitive for some families.\n\nIf you decide that you or your child is not ready for the preschool experience, you can provide much of the same benefits at home. Here are some basic guidelines that offer the same kinds of stimulation and enrichment as preschool classes:\n\n  *   Spend at least thirty minutes a day in conversation with your child. Give him your undivided attention and listen carefully to what he says. (Mind you, this is not thirty _consecutive_ minutes\u2014what preschooler would ever hold still for that?)\n\n  *   Read to your child every day.\n\n  *   Turn playtime into learning time, incorporating counting and the naming of colors, letters, and shapes into your play Always be on the lookout for teaching moments.\n\n  *   Create a routine for your child to follow. Help him to be orderly and on time.\n\n  *   Help your child learn to express herself appropriately. Stress using words instead of physical acts such as hitting; stress listening instead of screaming.\n\n  *   Limit TV viewing. When you do watch something (together), pick an educational program geared toward preschoolers.\n\n  *   Explore your community. Take field trips to the library, the fire station, museums, or zoos.\n\n  *   Allow for plenty of outside time.\n\n  *   Make sure your child has chances to spend time with other children his age.\n\n  *   Purchase preschool level workbooks, available at major retail chain stores.\n\n### EMERGENT LITERACY\n\nThe term \"emergent literacy\" refers to behaviors that precede reading and writing and that develop into conventional literacy. \"Reading\" the pictures in a book and memorizing the meaning of certain shapes slowly become the recognition and retention of the meaning of symbols. Your preschooler doesn't need to be able to know what the letters S-T-O-P mean if he understands that a red octagon with those letters printed in white means \"Stop.\" Once that association is made, it's simply a matter of time before he doesn't need the symbol to trigger the memory of what that particular arrangement of letters means. And suddenly he's on the way to reading. Think of your preschooler who is learning early reading skills as a code breaker. Encourage him to decode symbols, labels, book covers. Label familiar objects with easy-to-read flash cards. Respond positively and encouragingly, as you help him to notice that letters are a part of each of the symbols he recognizes.\n\nOne mother shamefacedly admits that her two-and-a-half-year-old son could recognize a Dunkin' Donuts sign from miles down the road. She swears that it was from going through the drive-through for coffee, but I have my suspicions! In any case, it wasn't long before he was pointing to the letter \"D\" and saying, \"Donut!\" From there it was a short step to recognizing that \"D\" was a part of lots of other words. Because of his good visual\/memory skills, her little boy got an early start on literacy and was reading chapter books just after his third birthday.\n\nReading to your child promotes the \"behavior\" of reading. You may notice that your preschooler is sitting and \"reading\" to himself. It doesn't matter that the book he's holding is _Goodnight Moon_ and the story that he's telling is _Peter Rabbit._ He is making an important connection between the act of reading and the story.\n\nScribbling is also an important part of emergent literacy. Encourage your preschooler to \"write\" as much as he wants (on the appropriate surfaces, of course). Between ages three and four, preschoolers may become very interested in learning how to form letters. Use refrigerator magnets of the letters of the alphabet to hold a sheet of paper to a metal baking tray and let your toddler trace the outlines of the letter. With as little pressure as possible, help guide his hand so that his scribbles begin to resemble the letters he is trying to make. (Often the letters of his name.)\n\nThis is an exciting phase of development for both you and your child. Take care not to push your child too hard in this area, or you may risk spoiling her enthusiasm for this new undertaking. She will have years ahead of her in school during which to perfect her reading and writing skills. For now, her sense of achievement is closely linked to her enjoyment of the process.\n\n### MATH AND NUMBER UNDERSTANDING\n\nYour preschooler may already know how to count to ten, rattling off the numbers through rote memory learning. What he will begin to do over time is connect the words from one to ten to the fact that they represent numbers of _things._ You can help him make this connection by making counting a part of your day. Count stairs, count crackers, or count the birds sitting on the telephone wires. Look for age-appropriate puzzles or games, like dominoes (often you can find a child's version with animals or other objects in place of the traditional dots).\n\n### MAKING FRIENDS\n\nVital lessons in taking turns, sharing, and cooperation are learned throughout the preschool years. And as anyone who has watched a group of three-year-olds on a playground knows, these lessons are not always easily absorbed. Your child may need to understand that biting, kicking, or other aggressive behavior is wrong. She may need help in respecting other children's feelings. Your child still needs to be closely supervised in social settings. Getting along with other children is as much a learning experience as any of the other skills she has mastered over the past two years.\n\n### TEACHING GOOD BEHAVIOR\n\nThe behavior your child exhibited while a toddler, as acceptable as it might have been within your own family, will need to conform to the expectations of the wider world she is venturing into. There are many, many books on effective parental techniques for disciplining children, and I mention a few of them in the appendix.\n\nI don't really like the term \"discipline.\" When it's not put in its proper context, it can seem overly harsh. Instead of punishing my children to teach a lesson or expecting unquestioning obedience in the first place, what I tried to do was to instill in them a sense of self-discipline. And really, although it's a long process to teach a toddler or preschooler about self-discipline, in the end it really made my job as a parent much easier. Here are a few suggestions for modeling good behavior for your child:\n\n  *   Reward good behavior, not bad.\n\n  *   Take the positive approach.\n\n  *   Be clear in your instruction\u2014really, overly clear.\n\n  *   Always take the time to explain why.\n\n  *   \"Do not\" is for hard and fast rules only.\n\n  *   Trust that your child's intentions are good.\n\n  *   Admit it when you are wrong.\n\n  *   Be consistent.\n\n### ROUTINE\n\nFor your toddler and now preschooler, routines offer a sense of security and control. When your child can anticipate what is coming next, she can often make transitions more smoothly. And for you, routines can be time-saving. Different families have different ways of structuring schedules. Settle on routines and rituals that are easy for you to maintain. Remember, the point of a particular routine is to make life less stressful for both you and your child. When analyzing the shape of your preschooler's day, consider if having a set way of doing things might be helpful. To get you thinking, here's a short list of activities that are easy to build routines around:\n\n  *   morning wake-up and dressing\n\n  *   leaving for school or work\n\n  *   mealtimes\n\n  *   bath and other hygiene\n\n  *   cleanup\n\n  *   bedtime\n\n## A LIFETIME OF ENJOYING YOUR CHILD\n\nI hope that over the course of this book and your child's first years, you have discovered the joy of a child who has been nurtured by responsive parenting and who has been stimulated in ways that have made her happier and smarter. Your child's brain is far from fully developed. In fact, researchers and MRI studies now tell us that teenagers' brains are not yet fully developed and that this may account for some of the behaviors that are peculiar to teens and incomprehensible to adults. And though I've got a while before I'm parenting teenagers, I plan to continue to find ways to positively affect and enhance my children's potential.\n\nNew discoveries in neuroscience are always being made. The study of the human brain is a fascinating topic, and what we'll learn next isn't clear. What we do know is that your brain continues to change over your lifetime. Providing the right kind of stimulation from the start of your baby's life can make her happier and smarter and will affect her in the most positive ways for the rest of her life.\n\n#\n\n n this chapter, I've listed books, magazine articles, studies, and websites that I have found helpful and may be of interest to you. Please note that while website addresses are up-to-date as of publication of this book, they are subject to change.\n\nResearch in the area of brain development is ongoing, new theories are constantly being tested and reviewed, and new studies may appear. The same is true in the field of early childhood development.\n\nWhen seeking answers to any of your questions about infants and development, you can find experts and advice on any subject. If you want to have a smarter, happier baby, my advice to you is the same, no matter what resources you utilize: know your baby, trust your instincts, and give your baby the right kind of stimulation.\n\n_Books_\n\n## FROM BIRTH TO TODDLER, GENERAL INFORMATION\n\n_Your Baby and Child from Birth to Age Five_ by Penelope, Leach (Alfred A. Knopf, N. Y.)\n\n_What to Expect When You're Expecting_ by Arlene Eisenberg, Heidi E. Murkoff, and Sandee E. Hathaway, B. S. N. (Workman Publishing, N. Y.)\n\n_What to Expect: The Toddler Years_ by Arlene Eisenberg, Heidi E. Murkoff, and Sandee E. Hathaway, B. S. N. (Workman Publishing, N. Y.)\n\n_Pregnancy, Childbirth and the Newborn: The Complete Guide_ by Penny Simkin, P. T.; Janet Whalley R. N., B. S. N.; and Ann Keppler, R. N., M. N. (Meadowbrook Press, N. Y.)\n\n_Dr. Spock's Baby and Child Care_ by Benjamin Spock, M. D. and Michael B. Rothenberg, M. D. (Pocket Books, N. Y.)\n\n_Secrets of the Baby Whisperer_ by Tracy Hogg with Melinda Blau (Ballantine Books, N. Y.)\n\n_The Baby Book: Everything You Need to Know about Your Baby from Birth to Age Two_ by William Sears, M. D.; Martha Sears, R. N.; with James Sears, M. D. and Robert Sears, M. D. (Little Brown, N. Y.)\n\n## READING\n\n_Great Books for Babies and Toddlers_ by Kathleen Odean (Ballantine Books, N. Y.)\n\n_How to Get Your Child to Love Reading_ by Esm\u00e9 Raji Codell (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, N. C.)\n\n## SIGN LANGUAGE\n\n_Baby Signs: How to Talk with Your Baby Before Your Baby Can Talk_ by Linda Acredolo, Ph. D. and Susan Good-wyn, Ph. D. with Doug Abrams (McGraw-Hill, N. Y.)\n\n_Baby Signs Series_ by Linda Acredolo, Ph. D. and Susan Good-wyn, Ph. D. (Board Book series that includes First Signs, Mealtimes, Bedtimes, Animals) (Harper Festival, N. Y.)\n\n_Baby Fingers: Teaching Your Baby to Sign_ by Lora Heller (Sterling Publishing, N. Y.)\n\n_Baby Sign Language Basics_ by Monta Z. Briant (Hay House, Inc., Carlsbad, Calif.)\n\n_Baby's First Signs_ by Kim Votry and Curt Waller (Gal-laudet University Press, Washington, D. C.)\n\n## SLEEP\n\n_Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child_ by Marc Weissbluth, M. D. (Ballantine Books, N. Y.)\n\n_The No-Cry Sleep Solution_ by Elizabeth Pantley (McGraw-Hill, N. Y.)\n\n_Solve Your Child's Sleep Problems_ by Richard Ferber, M. D. (Simon & Schuster, N. Y.)\n\n## SOCIAL, EMOTIONAL, AND MENTAL DEVELOPMENT\n\n_Building Healthy Minds: The Six Experiences that Create Intelligence and Emotional Growth in Babies and Young Children_ by Stanley Greenspan, M. D. with Nancy Breslau Lewis (Perseus Publishing, N. Y.)\n\n_Touchpoints: Your Child's Emotional and Behavioral Development: The Essential Reference_ by T. Berry Brazelton (HarperCollins, N. Y.)\n\n_What's Going on in There? How the Brain and Mind Develop in the First Five Years of Life_ by Lise Eliot (Bantam Books, N. Y.)\n\n_Baby Mind: Brain-Building Games Your Baby Will Love_ by Linda Acredolo, Ph. D. and Susan Goodwyn, Ph. D. (Bantam Books, N. Y.)\n\n_Magic Trees of the Mind: How to Nurture Your Child's Intelligence, Creativity and Healthy Emotions fom Birth Through Adolescence_ by Marian Diamond and Janet L. Hopson (Penguin USA, N. Y.)\n\n_Websites_\n\nThere is a seemingly endless number of websites devoted to infant and child development. Following is a list of sites that I have found helpful as a parent. This list is not meant to be extensive but to provide you with some of the best-known parenting resources on the Web. Once you've started searching for information on these sites, it's easy to keep linking to new sites and discovering fresh information.\n\n_American Academy of Pediatrics_ : www.aap.org\n\n_BabyCenter_ : www.babycenter.com\n\n_Baby Prodigy_ : www.babyprodigy.com\n\n_How Kids Develop_ : www.howkidsdevelop.com\n\n_National Association for the Education of Young Children_ : www.naeyc.org\n\n_National Institute of Mental Health_ : www.nimh.nih.gov\n\n_New Horizons for Learning_ : www.newhorizons.org\n\n_Parents' Place at i Village_ : www.parenting.ivillage.com\n\n_PBS Parents_ : www.pbs.org\/parents\/\n\n_Scholastic_ : www.scholastic.com\/earlylearner\/\n\n_The Children's Center_ : www.thechildrenscenter.org\n\n_The Parents' Press_ : www.parentspress.com\n\n_Zero to Three_ : www.zerotothree.org\n\n_Articles and Studies_\n\nMost of these articles and studies are easily accessed online. Websites are listed when available.\n\n\"Brain Development in Children.\" Dakota County, MN Social Services Department. Newsletter, July 2004. online at: www.co.dakota.mn.us\/child_care\/news_july. htm\n\n\"Building Your Child's Brain\" from Tips To Grow By, Akron Children's Hospital, Akron, O. H. online at: www.akronchildrens.org\/tips\/pdfs\/IN235.pdf\n\n\"Building Your Child's Brain.\" _Inside Children's_ , a Publication of Akron Children's Hospital, Akron, OH. Summer 2002.\n\nonline at: www.akronchildrens.org\/elements\/PDF\/ InsideC-SprSum02.pdf\n\n\"Development in the First Years of Life.\" Ross A. Thompson. _The Future of Children_ , Volume 11, Number 1. From _The Future of Children_ , a publication of the David and Lucile Packard Foundation. online at: www.futureofchildren.org\n\n\"Fertile Minds.\" J. Madeleine Nash. _Time_ magazine, February 3,1997, Vol. 149, No. 5.\n\nonline at: www.thesmartbaby.com\/timemagazinereport. htm\n\n\"In Focus: Understanding the Effects of Maltreatment on Early Brain Development.\" National Clearinghouse on Child Abuse and Neglect Information, Washington, D. C., October 2001.\n\nonline at: <http:\/\/nccanch.acf.hhs.gov\/pubs\/focus\/ earlybrain.cfm>\n\n\"What Research on the Brain Tells Us about Our Youngest Children.\" The White House Conference on Early Childhood Development and Learning, Washington, D. C. April 17,1997. online at: www.childrenslearning.com\/linksandfiles\n\n\"Your Child's Brain.\" Sharon Begeley. _Newsweek_ , February 19,1996, pp. 55\u201361.\n\n\"Your Child's Brain: The Crucial First Years.\" Kathy Oliver. HGY 5318-98, Ohio State University Extension Factsheet, Family and Consumer Sciences, Columbus, O. H.\n\nonline at: <http:\/\/ohioline.osu.edu\/hyg-fact\/5000\/ 5318.html>\n\n# About the Author\n\n efore having her first child in 1999, Barbara worked in the entertainment business, helping to produce comedy, drama, variety shows, and children's television. She is a graduate of the State University of New York at Albany and holds a degree in sociology. In 2001, while raising her first child as a \"stay-at-home mom, \" with the help of her husband, Richard, she founded the Baby Prodigy Company. Barbara and Richard reside in Southern California with their two daughters, Samantha and Lara.\n\n# About the Type\n\n his book was set in Caslon, a typeface first designed in 1722 by William Caslon. Its widespread use by most English printers in the early eighteenth century soon supplanted the Dutch typefaces that had formerly prevailed. The roman is considered a \"workhorse\" typeface due to its pleasant, open appearance, while the italic is exceedingly decorative.\n\nThe anecdotes in this book are not necessarily based upon the experiences of individuals. A few of the portraits are composites, and in most cases, names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.\n\nNo book can replace the diagnostic expertise and medical advice of a trusted physician. Please be certain to consult with your doctor before making any decisions that affect your, or your baby's, health, particularly if you suffer from any medical condition or have any symptom that may require treatment.\n\nCopyright \u00a9 2005 by Barbara Candiano-Marcus\n\nAll rights reserved.\n\nPublished in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a divison of Random House, Inc., New York.\n\nBallantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.\n\nLibrary of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Candiano-Marcus, Barbara.  \nBaby prodigy : a guide to raising a smarter, happier baby \/  \nBarbara Candiano-Marcus  \np. cm.\n\nIncludes bibliographical references.  \neISBN: 978-0-307-48183-2\n\n1. Infants\u2014Development. 2. Infants\u2014Intelligence levels.  \n3. Cognition in infants. 4. Parent and infant. I. Title.  \nHQ774.C34 2005  \n155.42'2\u2014dc22  \n2004062798\n\nBallantine Books website address: www.ballantinebooks.com\n\nv3.0\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":" \n** **\n\n**EMILY DICKINSON**\n\n(1830\u20131886)\n\n**Contents**\n\n_The Poetry Collections_\n\nPOEMS : SERIES ONE\n\nPOEMS : SERIES TWO\n\nPOEMS : SERIES THREE\n\n_The Poems_\n\nLIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER\n\nLIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER\n\n_The Letters_\n\nTHE LETTERS OF EMILY DICKINSON\n\n_\u00a9_ _Delphi Classics 2012_\n\nVersion 1\n\n****\n\n** **\n\n**EMILY DICKINSON**\n\n_By Delphi Classics, 2012_\n**NOTE**\n\nWhen reading poetry on an eReader, it is advisable to use a small font size, which will allow the lines of poetry to display correctly.\n**The Poetry Collections**\n\n_Dickinson Homestead, Amherst, Massachusetts \u2014 Dickinson's birthplace and now a museum dedicated to the poet_\n\n_The Dickinson children, with Emily on the left, 1840_\n\n_Edward Dickinson, the poet's father \u2014 a successful lawyer_\n\n_The poet's mother, Emily_\n**_POEMS : SERIES ONE_**\n\nEmily Dickinson lived a mostly introverted and reclusive life with her prosperous family in Amherst, Massachusetts. After she studied at the Amherst Academy for seven years, she spent a short time at Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, before returning to her family's house, known as Homestead. Thought of as an eccentric by the locals, she became known for her keen liking for white clothing and her reluctance to greet guests. In later years, she was often unwilling to leave her room; therefore, many of her friendships were conducted by correspondence.\n\nDespite Dickinson's prolific output, only a small number of her poems were published during her lifetime. They were usually altered significantly by the publishers to fit the conventional poetic rules of the time. After her death, Dickinson's younger sister Lavinia discovered a collection of nearly eighteen hundred poems. Recognising their worth, Lavinia became obsessed with seeing them published. She turned first to her brother's wife and then to Mabel Loomis Todd, her brother's mistress, for assistance. A feud ensued, with the manuscripts divided between the Todd and Dickinson houses, delaying the complete publication of Dickinson's poetry for more than half a century.\n\nThe first series of poems was published in 1890, four years after Dickinson's death. The collection was edited jointly by Mabel Loomis Todd and T. W. Higginson, and appeared in November 1890. Although Todd claimed that only essential changes were made, the poems were extensively edited to match punctuation and capitalisation to late 19th-century standards, with occasional rewordings to simplify Dickinson's abstruse meanings. The first 115 poem volume was a critical and financial success, going through eleven printings in two years. The _Second Series_ followed in 1891, running to five editions by 1893; and the _Third Series_ appeared in 1896.\n\n_For the Contents table, click here._\n\n_\"Safe in their Alabaster Chambers\" was one of the few poems published during Dickinson's lifetime; the poem was printed in the Springfield Republican in 1862._\n\n_Lavinia Dickinson_\n**PREFACE.**\n\nTHE verses of Emily Dickinson belong emphatically to what Emerson long since called \"the Poetry of the Portfolio,\" \u2014 something produced absolutely without the thought of publication, and solely by way of expression of the writer's own mind. Such verse must inevitably forfeit whatever advantage lies in the discipline of public criticism and the enforced conformity to accepted ways. On the other hand, it may often gain something through the habit of freedom and the unconventional utterance of daring thoughts. In the case of the present author, there was absolutely no choice in the matter; she must write thus, or not at all. A recluse by temperament and habit, literally spending years without setting her foot beyond the doorstep, and many more years during which her walks were strictly limited to her father's grounds, she habitually concealed her mind, like her person, from all but a very few friends; and it was with great difficulty that she was persuaded to print, during her lifetime, three or four poems. Yet she wrote verses in great abundance; and though brought curiously indifferent to all conventional rules, had yet a rigorous literary standard of her own, and often altered a word many times to suit an ear which had its own tenacious fastidiousness.\n\nMiss Dickinson was born in Amherst, Mass., Dec. 10, 1830, and died there May 15, 1886. Her father, Hon. Edward Dickinson, was the leading lawyer of Amherst, and was treasurer of the well-known college there situated. It was his custom once a year to hold a large reception at his house, attended by all the families connected with the institution and by the leading people of the town. On these occasions his daughter Emily emerged from her wonted retirement and did her part as gracious hostess; nor would any one have known from her manner, I have been told, that this was not a daily occurrence. The annual occasion once past, she withdrew again into her seclusion, and except for a very few friends was as invisible to the world as if she had dwelt in a nunnery. For myself, although I had corresponded with her for many years, I saw her but twice face to face, and brought away the impression of something as unique and remote as Undine or Mignon or Thekla.\n\nThis selection from her poems is published to meet the desire of her personal friends, and especially of her surviving sister. It is believed that the thoughtful reader will find in these pages a quality more suggestive of the poetry of William Blake than of anything to be elsewhere found, \u2014 flashes of wholly original and profound insight into nature and life; words and phrases exhibiting an extraordinary vividness of descriptive and imaginative power, yet often set in a seemingly whimsical or even rugged frame. They are here published as they were written, with very few and superficial changes; although it is fair to say that the titles have been assigned, almost invariably, by the editors. In many cases these verses will seem to the reader like poetry torn up by the roots, with rain and dew and earth still clinging to them, giving a freshness and a fragrance not otherwise to be conveyed. In other cases, as in the few poems of shipwreck or of mental conflict, we can only wonder at the gift of vivid imagination by which this recluse woman can delineate, by a few touches, the very crises of physical or mental struggle. And sometimes again we catch glimpses of a lyric strain, sustained perhaps but for a line or two at a time, and making the reader regret its sudden cessation. But the main quality of these poems is that of extraordinary grasp and insight, uttered with an uneven vigor sometimes exasperating, seemingly wayward, but really unsought and inevitable. After all, when a thought takes one's breath away, a lesson on grammar seems an impertinence. As Ruskin wrote in his earlier and better days, \"No weight nor mass nor beauty of execution can outweigh one grain or fragment of thought.\"\n\n_Thomas Wentworth Higginson_\n\n_The first edition of the First Series_\n\n_Dickinson, aged 9_\n**TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE**\n\nAs is well documented, Emily Dickinson's poems were edited in these early editions by her friends, better to fit the conventions of the times. In particular, her dashes, often small enough to appear as dots, became commas and semi-colons.\n\nIn the second series of poems published, a facsimile of her handwritten poem which her editors titled \"Renunciation\" is given, and I here transcribe that manuscript as faithfully as I can, showing _underlined_ words thus.\n\nThere came a day - at Summer's full -  \nEntirely for me -  \nI thought that such were for the Saints -  \nWhere Resurrections - be -\n\nThe sun - as common - went abroad -  \nThe flowers - accustomed - blew,  \nAs if no soul - that solstice passed -  \nWhich maketh all things - new -\n\nThe time was scarce profaned - by speech -  \nThe falling of a word  \nWas needless - as at Sacrament -  \nThe _Wardrobe_ \\- of our Lord!\n\nEach was to each - the sealed church -  \nPermitted to commune - _this_ time -  \nLest we too awkward show  \nAt Supper of \"the Lamb.\"\n\nThe hours slid fast - as hours will -  \nClutched tight - by greedy hands -  \nSo - faces on two Decks look back -  \nBound to _opposing_ lands.\n\nAnd so, when all the time had leaked,  \nWithout external sound,  \nEach bound the other's Crucifix -  \nWe gave no other bond -\n\nSufficient troth - that we shall _rise_ ,  \nDeposed - at length the Grave -  \nTo that new marriage -  \n _Justified_ \\- through Calvaries - of Love!\n\nFrom the handwriting, it is not always clear which are dashes, which are commas and which are periods, nor it is entirely clear which initial letters are capitalized.\n\nHowever, this transcription may be compared with the edited version in the main text to get a flavor of the changes made in these early editions.\n\n\u2014 **JT**\n\nThis is my letter to the world,  \nThat never wrote to me, \u2014   \nThe simple news that Nature told,  \nWith tender majesty.\n\nHer message is committed  \nTo hands I cannot see;  \nFor love of her, sweet countrymen,  \nJudge tenderly of me!\n\n**I.**\n\n**LIFE.**\n\n**I.**\n\n**SUCCESS.**\n\n[Published in \"A Masque of Poets\" at the request of \"H.H.,\" the author's fellow-townswoman and friend.]\n\nSuccess is counted sweetest  \nBy those who ne'er succeed.  \nTo comprehend a nectar  \nRequires sorest need.\n\nNot one of all the purple host  \nWho took the flag to-day  \nCan tell the definition,  \nSo clear, of victory,\n\nAs he, defeated, dying,  \nOn whose forbidden ear  \nThe distant strains of triumph  \nBreak, agonized and clear!\n\n**II.**\n\nOur share of night to bear,  \nOur share of morning,  \nOur blank in bliss to fill,  \nOur blank in scorning.\n\nHere a star, and there a star,  \nSome lose their way.  \nHere a mist, and there a mist,  \nAfterwards \u2014 day!\n\n**III.**\n\n**ROUGE ET NOIR.**\n\nSoul, wilt thou toss again?  \nBy just such a hazard  \nHundreds have lost, indeed,  \nBut tens have won an all.\n\nAngels' breathless ballot  \nLingers to record thee;  \nImps in eager caucus  \nRaffle for my soul.\n\n**IV.**\n\n**ROUGE GAGNE.**\n\n'T is so much joy! 'T is so much joy!  \nIf I should fail, what poverty!  \nAnd yet, as poor as I  \nHave ventured all upon a throw;  \nHave gained! Yes! Hesitated so  \nThis side the victory!\n\nLife is but life, and death but death!  \nBliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!  \nAnd if, indeed, I fail,  \nAt least to know the worst is sweet.  \nDefeat means nothing but defeat,  \nNo drearier can prevail!\n\nAnd if I gain, \u2014 oh, gun at sea,  \nOh, bells that in the steeples be,  \nAt first repeat it slow!  \nFor heaven is a different thing  \nConjectured, and waked sudden in,  \nAnd might o'erwhelm me so!\n\n**V.**\n\nGlee! The great storm is over!  \nFour have recovered the land;  \nForty gone down together  \nInto the boiling sand.\n\nRing, for the scant salvation!  \nToll, for the bonnie souls, \u2014   \nNeighbor and friend and bridegroom,  \nSpinning upon the shoals!\n\nHow they will tell the shipwreck  \nWhen winter shakes the door,  \nTill the children ask, \"But the forty?  \nDid they come back no more?\"\n\nThen a silence suffuses the story,  \nAnd a softness the teller's eye;  \nAnd the children no further question,  \nAnd only the waves reply.\n\n**VI.**\n\nIf I can stop one heart from breaking,  \nI shall not live in vain;  \nIf I can ease one life the aching,  \nOr cool one pain,  \nOr help one fainting robin  \nUnto his nest again,  \nI shall not live in vain.\n\n**VII.**\n\n**ALMOST!**\n\nWithin my reach!  \nI could have touched!  \nI might have chanced that way!  \nSoft sauntered through the village,  \nSauntered as soft away!  \nSo unsuspected violets  \nWithin the fields lie low,  \nToo late for striving fingers  \nThat passed, an hour ago.\n\n**VIII.**\n\nA wounded deer leaps highest,  \nI've heard the hunter tell;  \n'T is but the ecstasy of death,  \nAnd then the brake is still.\n\nThe smitten rock that gushes,  \nThe trampled steel that springs;  \nA cheek is always redder  \nJust where the hectic stings!\n\nMirth is the mail of anguish,  \nIn which it cautions arm,  \nLest anybody spy the blood  \nAnd \"You're hurt\" exclaim!\n\n**IX.**\n\nThe heart asks pleasure first,  \nAnd then, excuse from pain;  \nAnd then, those little anodynes  \nThat deaden suffering;\n\nAnd then, to go to sleep;  \nAnd then, if it should be  \nThe will of its Inquisitor,  \nThe liberty to die.\n\n**X.**\n\n**IN A LIBRARY.**\n\nA precious, mouldering pleasure 't is  \nTo meet an antique book,  \nIn just the dress his century wore;  \nA privilege, I think,\n\nHis venerable hand to take,  \nAnd warming in our own,  \nA passage back, or two, to make  \nTo times when he was young.\n\nHis quaint opinions to inspect,  \nHis knowledge to unfold  \nOn what concerns our mutual mind,  \nThe literature of old;\n\nWhat interested scholars most,  \nWhat competitions ran  \nWhen Plato was a certainty.  \nAnd Sophocles a man;\n\nWhen Sappho was a living girl,  \nAnd Beatrice wore  \nThe gown that Dante deified.  \nFacts, centuries before,\n\nHe traverses familiar,  \nAs one should come to town  \nAnd tell you all your dreams were true;  \nHe lived where dreams were sown.\n\nHis presence is enchantment,  \nYou beg him not to go;  \nOld volumes shake their vellum heads  \nAnd tantalize, just so.\n\n**XI.**\n\nMuch madness is divinest sense  \nTo a discerning eye;  \nMuch sense the starkest madness.  \n'T is the majority  \nIn this, as all, prevails.  \nAssent, and you are sane;  \nDemur, \u2014 you're straightway dangerous,  \nAnd handled with a chain.\n\n**XII.**\n\nI asked no other thing,  \nNo other was denied.  \nI offered Being for it;  \nThe mighty merchant smiled.\n\nBrazil? He twirled a button,  \nWithout a glance my way:  \n\"But, madam, is there nothing else  \nThat we can show to-day?\"\n\n**XIII.**\n\n**EXCLUSION.**\n\nThe soul selects her own society,  \nThen shuts the door;  \nOn her divine majority  \nObtrude no more.\n\nUnmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing  \nAt her low gate;  \nUnmoved, an emperor is kneeling  \nUpon her mat.\n\nI've known her from an ample nation  \nChoose one;  \nThen close the valves of her attention  \nLike stone.\n\n**XIV.**\n\n**THE SECRET.**\n\nSome things that fly there be, \u2014   \nBirds, hours, the bumble-bee:  \nOf these no elegy.\n\nSome things that stay there be, \u2014   \nGrief, hills, eternity:  \nNor this behooveth me.\n\nThere are, that resting, rise.  \nCan I expound the skies?  \nHow still the riddle lies!\n\n**XV.**\n\n**THE LONELY HOUSE.**\n\nI know some lonely houses off the road  \nA robber 'd like the look of, \u2014   \nWooden barred,  \nAnd windows hanging low,  \nInviting to  \nA portico,  \nWhere two could creep:  \nOne hand the tools,  \nThe other peep  \nTo make sure all's asleep.  \nOld-fashioned eyes,  \nNot easy to surprise!\n\nHow orderly the kitchen 'd look by night,  \nWith just a clock, \u2014   \nBut they could gag the tick,  \nAnd mice won't bark;  \nAnd so the walls don't tell,  \nNone will.\n\nA pair of spectacles ajar just stir \u2014   \nAn almanac's aware.  \nWas it the mat winked,  \nOr a nervous star?  \nThe moon slides down the stair  \nTo see who's there.\n\nThere's plunder, \u2014 where?  \nTankard, or spoon,  \nEarring, or stone,  \nA watch, some ancient brooch  \nTo match the grandmamma,  \nStaid sleeping there.\n\nDay rattles, too,  \nStealth's slow;  \nThe sun has got as far  \nAs the third sycamore.  \nScreams chanticleer,  \n\"Who's there?\"  \nAnd echoes, trains away,  \nSneer \u2014 \"Where?\"  \nWhile the old couple, just astir,  \nFancy the sunrise left the door ajar!\n\n**XVI.**\n\nTo fight aloud is very brave,  \nBut gallanter, I know,  \nWho charge within the bosom,  \nThe cavalry of woe.\n\nWho win, and nations do not see,  \nWho fall, and none observe,  \nWhose dying eyes no country  \nRegards with patriot love.\n\nWe trust, in plumed procession,  \nFor such the angels go,  \nRank after rank, with even feet  \nAnd uniforms of snow.\n\n**XVII.**\n\n**DAWN.**\n\nWhen night is almost done,  \nAnd sunrise grows so near  \nThat we can touch the spaces,  \nIt 's time to smooth the hair\n\nAnd get the dimples ready,  \nAnd wonder we could care  \nFor that old faded midnight  \nThat frightened but an hour.\n\n**XVIII.**\n\n**THE BOOK OF MARTYRS.**\n\nRead, sweet, how others strove,  \nTill we are stouter;  \nWhat they renounced,  \nTill we are less afraid;  \nHow many times they bore  \nThe faithful witness,  \nTill we are helped,  \nAs if a kingdom cared!\n\nRead then of faith  \nThat shone above the fagot;  \nClear strains of hymn  \nThe river could not drown;  \nBrave names of men  \nAnd celestial women,  \nPassed out of record  \nInto renown!\n\n**XIX.**\n\n**THE MYSTERY OF PAIN.**\n\nPain has an element of blank;  \nIt cannot recollect  \nWhen it began, or if there were  \nA day when it was not.\n\nIt has no future but itself,  \nIts infinite realms contain  \nIts past, enlightened to perceive  \nNew periods of pain.\n\n**XX.**\n\nI taste a liquor never brewed,  \nFrom tankards scooped in pearl;  \nNot all the vats upon the Rhine  \nYield such an alcohol!\n\nInebriate of air am I,  \nAnd debauchee of dew,  \nReeling, through endless summer days,  \nFrom inns of molten blue.\n\nWhen landlords turn the drunken bee  \nOut of the foxglove's door,  \nWhen butterflies renounce their drams,  \nI shall but drink the more!\n\nTill seraphs swing their snowy hats,  \nAnd saints to windows run,  \nTo see the little tippler  \nLeaning against the sun!\n\n**XXI.**\n\n**A BOOK.**\n\nHe ate and drank the precious words,  \nHis spirit grew robust;  \nHe knew no more that he was poor,  \nNor that his frame was dust.  \nHe danced along the dingy days,  \nAnd this bequest of wings  \nWas but a book. What liberty  \nA loosened spirit brings!\n\n**XXII.**\n\nI had no time to hate, because  \nThe grave would hinder me,  \nAnd life was not so ample I  \nCould finish enmity.\n\nNor had I time to love; but since  \nSome industry must be,  \nThe little toil of love, I thought,  \nWas large enough for me.\n\n**XXIII.**\n\n**UNRETURNING.**\n\n'T was such a little, little boat  \nThat toddled down the bay!  \n'T was such a gallant, gallant sea  \nThat beckoned it away!\n\n'T was such a greedy, greedy wave  \nThat licked it from the coast;  \nNor ever guessed the stately sails  \nMy little craft was lost!\n\n**XXIV.**\n\nWhether my bark went down at sea,  \nWhether she met with gales,  \nWhether to isles enchanted  \nShe bent her docile sails;\n\nBy what mystic mooring  \nShe is held to-day, \u2014   \nThis is the errand of the eye  \nOut upon the bay.\n\n**XXV.**\n\nBelshazzar had a letter, \u2014   \nHe never had but one;  \nBelshazzar's correspondent  \nConcluded and begun  \nIn that immortal copy  \nThe conscience of us all  \nCan read without its glasses  \nOn revelation's wall.\n\n**XXVI.**\n\nThe brain within its groove  \nRuns evenly and true;  \nBut let a splinter swerve,  \n'T were easier for you  \nTo put the water back  \nWhen floods have slit the hills,  \nAnd scooped a turnpike for themselves,  \nAnd blotted out the mills!\n\n**II.**\n\n**LOVE.**\n\n**I.**\n\n**MINE.**\n\nMine by the right of the white election!  \nMine by the royal seal!  \nMine by the sign in the scarlet prison  \nBars cannot conceal!\n\nMine, here in vision and in veto!  \nMine, by the grave's repeal  \nTitled, confirmed, \u2014 delirious charter!  \nMine, while the ages steal!\n\n**II.**\n\n**BEQUEST.**\n\nYou left me, sweet, two legacies, \u2014   \nA legacy of love  \nA Heavenly Father would content,  \nHad He the offer of;\n\nYou left me boundaries of pain  \nCapacious as the sea,  \nBetween eternity and time,  \nYour consciousness and me.\n\n**III.**\n\nAlter? When the hills do.  \nFalter? When the sun  \nQuestion if his glory  \nBe the perfect one.\n\nSurfeit? When the daffodil  \nDoth of the dew:  \nEven as herself, O friend!  \nI will of you!\n\n**IV.**\n\n**SUSPENSE.**\n\nElysium is as far as to  \nThe very nearest room,  \nIf in that room a friend await  \nFelicity or doom.\n\nWhat fortitude the soul contains,  \nThat it can so endure  \nThe accent of a coming foot,  \nThe opening of a door!\n\n**V.**\n\n**SURRENDER.**\n\nDoubt me, my dim companion!  \nWhy, God would be content  \nWith but a fraction of the love  \nPoured thee without a stint.  \nThe whole of me, forever,  \nWhat more the woman can, \u2014   \nSay quick, that I may dower thee  \nWith last delight I own!\n\nIt cannot be my spirit,  \nFor that was thine before;  \nI ceded all of dust I knew, \u2014   \nWhat opulence the more  \nHad I, a humble maiden,  \nWhose farthest of degree  \nWas that she might,  \nSome distant heaven,  \nDwell timidly with thee!\n\n**VI.**\n\nIF you were coming in the fall,  \nI'd brush the summer by  \nWith half a smile and half a spurn,  \nAs housewives do a fly.\n\nIf I could see you in a year,  \nI'd wind the months in balls,  \nAnd put them each in separate drawers,  \nUntil their time befalls.\n\nIf only centuries delayed,  \nI'd count them on my hand,  \nSubtracting till my fingers dropped  \nInto Van Diemen's land.\n\nIf certain, when this life was out,  \nThat yours and mine should be,  \nI'd toss it yonder like a rind,  \nAnd taste eternity.\n\nBut now, all ignorant of the length  \nOf time's uncertain wing,  \nIt goads me, like the goblin bee,  \nThat will not state its sting.\n\n**VII.**\n\n**WITH A FLOWER.**\n\nI hide myself within my flower,  \nThat wearing on your breast,  \nYou, unsuspecting, wear me too \u2014   \nAnd angels know the rest.\n\nI hide myself within my flower,  \nThat, fading from your vase,  \nYou, unsuspecting, feel for me  \nAlmost a loneliness.\n\n**VIII.**\n\n**PROOF.**\n\nThat I did always love,  \nI bring thee proof:  \nThat till I loved  \nI did not love enough.\n\nThat I shall love alway,  \nI offer thee  \nThat love is life,  \nAnd life hath immortality.\n\nThis, dost thou doubt, sweet?  \nThen have I  \nNothing to show  \nBut Calvary.\n\n**IX.**\n\nHave you got a brook in your little heart,  \nWhere bashful flowers blow,  \nAnd blushing birds go down to drink,  \nAnd shadows tremble so?\n\nAnd nobody knows, so still it flows,  \nThat any brook is there;  \nAnd yet your little draught of life  \nIs daily drunken there.\n\nThen look out for the little brook in March,  \nWhen the rivers overflow,  \nAnd the snows come hurrying from the hills,  \nAnd the bridges often go.\n\nAnd later, in August it may be,  \nWhen the meadows parching lie,  \nBeware, lest this little brook of life  \nSome burning noon go dry!\n\n**X.**\n\n**TRANSPLANTED.**\n\nAs if some little Arctic flower,  \nUpon the polar hem,  \nWent wandering down the latitudes,  \nUntil it puzzled came  \nTo continents of summer,  \nTo firmaments of sun,  \nTo strange, bright crowds of flowers,  \nAnd birds of foreign tongue!  \nI say, as if this little flower  \nTo Eden wandered in \u2014   \nWhat then? Why, nothing, only,  \nYour inference therefrom!\n\n**XI.**\n\n**THE OUTLET.**\n\nMy river runs to thee:  \nBlue sea, wilt welcome me?\n\nMy river waits reply.  \nOh sea, look graciously!\n\nI'll fetch thee brooks  \nFrom spotted nooks, \u2014\n\nSay, sea,  \nTake me!\n\n**XII.**\n\n**IN VAIN.**\n\nI CANNOT live with you,  \nIt would be life,  \nAnd life is over there  \nBehind the shelf\n\nThe sexton keeps the key to,  \nPutting up  \nOur life, his porcelain,  \nLike a cup\n\nDiscarded of the housewife,  \nQuaint or broken;  \nA newer Sevres pleases,  \nOld ones crack.\n\nI could not die with you,  \nFor one must wait  \nTo shut the other's gaze down, \u2014   \nYou could not.\n\nAnd I, could I stand by  \nAnd see you freeze,  \nWithout my right of frost,  \nDeath's privilege?\n\nNor could I rise with you,  \nBecause your face  \nWould put out Jesus',  \nThat new grace\n\nGlow plain and foreign  \nOn my homesick eye,  \nExcept that you, than he  \nShone closer by.\n\nThey'd judge us \u2014 how?  \nFor you served Heaven, you know,  \nOr sought to;  \nI could not,\n\nBecause you saturated sight,  \nAnd I had no more eyes  \nFor sordid excellence  \nAs Paradise.\n\nAnd were you lost, I would be,  \nThough my name  \nRang loudest  \nOn the heavenly fame.\n\nAnd were you saved,  \nAnd I condemned to be  \nWhere you were not,  \nThat self were hell to me.\n\nSo we must keep apart,  \nYou there, I here,  \nWith just the door ajar  \nThat oceans are,  \nAnd prayer,  \nAnd that pale sustenance,  \nDespair!\n\n**XIII.**\n\n**RENUNCIATION.**\n\nThere came a day at summer's full  \nEntirely for me;  \nI thought that such were for the saints,  \nWhere revelations be.\n\nThe sun, as common, went abroad,  \nThe flowers, accustomed, blew,  \nAs if no soul the solstice passed  \nThat maketh all things new.\n\nThe time was scarce profaned by speech;  \nThe symbol of a word  \nWas needless, as at sacrament  \nThe wardrobe of our Lord.\n\nEach was to each the sealed church,  \nPermitted to commune this time,  \nLest we too awkward show  \nAt supper of the Lamb.\n\nThe hours slid fast, as hours will,  \nClutched tight by greedy hands;  \nSo faces on two decks look back,  \nBound to opposing lands.\n\nAnd so, when all the time had failed,  \nWithout external sound,  \nEach bound the other's crucifix,  \nWe gave no other bond.\n\nSufficient troth that we shall rise \u2014   \nDeposed, at length, the grave \u2014   \nTo that new marriage, justified  \nThrough Calvaries of Love!\n\n**XIV.**\n\n**LOVE'S BAPTISM.**\n\nI'm ceded, I've stopped being theirs;  \nThe name they dropped upon my face  \nWith water, in the country church,  \nIs finished using now,  \nAnd they can put it with my dolls,  \nMy childhood, and the string of spools  \nI've finished threading too.\n\nBaptized before without the choice,  \nBut this time consciously, of grace  \nUnto supremest name,  \nCalled to my full, the crescent dropped,  \nExistence's whole arc filled up  \nWith one small diadem.\n\nMy second rank, too small the first,  \nCrowned, crowing on my father's breast,  \nA half unconscious queen;  \nBut this time, adequate, erect,  \nWith will to choose or to reject.  \nAnd I choose \u2014 just a throne.\n\n**XV.**\n\n**RESURRECTION.**\n\n'T was a long parting, but the time  \nFor interview had come;  \nBefore the judgment-seat of God,  \nThe last and second time\n\nThese fleshless lovers met,  \nA heaven in a gaze,  \nA heaven of heavens, the privilege  \nOf one another's eyes.\n\nNo lifetime set on them,  \nApparelled as the new  \nUnborn, except they had beheld,  \nBorn everlasting now.\n\nWas bridal e'er like this?  \nA paradise, the host,  \nAnd cherubim and seraphim  \nThe most familiar guest.\n\n**XVI.**\n\n**APOCALYPSE.**\n\nI'm wife; I've finished that,  \nThat other state;  \nI'm Czar, I'm woman now:  \nIt's safer so.\n\nHow odd the girl's life looks  \nBehind this soft eclipse!  \nI think that earth seems so  \nTo those in heaven now.\n\nThis being comfort, then  \nThat other kind was pain;  \nBut why compare?  \nI'm wife! stop there!\n\n**XVII.**\n\n**THE WIFE.**\n\nShe rose to his requirement, dropped  \nThe playthings of her life  \nTo take the honorable work  \nOf woman and of wife.\n\nIf aught she missed in her new day  \nOf amplitude, or awe,  \nOr first prospective, or the gold  \nIn using wore away,\n\nIt lay unmentioned, as the sea  \nDevelops pearl and weed,  \nBut only to himself is known  \nThe fathoms they abide.\n\n**XVIII.**\n\n**APOTHEOSIS.**\n\nCome slowly, Eden!  \nLips unused to thee,  \nBashful, sip thy jasmines,  \nAs the fainting bee,\n\nReaching late his flower,  \nRound her chamber hums,  \nCounts his nectars \u2014 enters,  \nAnd is lost in balms!\n\n**III.**\n\n**NATURE.**\n\n**I.**\n\nNew feet within my garden go,  \nNew fingers stir the sod;  \nA troubadour upon the elm  \nBetrays the solitude.\n\nNew children play upon the green,  \nNew weary sleep below;  \nAnd still the pensive spring returns,  \nAnd still the punctual snow!\n\n**II.**\n\n**MAY-FLOWER.**\n\nPink, small, and punctual,  \nAromatic, low,  \nCovert in April,  \nCandid in May,\n\nDear to the moss,  \nKnown by the knoll,  \nNext to the robin  \nIn every human soul.\n\nBold little beauty,  \nBedecked with thee,  \nNature forswears  \nAntiquity.\n\n**III.**\n\n**WHY?**\n\nTHE murmur of a bee  \nA witchcraft yieldeth me.  \nIf any ask me why,  \n'T were easier to die  \nThan tell.\n\nThe red upon the hill  \nTaketh away my will;  \nIf anybody sneer,  \nTake care, for God is here,  \nThat's all.\n\nThe breaking of the day  \nAddeth to my degree;  \nIf any ask me how,  \nArtist, who drew me so,  \nMust tell!\n\n**IV.**\n\nPerhaps you'd like to buy a flower?  \nBut I could never sell.  \nIf you would like to borrow  \nUntil the daffodil\n\nUnties her yellow bonnet  \nBeneath the village door,  \nUntil the bees, from clover rows  \nTheir hock and sherry draw,\n\nWhy, I will lend until just then,  \nBut not an hour more!\n\n**V.**\n\nThe pedigree of honey  \nDoes not concern the bee;  \nA clover, any time, to him  \nIs aristocracy.\n\n**VI.**\n\n**A SERVICE OF SONG.**\n\nSome keep the Sabbath going to church;  \nI keep it staying at home,  \nWith a bobolink for a chorister,  \nAnd an orchard for a dome.\n\nSome keep the Sabbath in surplice;  \nI just wear my wings,  \nAnd instead of tolling the bell for church,  \nOur little sexton sings.\n\nGod preaches, \u2014 a noted clergyman, \u2014   \nAnd the sermon is never long;  \nSo instead of getting to heaven at last,  \nI'm going all along!\n\n**VII.**\n\nThe bee is not afraid of me,  \nI know the butterfly;  \nThe pretty people in the woods  \nReceive me cordially.\n\nThe brooks laugh louder when I come,  \nThe breezes madder play.  \nWherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?  \nWherefore, O summer's day?\n\n**VIII.**\n\n**SUMMER'S ARMIES.**\n\nSome rainbow coming from the fair!  \nSome vision of the world Cashmere  \nI confidently see!  \nOr else a peacock's purple train,  \nFeather by feather, on the plain  \nFritters itself away!\n\nThe dreamy butterflies bestir,  \nLethargic pools resume the whir  \nOf last year's sundered tune.  \nFrom some old fortress on the sun  \nBaronial bees march, one by one,  \nIn murmuring platoon!\n\nThe robins stand as thick to-day  \nAs flakes of snow stood yesterday,  \nOn fence and roof and twig.  \nThe orchis binds her feather on  \nFor her old lover, Don the Sun,  \nRevisiting the bog!\n\nWithout commander, countless, still,  \nThe regiment of wood and hill  \nIn bright detachment stand.  \nBehold! Whose multitudes are these?  \nThe children of whose turbaned seas,  \nOr what Circassian land?\n\n**IX.**\n\n**THE GRASS.**\n\nThe grass so little has to do, \u2014   \nA sphere of simple green,  \nWith only butterflies to brood,  \nAnd bees to entertain,\n\nAnd stir all day to pretty tunes  \nThe breezes fetch along,  \nAnd hold the sunshine in its lap  \nAnd bow to everything;\n\nAnd thread the dews all night, like pearls,  \nAnd make itself so fine, \u2014   \nA duchess were too common  \nFor such a noticing.\n\nAnd even when it dies, to pass  \nIn odors so divine,  \nAs lowly spices gone to sleep,  \nOr amulets of pine.\n\nAnd then to dwell in sovereign barns,  \nAnd dream the days away, \u2014   \nThe grass so little has to do,  \nI wish I were the hay!\n\n**X.**\n\nA little road not made of man,  \nEnabled of the eye,  \nAccessible to thill of bee,  \nOr cart of butterfly.\n\nIf town it have, beyond itself,  \n'T is that I cannot say;  \nI only sigh, \u2014 no vehicle  \nBears me along that way.\n\n**XI.**\n\n**SUMMER SHOWER.**\n\nA drop fell on the apple tree,  \nAnother on the roof;  \nA half a dozen kissed the eaves,  \nAnd made the gables laugh.\n\nA few went out to help the brook,  \nThat went to help the sea.  \nMyself conjectured, Were they pearls,  \nWhat necklaces could be!\n\nThe dust replaced in hoisted roads,  \nThe birds jocoser sung;  \nThe sunshine threw his hat away,  \nThe orchards spangles hung.\n\nThe breezes brought dejected lutes,  \nAnd bathed them in the glee;  \nThe East put out a single flag,  \nAnd signed the fete away.\n\n**XII.**\n\n**PSALM OF THE DAY.**\n\nA something in a summer's day,  \nAs sIow her flambeaux burn away,  \nWhich solemnizes me.\n\nA something in a summer's noon, \u2014   \nAn azure depth, a wordless tune,  \nTranscending ecstasy.\n\nAnd still within a summer's night  \nA something so transporting bright,  \nI clap my hands to see;\n\nThen veil my too inspecting face,  \nLest such a subtle, shimmering grace  \nFlutter too far for me.\n\nThe wizard-fingers never rest,  \nThe purple brook within the breast  \nStill chafes its narrow bed;\n\nStill rears the East her amber flag,  \nGuides still the sun along the crag  \nHis caravan of red,\n\nLike flowers that heard the tale of dews,  \nBut never deemed the dripping prize  \nAwaited their low brows;\n\nOr bees, that thought the summer's name  \nSome rumor of delirium  \nNo summer could for them;\n\nOr Arctic creature, dimly stirred  \nBy tropic hint, \u2014 some travelled bird  \nImported to the wood;\n\nOr wind's bright signal to the ear,  \nMaking that homely and severe,  \nContented, known, before\n\nThe heaven unexpected came,  \nTo lives that thought their worshipping  \nA too presumptuous psalm.\n\n**XIII.**\n\n**THE SEA OF SUNSET.**\n\nThis is the land the sunset washes,  \nThese are the banks of the Yellow Sea;  \nWhere it rose, or whither it rushes,  \nThese are the western mystery!\n\nNight after night her purple traffic  \nStrews the landing with opal bales;  \nMerchantmen poise upon horizons,  \nDip, and vanish with fairy sails.\n\n**XIV.**\n\n**PURPLE CLOVER.**\n\nThere is a flower that bees prefer,  \nAnd butterflies desire;  \nTo gain the purple democrat  \nThe humming-birds aspire.\n\nAnd whatsoever insect pass,  \nA honey bears away  \nProportioned to his several dearth  \nAnd her capacity.\n\nHer face is rounder than the moon,  \nAnd ruddier than the gown  \nOf orchis in the pasture,  \nOr rhododendron worn.\n\nShe doth not wait for June;  \nBefore the world is green  \nHer sturdy little countenance  \nAgainst the wind is seen,\n\nContending with the grass,  \nNear kinsman to herself,  \nFor privilege of sod and sun,  \nSweet litigants for life.\n\nAnd when the hills are full,  \nAnd newer fashions blow,  \nDoth not retract a single spice  \nFor pang of jealousy.\n\nHer public is the noon,  \nHer providence the sun,  \nHer progress by the bee proclaimed  \nIn sovereign, swerveless tune.\n\nThe bravest of the host,  \nSurrendering the last,  \nNor even of defeat aware  \nWhen cancelled by the frost.\n\n**XV.**\n\n**THE BEE.**\n\nLike trains of cars on tracks of plush  \nI hear the level bee:  \nA jar across the flowers goes,  \nTheir velvet masonry\n\nWithstands until the sweet assault  \nTheir chivalry consumes,  \nWhile he, victorious, tilts away  \nTo vanquish other blooms.\n\nHis feet are shod with gauze,  \nHis helmet is of gold;  \nHis breast, a single onyx  \nWith chrysoprase, inlaid.\n\nHis labor is a chant,  \nHis idleness a tune;  \nOh, for a bee's experience  \nOf clovers and of noon!\n\n**XVI.**\n\nPresentiment is that long shadow on the lawn  \nIndicative that suns go down;  \nThe notice to the startled grass  \nThat darkness is about to pass.\n\n**XVII.**\n\nAs children bid the guest good-night,  \nAnd then reluctant turn,  \nMy flowers raise their pretty lips,  \nThen put their nightgowns on.\n\nAs children caper when they wake,  \nMerry that it is morn,  \nMy flowers from a hundred cribs  \nWill peep, and prance again.\n\n**XVIII.**\n\nAngels in the early morning  \nMay be seen the dews among,  \nStooping, plucking, smiling, flying:  \nDo the buds to them belong?\n\nAngels when the sun is hottest  \nMay be seen the sands among,  \nStooping, plucking, sighing, flying;  \nParched the flowers they bear along.\n\n**XIX.**\n\nSo bashful when I spied her,  \nSo pretty, so ashamed!  \nSo hidden in her leaflets,  \nLest anybody find;\n\nSo breathless till I passed her,  \nSo helpless when I turned  \nAnd bore her, struggling, blushing,  \nHer simple haunts beyond!\n\nFor whom I robbed the dingle,  \nFor whom betrayed the dell,  \nMany will doubtless ask me,  \nBut I shall never tell!\n\n**XX.**\n\n**TWO WORLDS.**\n\nIt makes no difference abroad,  \nThe seasons fit the same,  \nThe mornings blossom into noons,  \nAnd split their pods of flame.\n\nWild-flowers kindle in the woods,  \nThe brooks brag all the day;  \nNo blackbird bates his jargoning  \nFor passing Calvary.\n\nAuto-da-fe and judgment  \nAre nothing to the bee;  \nHis separation from his rose  \nTo him seems misery.\n\n**XXI.**\n\n**THE MOUNTAIN.**\n\nThe mountain sat upon the plain  \nIn his eternal chair,  \nHis observation omnifold,  \nHis inquest everywhere.\n\nThe seasons prayed around his knees,  \nLike children round a sire:  \nGrandfather of the days is he,  \nOf dawn the ancestor.\n\n**XXII.**\n\n**A DAY.**\n\nI'll tell you how the sun rose, \u2014   \nA ribbon at a time.  \nThe steeples swam in amethyst,  \nThe news like squirrels ran.\n\nThe hills untied their bonnets,  \nThe bobolinks begun.  \nThen I said softly to myself,  \n\"That must have been the sun!\"\n\n* * *\n\nBut how he set, I know not.  \nThere seemed a purple stile  \nWhich little yellow boys and girls  \nWere climbing all the while\n\nTill when they reached the other side,  \nA dominie in gray  \nPut gently up the evening bars,  \nAnd led the flock away.\n\n**XXIII.**\n\nThe butterfiy's assumption-gown,  \nIn chrysoprase apartments hung,  \nThis afternoon put on.\n\nHow condescending to descend,  \nAnd be of buttercups the friend  \nIn a New England town!\n\n**XXIV.**\n\n**THE WIND.**\n\nOf all the sounds despatched abroad,  \nThere's not a charge to me  \nLike that old measure in the boughs,  \nThat phraseless melody\n\nThe wind does, working like a hand  \nWhose fingers brush the sky,  \nThen quiver down, with tufts of tune  \nPermitted gods and me.\n\nWhen winds go round and round in bands,  \nAnd thrum upon the door,  \nAnd birds take places overhead,  \nTo bear them orchestra,\n\nI crave him grace, of summer boughs,  \nIf such an outcast be,  \nHe never heard that fleshless chant  \nRise solemn in the tree,\n\nAs if some caravan of sound  \nOn deserts, in the sky,  \nHad broken rank,  \nThen knit, and passed  \nIn seamless company.\n\n**XXV.**\n\n**DEATH AND LIFE.**\n\nApparently with no surprise  \nTo any happy flower,  \nThe frost beheads it at its play  \nIn accidental power.  \nThe blond assassin passes on,  \nThe sun proceeds unmoved  \nTo measure off another day  \nFor an approving God.\n\n**XXVI.**\n\n'T WAS later when the summer went  \nThan when the cricket came,  \nAnd yet we knew that gentle clock  \nMeant nought but going home.\n\n'T was sooner when the cricket went  \nThan when the winter came,  \nYet that pathetic pendulum  \nKeeps esoteric time.\n\n**XXVII.**\n\n**INDIAN SUMMER.**\n\nThese are the days when birds come back,  \nA very few, a bird or two,  \nTo take a backward look.\n\nThese are the days when skies put on  \nThe old, old sophistries of June, \u2014   \nA blue and gold mistake.\n\nOh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,  \nAlmost thy plausibility  \nInduces my belief,\n\nTill ranks of seeds their witness bear,  \nAnd softly through the altered air  \nHurries a timid leaf!\n\nOh, sacrament of summer days,  \nOh, last communion in the haze,  \nPermit a child to join,\n\nThy sacred emblems to partake,  \nThy consecrated bread to break,  \nTaste thine immortal wine!\n\n**XXVIII.**\n\n**AUTUMN.**\n\nThe morns are meeker than they were,  \nThe nuts are getting brown;  \nThe berry's cheek is plumper,  \nThe rose is out of town.\n\nThe maple wears a gayer scarf,  \nThe field a scarlet gown.  \nLest I should be old-fashioned,  \nI'll put a trinket on.\n\n**XXIX.**\n\n**BECLOUDED.**\n\nThe sky is low, the clouds are mean,  \nA travelling flake of snow  \nAcross a barn or through a rut  \nDebates if it will go.\n\nA narrow wind complains all day  \nHow some one treated him;  \nNature, like us, is sometimes caught  \nWithout her diadem.\n\n**XXX.**\n\n**THE HEMLOCK.**\n\nI think the hemlock likes to stand  \nUpon a marge of snow;  \nIt suits his own austerity,  \nAnd satisfies an awe\n\nThat men must slake in wilderness,  \nOr in the desert cloy, \u2014   \nAn instinct for the hoar, the bald,  \nLapland's necessity.\n\nThe hemlock's nature thrives on cold;  \nThe gnash of northern winds  \nIs sweetest nutriment to him,  \nHis best Norwegian wines.\n\nTo satin races he is nought;  \nBut children on the Don  \nBeneath his tabernacles play,  \nAnd Dnieper wrestlers run.\n\n**XXXI.**\n\nThere's a certain slant of light,  \nOn winter afternoons,  \nThat oppresses, like the weight  \nOf cathedral tunes.\n\nHeavenly hurt it gives us;  \nWe can find no scar,  \nBut internal difference  \nWhere the meanings are.\n\nNone may teach it anything,  \n' T is the seal, despair, \u2014   \nAn imperial affliction  \nSent us of the air.\n\nWhen it comes, the landscape listens,  \nShadows hold their breath;  \nWhen it goes, 't is like the distance  \nOn the look of death.\n\n**IV.**\n\n**TIME AND ETERNITY.**\n\n**I.**\n\nOne dignity delays for all,  \nOne mitred afternoon.  \nNone can avoid this purple,  \nNone evade this crown.\n\nCoach it insures, and footmen,  \nChamber and state and throng;  \nBells, also, in the village,  \nAs we ride grand along.\n\nWhat dignified attendants,  \nWhat service when we pause!  \nHow loyally at parting  \nTheir hundred hats they raise!\n\nHow pomp surpassing ermine,  \nWhen simple you and I  \nPresent our meek escutcheon,  \nAnd claim the rank to die!\n\n**II.**\n\n**TOO LATE.**\n\nDelayed till she had ceased to know,  \nDelayed till in its vest of snow  \nHer loving bosom lay.  \nAn hour behind the fleeting breath,  \nLater by just an hour than death, \u2014   \nOh, lagging yesterday!\n\nCould she have guessed that it would be;  \nCould but a crier of the glee  \nHave climbed the distant hill;  \nHad not the bliss so slow a pace, \u2014   \nWho knows but this surrendered face  \nWere undefeated still?\n\nOh, if there may departing be  \nAny forgot by victory  \nIn her imperial round,  \nShow them this meek apparelled thing,  \nThat could not stop to be a king,  \nDoubtful if it be crowned!\n\n**III.**\n\n**ASTRA CASTRA.**\n\nDeparted to the judgment,  \nA mighty afternoon;  \nGreat clouds like ushers leaning,  \nCreation looking on.\n\nThe flesh surrendered, cancelled,  \nThe bodiless begun;  \nTwo worlds, like audiences, disperse  \nAnd leave the soul alone.\n\n**IV.**\n\nSafe in their alabaster chambers,  \nUntouched by morning and untouched by noon,  \nSleep the meek members of the resurrection,  \nRafter of satin, and roof of stone.\n\nLight laughs the breeze in her castle of sunshine;  \nBabbles the bee in a stolid ear;  \nPipe the sweet birds in ignorant cadence, \u2014   \nAh, what sagacity perished here!\n\nGrand go the years in the crescent above them;  \nWorlds scoop their arcs, and firmaments row,  \nDiadems drop and Doges surrender,  \nSoundless as dots on a disk of snow.\n\n**V.**\n\nOn this long storm the rainbow rose,  \nOn this late morn the sun;  \nThe clouds, like listless elephants,  \nHorizons straggled down.\n\nThe birds rose smiling in their nests,  \nThe gales indeed were done;  \nAlas! how heedless were the eyes  \nOn whom the summer shone!\n\nThe quiet nonchalance of death  \nNo daybreak can bestir;  \nThe slow archangel's syllables  \nMust awaken her.\n\n**VI.**\n\n**FROM THE CHRYSALIS.**\n\nMy cocoon tightens, colors tease,  \nI'm feeling for the air;  \nA dim capacity for wings  \nDegrades the dress I wear.\n\nA power of butterfly must be  \nThe aptitude to fly,  \nMeadows of majesty concedes  \nAnd easy sweeps of sky.\n\nSo I must baffle at the hint  \nAnd cipher at the sign,  \nAnd make much blunder, if at last  \nI take the clew divine.\n\n**VII.**\n\n**SETTING SAIL.**\n\nExultation is the going  \nOf an inland soul to sea, \u2014   \nPast the houses, past the headlands,  \nInto deep eternity!\n\nBred as we, among the mountains,  \nCan the sailor understand  \nThe divine intoxication  \nOf the first league out from land?\n\n**VIII.**\n\nLook back on time with kindly eyes,  \nHe doubtless did his best;  \nHow softly sinks his trembling sun  \nIn human nature's west!\n\n**IX.**\n\nA train went through a burial gate,  \nA bird broke forth and sang,  \nAnd trilled, and quivered, and shook his throat  \nTill all the churchyard rang;\n\nAnd then adjusted his little notes,  \nAnd bowed and sang again.  \nDoubtless, he thought it meet of him  \nTo say good-by to men.\n\n**X.**\n\nI died for beauty, but was scarce  \nAdjusted in the tomb,  \nWhen one who died for truth was lain  \nIn an adjoining room.\n\nHe questioned softly why I failed?  \n\"For beauty,\" I replied.  \n\"And I for truth, \u2014 the two are one;  \nWe brethren are,\" he said.\n\nAnd so, as kinsmen met a night,  \nWe talked between the rooms,  \nUntil the moss had reached our lips,  \nAnd covered up our names.\n\n**XI.**\n\n\" **TROUBLED ABOUT MANY THINGS.\"**\n\nHow many times these low feet staggered,  \nOnly the soldered mouth can tell;  \nTry! can you stir the awful rivet?  \nTry! can you lift the hasps of steel?\n\nStroke the cool forehead, hot so often,  \nLift, if you can, the listless hair;  \nHandle the adamantine fingers  \nNever a thimble more shall wear.\n\nBuzz the dull flies on the chamber window;  \nBrave shines the sun through the freckled pane;  \nFearless the cobweb swings from the ceiling \u2014   \nIndolent housewife, in daisies lain!\n\n**XII.**\n\n**REAL.**\n\nI like a look of agony,  \nBecause I know it 's true;  \nMen do not sham convulsion,  \nNor simulate a throe.\n\nThe eyes glaze once, and that is death.  \nImpossible to feign  \nThe beads upon the forehead  \nBy homely anguish strung.\n\n**XIII.**\n\n**THE FUNERAL.**\n\nThat short, potential stir  \nThat each can make but once,  \nThat bustle so illustrious  \n'T is almost consequence,\n\nIs the eclat of death.  \nOh, thou unknown renown  \nThat not a beggar would accept,  \nHad he the power to spurn!\n\n**XIV.**\n\nI went to thank her,  \nBut she slept;  \nHer bed a funnelled stone,  \nWith nosegays at the head and foot,  \nThat travellers had thrown,\n\nWho went to thank her;  \nBut she slept.  \n'T was short to cross the sea  \nTo look upon her like, alive,  \nBut turning back 't was slow.\n\n**XV.**\n\nI've seen a dying eye  \nRun round and round a room  \nIn search of something, as it seemed,  \nThen cloudier become;  \nAnd then, obscure with fog,  \nAnd then be soldered down,  \nWithout disclosing what it be,  \n'T were blessed to have seen.\n\n**XVI.**\n\n**REFUGE.**\n\nThe clouds their backs together laid,  \nThe north begun to push,  \nThe forests galloped till they fell,  \nThe lightning skipped like mice;  \nThe thunder crumbled like a stuff \u2014   \nHow good to be safe in tombs,  \nWhere nature's temper cannot reach,  \nNor vengeance ever comes!\n\n**XVII.**\n\nI never saw a moor,  \nI never saw the sea;  \nYet know I how the heather looks,  \nAnd what a wave must be.\n\nI never spoke with God,  \nNor visited in heaven;  \nYet certain am I of the spot  \nAs if the chart were given.\n\n**XVIII.**\n\n**PLAYMATES.**\n\nGod permits industrious angels  \nAfternoons to play.  \nI met one, \u2014 forgot my school-mates,  \nAll, for him, straightway.\n\nGod calls home the angels promptly  \nAt the setting sun;  \nI missed mine. How dreary marbles,  \nAfter playing Crown!\n\n**XIX.**\n\nTo know just how he suffered would be dear;  \nTo know if any human eyes were near  \nTo whom he could intrust his wavering gaze,  \nUntil it settled firm on Paradise.\n\nTo know if he was patient, part content,  \nWas dying as he thought, or different;  \nWas it a pleasant day to die,  \nAnd did the sunshine face his way?\n\nWhat was his furthest mind, of home, or God,  \nOr what the distant say  \nAt news that he ceased human nature  \nOn such a day?\n\nAnd wishes, had he any?  \nJust his sigh, accented,  \nHad been legible to me.  \nAnd was he confident until  \nIll fluttered out in everlasting well?\n\nAnd if he spoke, what name was best,  \nWhat first,  \nWhat one broke off with  \nAt the drowsiest?\n\nWas he afraid, or tranquil?  \nMight he know  \nHow conscious consciousness could grow,  \nTill love that was, and love too blest to be,  \nMeet \u2014 and the junction be Eternity?\n\n**XX.**\n\nThe last night that she lived,  \nIt was a common night,  \nExcept the dying; this to us  \nMade nature different.\n\nWe noticed smallest things, \u2014   \nThings overlooked before,  \nBy this great light upon our minds  \nItalicized, as 't were.\n\nThat others could exist  \nWhile she must finish quite,  \nA jealousy for her arose  \nSo nearly infinite.\n\nWe waited while she passed;  \nIt was a narrow time,  \nToo jostled were our souls to speak,  \nAt length the notice came.\n\nShe mentioned, and forgot;  \nThen lightly as a reed  \nBent to the water, shivered scarce,  \nConsented, and was dead.\n\nAnd we, we placed the hair,  \nAnd drew the head erect;  \nAnd then an awful leisure was,  \nOur faith to regulate.\n\n**XXI.**\n\n**THE FIRST LESSON.**\n\nNot in this world to see his face  \nSounds long, until I read the place  \nWhere this is said to be  \nBut just the primer to a life  \nUnopened, rare, upon the shelf,  \nClasped yet to him and me.\n\nAnd yet, my primer suits me so  \nI would not choose a book to know  \nThan that, be sweeter wise;  \nMight some one else so learned be,  \nAnd leave me just my A B C,  \nHimself could have the skies.\n\n**XXII.**\n\nThe bustle in a house  \nThe morning after death  \nIs solemnest of industries  \nEnacted upon earth, \u2014\n\nThe sweeping up the heart,  \nAnd putting love away  \nWe shall not want to use again  \nUntil eternity.\n\n**XXIII.**\n\nI reason, earth is short,  \nAnd anguish absolute,  \nAnd many hurt;  \nBut what of that?\n\nI reason, we could die:  \nThe best vitality  \nCannot excel decay;  \nBut what of that?\n\nI reason that in heaven  \nSomehow, it will be even,  \nSome new equation given;  \nBut what of that?\n\n**XXIV.**\n\nAfraid? Of whom am I afraid?  \nNot death; for who is he?  \nThe porter of my father's lodge  \nAs much abasheth me.\n\nOf life? 'T were odd I fear a thing  \nThat comprehendeth me  \nIn one or more existences  \nAt Deity's decree.\n\nOf resurrection? Is the east  \nAfraid to trust the morn  \nWith her fastidious forehead?  \nAs soon impeach my crown!\n\n**XXV.**\n\n**DYING.**\n\nThe sun kept setting, setting still;  \nNo hue of afternoon  \nUpon the village I perceived, \u2014   \nFrom house to house 't was noon.\n\nThe dusk kept dropping, dropping still;  \nNo dew upon the grass,  \nBut only on my forehead stopped,  \nAnd wandered in my face.\n\nMy feet kept drowsing, drowsing still,  \nMy fingers were awake;  \nYet why so little sound myself  \nUnto my seeming make?\n\nHow well I knew the light before!  \nI could not see it now.  \n'T is dying, I am doing; but  \nI'm not afraid to know.\n\n**XXVI.**\n\nTwo swimmers wrestled on the spar  \nUntil the morning sun,  \nWhen one turned smiling to the land.  \nO God, the other one!\n\nThe stray ships passing spied a face  \nUpon the waters borne,  \nWith eyes in death still begging raised,  \nAnd hands beseeching thrown.\n\n**XXVII.**\n\n**THE CHARIOT.**\n\nBecause I could not stop for Death,  \nHe kindly stopped for me;  \nThe carriage held but just ourselves  \nAnd Immortality.\n\nWe slowly drove, he knew no haste,  \nAnd I had put away  \nMy labor, and my leisure too,  \nFor his civility.\n\nWe passed the school where children played,  \nTheir lessons scarcely done;  \nWe passed the fields of gazing grain,  \nWe passed the setting sun.\n\nWe paused before a house that seemed  \nA swelling of the ground;  \nThe roof was scarcely visible,  \nThe cornice but a mound.\n\nSince then 't is centuries; but each  \nFeels shorter than the day  \nI first surmised the horses' heads  \nWere toward eternity.\n\n**XXVIII.**\n\nShe went as quiet as the dew  \nFrom a familiar flower.  \nNot like the dew did she return  \nAt the accustomed hour!\n\nShe dropt as softly as a star  \nFrom out my summer's eve;  \nLess skilful than Leverrier  \nIt's sorer to believe!\n\n**XXIX.**\n\n**RESURGAM.**\n\nAt last to be identified!  \nAt last, the lamps upon thy side,  \nThe rest of life to see!  \nPast midnight, past the morning star!  \nPast sunrise! Ah! what leagues there are  \nBetween our feet and day!\n\n**XXX.**\n\nExcept to heaven, she is nought;  \nExcept for angels, lone;  \nExcept to some wide-wandering bee,  \nA flower superfluous blown;\n\nExcept for winds, provincial;  \nExcept by butterflies,  \nUnnoticed as a single dew  \nThat on the acre lies.\n\nThe smallest housewife in the grass,  \nYet take her from the lawn,  \nAnd somebody has lost the face  \nThat made existence home!\n\n**XXXI.**\n\nDeath is a dialogue between  \nThe spirit and the dust.  \n\"Dissolve,\" says Death. The Spirit, \"Sir,  \nI have another trust.\"\n\nDeath doubts it, argues from the ground.  \nThe Spirit turns away,  \nJust laying off, for evidence,  \nAn overcoat of clay.\n\n**XXXII.**\n\nIt was too late for man,  \nBut early yet for God;  \nCreation impotent to help,  \nBut prayer remained our side.\n\nHow excellent the heaven,  \nWhen earth cannot be had;  \nHow hospitable, then, the face  \nOf our old neighbor, God!\n\n**XXXIII.**\n\n**ALONG THE POTOMAC.**\n\nWhen I was small, a woman died.  \nTo-day her only boy  \nWent up from the Potomac,  \nHis face all victory,\n\nTo look at her; how slowly  \nThe seasons must have turned  \nTill bullets clipt an angle,  \nAnd he passed quickly round!\n\nIf pride shall be in Paradise  \nI never can decide;  \nOf their imperial conduct,  \nNo person testified.\n\nBut proud in apparition,  \nThat woman and her boy  \nPass back and forth before my brain,  \nAs ever in the sky.\n\n**XXXIV.**\n\nThe daisy follows soft the sun,  \nAnd when his golden walk is done,  \nSits shyly at his feet.  \nHe, waking, finds the flower near.  \n\"Wherefore, marauder, art thou here?\"  \n\"Because, sir, love is sweet!\"\n\nWe are the flower, Thou the sun!  \nForgive us, if as days decline,  \nWe nearer steal to Thee, \u2014   \nEnamoured of the parting west,  \nThe peace, the flight, the amethyst,  \nNight's possibility!\n\n**XXXV.**\n\n**EMANCIPATION.**\n\nNo rack can torture me,  \nMy soul's at liberty  \nBehind this mortal bone  \nThere knits a bolder one\n\nYou cannot prick with saw,  \nNor rend with scymitar.  \nTwo bodies therefore be;  \nBind one, and one will flee.\n\nThe eagle of his nest  \nNo easier divest  \nAnd gain the sky,  \nThan mayest thou,\n\nExcept thyself may be  \nThine enemy;  \nCaptivity is consciousness,  \nSo's liberty.\n\n**XXXVI.**\n\n**LOST.**\n\nI lost a world the other day.  \nHas anybody found?  \nYou'll know it by the row of stars  \nAround its forehead bound.\n\nA rich man might not notice it;  \nYet to my frugal eye  \nOf more esteem than ducats.  \nOh, find it, sir, for me!\n\n**XXXVII.**\n\nIf I should n't be alive  \nWhen the robins come,  \nGive the one in red cravat  \nA memorial crumb.\n\nIf I could n't thank you,  \nBeing just asleep,  \nYou will know I'm trying  \nWith my granite lip!\n\n**XXXVIII.**\n\nSleep is supposed to be,  \nBy souls of sanity,  \nThe shutting of the eye.\n\nSleep is the station grand  \nDown which on either hand  \nThe hosts of witness stand!\n\nMorn is supposed to be,  \nBy people of degree,  \nThe breaking of the day.\n\nMorning has not occurred!  \nThat shall aurora be  \nEast of eternity;\n\nOne with the banner gay,  \nOne in the red array, \u2014   \nThat is the break of day.\n\n**XXXIX.**\n\nI shall know why, when time is over,  \nAnd I have ceased to wonder why;  \nChrist will explain each separate anguish  \nIn the fair schoolroom of the sky.\n\nHe will tell me what Peter promised,  \nAnd I, for wonder at his woe,  \nI shall forget the drop of anguish  \nThat scalds me now, that scalds me now.\n\n**XL.**\n\nI never lost as much but twice,  \nAnd that was in the sod;  \nTwice have I stood a beggar  \nBefore the door of God!\n\nAngels, twice descending,  \nReimbursed my store.  \nBurglar, banker, father,  \nI am poor once more!\n**POEMS: SERIES ONE**\n\n**CONTENTS**\n\nI.\n\nLIFE.\n\nI.\n\nSUCCESS.\n\nII.\n\nIII.\n\nROUGE ET NOIR.\n\nIV.\n\nROUGE GAGNE.\n\nV.\n\nVI.\n\nVII.\n\nALMOST!\n\nVIII.\n\nIX.\n\nX.\n\nIN A LIBRARY.\n\nXI.\n\nXII.\n\nXIII.\n\nEXCLUSION.\n\nXIV.\n\nTHE SECRET.\n\nXV.\n\nTHE LONELY HOUSE.\n\nXVI.\n\nXVII.\n\nDAWN.\n\nXVIII.\n\nTHE BOOK OF MARTYRS.\n\nXIX.\n\nTHE MYSTERY OF PAIN.\n\nXX.\n\nXXI.\n\nA BOOK.\n\nXXII.\n\nXXIII.\n\nUNRETURNING.\n\nXXIV.\n\nXXV.\n\nXXVI.\n\nII.\n\nLOVE.\n\nI.\n\nMINE.\n\nII.\n\nBEQUEST.\n\nIII.\n\nIV.\n\nSUSPENSE.\n\nV.\n\nSURRENDER.\n\nVI.\n\nVII.\n\nWITH A FLOWER.\n\nVIII.\n\nPROOF.\n\nIX.\n\nX.\n\nTRANSPLANTED.\n\nXI.\n\nTHE OUTLET.\n\nXII.\n\nIN VAIN.\n\nXIII.\n\nRENUNCIATION.\n\nXIV.\n\nLOVE'S BAPTISM.\n\nXV.\n\nRESURRECTION.\n\nXVI.\n\nAPOCALYPSE.\n\nXVII.\n\nTHE WIFE.\n\nXVIII.\n\nAPOTHEOSIS.\n\nIII.\n\nNATURE.\n\nI.\n\nII.\n\nMAY-FLOWER.\n\nIII.\n\nWHY?\n\nIV.\n\nV.\n\nVI.\n\nA SERVICE OF SONG.\n\nVII.\n\nVIII.\n\nSUMMER'S ARMIES.\n\nIX.\n\nTHE GRASS.\n\nX.\n\nXI.\n\nSUMMER SHOWER.\n\nXII.\n\nPSALM OF THE DAY.\n\nXIII.\n\nTHE SEA OF SUNSET.\n\nXIV.\n\nPURPLE CLOVER.\n\nXV.\n\nTHE BEE.\n\nXVI.\n\nXVII.\n\nXVIII.\n\nXIX.\n\nXX.\n\nTWO WORLDS.\n\nXXI.\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN.\n\nXXII.\n\nA DAY.\n\nXXIII.\n\nXXIV.\n\nTHE WIND.\n\nXXV.\n\nDEATH AND LIFE.\n\nXXVI.\n\nXXVII.\n\nINDIAN SUMMER.\n\nXXVIII.\n\nAUTUMN.\n\nXXIX.\n\nBECLOUDED.\n\nXXX.\n\nTHE HEMLOCK.\n\nXXXI.\n\nIV.\n\nTIME AND ETERNITY.\n\nI.\n\nII.\n\nTOO LATE.\n\nIII.\n\nASTRA CASTRA.\n\nIV.\n\nV.\n\nVI.\n\nFROM THE CHRYSALIS.\n\nVII.\n\nSETTING SAIL.\n\nVIII.\n\nIX.\n\nX.\n\nXI.\n\n\"TROUBLED ABOUT MANY THINGS.\"\n\nXII.\n\nREAL.\n\nXIII.\n\nTHE FUNERAL.\n\nXIV.\n\nXV.\n\nXVI.\n\nREFUGE.\n\nXVII.\n\nXVIII.\n\nPLAYMATES.\n\nXIX.\n\nXX.\n\nXXI.\n\nTHE FIRST LESSON.\n\nXXII.\n\nXXIII.\n\nXXIV.\n\nXXV.\n\nDYING.\n\nXXVI.\n\nXXVII.\n\nTHE CHARIOT.\n\nXXVIII.\n\nXXIX.\n\nRESURGAM.\n\nXXX.\n\nXXXI.\n\nXXXII.\n\nXXXIII.\n\nALONG THE POTOMAC.\n\nXXXIV.\n\nXXXV.\n\nEMANCIPATION.\n\nXXXVI.\n\nLOST.\n\nXXXVII.\n\nXXXVIII.\n\nXXXIX.\n\nXL.\n**_POEMS : SERIES TWO_**\n\n_The first edition_\n\n_For the Contents table, click here._\n**PREFACE**\n\nThe eagerness with which the first volume of Emily Dickinson's poems has been read shows very clearly that all our alleged modern artificiality does not prevent a prompt appreciation of the qualities of directness and simplicity in approaching the greatest themes, \u2014 life and love and death. That \"irresistible needle-touch,\" as one of her best critics has called it, piercing at once the very core of a thought, has found a response as wide and sympathetic as it has been unexpected even to those who knew best her compelling power. This second volume, while open to the same criticism as to form with its predecessor, shows also the same shining beauties.\n\nAlthough Emily Dickinson had been in the habit of sending occasional poems to friends and correspondents, the full extent of her writing was by no means imagined by them. Her friend \"H.H.\" must at least have suspected it, for in a letter dated 5th September, 1884, she wrote: \u2014\n\nMY DEAR FRIEND, \u2014 What portfolios full of verses you must have! It is a cruel wrong to your \"day and generation\" that you will not give them light.\n\nIf such a thing should happen as that I should outlive you, I wish you would make me your literary legatee and executor. Surely after you are what is called \"dead\" you will be willing that the poor ghosts you have left behind should be cheered and pleased by your verses, will you not? You ought to be. I do not think we have a right to withhold from the world a word or a thought any more than a deed which might help a single soul. . . .\n\nTruly yours,\n\nHELEN JACKSON.\n\nThe \"portfolios\" were found, shortly after Emily Dickinson's death, by her sister and only surviving housemate. Most of the poems had been carefully copied on sheets of note-paper, and tied in little fascicules, each of six or eight sheets. While many of them bear evidence of having been thrown off at white heat, still more had received thoughtful revision. There is the frequent addition of rather perplexing foot-notes, affording large choice of words and phrases. And in the copies which she sent to friends, sometimes one form, sometimes another, is found to have been used. Without important exception, her friends have generously placed at the disposal of the Editors any poems they had received from her; and these have given the obvious advantage of comparison among several renderings of the same verse.\n\nTo what further rigorous pruning her verses would have been subjected had she published them herself, we cannot know. They should be regarded in many cases as merely the first strong and suggestive sketches of an artist, intended to be embodied at some time in the finished picture.\n\nEmily Dickinson appears to have written her first poems in the winter of 1862. In a letter to one of the present Editors the April following, she says, \"I made no verse, but one or two, until this winter.\"\n\nThe handwriting was at first somewhat like the delicate, running Italian hand of our elder gentlewomen; but as she advanced in breadth of thought, it grew bolder and more abrupt, until in her latest years each letter stood distinct and separate from its fellows. In most of her poems, particularly the later ones, everything by way of punctuation was discarded, except numerous dashes; and all important words began with capitals. The effect of a page of her more recent manuscript is exceedingly quaint and strong. The fac-simile given in the present volume is from one of the earlier transition periods. Although there is nowhere a date, the handwriting makes it possible to arrange the poems with general chronologic accuracy.\n\nAs a rule, the verses were without titles; but \"A Country Burial,\" \"A Thunder-Storm,\" \"The Humming-Bird,\" and a few others were named by their author, frequently at the end, \u2014 sometimes only in the accompanying note, if sent to a friend.\n\nThe variation of readings, with the fact that she often wrote in pencil and not always clearly, have at times thrown a good deal of responsibility upon her Editors. But all interference not absolutely inevitable has been avoided. The very roughness of her rendering is part of herself, and not lightly to be touched; for it seems in many cases that she intentionally avoided the smoother and more usual rhymes.\n\nLike impressionist pictures, or Wagner's rugged music, the very absence of conventional form challenges attention. In Emily Dickinson's exacting hands, the especial, intrinsic fitness of a particular order of words might not be sacrificed to anything virtually extrinsic; and her verses all show a strange cadence of inner rhythmical music. Lines are always daringly constructed, and the \"thought-rhyme\" appears frequently, \u2014 appealing, indeed, to an unrecognized sense more elusive than hearing.\n\nEmily Dickinson scrutinized everything with clear-eyed frankness. Every subject was proper ground for legitimate study, even the sombre facts of death and burial, and the unknown life beyond. She touches these themes sometimes lightly, sometimes almost humorously, more often with weird and peculiar power; but she is never by any chance frivolous or trivial. And while, as one critic has said, she may exhibit toward God \"an Emersonian self-possession,\" it was because she looked upon all life with a candor as unprejudiced as it is rare.\n\nShe had tried society and the world, and found them lacking. She was not an invalid, and she lived in seclusion from no love-disappointment. Her life was the normal blossoming of a nature introspective to a high degree, whose best thought could not exist in pretence.\n\nStorm, wind, the wild March sky, sunsets and dawns; the birds and bees, butterflies and flowers of her garden, with a few trusted human friends, were sufficient companionship. The coming of the first robin was a jubilee beyond crowning of monarch or birthday of pope; the first red leaf hurrying through \"the altered air,\" an epoch. Immortality was close about her; and while never morbid or melancholy, she lived in its presence.\n\nMABEL LOOMIS TODD.\n\nAMHERST, MASSACHUSETTS,  \nAugust, 1891.\n\nMy nosegays are for captives;  \nDim, long-expectant eyes,  \nFingers denied the plucking,  \nPatient till paradise,\n\nTo such, if they should whisper  \nOf morning and the moor,  \nThey bear no other errand,  \nAnd I, no other prayer.\n**I.**\n\n**LIFE.**\n\n**I.**\n\nI'm nobody! Who are you?  \nAre you nobody, too?  \nThen there 's a pair of us \u2014 don't tell!  \nThey 'd banish us, you know.\n\nHow dreary to be somebody!  \nHow public, like a frog  \nTo tell your name the livelong day  \nTo an admiring bog!\n\n**II.**\n\nI bring an unaccustomed wine  \nTo lips long parching, next to mine,  \nAnd summon them to drink.\n\nCrackling with fever, they essay;  \nI turn my brimming eyes away,  \nAnd come next hour to look.\n\nThe hands still hug the tardy glass;  \nThe lips I would have cooled, alas!  \nAre so superfluous cold,\n\nI would as soon attempt to warm  \nThe bosoms where the frost has lain  \nAges beneath the mould.\n\nSome other thirsty there may be  \nTo whom this would have pointed me  \nHad it remained to speak.\n\nAnd so I always bear the cup  \nIf, haply, mine may be the drop  \nSome pilgrim thirst to slake, \u2014\n\nIf, haply, any say to me,  \n\"Unto the little, unto me,\"  \nWhen I at last awake.\n\n**III.**\n\nThe nearest dream recedes, unrealized.  \nThe heaven we chase  \nLike the June bee  \nBefore the school-boy  \nInvites the race;  \nStoops to an easy clover \u2014   \nDips \u2014 evades \u2014 teases \u2014 deploys;  \nThen to the royal clouds  \nLifts his light pinnace  \nHeedless of the boy  \nStaring, bewildered, at the mocking sky.\n\nHomesick for steadfast honey,  \nAh! the bee flies not  \nThat brews that rare variety.\n\n**IV.**\n\nWe play at paste,  \nTill qualified for pearl,  \nThen drop the paste,  \nAnd deem ourself a fool.  \nThe shapes, though, were similar,  \nAnd our new hands  \nLearned gem-tactics  \nPractising sands.\n\n**V.**\n\nI found the phrase to every thought  \nI ever had, but one;  \nAnd that defies me, \u2014 as a hand  \nDid try to chalk the sun\n\nTo races nurtured in the dark; \u2014   \nHow would your own begin?  \nCan blaze be done in cochineal,  \nOr noon in mazarin?\n\n**VI.**\n\n**HOPE.**\n\nHope is the thing with feathers  \nThat perches in the soul,  \nAnd sings the tune without the words,  \nAnd never stops at all,\n\nAnd sweetest in the gale is heard;  \nAnd sore must be the storm  \nThat could abash the little bird  \nThat kept so many warm.\n\nI 've heard it in the chillest land,  \nAnd on the strangest sea;  \nYet, never, in extremity,  \nIt asked a crumb of me.\n\n**VII.**\n\n**THE WHITE HEAT.**\n\nDare you see a soul at the white heat?  \nThen crouch within the door.  \nRed is the fire's common tint;  \nBut when the vivid ore\n\nHas sated flame's conditions,  \nIts quivering substance plays  \nWithout a color but the light  \nOf unanointed blaze.\n\nLeast village boasts its blacksmith,  \nWhose anvil's even din  \nStands symbol for the finer forge  \nThat soundless tugs within,\n\nRefining these impatient ores  \nWith hammer and with blaze,  \nUntil the designated light  \nRepudiate the forge.\n\n**VIII.**\n\n**TRIUMPHANT.**\n\nWho never lost, are unprepared  \nA coronet to find;  \nWho never thirsted, flagons  \nAnd cooling tamarind.\n\nWho never climbed the weary league \u2014   \nCan such a foot explore  \nThe purple territories  \nOn Pizarro's shore?\n\nHow many legions overcome?  \nThe emperor will say.  \nHow many colors taken  \nOn Revolution Day?\n\nHow many bullets bearest?  \nThe royal scar hast thou?  \nAngels, write \"Promoted\"  \nOn this soldier's brow!\n\n**IX.**\n\n**THE TEST.**\n\nI can wade grief,  \nWhole pools of it, \u2014   \nI 'm used to that.  \nBut the least push of joy  \nBreaks up my feet,  \nAnd I tip \u2014 drunken.  \nLet no pebble smile,  \n'T was the new liquor, \u2014   \nThat was all!\n\nPower is only pain,  \nStranded, through discipline,  \nTill weights will hang.  \nGive balm to giants,  \nAnd they 'll wilt, like men.  \nGive Himmaleh, \u2014   \nThey 'll carry him!\n\n**X.**\n\n**ESCAPE.**\n\nI never hear the word \"escape\"  \nWithout a quicker blood,  \nA sudden expectation,  \nA flying attitude.\n\nI never hear of prisons broad  \nBy soldiers battered down,  \nBut I tug childish at my bars, \u2014   \nOnly to fail again!\n\n**XI.**\n\n**COMPENSATION.**\n\nFor each ecstatic instant  \nWe must an anguish pay  \nIn keen and quivering ratio  \nTo the ecstasy.\n\nFor each beloved hour  \nSharp pittances of years,  \nBitter contested farthings  \nAnd coffers heaped with tears.\n\n**XII.**\n\n**THE MARTYRS.**\n\nThrough the straight pass of suffering  \nThe martyrs even trod,  \nTheir feet upon temptation,  \nTheir faces upon God.\n\nA stately, shriven company;  \nConvulsion playing round,  \nHarmless as streaks of meteor  \nUpon a planet's bound.\n\nTheir faith the everlasting troth;  \nTheir expectation fair;  \nThe needle to the north degree  \nWades so, through polar air.\n\n**XIII.**\n\n**A PRAYER.**\n\nI meant to have but modest needs,  \nSuch as content, and heaven;  \nWithin my income these could lie,  \nAnd life and I keep even.\n\nBut since the last included both,  \nIt would suffice my prayer  \nBut just for one to stipulate,  \nAnd grace would grant the pair.\n\nAnd so, upon this wise I prayed, \u2014   \nGreat Spirit, give to me  \nA heaven not so large as yours,  \nBut large enough for me.\n\nA smile suffused Jehovah's face;  \nThe cherubim withdrew;  \nGrave saints stole out to look at me,  \nAnd showed their dimples, too.\n\nI left the place with all my might, \u2014   \nMy prayer away I threw;  \nThe quiet ages picked it up,  \nAnd Judgment twinkled, too,\n\nThat one so honest be extant  \nAs take the tale for true  \nThat \"Whatsoever you shall ask,  \nItself be given you.\"\n\nBut I, grown shrewder, scan the skies  \nWith a suspicious air, \u2014   \nAs children, swindled for the first,  \nAll swindlers be, infer.\n\n**XIV.**\n\nThe thought beneath so slight a film  \nIs more distinctly seen, \u2014   \nAs laces just reveal the surge,  \nOr mists the Apennine.\n\n**XV.**\n\nThe soul unto itself  \nIs an imperial friend, \u2014   \nOr the most agonizing spy  \nAn enemy could send.\n\nSecure against its own,  \nNo treason it can fear;  \nItself its sovereign, of itself  \nThe soul should stand in awe.\n\n**XVI.**\n\nSurgeons must be very careful  \nWhen they take the knife!  \nUnderneath their fine incisions  \nStirs the culprit, \u2014 Life!\n\n**XVII.**\n\n**THE RAILWAY TRAIN.**\n\nI like to see it lap the miles,  \nAnd lick the valleys up,  \nAnd stop to feed itself at tanks;  \nAnd then, prodigious, step\n\nAround a pile of mountains,  \nAnd, supercilious, peer  \nIn shanties by the sides of roads;  \nAnd then a quarry pare\n\nTo fit its sides, and crawl between,  \nComplaining all the while  \nIn horrid, hooting stanza;  \nThen chase itself down hill\n\nAnd neigh like Boanerges;  \nThen, punctual as a star,  \nStop \u2014 docile and omnipotent \u2014   \nAt its own stable door.\n\n**XVIII.**\n\n**THE SHOW.**\n\nThe show is not the show,  \nBut they that go.  \nMenagerie to me  \nMy neighbor be.  \nFair play \u2014   \nBoth went to see.\n\n**XIX.**\n\nDelight becomes pictorial  \nWhen viewed through pain, \u2014   \nMore fair, because impossible  \nThat any gain.\n\nThe mountain at a given distance  \nIn amber lies;  \nApproached, the amber flits a little, \u2014   \nAnd that 's the skies!\n\n**XX.**\n\nA thought went up my mind to-day  \nThat I have had before,  \nBut did not finish, \u2014 some way back,  \nI could not fix the year,\n\nNor where it went, nor why it came  \nThe second time to me,  \nNor definitely what it was,  \nHave I the art to say.\n\nBut somewhere in my soul, I know  \nI 've met the thing before;  \nIt just reminded me \u2014 't was all \u2014   \nAnd came my way no more.\n\n**XXI.**\n\nIs Heaven a physician?  \nThey say that He can heal;  \nBut medicine posthumous  \nIs unavailable.\n\nIs Heaven an exchequer?  \nThey speak of what we owe;  \nBut that negotiation  \nI 'm not a party to.\n\n**XXII.**\n\n**THE RETURN.**\n\nThough I get home how late, how late!  \nSo I get home, 't will compensate.  \nBetter will be the ecstasy  \nThat they have done expecting me,  \nWhen, night descending, dumb and dark,  \nThey hear my unexpected knock.  \nTransporting must the moment be,  \nBrewed from decades of agony!\n\nTo think just how the fire will burn,  \nJust how long-cheated eyes will turn  \nTo wonder what myself will say,  \nAnd what itself will say to me,  \nBeguiles the centuries of way!\n\n**XXIII.**\n\nA poor torn heart, a tattered heart,  \nThat sat it down to rest,  \nNor noticed that the ebbing day  \nFlowed silver to the west,  \nNor noticed night did soft descend  \nNor constellation burn,  \nIntent upon the vision  \nOf latitudes unknown.\n\nThe angels, happening that way,  \nThis dusty heart espied;  \nTenderly took it up from toil  \nAnd carried it to God.  \nThere, \u2014 sandals for the barefoot;  \nThere, \u2014 gathered from the gales,  \nDo the blue havens by the hand  \nLead the wandering sails.\n\n**XXIV.**\n\n**TOO MUCH.**\n\nI should have been too glad, I see,  \nToo lifted for the scant degree  \nOf life's penurious round;  \nMy little circuit would have shamed  \nThis new circumference, have blamed  \nThe homelier time behind.\n\nI should have been too saved, I see,  \nToo rescued; fear too dim to me  \nThat I could spell the prayer  \nI knew so perfect yesterday, \u2014   \nThat scalding one, \"Sabachthani,\"  \nRecited fluent here.\n\nEarth would have been too much, I see,  \nAnd heaven not enough for me;  \nI should have had the joy  \nWithout the fear to justify, \u2014   \nThe palm without the Calvary;  \nSo, Saviour, crucify.\n\nDefeat whets victory, they say;  \nThe reefs in old Gethsemane  \nEndear the shore beyond.  \n'T is beggars banquets best define;  \n'T is thirsting vitalizes wine, \u2014   \nFaith faints to understand.\n\n**XXV.**\n\n**SHIPWRECK.**\n\nIt tossed and tossed, \u2014   \nA little brig I knew, \u2014   \nO'ertook by blast,  \nIt spun and spun,  \nAnd groped delirious, for morn.\n\nIt slipped and slipped,  \nAs one that drunken stepped;  \nIts white foot tripped,  \nThen dropped from sight.\n\nAh, brig, good-night  \nTo crew and you;  \nThe ocean's heart too smooth, too blue,  \nTo break for you.\n\n**XXVI.**\n\nVictory comes late,  \nAnd is held low to freezing lips  \nToo rapt with frost  \nTo take it.  \nHow sweet it would have tasted,  \nJust a drop!  \nWas God so economical?  \nHis table 's spread too high for us  \nUnless we dine on tip-toe.  \nCrumbs fit such little mouths,  \nCherries suit robins;  \nThe eagle's golden breakfast  \nStrangles them.  \nGod keeps his oath to sparrows,  \nWho of little love  \nKnow how to starve!\n\n**XXVII.**\n\n**ENOUGH.**\n\nGod gave a loaf to every bird,  \nBut just a crumb to me;  \nI dare not eat it, though I starve, \u2014   \nMy poignant luxury  \nTo own it, touch it, prove the feat  \nThat made the pellet mine, \u2014   \nToo happy in my sparrow chance  \nFor ampler coveting.\n\nIt might be famine all around,  \nI could not miss an ear,  \nSuch plenty smiles upon my board,  \nMy garner shows so fair.  \nI wonder how the rich may feel, \u2014   \nAn Indiaman \u2014 an Earl?  \nI deem that I with but a crumb  \nAm sovereign of them all.\n\n**XXVIII.**\n\nExperiment to me  \nIs every one I meet.  \nIf it contain a kernel?  \nThe figure of a nut\n\nPresents upon a tree,  \nEqually plausibly;  \nBut meat within is requisite,  \nTo squirrels and to me.\n\n**XXIX.**\n\n**MY COUNTRY'S WARDROBE.**\n\nMy country need not change her gown,  \nHer triple suit as sweet  \nAs when 't was cut at Lexington,  \nAnd first pronounced \"a fit.\"\n\nGreat Britain disapproves \"the stars;\"  \nDisparagement discreet, \u2014   \nThere 's something in their attitude  \nThat taunts her bayonet.\n\n**XXX.**\n\nFaith is a fine invention  \nFor gentlemen who see;  \nBut microscopes are prudent  \nIn an emergency!\n\n**XXXI.**\n\nExcept the heaven had come so near,  \nSo seemed to choose my door,  \nThe distance would not haunt me so;  \nI had not hoped before.\n\nBut just to hear the grace depart  \nI never thought to see,  \nAfflicts me with a double loss;  \n'T is lost, and lost to me.\n\n**XXXII.**\n\nPortraits are to daily faces  \nAs an evening west  \nTo a fine, pedantic sunshine  \nIn a satin vest.\n\n**XXXIII.**\n\n**THE DUEL.**\n\nI took my power in my hand.  \nAnd went against the world;  \n'T was not so much as David had,  \nBut I was twice as bold.\n\nI aimed my pebble, but myself  \nWas all the one that fell.  \nWas it Goliath was too large,  \nOr only I too small?\n\n**XXXIV.**\n\nA shady friend for torrid days  \nIs easier to find  \nThan one of higher temperature  \nFor frigid hour of mind.\n\nThe vane a little to the east  \nScares muslin souls away;  \nIf broadcloth breasts are firmer  \nThan those of organdy,\n\nWho is to blame? The weaver?  \nAh! the bewildering thread!  \nThe tapestries of paradise  \nSo notelessly are made!\n\n**XXXV.**\n\n**THE GOAL.**\n\nEach life converges to some centre  \nExpressed or still;  \nExists in every human nature  \nA goal,\n\nAdmitted scarcely to itself, it may be,  \nToo fair  \nFor credibility's temerity  \nTo dare.\n\nAdored with caution, as a brittle heaven,  \nTo reach  \nWere hopeless as the rainbow's raiment  \nTo touch,\n\nYet persevered toward, surer for the distance;  \nHow high  \nUnto the saints' slow diligence  \nThe sky!\n\nUngained, it may be, by a life's low venture,  \nBut then,  \nEternity enables the endeavoring  \nAgain.\n\n**XXXVI.**\n\n**SIGHT.**\n\nBefore I got my eye put out,  \nI liked as well to see  \nAs other creatures that have eyes,  \nAnd know no other way.\n\nBut were it told to me, to-day,  \nThat I might have the sky  \nFor mine, I tell you that my heart  \nWould split, for size of me.\n\nThe meadows mine, the mountains mine, \u2014   \nAll forests, stintless stars,  \nAs much of noon as I could take  \nBetween my finite eyes.\n\nThe motions of the dipping birds,  \nThe lightning's jointed road,  \nFor mine to look at when I liked, \u2014   \nThe news would strike me dead!\n\nSo safer, guess, with just my soul  \nUpon the window-pane  \nWhere other creatures put their eyes,  \nIncautious of the sun.\n\n**XXXVII.**\n\nTalk with prudence to a beggar  \nOf 'Potosi' and the mines!  \nReverently to the hungry  \nOf your viands and your wines!\n\nCautious, hint to any captive  \nYou have passed enfranchised feet!  \nAnecdotes of air in dungeons  \nHave sometimes proved deadly sweet!\n\n**XXXVIII.**\n\n**THE PREACHER.**\n\nHe preached upon \"breadth\" till it argued him narrow, \u2014   \nThe broad are too broad to define;  \nAnd of \"truth\" until it proclaimed him a liar, \u2014   \nThe truth never flaunted a sign.\n\nSimplicity fled from his counterfeit presence  \nAs gold the pyrites would shun.  \nWhat confusion would cover the innocent Jesus  \nTo meet so enabled a man!\n\n**XXXIX.**\n\nGood night! which put the candle out?  \nA jealous zephyr, not a doubt.  \nAh! friend, you little knew  \nHow long at that celestial wick  \nThe angels labored diligent;  \nExtinguished, now, for you!\n\nIt might have been the lighthouse spark  \nSome sailor, rowing in the dark,  \nHad importuned to see!  \nIt might have been the waning lamp  \nThat lit the drummer from the camp  \nTo purer reveille!\n\n**XL.**\n\nWhen I hoped I feared,  \nSince I hoped I dared;  \nEverywhere alone  \nAs a church remain;  \nSpectre cannot harm,  \nSerpent cannot charm;  \nHe deposes doom,  \nWho hath suffered him.\n\n**XLI.**\n\n**DEED.**\n\nA deed knocks first at thought,  \nAnd then it knocks at will.  \nThat is the manufacturing spot,  \nAnd will at home and well.\n\nIt then goes out an act,  \nOr is entombed so still  \nThat only to the ear of God  \nIts doom is audible.\n\n**XLII.**\n\n**TIME'S LESSON.**\n\nMine enemy is growing old, \u2014   \nI have at last revenge.  \nThe palate of the hate departs;  \nIf any would avenge, \u2014\n\nLet him be quick, the viand flits,  \nIt is a faded meat.  \nAnger as soon as fed is dead;  \n'T is starving makes it fat.\n\n**XLIII.**\n\n**REMORSE.**\n\nRemorse is memory awake,  \nHer companies astir, \u2014   \nA presence of departed acts  \nAt window and at door.\n\nIt's past set down before the soul,  \nAnd lighted with a match,  \nPerusal to facilitate  \nOf its condensed despatch.\n\nRemorse is cureless, \u2014 the disease  \nNot even God can heal;  \nFor 't is his institution, \u2014   \nThe complement of hell.\n\n**XLIV.**\n\n**THE SHELTER.**\n\nThe body grows outside, \u2014   \nThe more convenient way, \u2014   \nThat if the spirit like to hide,  \nIts temple stands alway\n\nAjar, secure, inviting;  \nIt never did betray  \nThe soul that asked its shelter  \nIn timid honesty.\n\n**XLV.**\n\nUndue significance a starving man attaches  \nTo food  \nFar off; he sighs, and therefore hopeless,  \nAnd therefore good.\n\nPartaken, it relieves indeed, but proves us  \nThat spices fly  \nIn the receipt. It was the distance  \nWas savory.\n\n**XLVI.**\n\nHeart not so heavy as mine,  \nWending late home,  \nAs it passed my window  \nWhistled itself a tune, \u2014\n\nA careless snatch, a ballad,  \nA ditty of the street;  \nYet to my irritated ear  \nAn anodyne so sweet,\n\nIt was as if a bobolink,  \nSauntering this way,  \nCarolled and mused and carolled,  \nThen bubbled slow away.\n\nIt was as if a chirping brook  \nUpon a toilsome way  \nSet bleeding feet to minuets  \nWithout the knowing why.\n\nTo-morrow, night will come again,  \nWeary, perhaps, and sore.  \nAh, bugle, by my window,  \nI pray you stroll once more!\n\n**XLVII.**\n\nI many times thought peace had come,  \nWhen peace was far away;  \nAs wrecked men deem they sight the land  \nAt centre of the sea,\n\nAnd struggle slacker, but to prove,  \nAs hopelessly as I,  \nHow many the fictitious shores  \nBefore the harbor lie.\n\n**XLVIII.**\n\nUnto my books so good to turn  \nFar ends of tired days;  \nIt half endears the abstinence,  \nAnd pain is missed in praise.\n\nAs flavors cheer retarded guests  \nWith banquetings to be,  \nSo spices stimulate the time  \nTill my small library.\n\nIt may be wilderness without,  \nFar feet of failing men,  \nBut holiday excludes the night,  \nAnd it is bells within.\n\nI thank these kinsmen of the shelf;  \nTheir countenances bland  \nEnamour in prospective,  \nAnd satisfy, obtained.\n\n**XLIX.**\n\nThis merit hath the worst, \u2014   \nIt cannot be again.  \nWhen Fate hath taunted last  \nAnd thrown her furthest stone,\n\nThe maimed may pause and breathe,  \nAnd glance securely round.  \nThe deer invites no longer  \nThan it eludes the hound.\n\n**L.**\n\n**HUNGER.**\n\nI had been hungry all the years;  \nMy noon had come, to dine;  \nI, trembling, drew the table near,  \nAnd touched the curious wine.\n\n'T was this on tables I had seen,  \nWhen turning, hungry, lone,  \nI looked in windows, for the wealth  \nI could not hope to own.\n\nI did not know the ample bread,  \n'T was so unlike the crumb  \nThe birds and I had often shared  \nIn Nature's dining-room.\n\nThe plenty hurt me, 't was so new, \u2014   \nMyself felt ill and odd,  \nAs berry of a mountain bush  \nTransplanted to the road.\n\nNor was I hungry; so I found  \nThat hunger was a way  \nOf persons outside windows,  \nThe entering takes away.\n\n**LI.**\n\nI gained it so,  \nBy climbing slow,  \nBy catching at the twigs that grow  \nBetween the bliss and me.  \nIt hung so high,  \nAs well the sky  \nAttempt by strategy.\n\nI said I gained it, \u2014   \nThis was all.  \nLook, how I clutch it,  \nLest it fall,  \nAnd I a pauper go;  \nUnfitted by an instant's grace  \nFor the contented beggar's face  \nI wore an hour ago.\n\n**LII.**\n\nTo learn the transport by the pain,  \nAs blind men learn the sun;  \nTo die of thirst, suspecting  \nThat brooks in meadows run;\n\nTo stay the homesick, homesick feet  \nUpon a foreign shore  \nHaunted by native lands, the while,  \nAnd blue, beloved air \u2014\n\nThis is the sovereign anguish,  \nThis, the signal woe!  \nThese are the patient laureates  \nWhose voices, trained below,\n\nAscend in ceaseless carol,  \nInaudible, indeed,  \nTo us, the duller scholars  \nOf the mysterious bard!\n\n**LIII.**\n\n**RETURNING.**\n\nI years had been from home,  \nAnd now, before the door,  \nI dared not open, lest a face  \nI never saw before\n\nStare vacant into mine  \nAnd ask my business there.  \nMy business, \u2014 just a life I left,  \nWas such still dwelling there?\n\nI fumbled at my nerve,  \nI scanned the windows near;  \nThe silence like an ocean rolled,  \nAnd broke against my ear.\n\nI laughed a wooden laugh  \nThat I could fear a door,  \nWho danger and the dead had faced,  \nBut never quaked before.\n\nI fitted to the latch  \nMy hand, with trembling care,  \nLest back the awful door should spring,  \nAnd leave me standing there.\n\nI moved my fingers off  \nAs cautiously as glass,  \nAnd held my ears, and like a thief  \nFled gasping from the house.\n\n**LIV.**\n\n**PRAYER.**\n\nPrayer is the little implement  \nThrough which men reach  \nWhere presence is denied them.  \nThey fling their speech\n\nBy means of it in God's ear;  \nIf then He hear,  \nThis sums the apparatus  \nComprised in prayer.\n\n**LV.**\n\nI know that he exists  \nSomewhere, in silence.  \nHe has hid his rare life  \nFrom our gross eyes.\n\n'T is an instant's play,  \n'T is a fond ambush,  \nJust to make bliss  \nEarn her own surprise!\n\nBut should the play  \nProve piercing earnest,  \nShould the glee glaze  \nIn death's stiff stare,\n\nWould not the fun  \nLook too expensive?  \nWould not the jest  \nHave crawled too far?\n\n**LVI.**\n\n**MELODIES UNHEARD.**\n\nMusicians wrestle everywhere:  \nAll day, among the crowded air,  \nI hear the silver strife;  \nAnd \u2014 waking long before the dawn \u2014   \nSuch transport breaks upon the town  \nI think it that \"new life!\"\n\nIt is not bird, it has no nest;  \nNor band, in brass and scarlet dressed,  \nNor tambourine, nor man;  \nIt is not hymn from pulpit read, \u2014   \nThe morning stars the treble led  \nOn time's first afternoon!\n\nSome say it is the spheres at play!  \nSome say that bright majority  \nOf vanished dames and men!  \nSome think it service in the place  \nWhere we, with late, celestial face,  \nPlease God, shall ascertain!\n\n**LVII.**\n\n**CALLED BACK.**\n\nJust lost when I was saved!  \nJust felt the world go by!  \nJust girt me for the onset with eternity,  \nWhen breath blew back,  \nAnd on the other side  \nI heard recede the disappointed tide!\n\nTherefore, as one returned, I feel,  \nOdd secrets of the line to tell!  \nSome sailor, skirting foreign shores,  \nSome pale reporter from the awful doors  \nBefore the seal!\n\nNext time, to stay!  \nNext time, the things to see  \nBy ear unheard,  \nUnscrutinized by eye.\n\nNext time, to tarry,  \nWhile the ages steal, \u2014   \nSlow tramp the centuries,  \nAnd the cycles wheel.\n\n**II.**\n\n**LOVE.**\n\n**I.**\n\n**CHOICE.**\n\nOf all the souls that stand create  \nI have elected one.  \nWhen sense from spirit files away,  \nAnd subterfuge is done;\n\nWhen that which is and that which was  \nApart, intrinsic, stand,  \nAnd this brief tragedy of flesh  \nIs shifted like a sand;\n\nWhen figures show their royal front  \nAnd mists are carved away, \u2014   \nBehold the atom I preferred  \nTo all the lists of clay!\n\n**II.**\n\nI have no life but this,  \nTo lead it here;  \nNor any death, but lest  \nDispelled from there;\n\nNor tie to earths to come,  \nNor action new,  \nExcept through this extent,  \nThe realm of you.\n\n**III.**\n\nYour riches taught me poverty.  \nMyself a millionnaire  \nIn little wealths, \u2014 as girls could boast, \u2014   \nTill broad as Buenos Ayre,\n\nYou drifted your dominions  \nA different Peru;  \nAnd I esteemed all poverty,  \nFor life's estate with you.\n\nOf mines I little know, myself,  \nBut just the names of gems, \u2014   \nThe colors of the commonest;  \nAnd scarce of diadems\n\nSo much that, did I meet the queen,  \nHer glory I should know:  \nBut this must be a different wealth,  \nTo miss it beggars so.\n\nI 'm sure 't is India all day  \nTo those who look on you  \nWithout a stint, without a blame, \u2014   \nMight I but be the Jew!\n\nI 'm sure it is Golconda,  \nBeyond my power to deem, \u2014   \nTo have a smile for mine each day,  \nHow better than a gem!\n\nAt least, it solaces to know  \nThat there exists a gold,  \nAlthough I prove it just in time  \nIts distance to behold!\n\nIt 's far, far treasure to surmise,  \nAnd estimate the pearl  \nThat slipped my simple fingers through  \nWhile just a girl at school!\n\n**IV.**\n\n**THE CONTRACT.**\n\nI gave myself to him,  \nAnd took himself for pay.  \nThe solemn contract of a life  \nWas ratified this way.\n\nThe wealth might disappoint,  \nMyself a poorer prove  \nThan this great purchaser suspect,  \nThe daily own of Love\n\nDepreciate the vision;  \nBut, till the merchant buy,  \nStill fable, in the isles of spice,  \nThe subtle cargoes lie.\n\nAt least, 't is mutual risk, \u2014   \nSome found it mutual gain;  \nSweet debt of Life, \u2014 each night to owe,  \nInsolvent, every noon.\n\n**V.**\n\n**THE LETTER.**\n\n\"GOING to him! Happy letter! Tell him \u2014   \nTell him the page I did n't write;  \nTell him I only said the syntax,  \nAnd left the verb and the pronoun out.  \nTell him just how the fingers hurried,  \nThen how they waded, slow, slow, slow;  \nAnd then you wished you had eyes in your pages,  \nSo you could see what moved them so.\n\n\"Tell him it was n't a practised writer,  \nYou guessed, from the way the sentence toiled;  \nYou could hear the bodice tug, behind you,  \nAs if it held but the might of a child;  \nYou almost pitied it, you, it worked so.  \nTell him \u2014 No, you may quibble there,  \nFor it would split his heart to know it,  \nAnd then you and I were silenter.\n\n\"Tell him night finished before we finished,  \nAnd the old clock kept neighing 'day!'  \nAnd you got sleepy and begged to be ended \u2014   \nWhat could it hinder so, to say?  \nTell him just how she sealed you, cautious,  \nBut if he ask where you are hid  \nUntil to-morrow, \u2014 happy letter!  \nGesture, coquette, and shake your head!\"\n\n**VI.**\n\nThe way I read a letter 's this:  \n'T is first I lock the door,  \nAnd push it with my fingers next,  \nFor transport it be sure.\n\nAnd then I go the furthest off  \nTo counteract a knock;  \nThen draw my little letter forth  \nAnd softly pick its lock.\n\nThen, glancing narrow at the wall,  \nAnd narrow at the floor,  \nFor firm conviction of a mouse  \nNot exorcised before,\n\nPeruse how infinite I am  \nTo \u2014 no one that you know!  \nAnd sigh for lack of heaven, \u2014 but not  \nThe heaven the creeds bestow.\n\n**VII.**\n\nWild nights! Wild nights!  \nWere I with thee,  \nWild nights should be  \nOur luxury!\n\nFutile the winds  \nTo a heart in port, \u2014   \nDone with the compass,  \nDone with the chart.\n\nRowing in Eden!  \nAh! the sea!  \nMight I but moor  \nTo-night in thee!\n\n**VIII.**\n\n**AT HOME.**\n\nThe night was wide, and furnished scant  \nWith but a single star,  \nThat often as a cloud it met  \nBlew out itself for fear.\n\nThe wind pursued the little bush,  \nAnd drove away the leaves  \nNovember left; then clambered up  \nAnd fretted in the eaves.\n\nNo squirrel went abroad;  \nA dog's belated feet  \nLike intermittent plush were heard  \nAdown the empty street.\n\nTo feel if blinds be fast,  \nAnd closer to the fire  \nHer little rocking-chair to draw,  \nAnd shiver for the poor,\n\nThe housewife's gentle task.  \n\"How pleasanter,\" said she  \nUnto the sofa opposite,  \n\"The sleet than May \u2014 no thee!\"\n\n**IX.**\n\n**POSSESSION.**\n\nDid the harebell loose her girdle  \nTo the lover bee,  \nWould the bee the harebell hallow  \nMuch as formerly?\n\nDid the paradise, persuaded,  \nYield her moat of pearl,  \nWould the Eden be an Eden,  \nOr the earl an earl?\n\n**X.**\n\nA charm invests a face  \nImperfectly beheld, \u2014   \nThe lady dare not lift her veil  \nFor fear it be dispelled.\n\nBut peers beyond her mesh,  \nAnd wishes, and denies, \u2014   \nLest interview annul a want  \nThat image satisfies.\n\n**XI.**\n\n**THE LOVERS.**\n\nThe rose did caper on her cheek,  \nHer bodice rose and fell,  \nHer pretty speech, like drunken men,  \nDid stagger pitiful.\n\nHer fingers fumbled at her work, \u2014   \nHer needle would not go;  \nWhat ailed so smart a little maid  \nIt puzzled me to know,\n\nTill opposite I spied a cheek  \nThat bore another rose;  \nJust opposite, another speech  \nThat like the drunkard goes;\n\nA vest that, like the bodice, danced  \nTo the immortal tune, \u2014   \nTill those two troubled little clocks  \nTicked softly into one.\n\n**XII.**\n\nIn lands I never saw, they say,  \nImmortal Alps look down,  \nWhose bonnets touch the firmament,  \nWhose sandals touch the town, \u2014\n\nMeek at whose everlasting feet  \nA myriad daisies play.  \nWhich, sir, are you, and which am I,  \nUpon an August day?\n\n**XIII.**\n\nThe moon is distant from the sea,  \nAnd yet with amber hands  \nShe leads him, docile as a boy,  \nAlong appointed sands.\n\nHe never misses a degree;  \nObedient to her eye,  \nHe comes just so far toward the town,  \nJust so far goes away.\n\nOh, Signor, thine the amber hand,  \nAnd mine the distant sea, \u2014   \nObedient to the least command  \nThine eyes impose on me.\n\n**XIV.**\n\nHe put the belt around my life, \u2014   \nI heard the buckle snap,  \nAnd turned away, imperial,  \nMy lifetime folding up  \nDeliberate, as a duke would do  \nA kingdom's title-deed, \u2014   \nHenceforth a dedicated sort,  \nA member of the cloud.\n\nYet not too far to come at call,  \nAnd do the little toils  \nThat make the circuit of the rest,  \nAnd deal occasional smiles  \nTo lives that stoop to notice mine  \nAnd kindly ask it in, \u2014   \nWhose invitation, knew you not  \nFor whom I must decline?\n\n**XV.**\n\n**THE LOST JEWEL.**\n\nI held a jewel in my fingers  \nAnd went to sleep.  \nThe day was warm, and winds were prosy;  \nI said: \"'T will keep.\"\n\nI woke and chid my honest fingers, \u2014   \nThe gem was gone;  \nAnd now an amethyst remembrance  \nIs all I own.\n\n**XVI.**\n\nWhat if I say I shall not wait?  \nWhat if I burst the fleshly gate  \nAnd pass, escaped, to thee?  \nWhat if I file this mortal off,  \nSee where it hurt me, \u2014 that 's enough, \u2014   \nAnd wade in liberty?\n\nThey cannot take us any more, \u2014   \nDungeons may call, and guns implore;  \nUnmeaning now, to me,  \nAs laughter was an hour ago,  \nOr laces, or a travelling show,  \nOr who died yesterday!\n\n**III.**\n\n**NATURE.**\n\n**I.**\n\n**MOTHER NATURE.**\n\nNature, the gentlest mother,  \nImpatient of no child,  \nThe feeblest or the waywardest, \u2014   \nHer admonition mild\n\nIn forest and the hill  \nBy traveller is heard,  \nRestraining rampant squirrel  \nOr too impetuous bird.\n\nHow fair her conversation,  \nA summer afternoon, \u2014   \nHer household, her assembly;  \nAnd when the sun goes down\n\nHer voice among the aisles  \nIncites the timid prayer  \nOf the minutest cricket,  \nThe most unworthy flower.\n\nWhen all the children sleep  \nShe turns as long away  \nAs will suffice to light her lamps;  \nThen, bending from the sky\n\nWith infinite affection  \nAnd infiniter care,  \nHer golden finger on her lip,  \nWills silence everywhere.\n\n**II.**\n\n**OUT OF THE MORNING.**\n\nWill there really be a morning?  \nIs there such a thing as day?  \nCould I see it from the mountains  \nIf I were as tall as they?\n\nHas it feet like water-lilies?  \nHas it feathers like a bird?  \nIs it brought from famous countries  \nOf which I have never heard?\n\nOh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!  \nOh, some wise man from the skies!  \nPlease to tell a little pilgrim  \nWhere the place called morning lies!\n\n**III.**\n\nAt half-past three a single bird  \nUnto a silent sky  \nPropounded but a single term  \nOf cautious melody.\n\nAt half-past four, experiment  \nHad subjugated test,  \nAnd lo! her silver principle  \nSupplanted all the rest.\n\nAt half-past seven, element  \nNor implement was seen,  \nAnd place was where the presence was,  \nCircumference between.\n\n**IV.**\n\n**DAY'S PARLOR.**\n\nThe day came slow, till five o'clock,  \nThen sprang before the hills  \nLike hindered rubies, or the light  \nA sudden musket spills.\n\nThe purple could not keep the east,  \nThe sunrise shook from fold,  \nLike breadths of topaz, packed a night,  \nThe lady just unrolled.\n\nThe happy winds their timbrels took;  \nThe birds, in docile rows,  \nArranged themselves around their prince  \n(The wind is prince of those).\n\nThe orchard sparkled like a Jew, \u2014   \nHow mighty 't was, to stay  \nA guest in this stupendous place,  \nThe parlor of the day!\n\n**V.**\n\n**THE SUN'S WOOING.**\n\nThe sun just touched the morning;  \nThe morning, happy thing,  \nSupposed that he had come to dwell,  \nAnd life would be all spring.\n\nShe felt herself supremer, \u2014   \nA raised, ethereal thing;  \nHenceforth for her what holiday!  \nMeanwhile, her wheeling king\n\nTrailed slow along the orchards  \nHis haughty, spangled hems,  \nLeaving a new necessity, \u2014   \nThe want of diadems!\n\nThe morning fluttered, staggered,  \nFelt feebly for her crown, \u2014   \nHer unanointed forehead  \nHenceforth her only one.\n\n**VI.**\n\n**THE ROBIN.**\n\nThe robin is the one  \nThat interrupts the morn  \nWith hurried, few, express reports  \nWhen March is scarcely on.\n\nThe robin is the one  \nThat overflows the noon  \nWith her cherubic quantity,  \nAn April but begun.\n\nThe robin is the one  \nThat speechless from her nest  \nSubmits that home and certainty  \nAnd sanctity are best.\n\n**VII.**\n\n**THE BUTTERFLY'S DAY.**\n\nFrom cocoon forth a butterfly  \nAs lady from her door  \nEmerged \u2014 a summer afternoon \u2014   \nRepairing everywhere,\n\nWithout design, that I could trace,  \nExcept to stray abroad  \nOn miscellaneous enterprise  \nThe clovers understood.\n\nHer pretty parasol was seen  \nContracting in a field  \nWhere men made hay, then struggling hard  \nWith an opposing cloud,\n\nWhere parties, phantom as herself,  \nTo Nowhere seemed to go  \nIn purposeless circumference,  \nAs 't were a tropic show.\n\nAnd notwithstanding bee that worked,  \nAnd flower that zealous blew,  \nThis audience of idleness  \nDisdained them, from the sky,\n\nTill sundown crept, a steady tide,  \nAnd men that made the hay,  \nAnd afternoon, and butterfly,  \nExtinguished in its sea.\n\n**VIII.**\n\n**THE BLUEBIRD.**\n\nBefore you thought of spring,  \nExcept as a surmise,  \nYou see, God bless his suddenness,  \nA fellow in the skies  \nOf independent hues,  \nA little weather-worn,  \nInspiriting habiliments  \nOf indigo and brown.\n\nWith specimens of song,  \nAs if for you to choose,  \nDiscretion in the interval,  \nWith gay delays he goes  \nTo some superior tree  \nWithout a single leaf,  \nAnd shouts for joy to nobody  \nBut his seraphic self!\n\n**IX.**\n\n**APRIL.**\n\nAn altered look about the hills;  \nA Tyrian light the village fills;  \nA wider sunrise in the dawn;  \nA deeper twilight on the lawn;  \nA print of a vermilion foot;  \nA purple finger on the slope;  \nA flippant fly upon the pane;  \nA spider at his trade again;  \nAn added strut in chanticleer;  \nA flower expected everywhere;  \nAn axe shrill singing in the woods;  \nFern-odors on untravelled roads, \u2014   \nAll this, and more I cannot tell,  \nA furtive look you know as well,  \nAnd Nicodemus' mystery  \nReceives its annual reply.\n\n**X.**\n\n**THE SLEEPING FLOWERS.**\n\n\"Whose are the little beds,\" I asked,  \n\"Which in the valleys lie?\"  \nSome shook their heads, and others smiled,  \nAnd no one made reply.\n\n\"Perhaps they did not hear,\" I said;  \n\"I will inquire again.  \nWhose are the beds, the tiny beds  \nSo thick upon the plain?\"\n\n\"'T is daisy in the shortest;  \nA little farther on,  \nNearest the door to wake the first,  \nLittle leontodon.\n\n\"'T is iris, sir, and aster,  \nAnemone and bell,  \nBatschia in the blanket red,  \nAnd chubby daffodil.\"\n\nMeanwhile at many cradles  \nHer busy foot she plied,  \nHumming the quaintest lullaby  \nThat ever rocked a child.\n\n\"Hush! Epigea wakens! \u2014   \nThe crocus stirs her lids,  \nRhodora's cheek is crimson, \u2014   \nShe's dreaming of the woods.\"\n\nThen, turning from them, reverent,  \n\"Their bed-time 't is,\" she said;  \n\"The bumble-bees will wake them  \nWhen April woods are red.\"\n\n**XI.**\n\n**MY ROSE.**\n\nPigmy seraphs gone astray,  \nVelvet people from Vevay,  \nBelles from some lost summer day,  \nBees' exclusive coterie.  \nParis could not lay the fold  \nBelted down with emerald;  \nVenice could not show a cheek  \nOf a tint so lustrous meek.  \nNever such an ambuscade  \nAs of brier and leaf displayed  \nFor my little damask maid.  \nI had rather wear her grace  \nThan an earl's distinguished face;  \nI had rather dwell like her  \nThan be Duke of Exeter  \nRoyalty enough for me  \nTo subdue the bumble-bee!\n\n**XII.**\n\n**THE ORIOLE'S SECRET.**\n\nTo hear an oriole sing  \nMay be a common thing,  \nOr only a divine.\n\nIt is not of the bird  \nWho sings the same, unheard,  \nAs unto crowd.\n\nThe fashion of the ear  \nAttireth that it hear  \nIn dun or fair.\n\nSo whether it be rune,  \nOr whether it be none,  \nIs of within;\n\nThe \"tune is in the tree,\"  \nThe sceptic showeth me;  \n\"No, sir! In thee!\"\n\n**XIII.**\n\n**THE ORIOLE.**\n\nOne of the ones that Midas touched,  \nWho failed to touch us all,  \nWas that confiding prodigal,  \nThe blissful oriole.\n\nSo drunk, he disavows it  \nWith badinage divine;  \nSo dazzling, we mistake him  \nFor an alighting mine.\n\nA pleader, a dissembler,  \nAn epicure, a thief, \u2014   \nBetimes an oratorio,  \nAn ecstasy in chief;\n\nThe Jesuit of orchards,  \nHe cheats as he enchants  \nOf an entire attar  \nFor his decamping wants.\n\nThe splendor of a Burmah,  \nThe meteor of birds,  \nDeparting like a pageant  \nOf ballads and of bards.\n\nI never thought that Jason sought  \nFor any golden fleece;  \nBut then I am a rural man,  \nWith thoughts that make for peace.\n\nBut if there were a Jason,  \nTradition suffer me  \nBehold his lost emolument  \nUpon the apple-tree.\n\n**XIV.**\n\n**IN SHADOW.**\n\nI dreaded that first robin so,  \nBut he is mastered now,  \nAnd I 'm accustomed to him grown, \u2014   \nHe hurts a little, though.\n\nI thought if I could only live  \nTill that first shout got by,  \nNot all pianos in the woods  \nHad power to mangle me.\n\nI dared not meet the daffodils,  \nFor fear their yellow gown  \nWould pierce me with a fashion  \nSo foreign to my own.\n\nI wished the grass would hurry,  \nSo when 't was time to see,  \nHe 'd be too tall, the tallest one  \nCould stretch to look at me.\n\nI could not bear the bees should come,  \nI wished they 'd stay away  \nIn those dim countries where they go:  \nWhat word had they for me?\n\nThey 're here, though; not a creature failed,  \nNo blossom stayed away  \nIn gentle deference to me,  \nThe Queen of Calvary.\n\nEach one salutes me as he goes,  \nAnd I my childish plumes  \nLift, in bereaved acknowledgment  \nOf their unthinking drums.\n\n**XV.**\n\n**THE HUMMING-BIRD.**\n\nA route of evanescence  \nWith a revolving wheel;  \nA resonance of emerald,  \nA rush of cochineal;  \nAnd every blossom on the bush  \nAdjusts its tumbled head, \u2014   \nThe mail from Tunis, probably,  \nAn easy morning's ride.\n\n**XVI.**\n\n**SECRETS.**\n\nThe skies can't keep their secret!  \nThey tell it to the hills \u2014   \nThe hills just tell the orchards \u2014   \nAnd they the daffodils!\n\nA bird, by chance, that goes that way  \nSoft overheard the whole.  \nIf I should bribe the little bird,  \nWho knows but she would tell?\n\nI think I won't, however,  \nIt's finer not to know;  \nIf summer were an axiom,  \nWhat sorcery had snow?\n\nSo keep your secret, Father!  \nI would not, if I could,  \nKnow what the sapphire fellows do,  \nIn your new-fashioned world!\n\n**XVII.**\n\nWho robbed the woods,  \nThe trusting woods?  \nThe unsuspecting trees  \nBrought out their burrs and mosses  \nHis fantasy to please.  \nHe scanned their trinkets, curious,  \nHe grasped, he bore away.  \nWhat will the solemn hemlock,  \nWhat will the fir-tree say?\n\n**XVIII.**\n\n**TWO VOYAGERS.**\n\nTwo butterflies went out at noon  \nAnd waltzed above a stream,  \nThen stepped straight through the firmament  \nAnd rested on a beam;\n\nAnd then together bore away  \nUpon a shining sea, \u2014   \nThough never yet, in any port,  \nTheir coming mentioned be.\n\nIf spoken by the distant bird,  \nIf met in ether sea  \nBy frigate or by merchantman,  \nReport was not to me.\n\n**XIX.**\n\n**BY THE SEA.**\n\nI started early, took my dog,  \nAnd visited the sea;  \nThe mermaids in the basement  \nCame out to look at me,\n\nAnd frigates in the upper floor  \nExtended hempen hands,  \nPresuming me to be a mouse  \nAground, upon the sands.\n\nBut no man moved me till the tide  \nWent past my simple shoe,  \nAnd past my apron and my belt,  \nAnd past my bodice too,\n\nAnd made as he would eat me up  \nAs wholly as a dew  \nUpon a dandelion's sleeve \u2014   \nAnd then I started too.\n\nAnd he \u2014 he followed close behind;  \nI felt his silver heel  \nUpon my ankle, \u2014 then my shoes  \nWould overflow with pearl.\n\nUntil we met the solid town,  \nNo man he seemed to know;  \nAnd bowing with a mighty look  \nAt me, the sea withdrew.\n\n**XX.**\n\n**OLD-FASHIONED.**\n\nArcturus is his other name, \u2014   \nI'd rather call him star!  \nIt's so unkind of science  \nTo go and interfere!\n\nI pull a flower from the woods, \u2014   \nA monster with a glass  \nComputes the stamens in a breath,  \nAnd has her in a class.\n\nWhereas I took the butterfly  \nAforetime in my hat,  \nHe sits erect in cabinets,  \nThe clover-bells forgot.\n\nWhat once was heaven, is zenith now.  \nWhere I proposed to go  \nWhen time's brief masquerade was done,  \nIs mapped, and charted too!\n\nWhat if the poles should frisk about  \nAnd stand upon their heads!  \nI hope I 'm ready for the worst,  \nWhatever prank betides!\n\nPerhaps the kingdom of Heaven 's changed!  \nI hope the children there  \nWon't be new-fashioned when I come,  \nAnd laugh at me, and stare!\n\nI hope the father in the skies  \nWill lift his little girl, \u2014   \nOld-fashioned, naughty, everything, \u2014   \nOver the stile of pearl!\n\n**XXI.**\n\n**A TEMPEST.**\n\nAn awful tempest mashed the air,  \nThe clouds were gaunt and few;  \nA black, as of a spectre's cloak,  \nHid heaven and earth from view.\n\nThe creatures chuckled on the roofs  \nAnd whistled in the air,  \nAnd shook their fists and gnashed their teeth.  \nAnd swung their frenzied hair.\n\nThe morning lit, the birds arose;  \nThe monster's faded eyes  \nTurned slowly to his native coast,  \nAnd peace was Paradise!\n\n**XXII.**\n\n**THE SEA.**\n\nAn everywhere of silver,  \nWith ropes of sand  \nTo keep it from effacing  \nThe track called land.\n\n**XXIII.**\n\n**IN THE GARDEN.**\n\nA bird came down the walk:  \nHe did not know I saw;  \nHe bit an angle-worm in halves  \nAnd ate the fellow, raw.\n\nAnd then he drank a dew  \nFrom a convenient grass,  \nAnd then hopped sidewise to the wall  \nTo let a beetle pass.\n\nHe glanced with rapid eyes  \nThat hurried all abroad, \u2014   \nThey looked like frightened beads, I thought;  \nHe stirred his velvet head\n\nLike one in danger; cautious,  \nI offered him a crumb,  \nAnd he unrolled his feathers  \nAnd rowed him softer home\n\nThan oars divide the ocean,  \nToo silver for a seam,  \nOr butterflies, off banks of noon,  \nLeap, plashless, as they swim.\n\n**XXIV.**\n\n**THE SNAKE.**\n\nA narrow fellow in the grass  \nOccasionally rides;  \nYou may have met him, \u2014 did you not,  \nHis notice sudden is.\n\nThe grass divides as with a comb,  \nA spotted shaft is seen;  \nAnd then it closes at your feet  \nAnd opens further on.\n\nHe likes a boggy acre,  \nA floor too cool for corn.  \nYet when a child, and barefoot,  \nI more than once, at morn,\n\nHave passed, I thought, a whip-lash  \nUnbraiding in the sun, \u2014   \nWhen, stooping to secure it,  \nIt wrinkled, and was gone.\n\nSeveral of nature's people  \nI know, and they know me;  \nI feel for them a transport  \nOf cordiality;\n\nBut never met this fellow,  \nAttended or alone,  \nWithout a tighter breathing,  \nAnd zero at the bone.\n\n**XXV.**\n\n**THE MUSHROOM.**\n\nThe mushroom is the elf of plants,  \nAt evening it is not;  \nAt morning in a truffled hut  \nIt stops upon a spot\n\nAs if it tarried always;  \nAnd yet its whole career  \nIs shorter than a snake's delay,  \nAnd fleeter than a tare.\n\n'T is vegetation's juggler,  \nThe germ of alibi;  \nDoth like a bubble antedate,  \nAnd like a bubble hie.\n\nI feel as if the grass were pleased  \nTo have it intermit;  \nThe surreptitious scion  \nOf summer's circumspect.\n\nHad nature any outcast face,  \nCould she a son contemn,  \nHad nature an Iscariot,  \nThat mushroom, \u2014 it is him.\n\n**XXVI.**\n\n**THE STORM.**\n\nThere came a wind like a bugle;  \nIt quivered through the grass,  \nAnd a green chill upon the heat  \nSo ominous did pass  \nWe barred the windows and the doors  \nAs from an emerald ghost;  \nThe doom's electric moccason  \nThat very instant passed.  \nOn a strange mob of panting trees,  \nAnd fences fled away,  \nAnd rivers where the houses ran  \nThe living looked that day.  \nThe bell within the steeple wild  \nThe flying tidings whirled.  \nHow much can come  \nAnd much can go,  \nAnd yet abide the world!\n\n**XXVII.**\n\n**THE SPIDER.**\n\nA spider sewed at night  \nWithout a light  \nUpon an arc of white.  \nIf ruff it was of dame  \nOr shroud of gnome,  \nHimself, himself inform.  \nOf immortality  \nHis strategy  \nWas physiognomy.\n\n**XXVIII.**\n\nI know a place where summer strives  \nWith such a practised frost,  \nShe each year leads her daisies back,  \nRecording briefly, \"Lost.\"\n\nBut when the south wind stirs the pools  \nAnd struggles in the lanes,  \nHer heart misgives her for her vow,  \nAnd she pours soft refrains\n\nInto the lap of adamant,  \nAnd spices, and the dew,  \nThat stiffens quietly to quartz,  \nUpon her amber shoe.\n\n**XXIX.**\n\nThe one that could repeat the summer day  \nWere greater than itself, though he  \nMinutest of mankind might be.  \nAnd who could reproduce the sun,  \nAt period of going down \u2014   \nThe lingering and the stain, I mean \u2014   \nWhen Orient has been outgrown,  \nAnd Occident becomes unknown,  \nHis name remain.\n\n**XXX.**\n\nTHE WlND'S VISIT.\n\nThe wind tapped like a tired man,  \nAnd like a host, \"Come in,\"  \nI boldly answered; entered then  \nMy residence within\n\nA rapid, footless guest,  \nTo offer whom a chair  \nWere as impossible as hand  \nA sofa to the air.\n\nNo bone had he to bind him,  \nHis speech was like the push  \nOf numerous humming-birds at once  \nFrom a superior bush.\n\nHis countenance a billow,  \nHis fingers, if he pass,  \nLet go a music, as of tunes  \nBlown tremulous in glass.\n\nHe visited, still flitting;  \nThen, like a timid man,  \nAgain he tapped \u2014 't was flurriedly \u2014   \nAnd I became alone.\n\n**XXXI.**\n\nNature rarer uses yellow  \nThan another hue;  \nSaves she all of that for sunsets, \u2014   \nProdigal of blue,\n\nSpending scarlet like a woman,  \nYellow she affords  \nOnly scantly and selectly,  \nLike a lover's words.\n\n**XXXII.**\n\n**GOSSIP.**\n\nThe leaves, like women, interchange  \nSagacious confidence;  \nSomewhat of nods, and somewhat of  \nPortentous inference,\n\nThe parties in both cases  \nEnjoining secrecy, \u2014   \nInviolable compact  \nTo notoriety.\n\n**XXXIII.**\n\n**SIMPLICITY.**\n\nHow happy is the little stone  \nThat rambles in the road alone,  \nAnd does n't care about careers,  \nAnd exigencies never fears;  \nWhose coat of elemental brown  \nA passing universe put on;  \nAnd independent as the sun,  \nAssociates or glows alone,  \nFulfilling absolute decree  \nIn casual simplicity.\n\n**XXXIV.**\n\n**STORM.**\n\nIt sounded as if the streets were running,  \nAnd then the streets stood still.  \nEclipse was all we could see at the window,  \nAnd awe was all we could feel.\n\nBy and by the boldest stole out of his covert,  \nTo see if time was there.  \nNature was in her beryl apron,  \nMixing fresher air.\n\n**XXXV.**\n\n**THE RAT.**\n\nThe rat is the concisest tenant.  \nHe pays no rent, \u2014   \nRepudiates the obligation,  \nOn schemes intent.\n\nBalking our wit  \nTo sound or circumvent,  \nHate cannot harm  \nA foe so reticent.\n\nNeither decree  \nProhibits him,  \nLawful as  \nEquilibrium.\n\n**XXXVI.**\n\nFrequently the woods are pink,  \nFrequently are brown;  \nFrequently the hills undress  \nBehind my native town.\n\nOft a head is crested  \nI was wont to see,  \nAnd as oft a cranny  \nWhere it used to be.\n\nAnd the earth, they tell me,  \nOn its axis turned, \u2014   \nWonderful rotation  \nBy but twelve performed!\n\n**XXXVII.**\n\n**A THUNDER-STORM.**\n\nThe wind begun to rock the grass  \nWith threatening tunes and low, \u2014   \nHe flung a menace at the earth,  \nA menace at the sky.\n\nThe leaves unhooked themselves from trees  \nAnd started all abroad;  \nThe dust did scoop itself like hands  \nAnd throw away the road.\n\nThe wagons quickened on the streets,  \nThe thunder hurried slow;  \nThe lightning showed a yellow beak,  \nAnd then a livid claw.\n\nThe birds put up the bars to nests,  \nThe cattle fled to barns;  \nThere came one drop of giant rain,  \nAnd then, as if the hands\n\nThat held the dams had parted hold,  \nThe waters wrecked the sky,  \nBut overlooked my father's house,  \nJust quartering a tree.\n\n**XXXVIII.**\n\n**WITH FLOWERS.**\n\nSouth winds jostle them,  \nBumblebees come,  \nHover, hesitate,  \nDrink, and are gone.\n\nButterflies pause  \nOn their passage Cashmere;  \nI, softly plucking,  \nPresent them here!\n\n**XXXIX.**\n\n**SUNSET.**\n\nWhere ships of purple gently toss  \nOn seas of daffodil,  \nFantastic sailors mingle,  \nAnd then \u2014 the wharf is still.\n\n**XL.**\n\nShe sweeps with many-colored brooms,  \nAnd leaves the shreds behind;  \nOh, housewife in the evening west,  \nCome back, and dust the pond!\n\nYou dropped a purple ravelling in,  \nYou dropped an amber thread;  \nAnd now you 've littered all the East  \nWith duds of emerald!\n\nAnd still she plies her spotted brooms,  \nAnd still the aprons fly,  \nTill brooms fade softly into stars \u2014   \nAnd then I come away.\n\n**XLI.**\n\nLike mighty footlights burned the red  \nAt bases of the trees, \u2014   \nThe far theatricals of day  \nExhibiting to these.\n\n'T was universe that did applaud  \nWhile, chiefest of the crowd,  \nEnabled by his royal dress,  \nMyself distinguished God.\n\n**XLII.**\n\n**PROBLEMS.**\n\nBring me the sunset in a cup,  \nReckon the morning's flagons up,  \nAnd say how many dew;  \nTell me how far the morning leaps,  \nTell me what time the weaver sleeps  \nWho spun the breadths of blue!\n\nWrite me how many notes there be  \nIn the new robin's ecstasy  \nAmong astonished boughs;  \nHow many trips the tortoise makes,  \nHow many cups the bee partakes, \u2014   \nThe debauchee of dews!\n\nAlso, who laid the rainbow's piers,  \nAlso, who leads the docile spheres  \nBy withes of supple blue?  \nWhose fingers string the stalactite,  \nWho counts the wampum of the night,  \nTo see that none is due?\n\nWho built this little Alban house  \nAnd shut the windows down so close  \nMy spirit cannot see?  \nWho 'll let me out some gala day,  \nWith implements to fly away,  \nPassing pomposity?\n\n**XLIII.**\n\n**THE JUGGLER OF DAY.**\n\nBlazing in gold and quenching in purple,  \nLeaping like leopards to the sky,  \nThen at the feet of the old horizon  \nLaying her spotted face, to die;\n\nStooping as low as the otter's window,  \nTouching the roof and tinting the barn,  \nKissing her bonnet to the meadow, \u2014   \nAnd the juggler of day is gone!\n\n**XLIV.**\n\n**MY CRICKET.**\n\nFarther in summer than the birds,  \nPathetic from the grass,  \nA minor nation celebrates  \nIts unobtrusive mass.\n\nNo ordinance is seen,  \nSo gradual the grace,  \nA pensive custom it becomes,  \nEnlarging loneliness.\n\nAntiquest felt at noon  \nWhen August, burning low,  \nCalls forth this spectral canticle,  \nRepose to typify.\n\nRemit as yet no grace,  \nNo furrow on the glow,  \nYet a druidic difference  \nEnhances nature now.\n\n**XLV.**\n\nAs imperceptibly as grief  \nThe summer lapsed away, \u2014   \nToo imperceptible, at last,  \nTo seem like perfidy.\n\nA quietness distilled,  \nAs twilight long begun,  \nOr Nature, spending with herself  \nSequestered afternoon.\n\nThe dusk drew earlier in,  \nThe morning foreign shone, \u2014   \nA courteous, yet harrowing grace,  \nAs guest who would be gone.\n\nAnd thus, without a wing,  \nOr service of a keel,  \nOur summer made her light escape  \nInto the beautiful.\n\n**XLVI.**\n\nIt can't be summer, \u2014 that got through;  \nIt 's early yet for spring;  \nThere 's that long town of white to cross  \nBefore the blackbirds sing.\n\nIt can't be dying, \u2014 it's too rouge, \u2014   \nThe dead shall go in white.  \nSo sunset shuts my question down  \nWith clasps of chrysolite.\n\n**XLVII.**\n\n**SUMMER'S OBSEQUIES.**\n\nThe gentian weaves her fringes,  \nThe maple's loom is red.  \nMy departing blossoms  \nObviate parade.\n\nA brief, but patient illness,  \nAn hour to prepare;  \nAnd one, below this morning,  \nIs where the angels are.\n\nIt was a short procession, \u2014   \nThe bobolink was there,  \nAn aged bee addressed us,  \nAnd then we knelt in prayer.\n\nWe trust that she was willing, \u2014   \nWe ask that we may be.  \nSummer, sister, seraph,  \nLet us go with thee!\n\nIn the name of the bee  \nAnd of the butterfly  \nAnd of the breeze, amen!\n\n**XLVIII.**\n\n**FRINGED GENTIAN.**\n\nGod made a little gentian;  \nIt tried to be a rose  \nAnd failed, and all the summer laughed.  \nBut just before the snows  \nThere came a purple creature  \nThat ravished all the hill;  \nAnd summer hid her forehead,  \nAnd mockery was still.  \nThe frosts were her condition;  \nThe Tyrian would not come  \nUntil the North evoked it.  \n\"Creator! shall I bloom?\"\n\n**XLIX.**\n\n**NOVEMBER.**\n\nBesides the autumn poets sing,  \nA few prosaic days  \nA little this side of the snow  \nAnd that side of the haze.\n\nA few incisive mornings,  \nA few ascetic eyes, \u2014   \nGone Mr. Bryant's golden-rod,  \nAnd Mr. Thomson's sheaves.\n\nStill is the bustle in the brook,  \nSealed are the spicy valves;  \nMesmeric fingers softly touch  \nThe eyes of many elves.\n\nPerhaps a squirrel may remain,  \nMy sentiments to share.  \nGrant me, O Lord, a sunny mind,  \nThy windy will to bear!\n\n**L.**\n\n**THE SNOW.**\n\nIt sifts from leaden sieves,  \nIt powders all the wood,  \nIt fills with alabaster wool  \nThe wrinkles of the road.\n\nIt makes an even face  \nOf mountain and of plain, \u2014   \nUnbroken forehead from the east  \nUnto the east again.\n\nIt reaches to the fence,  \nIt wraps it, rail by rail,  \nTill it is lost in fleeces;  \nIt flings a crystal veil\n\nOn stump and stack and stem, \u2014   \nThe summer's empty room,  \nAcres of seams where harvests were,  \nRecordless, but for them.\n\nIt ruffles wrists of posts,  \nAs ankles of a queen, \u2014   \nThen stills its artisans like ghosts,  \nDenying they have been.\n\n**LI.**\n\n**THE BLUE JAY.**\n\nNo brigadier throughout the year  \nSo civic as the jay.  \nA neighbor and a warrior too,  \nWith shrill felicity\n\nPursuing winds that censure us  \nA February day,  \nThe brother of the universe  \nWas never blown away.\n\nThe snow and he are intimate;  \nI 've often seen them play  \nWhen heaven looked upon us all  \nWith such severity,\n\nI felt apology were due  \nTo an insulted sky,  \nWhose pompous frown was nutriment  \nTo their temerity.\n\nThe pillow of this daring head  \nIs pungent evergreens;  \nHis larder \u2014 terse and militant \u2014   \nUnknown, refreshing things;\n\nHis character a tonic,  \nHis future a dispute;  \nUnfair an immortality  \nThat leaves this neighbor out.\n\n**IV.**\n\n**TIME AND ETERNITY.**\n\n**I.**\n\nLet down the bars, O Death!  \nThe tired flocks come in  \nWhose bleating ceases to repeat,  \nWhose wandering is done.\n\nThine is the stillest night,  \nThine the securest fold;  \nToo near thou art for seeking thee,  \nToo tender to be told.\n\n**II.**\n\nGoing to heaven!  \nI don't know when,  \nPray do not ask me how, \u2014   \nIndeed, I 'm too astonished  \nTo think of answering you!  \nGoing to heaven! \u2014   \nHow dim it sounds!  \nAnd yet it will be done  \nAs sure as flocks go home at night  \nUnto the shepherd's arm!\n\nPerhaps you 're going too!  \nWho knows?  \nIf you should get there first,  \nSave just a little place for me  \nClose to the two I lost!\n\nThe smallest \"robe\" will fit me,  \nAnd just a bit of \"crown;\"  \nFor you know we do not mind our dress  \nWhen we are going home.\n\nI 'm glad I don't believe it,  \nFor it would stop my breath,  \nAnd I 'd like to look a little more  \nAt such a curious earth!  \nI am glad they did believe it  \nWhom I have never found  \nSince the mighty autumn afternoon  \nI left them in the ground.\n\n**III.**\n\nAt least to pray is left, is left.  \nO Jesus! in the air  \nI know not which thy chamber is, \u2014   \nI 'm knocking everywhere.\n\nThou stirrest earthquake in the South,  \nAnd maelstrom in the sea;  \nSay, Jesus Christ of Nazareth,  \nHast thou no arm for me?\n\n**IV.**\n\n**EPITAPH.**\n\nStep lightly on this narrow spot!  \nThe broadest land that grows  \nIs not so ample as the breast  \nThese emerald seams enclose.\n\nStep lofty; for this name is told  \nAs far as cannon dwell,  \nOr flag subsist, or fame export  \nHer deathless syllable.\n\n**V.**\n\nMorns like these we parted;  \nNoons like these she rose,  \nFluttering first, then firmer,  \nTo her fair repose.\n\nNever did she lisp it,  \nAnd 't was not for me;  \nShe was mute from transport,  \nI, from agony!\n\nTill the evening, nearing,  \nOne the shutters drew \u2014   \nQuick! a sharper rustling!  \nAnd this linnet flew!\n\n**VI.**\n\nA death-blow is a life-blow to some  \nWho, till they died, did not alive become;  \nWho, had they lived, had died, but when  \nThey died, vitality begun.\n\n**VII.**\n\nI read my sentence steadily,  \nReviewed it with my eyes,  \nTo see that I made no mistake  \nIn its extremest clause, \u2014\n\nThe date, and manner of the shame;  \nAnd then the pious form  \nThat \"God have mercy\" on the soul  \nThe jury voted him.\n\nI made my soul familiar  \nWith her extremity,  \nThat at the last it should not be  \nA novel agony,\n\nBut she and Death, acquainted,  \nMeet tranquilly as friends,  \nSalute and pass without a hint \u2014   \nAnd there the matter ends.\n\n**VIII.**\n\nI have not told my garden yet,  \nLest that should conquer me;  \nI have not quite the strength now  \nTo break it to the bee.\n\nI will not name it in the street,  \nFor shops would stare, that I,  \nSo shy, so very ignorant,  \nShould have the face to die.\n\nThe hillsides must not know it,  \nWhere I have rambled so,  \nNor tell the loving forests  \nThe day that I shall go,\n\nNor lisp it at the table,  \nNor heedless by the way  \nHint that within the riddle  \nOne will walk to-day!\n\n**IX.**\n\n**THE BATTLE-FIELD.**\n\nThey dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,  \nLike petals from a rose,  \nWhen suddenly across the June  \nA wind with fingers goes.\n\nThey perished in the seamless grass, \u2014   \nNo eye could find the place;  \nBut God on his repealless list  \nCan summon every face.\n\n**X.**\n\nThe only ghost I ever saw  \nWas dressed in mechlin, \u2014 so;  \nHe wore no sandal on his foot,  \nAnd stepped like flakes of snow.  \nHis gait was soundless, like the bird,  \nBut rapid, like the roe;  \nHis fashions quaint, mosaic,  \nOr, haply, mistletoe.\n\nHis conversation seldom,  \nHis laughter like the breeze  \nThat dies away in dimples  \nAmong the pensive trees.  \nOur interview was transient, \u2014   \nOf me, himself was shy;  \nAnd God forbid I look behind  \nSince that appalling day!\n\n**XI.**\n\nSome, too fragile for winter winds,  \nThe thoughtful grave encloses, \u2014   \nTenderly tucking them in from frost  \nBefore their feet are cold.\n\nNever the treasures in her nest  \nThe cautious grave exposes,  \nBuilding where schoolboy dare not look  \nAnd sportsman is not bold.\n\nThis covert have all the children  \nEarly aged, and often cold, \u2014   \nSparrows unnoticed by the Father;  \nLambs for whom time had not a fold.\n\n**XII.**\n\nAs by the dead we love to sit,  \nBecome so wondrous dear,  \nAs for the lost we grapple,  \nThough all the rest are here, \u2014\n\nIn broken mathematics  \nWe estimate our prize,  \nVast, in its fading ratio,  \nTo our penurious eyes!\n\n**XIII.**\n\n**MEMORIALS.**\n\nDeath sets a thing significant  \nThe eye had hurried by,  \nExcept a perished creature  \nEntreat us tenderly\n\nTo ponder little workmanships  \nIn crayon or in wool,  \nWith \"This was last her fingers did,\"  \nIndustrious until\n\nThe thimble weighed too heavy,  \nThe stitches stopped themselves,  \nAnd then 't was put among the dust  \nUpon the closet shelves.\n\nA book I have, a friend gave,  \nWhose pencil, here and there,  \nHad notched the place that pleased him, \u2014   \nAt rest his fingers are.\n\nNow, when I read, I read not,  \nFor interrupting tears  \nObliterate the etchings  \nToo costly for repairs.\n\n**XIV.**\n\nI went to heaven, \u2014   \n'T was a small town,  \nLit with a ruby,  \nLathed with down.  \nStiller than the fields  \nAt the full dew,  \nBeautiful as pictures  \nNo man drew.  \nPeople like the moth,  \nOf mechlin, frames,  \nDuties of gossamer,  \nAnd eider names.  \nAlmost contented  \nI could be  \n'Mong such unique  \nSociety.\n\n**XV.**\n\nTheir height in heaven comforts not,  \nTheir glory nought to me;  \n'T was best imperfect, as it was;  \nI 'm finite, I can't see.\n\nThe house of supposition,  \nThe glimmering frontier  \nThat skirts the acres of perhaps,  \nTo me shows insecure.\n\nThe wealth I had contented me;  \nIf 't was a meaner size,  \nThen I had counted it until  \nIt pleased my narrow eyes\n\nBetter than larger values,  \nHowever true their show;  \nThis timid life of evidence  \nKeeps pleading, \"I don't know.\"\n\n**XVI.**\n\nThere is a shame of nobleness  \nConfronting sudden pelf, \u2014   \nA finer shame of ecstasy  \nConvicted of itself.\n\nA best disgrace a brave man feels,  \nAcknowledged of the brave, \u2014   \nOne more \"Ye Blessed\" to be told;  \nBut this involves the grave.\n\n**XVII.**\n\n**TRIUMPH.**\n\nTriumph may be of several kinds.  \nThere 's triumph in the room  \nWhen that old imperator, Death,  \nBy faith is overcome.\n\nThere 's triumph of the finer mind  \nWhen truth, affronted long,  \nAdvances calm to her supreme,  \nHer God her only throng.\n\nA triumph when temptation's bribe  \nIs slowly handed back,  \nOne eye upon the heaven renounced  \nAnd one upon the rack.\n\nSeverer triumph, by himself  \nExperienced, who can pass  \nAcquitted from that naked bar,  \nJehovah's countenance!\n\n**XVIII.**\n\nPompless no life can pass away;  \nThe lowliest career  \nTo the same pageant wends its way  \nAs that exalted here.  \nHow cordial is the mystery!  \nThe hospitable pall  \nA \"this way\" beckons spaciously, \u2014   \nA miracle for all!\n\n**XIX.**\n\nI noticed people disappeared,  \nWhen but a little child, \u2014   \nSupposed they visited remote,  \nOr settled regions wild.\n\nNow know I they both visited  \nAnd settled regions wild,  \nBut did because they died, \u2014 a fact  \nWithheld the little child!\n\n**XX.**\n\n**FOLLOWING.**\n\nI had no cause to be awake,  \nMy best was gone to sleep,  \nAnd morn a new politeness took,  \nAnd failed to wake them up,\n\nBut called the others clear,  \nAnd passed their curtains by.  \nSweet morning, when I over-sleep,  \nKnock, recollect, for me!\n\nI looked at sunrise once,  \nAnd then I looked at them,  \nAnd wishfulness in me arose  \nFor circumstance the same.\n\n'T was such an ample peace,  \nIt could not hold a sigh, \u2014   \n'T was Sabbath with the bells divorced,  \n'T was sunset all the day.\n\nSo choosing but a gown  \nAnd taking but a prayer,  \nThe only raiment I should need,  \nI struggled, and was there.\n\n**XXI.**\n\nIf anybody's friend be dead,  \nIt 's sharpest of the theme  \nThe thinking how they walked alive,  \nAt such and such a time.\n\nTheir costume, of a Sunday,  \nSome manner of the hair, \u2014   \nA prank nobody knew but them,  \nLost, in the sepulchre.\n\nHow warm they were on such a day:  \nYou almost feel the date,  \nSo short way off it seems; and now,  \nThey 're centuries from that.\n\nHow pleased they were at what you said;  \nYou try to touch the smile,  \nAnd dip your fingers in the frost:  \nWhen was it, can you tell,\n\nYou asked the company to tea,  \nAcquaintance, just a few,  \nAnd chatted close with this grand thing  \nThat don't remember you?\n\nPast bows and invitations,  \nPast interview, and vow,  \nPast what ourselves can estimate, \u2014   \nThat makes the quick of woe!\n\n**XXII.**\n\n**THE JOURNEY.**\n\nOur journey had advanced;  \nOur feet were almost come  \nTo that odd fork in Being's road,  \nEternity by term.\n\nOur pace took sudden awe,  \nOur feet reluctant led.  \nBefore were cities, but between,  \nThe forest of the dead.\n\nRetreat was out of hope, \u2014   \nBehind, a sealed route,  \nEternity's white flag before,  \nAnd God at every gate.\n\n**XXIII.**\n\n**A COUNTRY BURIAL.**\n\nAmple make this bed.  \nMake this bed with awe;  \nIn it wait till judgment break  \nExcellent and fair.\n\nBe its mattress straight,  \nBe its pillow round;  \nLet no sunrise' yellow noise  \nInterrupt this ground.\n\n**XXIV.**\n\n**GOING.**\n\nOn such a night, or such a night,  \nWould anybody care  \nIf such a little figure  \nSlipped quiet from its chair,\n\nSo quiet, oh, how quiet!  \nThat nobody might know  \nBut that the little figure  \nRocked softer, to and fro?\n\nOn such a dawn, or such a dawn,  \nWould anybody sigh  \nThat such a little figure  \nToo sound asleep did lie\n\nFor chanticleer to wake it, \u2014   \nOr stirring house below,  \nOr giddy bird in orchard,  \nOr early task to do?\n\nThere was a little figure plump  \nFor every little knoll,  \nBusy needles, and spools of thread,  \nAnd trudging feet from school.\n\nPlaymates, and holidays, and nuts,  \nAnd visions vast and small.  \nStrange that the feet so precious charged  \nShould reach so small a goal!\n\n**XXV.**\n\nEssential oils are wrung:  \nThe attar from the rose  \nIs not expressed by suns alone,  \nIt is the gift of screws.\n\nThe general rose decays;  \nBut this, in lady's drawer,  \nMakes summer when the lady lies  \nIn ceaseless rosemary.\n\n**XXVI.**\n\nI lived on dread; to those who know  \nThe stimulus there is  \nIn danger, other impetus  \nIs numb and vital-less.\n\nAs 't were a spur upon the soul,  \nA fear will urge it where  \nTo go without the spectre's aid  \nWere challenging despair.\n\n**XXVII.**\n\nIf I should die,  \nAnd you should live,  \nAnd time should gurgle on,  \nAnd morn should beam,  \nAnd noon should burn,  \nAs it has usual done;  \nIf birds should build as early,  \nAnd bees as bustling go, \u2014   \nOne might depart at option  \nFrom enterprise below!  \n'T is sweet to know that stocks will stand  \nWhen we with daisies lie,  \nThat commerce will continue,  \nAnd trades as briskly fly.  \nIt makes the parting tranquil  \nAnd keeps the soul serene,  \nThat gentlemen so sprightly  \nConduct the pleasing scene!\n\n**XXVIII.**\n\n**AT LENGTH.**\n\nHer final summer was it,  \nAnd yet we guessed it not;  \nIf tenderer industriousness  \nPervaded her, we thought\n\nA further force of life  \nDeveloped from within, \u2014   \nWhen Death lit all the shortness up,  \nAnd made the hurry plain.\n\nWe wondered at our blindness, \u2014   \nWhen nothing was to see  \nBut her Carrara guide-post, \u2014   \nAt our stupidity,\n\nWhen, duller than our dulness,  \nThe busy darling lay,  \nSo busy was she, finishing,  \nSo leisurely were we!\n\n**XXIX.**\n\n**GHOSTS.**\n\nOne need not be a chamber to be haunted,  \nOne need not be a house;  \nThe brain has corridors surpassing  \nMaterial place.\n\nFar safer, of a midnight meeting  \nExternal ghost,  \nThan an interior confronting  \nThat whiter host.\n\nFar safer through an Abbey gallop,  \nThe stones achase,  \nThan, moonless, one's own self encounter  \nIn lonesome place.\n\nOurself, behind ourself concealed,  \nShould startle most;  \nAssassin, hid in our apartment,  \nBe horror's least.\n\nThe prudent carries a revolver,  \nHe bolts the door,  \nO'erlooking a superior spectre  \nMore near.\n\n**XXX.**\n\n**VANISHED.**\n\nShe died, \u2014 this was the way she died;  \nAnd when her breath was done,  \nTook up her simple wardrobe  \nAnd started for the sun.\n\nHer little figure at the gate  \nThe angels must have spied,  \nSince I could never find her  \nUpon the mortal side.\n\n**XXXI.**\n\n**PRECEDENCE.**\n\nWait till the majesty of Death  \nInvests so mean a brow!  \nAlmost a powdered footman  \nMight dare to touch it now!\n\nWait till in everlasting robes  \nThis democrat is dressed,  \nThen prate about \"preferment\"  \nAnd \"station\" and the rest!\n\nAround this quiet courtier  \nObsequious angels wait!  \nFull royal is his retinue,  \nFull purple is his state!\n\nA lord might dare to lift the hat  \nTo such a modest clay,  \nSince that my Lord, \"the Lord of lords\"  \nReceives unblushingly!\n\n**XXXII.**\n\n**GONE.**\n\nWent up a year this evening!  \nI recollect it well!  \nAmid no bells nor bravos  \nThe bystanders will tell!  \nCheerful, as to the village,  \nTranquil, as to repose,  \nChastened, as to the chapel,  \nThis humble tourist rose.  \nDid not talk of returning,  \nAlluded to no time  \nWhen, were the gales propitious,  \nWe might look for him;  \nWas grateful for the roses  \nIn life's diverse bouquet,  \nTalked softly of new species  \nTo pick another day.\n\nBeguiling thus the wonder,  \nThe wondrous nearer drew;  \nHands bustled at the moorings \u2014   \nThe crowd respectful grew.  \nAscended from our vision  \nTo countenances new!  \nA difference, a daisy,  \nIs all the rest I knew!\n\n**XXXIII.**\n\n**REQUIEM.**\n\nTaken from men this morning,  \nCarried by men to-day,  \nMet by the gods with banners  \nWho marshalled her away.\n\nOne little maid from playmates,  \nOne little mind from school, \u2014   \nThere must be guests in Eden;  \nAll the rooms are full.\n\nFar as the east from even,  \nDim as the border star, \u2014   \nCourtiers quaint, in kingdoms,  \nOur departed are.\n\n**XXXIV.**\n\nWhat inn is this  \nWhere for the night  \nPeculiar traveller comes?  \nWho is the landlord?  \nWhere the maids?  \nBehold, what curious rooms!  \nNo ruddy fires on the hearth,  \nNo brimming tankards flow.  \nNecromancer, landlord,  \nWho are these below?\n\n**XXXV.**\n\nIt was not death, for I stood up,  \nAnd all the dead lie down;  \nIt was not night, for all the bells  \nPut out their tongues, for noon.\n\nIt was not frost, for on my flesh  \nI felt siroccos crawl, \u2014   \nNor fire, for just my marble feet  \nCould keep a chancel cool.\n\nAnd yet it tasted like them all;  \nThe figures I have seen  \nSet orderly, for burial,  \nReminded me of mine,\n\nAs if my life were shaven  \nAnd fitted to a frame,  \nAnd could not breathe without a key;  \nAnd 't was like midnight, some,\n\nWhen everything that ticked has stopped,  \nAnd space stares, all around,  \nOr grisly frosts, first autumn morns,  \nRepeal the beating ground.\n\nBut most like chaos, \u2014 stopless, cool, \u2014   \nWithout a chance or spar,  \nOr even a report of land  \nTo justify despair.\n\n**XXXVI.**\n\n**TILL THE END.**\n\nI should not dare to leave my friend,  \nBecause \u2014 because if he should die  \nWhile I was gone, and I \u2014 too late \u2014   \nShould reach the heart that wanted me;\n\nIf I should disappoint the eyes  \nThat hunted, hunted so, to see,  \nAnd could not bear to shut until  \nThey \"noticed\" me \u2014 they noticed me;\n\nIf I should stab the patient faith  \nSo sure I 'd come \u2014 so sure I 'd come,  \nIt listening, listening, went to sleep  \nTelling my tardy name, \u2014\n\nMy heart would wish it broke before,  \nSince breaking then, since breaking then,  \nWere useless as next morning's sun,  \nWhere midnight frosts had lain!\n\n**XXXVII.**\n\n**VOID.**\n\nGreat streets of silence led away  \nTo neighborhoods of pause;  \nHere was no notice, no dissent,  \nNo universe, no laws.\n\nBy clocks 't was morning, and for night  \nThe bells at distance called;  \nBut epoch had no basis here,  \nFor period exhaled.\n\n**XXXVIII.**\n\nA throe upon the features  \nA hurry in the breath,  \nAn ecstasy of parting  \nDenominated \"Death,\" \u2014\n\nAn anguish at the mention,  \nWhich, when to patience grown,  \nI 've known permission given  \nTo rejoin its own.\n\n**XXXIX.**\n\n**SAVED!**\n\nOf tribulation these are they  \nDenoted by the white;  \nThe spangled gowns, a lesser rank  \nOf victors designate.\n\nAll these did conquer; but the ones  \nWho overcame most times  \nWear nothing commoner than snow,  \nNo ornament but palms.\n\nSurrender is a sort unknown  \nOn this superior soil;  \nDefeat, an outgrown anguish,  \nRemembered as the mile\n\nOur panting ankle barely gained  \nWhen night devoured the road;  \nBut we stood whispering in the house,  \nAnd all we said was \"Saved\"!\n\n**XL.**\n\nI think just how my shape will rise  \nWhen I shall be forgiven,  \nTill hair and eyes and timid head  \nAre out of sight, in heaven.\n\nI think just how my lips will weigh  \nWith shapeless, quivering prayer  \nThat you, so late, consider me,  \nThe sparrow of your care.\n\nI mind me that of anguish sent,  \nSome drifts were moved away  \nBefore my simple bosom broke, \u2014   \nAnd why not this, if they?\n\nAnd so, until delirious borne  \nI con that thing, \u2014 \"forgiven,\" \u2014   \nTill with long fright and longer trust  \nI drop my heart, unshriven!\n\n**XLI.**\n\n**THE FORGOTTEN GRAVE.**\n\nAfter a hundred years  \nNobody knows the place, \u2014   \nAgony, that enacted there,  \nMotionless as peace.\n\nWeeds triumphant ranged,  \nStrangers strolled and spelled  \nAt the lone orthography  \nOf the elder dead.\n\nWinds of summer fields  \nRecollect the way, \u2014   \nInstinct picking up the key  \nDropped by memory.\n\n**XLII.**\n\nLay this laurel on the one  \nToo intrinsic for renown.  \nLaurel! veil your deathless tree, \u2014   \nHim you chasten, that is he!\n**POEMS: SERIES TWO**\n\n**CONTENTS**\n\nI.\n\nLIFE.\n\nI.\n\nII.\n\nIII.\n\nIV.\n\nV.\n\nVI.\n\nHOPE.\n\nVII.\n\nTHE WHITE HEAT.\n\nVIII.\n\nTRIUMPHANT.\n\nIX.\n\nTHE TEST.\n\nX.\n\nESCAPE.\n\nXI.\n\nCOMPENSATION.\n\nXII.\n\nTHE MARTYRS.\n\nXIII.\n\nA PRAYER.\n\nXIV.\n\nXV.\n\nXVI.\n\nXVII.\n\nTHE RAILWAY TRAIN.\n\nXVIII.\n\nTHE SHOW.\n\nXIX.\n\nXX.\n\nXXI.\n\nXXII.\n\nTHE RETURN.\n\nXXIII.\n\nXXIV.\n\nTOO MUCH.\n\nXXV.\n\nSHIPWRECK.\n\nXXVI.\n\nXXVII.\n\nENOUGH.\n\nXXVIII.\n\nXXIX.\n\nMY COUNTRY'S WARDROBE.\n\nXXX.\n\nXXXI.\n\nXXXII.\n\nXXXIII.\n\nTHE DUEL.\n\nXXXIV.\n\nXXXV.\n\nTHE GOAL.\n\nXXXVI.\n\nSIGHT.\n\nXXXVII.\n\nXXXVIII.\n\nTHE PREACHER.\n\nXXXIX.\n\nXL.\n\nXLI.\n\nDEED.\n\nXLII.\n\nTIME'S LESSON.\n\nXLIII.\n\nREMORSE.\n\nXLIV.\n\nTHE SHELTER.\n\nXLV.\n\nXLVI.\n\nXLVII.\n\nXLVIII.\n\nXLIX.\n\nL.\n\nHUNGER.\n\nLI.\n\nLII.\n\nLIII.\n\nRETURNING.\n\nLIV.\n\nPRAYER.\n\nLV.\n\nLVI.\n\nMELODIES UNHEARD.\n\nLVII.\n\nCALLED BACK.\n\nII.\n\nLOVE.\n\nI.\n\nCHOICE.\n\nII.\n\nIII.\n\nIV.\n\nTHE CONTRACT.\n\nV.\n\nTHE LETTER.\n\nVI.\n\nVII.\n\nVIII.\n\nAT HOME.\n\nIX.\n\nPOSSESSION.\n\nX.\n\nXI.\n\nTHE LOVERS.\n\nXII.\n\nXIII.\n\nXIV.\n\nXV.\n\nTHE LOST JEWEL.\n\nXVI.\n\nIII.\n\nNATURE.\n\nI.\n\nMOTHER NATURE.\n\nII.\n\nOUT OF THE MORNING.\n\nIII.\n\nIV.\n\nDAY'S PARLOR.\n\nV.\n\nTHE SUN'S WOOING.\n\nVI.\n\nTHE ROBIN.\n\nVII.\n\nTHE BUTTERFLY'S DAY.\n\nVIII.\n\nTHE BLUEBIRD.\n\nIX.\n\nAPRIL.\n\nX.\n\nTHE SLEEPING FLOWERS.\n\nXI.\n\nMY ROSE.\n\nXII.\n\nTHE ORIOLE'S SECRET.\n\nXIII.\n\nTHE ORIOLE.\n\nXIV.\n\nIN SHADOW.\n\nXV.\n\nTHE HUMMING-BIRD.\n\nXVI.\n\nSECRETS.\n\nXVII.\n\nXVIII.\n\nTWO VOYAGERS.\n\nXIX.\n\nBY THE SEA.\n\nXX.\n\nOLD-FASHIONED.\n\nXXI.\n\nA TEMPEST.\n\nXXII.\n\nTHE SEA.\n\nXXIII.\n\nIN THE GARDEN.\n\nXXIV.\n\nTHE SNAKE.\n\nXXV.\n\nTHE MUSHROOM.\n\nXXVI.\n\nTHE STORM.\n\nXXVII.\n\nTHE SPIDER.\n\nXXVIII.\n\nXXIX.\n\nXXX.\n\nXXXI.\n\nXXXII.\n\nGOSSIP.\n\nXXXIII.\n\nSIMPLICITY.\n\nXXXIV.\n\nSTORM.\n\nXXXV.\n\nTHE RAT.\n\nXXXVI.\n\nXXXVII.\n\nA THUNDER-STORM.\n\nXXXVIII.\n\nWITH FLOWERS.\n\nXXXIX.\n\nSUNSET.\n\nXL.\n\nXLI.\n\nXLII.\n\nPROBLEMS.\n\nXLIII.\n\nTHE JUGGLER OF DAY.\n\nXLIV.\n\nMY CRICKET.\n\nXLV.\n\nXLVI.\n\nXLVII.\n\nSUMMER'S OBSEQUIES.\n\nXLVIII.\n\nFRINGED GENTIAN.\n\nXLIX.\n\nNOVEMBER.\n\nL.\n\nTHE SNOW.\n\nLI.\n\nTHE BLUE JAY.\n\nIV.\n\nTIME AND ETERNITY.\n\nI.\n\nII.\n\nIII.\n\nIV.\n\nEPITAPH.\n\nV.\n\nVI.\n\nVII.\n\nVIII.\n\nIX.\n\nTHE BATTLE-FIELD.\n\nX.\n\nXI.\n\nXII.\n\nXIII.\n\nMEMORIALS.\n\nXIV.\n\nXV.\n\nXVI.\n\nXVII.\n\nTRIUMPH.\n\nXVIII.\n\nXIX.\n\nXX.\n\nFOLLOWING.\n\nXXI.\n\nXXII.\n\nTHE JOURNEY.\n\nXXIII.\n\nA COUNTRY BURIAL.\n\nXXIV.\n\nGOING.\n\nXXV.\n\nXXVI.\n\nXXVII.\n\nXXVIII.\n\nAT LENGTH.\n\nXXIX.\n\nGHOSTS.\n\nXXX.\n\nVANISHED.\n\nXXXI.\n\nPRECEDENCE.\n\nXXXII.\n\nGONE.\n\nXXXIII.\n\nREQUIEM.\n\nXXXIV.\n\nXXXV.\n\nXXXVI.\n\nTILL THE END.\n\nXXXVII.\n\nVOID.\n\nXXXVIII.\n\nXXXIX.\n\nSAVED!\n\nXL.\n\nXLI.\n\nTHE FORGOTTEN GRAVE.\n**_POEMS : SERIES THREE_**\n\n_The first edition_\n\n_For the Contents table, click here._\n**POEMS**\n\nThird Series\n\nEdited by\n\n**MABEL LOOMIS TODD**\n\nIt's all I have to bring to-day,  \nThis, and my heart beside,  \nThis, and my heart, and all the fields,  \nAnd all the meadows wide.  \nBe sure you count, should I forget, \u2014   \nSome one the sum could tell, \u2014   \nThis, and my heart, and all the bees  \nWhich in the clover dwell.\n**PREFACE.**\n\nThe intellectual activity of Emily Dickinson was so great that a large and characteristic choice is still possible among her literary material, and this third volume of her verses is put forth in response to the repeated wish of the admirers of her peculiar genius. Much of Emily Dickinson's prose was rhythmic, \u2014 even rhymed, though frequently not set apart in lines.\n\nAlso many verses, written as such, were sent to friends in letters; these were published in 1894, in the volumes of her _Letters_. It has not been necessary, however, to include them in this Series, and all have been omitted, except three or four exceptionally strong ones, as \"A Book,\" and \"With Flowers.\"\n\nThere is internal evidence that many of the poems were simply spontaneous flashes of insight, apparently unrelated to outward circumstance. Others, however, had an obvious personal origin; for example, the verses \"I had a Guinea golden,\" which seem to have been sent to some friend travelling in Europe, as a dainty reminder of letter-writing delinquencies. The surroundings in which any of Emily Dickinson's verses are known to have been written usually serve to explain them clearly; but in general the present volume is full of thoughts needing no interpretation to those who apprehend this scintillating spirit.\n\n**M. L. T.**\n\nAMHERST, _October_ , 1896.\n**I. LIFE.**\n\n**I.**\n\n**REAL RICHES.**\n\n'T is little I could care for pearls  \nWho own the ample sea;  \nOr brooches, when the Emperor  \nWith rubies pelteth me;\n\nOr gold, who am the Prince of Mines;  \nOr diamonds, when I see  \nA diadem to fit a dome  \nContinual crowning me.\n\n**II.**\n\n**SUPERIORITY TO FATE.**\n\nSuperiority to fate  \nIs difficult to learn.  \n'T is not conferred by any,  \nBut possible to earn\n\nA pittance at a time,  \nUntil, to her surprise,  \nThe soul with strict economy  \nSubsists till Paradise.\n\n**III.**\n\n**HOPE.**\n\nHope is a subtle glutton;  \nHe feeds upon the fair;  \nAnd yet, inspected closely,  \nWhat abstinence is there!\n\nHis is the halcyon table  \nThat never seats but one,  \nAnd whatsoever is consumed  \nThe same amounts remain.\n\n**IV.**\n\n**FORBIDDEN FRUIT.**\n\n**I.**\n\nForbidden fruit a flavor has  \nThat lawful orchards mocks;  \nHow luscious lies the pea within  \nThe pod that Duty locks!\n\n**V.**\n\n**FORBIDDEN FRUIT.**\n\n**II.**\n\nHeaven is what I cannot reach!  \nThe apple on the tree,  \nProvided it do hopeless hang,  \nThat 'heaven' is, to me.\n\nThe color on the cruising cloud,  \nThe interdicted ground  \nBehind the hill, the house behind, \u2014   \nThere Paradise is found!\n\n**VI.**\n\n**A WORD.**\n\nA word is dead  \nWhen it is said,  \nSome say.  \nI say it just  \nBegins to live  \nThat day.\n\n**VII.**\n\nTo venerate the simple days  \nWhich lead the seasons by,  \nNeeds but to remember  \nThat from you or me  \nThey may take the trifle  \nTermed mortality!\n\nTo invest existence with a stately air,  \nNeeds but to remember  \nThat the acorn there  \nIs the egg of forests  \nFor the upper air!\n\n**VIII.**\n\n**LIFE'S TRADES.**\n\nIt's such a little thing to weep,  \nSo short a thing to sigh;  \nAnd yet by trades the size of these  \nWe men and women die!\n\n**IX.**\n\nDrowning is not so pitiful  \nAs the attempt to rise.  \nThree times, 't is said, a sinking man  \nComes up to face the skies,  \nAnd then declines forever  \nTo that abhorred abode  \nWhere hope and he part company, \u2014   \nFor he is grasped of God.  \nThe Maker's cordial visage,  \nHowever good to see,  \nIs shunned, we must admit it,  \nLike an adversity.\n\n**X.**\n\nHow still the bells in steeples stand,  \nTill, swollen with the sky,  \nThey leap upon their silver feet  \nIn frantic melody!\n\n**XI.**\n\nIf the foolish call them 'flowers,'  \nNeed the wiser tell?  \nIf the savans 'classify' them,  \nIt is just as well!\n\nThose who read the Revelations  \nMust not criticise  \nThose who read the same edition  \nWith beclouded eyes!\n\nCould we stand with that old Moses  \nCanaan denied, \u2014   \nScan, like him, the stately landscape  \nOn the other side, \u2014\n\nDoubtless we should deem superfluous  \nMany sciences  \nNot pursued by learn\u00e8d angels  \nIn scholastic skies!\n\nLow amid that glad _Belles lettres_  \nGrant that we may stand,  \nStars, amid profound Galaxies,  \nAt that grand 'Right hand'!\n\n**XII.**\n\n**A SYLLABLE.**\n\nCould mortal lip divine  \nThe undeveloped freight  \nOf a delivered syllable,  \n'T would crumble with the weight.\n\n**XIII.**\n\n**PARTING.**\n\nMy life closed twice before its close;  \nIt yet remains to see  \nIf Immortality unveil  \nA third event to me,\n\nSo huge, so hopeless to conceive,  \nAs these that twice befell.  \nParting is all we know of heaven,  \nAnd all we need of hell.\n\n**XIV.**\n\n**ASPIRATION.**\n\nWe never know how high we are  \nTill we are called to rise;  \nAnd then, if we are true to plan,  \nOur statures touch the skies.\n\nThe heroism we recite  \nWould be a daily thing,  \nDid not ourselves the cubits warp  \nFor fear to be a king.\n\n**XV.**\n\n**THE INEVITABLE.**\n\nWhile I was fearing it, it came,  \nBut came with less of fear,  \nBecause that fearing it so long  \nHad almost made it dear.  \nThere is a fitting a dismay,  \nA fitting a despair.  \n'Tis harder knowing it is due,  \nThan knowing it is here.  \nThe trying on the utmost,  \nThe morning it is new,  \nIs terribler than wearing it  \nA whole existence through.\n\n**XVI.**\n\n**A BOOK.**\n\nThere is no frigate like a book  \nTo take us lands away,  \nNor any coursers like a page  \nOf prancing poetry.  \nThis traverse may the poorest take  \nWithout oppress of toll;  \nHow frugal is the chariot  \nThat bears a human soul!\n\n**XVII.**\n\nWho has not found the heaven below  \nWill fail of it above.  \nGod's residence is next to mine,  \nHis furniture is love.\n\n**XVIII.**\n\n**A PORTRAIT.**\n\nA face devoid of love or grace,  \nA hateful, hard, successful face,  \nA face with which a stone  \nWould feel as thoroughly at ease  \nAs were they old acquaintances, \u2014   \nFirst time together thrown.\n\n**XIX.**\n\n**I HAD A GUINEA GOLDEN.**\n\nI had a guinea golden;  \nI lost it in the sand,  \nAnd though the sum was simple,  \nAnd pounds were in the land,  \nStill had it such a value  \nUnto my frugal eye,  \nThat when I could not find it  \nI sat me down to sigh.\n\nI had a crimson robin  \nWho sang full many a day,  \nBut when the woods were painted  \nHe, too, did fly away.  \nTime brought me other robins, \u2014   \nTheir ballads were the same, \u2014   \nStill for my missing troubadour  \nI kept the 'house at hame.'\n\nI had a star in heaven;  \nOne Pleiad was its name,  \nAnd when I was not heeding  \nIt wandered from the same.  \nAnd though the skies are crowded,  \nAnd all the night ashine,  \nI do not care about it,  \nSince none of them are mine.\n\nMy story has a moral:  \nI have a missing friend, \u2014   \nPleiad its name, and robin,  \nAnd guinea in the sand, \u2014   \nAnd when this mournful ditty,  \nAccompanied with tear,  \nShall meet the eye of traitor  \nIn country far from here,  \nGrant that repentance solemn  \nMay seize upon his mind,  \nAnd he no consolation  \nBeneath the sun may find.\n\nNOTE. \u2014 This poem may have had, like many others, a personal origin. It is more than probable that it was sent to some friend travelling in Europe, a dainty reminder of letter-writing delinquencies.\n\n**XX.**\n\n**SATURDAY AFTERNOON.**\n\nFrom all the jails the boys and girls  \nEcstatically leap, \u2014   \nBeloved, only afternoon  \nThat prison doesn't keep.\n\nThey storm the earth and stun the air,  \nA mob of solid bliss.  \nAlas! that frowns could lie in wait  \nFor such a foe as this!\n\n**XXI.**\n\nFew get enough, \u2014 enough is one;  \nTo that ethereal throng  \nHave not each one of us the right  \nTo stealthily belong?\n\n**XXII.**\n\nUpon the gallows hung a wretch,  \nToo sullied for the hell  \nTo which the law entitled him.  \nAs nature's curtain fell  \nThe one who bore him tottered in,  \nFor this was woman's son.  \n''T was all I had,' she stricken gasped;  \nOh, what a livid boon!\n\n**XXIII.**\n\n**THE LOST THOUGHT.**\n\nI felt a clearing in my mind  \nAs if my brain had split;  \nI tried to match it, seam by seam,  \nBut could not make them fit.\n\nThe thought behind I strove to join  \nUnto the thought before,  \nBut sequence ravelled out of reach  \nLike balls upon a floor.\n\n**XXIV.**\n\n**RETICENCE.**\n\nThe reticent volcano keeps  \nHis never slumbering plan;  \nConfided are his projects pink  \nTo no precarious man.\n\nIf nature will not tell the tale  \nJehovah told to her,  \nCan human nature not survive  \nWithout a listener?\n\nAdmonished by her buckled lips  \nLet every babbler be.  \nThe only secret people keep  \nIs Immortality.\n\n**XXV.**\n\n**WITH FLOWERS.**\n\nIf recollecting were forgetting,  \nThen I remember not;  \nAnd if forgetting, recollecting,  \nHow near I had forgot!  \nAnd if to miss were merry,  \nAnd if to mourn were gay,  \nHow very blithe the fingers  \nThat gathered these to-day!\n\n**XXVI.**\n\nThe farthest thunder that I heard  \nWas nearer than the sky,  \nAnd rumbles still, though torrid noons  \nHave lain their missiles by.  \nThe lightning that preceded it  \nStruck no one but myself,  \nBut I would not exchange the bolt  \nFor all the rest of life.  \nIndebtedness to oxygen  \nThe chemist may repay,  \nBut not the obligation  \nTo electricity.  \nIt founds the homes and decks the days,  \nAnd every clamor bright  \nIs but the gleam concomitant  \nOf that waylaying light.  \nThe thought is quiet as a flake, \u2014   \nA crash without a sound;  \nHow life's reverberation  \nIts explanation found!\n\n**XXVII.**\n\nOn the bleakness of my lot  \nBloom I strove to raise.  \nLate, my acre of a rock  \nYielded grape and maize.\n\nSoil of flint if steadfast tilled  \nWill reward the hand;  \nSeed of palm by Lybian sun  \nFructified in sand.\n\n**XXVIII.**\n\n**CONTRAST.**\n\nA door just opened on a street \u2014   \nI, lost, was passing by \u2014   \nAn instant's width of warmth disclosed,  \nAnd wealth, and company.\n\nThe door as sudden shut, and I,  \nI, lost, was passing by, \u2014   \nLost doubly, but by contrast most,  \nEnlightening misery.\n\n**XXIX.**\n\n**FRIENDS.**\n\nAre friends delight or pain?  \nCould bounty but remain  \nRiches were good.\n\nBut if they only stay  \nBolder to fly away,  \nRiches are sad.\n\n**XXX.**\n\n**FIRE.**\n\nAshes denote that fire was;  \nRespect the grayest pile  \nFor the departed creature's sake  \nThat hovered there awhile.\n\nFire exists the first in light,  \nAnd then consolidates, \u2014   \nOnly the chemist can disclose  \nInto what carbonates.\n\n**XXXI.**\n\n**A MAN.**\n\nFate slew him, but he did not drop;  \nShe felled \u2014 he did not fall \u2014   \nImpaled him on her fiercest stakes \u2014   \nHe neutralized them all.\n\nShe stung him, sapped his firm advance,  \nBut, when her worst was done,  \nAnd he, unmoved, regarded her,  \nAcknowledged him a man.\n\n**XXXII.**\n\n**VENTURES.**\n\nFinite to fail, but infinite to venture.  \nFor the one ship that struts the shore  \nMany's the gallant, overwhelmed creature  \nNodding in navies nevermore.\n\n**XXXIII.**\n\n**GRIEFS.**\n\nI measure every grief I meet  \nWith analytic eyes;  \nI wonder if it weighs like mine,  \nOr has an easier size.\n\nI wonder if they bore it long,  \nOr did it just begin?  \nI could not tell the date of mine,  \nIt feels so old a pain.\n\nI wonder if it hurts to live,  \nAnd if they have to try,  \nAnd whether, could they choose between,  \nThey would not rather die.\n\nI wonder if when years have piled \u2014   \nSome thousands \u2014 on the cause  \nOf early hurt, if such a lapse  \nCould give them any pause;\n\nOr would they go on aching still  \nThrough centuries above,  \nEnlightened to a larger pain  \nBy contrast with the love.\n\nThe grieved are many, I am told;  \nThe reason deeper lies, \u2014   \nDeath is but one and comes but once,  \nAnd only nails the eyes.\n\nThere's grief of want, and grief of cold, \u2014   \nA sort they call 'despair;'  \nThere's banishment from native eyes,  \nIn sight of native air.\n\nAnd though I may not guess the kind  \nCorrectly, yet to me  \nA piercing comfort it affords  \nIn passing Calvary,\n\nTo note the fashions of the cross,  \nOf those that stand alone,  \nStill fascinated to presume  \nThat some are like my own.\n\n**XXXIV.**\n\nI have a king who does not speak;  \nSo, wondering, thro' the hours meek  \nI trudge the day away, \u2014   \nHalf glad when it is night and sleep,  \nIf, haply, thro' a dream to peep  \nIn parlors shut by day.\n\nAnd if I do, when morning comes,  \nIt is as if a hundred drums  \nDid round my pillow roll,  \nAnd shouts fill all my childish sky,  \nAnd bells keep saying 'victory'  \nFrom steeples in my soul!\n\nAnd if I don't, the little Bird  \nWithin the Orchard is not heard,  \nAnd I omit to pray,  \n'Father, thy will be done' to-day,  \nFor my will goes the other way,  \nAnd it were perjury!\n\n**XXXV.**\n\n**DISENCHANTMENT.**\n\nIt dropped so low in my regard  \nI heard it hit the ground,  \nAnd go to pieces on the stones  \nAt bottom of my mind;\n\nYet blamed the fate that fractured, less  \nThan I reviled myself  \nFor entertaining plated wares  \nUpon my silver shelf.\n\n**XXXVI.**\n\n**LOST FAITH.**\n\nTo lose one's faith surpasses  \nThe loss of an estate,  \nBecause estates can be  \nReplenished, \u2014 faith cannot.\n\nInherited with life,  \nBelief but once can be;  \nAnnihilate a single clause,  \nAnd Being's beggary.\n\n**XXXVII.**\n\n**LOST JOY.**\n\nI had a daily bliss  \nI half indifferent viewed,  \nTill sudden I perceived it stir, \u2014   \nIt grew as I pursued,\n\nTill when, around a crag,  \nIt wasted from my sight,  \nEnlarged beyond my utmost scope,  \nI learned its sweetness right.\n\n**XXXVIII.**\n\nI worked for chaff, and earning wheat  \nWas haughty and betrayed.  \nWhat right had fields to arbitrate  \nIn matters ratified?\n\nI tasted wheat, \u2014 and hated chaff,  \nAnd thanked the ample friend;  \nWisdom is more becoming viewed  \nAt distance than at hand.\n\n**XXXIX.**\n\nLife, and Death, and Giants  \nSuch as these, are still.  \nMinor apparatus, hopper of the mill,  \nBeetle at the candle,  \nOr a fife's small fame,  \nMaintain by accident  \nThat they proclaim.\n\n**XL.**\n\n**ALPINE GLOW.**\n\nOur lives are Swiss, \u2014   \nSo still, so cool,  \nTill, some odd afternoon,  \nThe Alps neglect their curtains,  \nAnd we look farther on.\n\nItaly stands the other side,  \nWhile, like a guard between,  \nThe solemn Alps,  \nThe siren Alps,  \nForever intervene!\n\n**XLI.**\n\n**REMEMBRANCE.**\n\nRemembrance has a rear and front, \u2014   \n'T is something like a house;  \nIt has a garret also  \nFor refuse and the mouse,\n\nBesides, the deepest cellar  \nThat ever mason hewed;  \nLook to it, by its fathoms  \nOurselves be not pursued.\n\n**XLII.**\n\nTo hang our head ostensibly,  \nAnd subsequent to find  \nThat such was not the posture  \nOf our immortal mind,\n\nAffords the sly presumption  \nThat, in so dense a fuzz,  \nYou, too, take cobweb attitudes  \nUpon a plane of gauze!\n\n**XLIII.**\n\n**THE BRAIN.**\n\nThe brain is wider than the sky,  \nFor, put them side by side,  \nThe one the other will include  \nWith ease, and you beside.\n\nThe brain is deeper than the sea,  \nFor, hold them, blue to blue,  \nThe one the other will absorb,  \nAs sponges, buckets do.\n\nThe brain is just the weight of God,  \nFor, lift them, pound for pound,  \nAnd they will differ, if they do,  \nAs syllable from sound.\n\n**XLIV.**\n\nThe bone that has no marrow;  \nWhat ultimate for that?  \nIt is not fit for table,  \nFor beggar, or for cat.\n\nA bone has obligations,  \nA being has the same;  \nA marrowless assembly  \nIs culpabler than shame.\n\nBut how shall finished creatures  \nA function fresh obtain? \u2014   \nOld Nicodemus' phantom  \nConfronting us again!\n\n**XLV.**\n\n**THE PAST.**\n\nThe past is such a curious creature,  \nTo look her in the face  \nA transport may reward us,  \nOr a disgrace.\n\nUnarmed if any meet her,  \nI charge him, fly!  \nHer rusty ammunition  \nMight yet reply!\n\n**XLVI.**\n\nTo help our bleaker parts  \nSalubrious hours are given,  \nWhich if they do not fit for earth  \nDrill silently for heaven.\n\n**XLVII.**\n\nWhat soft, cherubic creatures  \nThese gentlewomen are!  \nOne would as soon assault a plush  \nOr violate a star.\n\nSuch dimity convictions,  \nA horror so refined  \nOf freckled human nature,  \nOf Deity ashamed, \u2014\n\nIt's such a common glory,  \nA fisherman's degree!  \nRedemption, brittle lady,  \nBe so, ashamed of thee.\n\n**XLVIII.**\n\n**DESIRE.**\n\nWho never wanted, \u2014 maddest joy  \nRemains to him unknown:  \nThe banquet of abstemiousness  \nSurpasses that of wine.\n\nWithin its hope, though yet ungrasped  \nDesire's perfect goal,  \nNo nearer, lest reality  \nShould disenthrall thy soul.\n\n**XLIX.**\n\n**PHILOSOPHY.**\n\nIt might be easier  \nTo fail with land in sight,  \nThan gain my blue peninsula  \nTo perish of delight.\n\n**L.**\n\n**POWER.**\n\nYou cannot put a fire out;  \nA thing that can ignite  \nCan go, itself, without a fan  \nUpon the slowest night.\n\nYou cannot fold a flood  \nAnd put it in a drawer, \u2014   \nBecause the winds would find it out,  \nAnd tell your cedar floor.\n\n**LI.**\n\nA modest lot, a fame petite,  \nA brief campaign of sting and sweet  \nIs plenty! Is enough!  \nA sailor's business is the shore,  \nA soldier's \u2014 balls. Who asketh more  \nMust seek the neighboring life!\n\n**LII.**\n\nIs bliss, then, such abyss  \nI must not put my foot amiss  \nFor fear I spoil my shoe?\n\nI'd rather suit my foot  \nThan save my boot,  \nFor yet to buy another pair  \nIs possible  \nAt any fair.\n\nBut bliss is sold just once;  \nThe patent lost  \nNone buy it any more.\n\n**LIII.**\n\n**EXPERIENCE.**\n\nI stepped from plank to plank  \nSo slow and cautiously;  \nThe stars about my head I felt,  \nAbout my feet the sea.\n\nI knew not but the next  \nWould be my final inch, \u2014   \nThis gave me that precarious gait  \nSome call experience.\n\n**LIV.**\n\n**THANKSGIVING DAY.**\n\nOne day is there of the series  \nTermed Thanksgiving day,  \nCelebrated part at table,  \nPart in memory.\n\nNeither patriarch nor pussy,  \nI dissect the play;  \nSeems it, to my hooded thinking,  \nReflex holiday.\n\nHad there been no sharp subtraction  \nFrom the early sum,  \nNot an acre or a caption  \nWhere was once a room,\n\nNot a mention, whose small pebble  \nWrinkled any bay, \u2014   \nUnto such, were such assembly,  \n'T were Thanksgiving day.\n\n**LV.**\n\n**CHILDISH GRIEFS.**\n\nSoftened by Time's consummate plush,  \nHow sleek the woe appears  \nThat threatened childhood's citadel  \nAnd undermined the years!\n\nBisected now by bleaker griefs,  \nWe envy the despair  \nThat devastated childhood's realm,  \nSo easy to repair.\n\n**II. LOVE.**\n\n**I.**\n\n**CONSECRATION.**\n\nProud of my broken heart since thou didst break it,  \nProud of the pain I did not feel till thee,  \nProud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,  \nNot to partake thy passion, my humility.\n\n**II.**\n\n**LOVE'S HUMILITY.**\n\nMy worthiness is all my doubt,  \nHis merit all my fear,  \nContrasting which, my qualities  \nDo lowlier appear;\n\nLest I should insufficient prove  \nFor his beloved need,  \nThe chiefest apprehension  \nWithin my loving creed.\n\nSo I, the undivine abode  \nOf his elect content,  \nConform my soul as 't were a church  \nUnto her sacrament.\n\n**III.**\n\n**LOVE.**\n\nLove is anterior to life,  \nPosterior to death,  \nInitial of creation, and  \nThe exponent of breath.\n\n**IV.**\n\n**SATISFIED.**\n\nOne blessing had I, than the rest  \nSo larger to my eyes  \nThat I stopped gauging, satisfied,  \nFor this enchanted size.\n\nIt was the limit of my dream,  \nThe focus of my prayer, \u2014   \nA perfect, paralyzing bliss  \nContented as despair.\n\nI knew no more of want or cold,  \nPhantasms both become,  \nFor this new value in the soul,  \nSupremest earthly sum.\n\nThe heaven below the heaven above  \nObscured with ruddier hue.  \nLife's latitude leant over-full;  \nThe judgment perished, too.\n\nWhy joys so scantily disburse,  \nWhy Paradise defer,  \nWhy floods are served to us in bowls, \u2014   \nI speculate no more.\n\n**V.**\n\n**WITH A FLOWER.**\n\nWhen roses cease to bloom, dear,  \nAnd violets are done,  \nWhen bumble-bees in solemn flight  \nHave passed beyond the sun,\n\nThe hand that paused to gather  \nUpon this summer's day  \nWill idle lie, in Auburn, \u2014   \nThen take my flower, pray!\n\n**VI.**\n\n**SONG.**\n\nSummer for thee grant I may be  \nWhen summer days are flown!  \nThy music still when whippoorwill  \nAnd oriole are done!\n\nFor thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb  \nAnd sow my blossoms o'er!  \nPray gather me, Anemone,  \nThy flower forevermore!\n\n**VII.**\n\n**LOYALTY.**\n\nSplit the lark and you'll find the music,  \nBulb after bulb, in silver rolled,  \nScantily dealt to the summer morning,  \nSaved for your ear when lutes be old.\n\nLoose the flood, you shall find it patent,  \nGush after gush, reserved for you;  \nScarlet experiment! sceptic Thomas,  \nNow, do you doubt that your bird was true?\n\n**VIII.**\n\nTo lose thee, sweeter than to gain  \nAll other hearts I knew.  \n'T is true the drought is destitute,  \nBut then I had the dew!\n\nThe Caspian has its realms of sand,  \nIts other realm of sea;  \nWithout the sterile perquisite  \nNo Caspian could be.\n\n**IX.**\n\nPoor little heart!  \nDid they forget thee?  \nThen dinna care! Then dinna care!\n\nProud little heart!  \nDid they forsake thee?  \nBe debonair! Be debonair!\n\nFrail little heart!  \nI would not break thee:  \nCould'st credit me? Could'st credit me?\n\nGay little heart!  \nLike morning glory  \nThou'll wilted be; thou'll wilted be!\n\n**X.**\n\n**FORGOTTEN.**\n\nThere is a word  \nWhich bears a sword  \nCan pierce an armed man.  \nIt hurls its barbed syllables, \u2014   \nAt once is mute again.  \nBut where it fell  \nThe saved will tell  \nOn patriotic day,  \nSome epauletted brother  \nGave his breath away.\n\nWherever runs the breathless sun,  \nWherever roams the day,  \nThere is its noiseless onset,  \nThere is its victory!\n\nBehold the keenest marksman!  \nThe most accomplished shot!  \nTime's sublimest target  \nIs a soul 'forgot'!\n\n**XI.**\n\nI've got an arrow here;  \nLoving the hand that sent it,  \nI the dart revere.\n\nFell, they will say, in 'skirmish'!  \nVanquished, my soul will know,  \nBy but a simple arrow  \nSped by an archer's bow.\n\n**XII.**\n\n**THE MASTER.**\n\nHe fumbles at your spirit  \nAs players at the keys  \nBefore they drop full music on;  \nHe stuns you by degrees,\n\nPrepares your brittle substance  \nFor the ethereal blow,  \nBy fainter hammers, further heard,  \nThen nearer, then so slow\n\nYour breath has time to straighten,  \nYour brain to bubble cool, \u2014   \nDeals one imperial thunderbolt  \nThat scalps your naked soul.\n\n**XIII.**\n\nHeart, we will forget him!  \nYou and I, to-night!  \nYou may forget the warmth he gave,  \nI will forget the light.\n\nWhen you have done, pray tell me,  \nThat I my thoughts may dim;  \nHaste! lest while you're lagging,  \nI may remember him!\n\n**XIV.**\n\nFather, I bring thee not myself, \u2014   \nThat were the little load;  \nI bring thee the imperial heart  \nI had not strength to hold.\n\nThe heart I cherished in my own  \nTill mine too heavy grew,  \nYet strangest, heavier since it went,  \nIs it too large for you?\n\n**XV.**\n\nWe outgrow love like other things  \nAnd put it in the drawer,  \nTill it an antique fashion shows  \nLike costumes grandsires wore.\n\n**XVI.**\n\nNot with a club the heart is broken,  \nNor with a stone;  \nA whip, so small you could not see it.  \nI've known\n\nTo lash the magic creature  \nTill it fell,  \nYet that whip's name too noble  \nThen to tell.\n\nMagnanimous of bird  \nBy boy descried,  \nTo sing unto the stone  \nOf which it died.\n\n**XVII.**\n\n**WHO?**\n\nMy friend must be a bird,  \nBecause it flies!  \nMortal my friend must be,  \nBecause it dies!  \nBarbs has it, like a bee.  \nAh, curious friend,  \nThou puzzlest me!\n\n**XVIII.**\n\nHe touched me, so I live to know  \nThat such a day, permitted so,  \nI groped upon his breast.  \nIt was a boundless place to me,  \nAnd silenced, as the awful sea  \nPuts minor streams to rest.\n\nAnd now, I'm different from before,  \nAs if I breathed superior air,  \nOr brushed a royal gown;  \nMy feet, too, that had wandered so,  \nMy gypsy face transfigured now  \nTo tenderer renown.\n\n**XIX.**\n\n**DREAMS.**\n\nLet me not mar that perfect dream  \nBy an auroral stain,  \nBut so adjust my daily night  \nThat it will come again.\n\n**XX.**\n\n**NUMEN LUMEN.**\n\nI live with him, I see his face;  \nI go no more away  \nFor visitor, or sundown;  \nDeath's single privacy,\n\nThe only one forestalling mine,  \nAnd that by right that he  \nPresents a claim invisible,  \nNo wedlock granted me.\n\nI live with him, I hear his voice,  \nI stand alive to-day  \nTo witness to the certainty  \nOf immortality\n\nTaught me by Time, \u2014 the lower way,  \nConviction every day, \u2014   \nThat life like this is endless,  \nBe judgment what it may.\n\n**XXI.**\n\n**LONGING.**\n\nI envy seas whereon he rides,  \nI envy spokes of wheels  \nOf chariots that him convey,  \nI envy speechless hills\n\nThat gaze upon his journey;  \nHow easy all can see  \nWhat is forbidden utterly  \nAs heaven, unto me!\n\nI envy nests of sparrows  \nThat dot his distant eaves,  \nThe wealthy fly upon his pane,  \nThe happy, happy leaves\n\nThat just abroad his window  \nHave summer's leave to be,  \nThe earrings of Pizarro  \nCould not obtain for me.\n\nI envy light that wakes him,  \nAnd bells that boldly ring  \nTo tell him it is noon abroad, \u2014   \nMyself his noon could bring,\n\nYet interdict my blossom  \nAnd abrogate my bee,  \nLest noon in everlasting night  \nDrop Gabriel and me.\n\n**XXII.**\n\n**WEDDED.**\n\nA solemn thing it was, I said,  \nA woman white to be,  \nAnd wear, if God should count me fit,  \nHer hallowed mystery.\n\nA timid thing to drop a life  \nInto the purple well,  \nToo plummetless that it come back  \nEternity until.\n\n**III. NATURE.**\n\n**I.**\n\n**NATURE'S CHANGES.**\n\nThe springtime's pallid landscape  \nWill glow like bright bouquet,  \nThough drifted deep in parian  \nThe village lies to-day.\n\nThe lilacs, bending many a year,  \nWith purple load will hang;  \nThe bees will not forget the tune  \nTheir old forefathers sang.\n\nThe rose will redden in the bog,  \nThe aster on the hill  \nHer everlasting fashion set,  \nAnd covenant gentians frill,\n\nTill summer folds her miracle  \nAs women do their gown,  \nOr priests adjust the symbols  \nWhen sacrament is done.\n\n**II.**\n\n**THE TULIP.**\n\nShe slept beneath a tree  \nRemembered but by me.  \nI touched her cradle mute;  \nShe recognized the foot,  \nPut on her carmine suit, \u2014   \nAnd see!\n\n**III.**\n\nA light exists in spring  \nNot present on the year  \nAt any other period.  \nWhen March is scarcely here\n\nA color stands abroad  \nOn solitary hills  \nThat science cannot overtake,  \nBut human nature feels.\n\nIt waits upon the lawn;  \nIt shows the furthest tree  \nUpon the furthest slope we know;  \nIt almost speaks to me.\n\nThen, as horizons step,  \nOr noons report away,  \nWithout the formula of sound,  \nIt passes, and we stay:\n\nA quality of loss  \nAffecting our content,  \nAs trade had suddenly encroached  \nUpon a sacrament.\n\n**IV.**\n\n**THE WAKING YEAR.**\n\nA lady red upon the hill  \nHer annual secret keeps;  \nA lady white within the field  \nIn placid lily sleeps!\n\nThe tidy breezes with their brooms  \nSweep vale, and hill, and tree!  \nPrithee, my pretty housewives!  \nWho may expected be?\n\nThe neighbors do not yet suspect!  \nThe woods exchange a smile \u2014   \nOrchard, and buttercup, and bird \u2014   \nIn such a little while!\n\nAnd yet how still the landscape stands,  \nHow nonchalant the wood,  \nAs if the resurrection  \nWere nothing very odd!\n\n**V.**\n\n**TO MARCH.**\n\nDear March, come in!  \nHow glad I am!  \nI looked for you before.  \nPut down your hat \u2014   \nYou must have walked \u2014   \nHow out of breath you are!  \nDear March, how are you?  \nAnd the rest?  \nDid you leave Nature well?  \nOh, March, come right upstairs with me,  \nI have so much to tell!\n\nI got your letter, and the birds';  \nThe maples never knew  \nThat you were coming, \u2014 I declare,  \nHow red their faces grew!  \nBut, March, forgive me \u2014   \nAnd all those hills  \nYou left for me to hue;  \nThere was no purple suitable,  \nYou took it all with you.\n\nWho knocks? That April!  \nLock the door!  \nI will not be pursued!  \nHe stayed away a year, to call  \nWhen I am occupied.  \nBut trifles look so trivial  \nAs soon as you have come,  \nThat blame is just as dear as praise  \nAnd praise as mere as blame.\n\n**VI.**\n\n**MARCH.**\n\nWe like March, his shoes are purple,  \nHe is new and high;  \nMakes he mud for dog and peddler,  \nMakes he forest dry;  \nKnows the adder's tongue his coming,  \nAnd begets her spot.  \nStands the sun so close and mighty  \nThat our minds are hot.  \nNews is he of all the others;  \nBold it were to die  \nWith the blue-birds buccaneering  \nOn his British sky.\n\n**VII.**\n\n**DAWN.**\n\nNot knowing when the dawn will come  \nI open every door;  \nOr has it feathers like a bird,  \nOr billows like a shore?\n\n**VIII.**\n\nA murmur in the trees to note,  \nNot loud enough for wind;  \nA star not far enough to seek,  \nNor near enough to find;\n\nA long, long yellow on the lawn,  \nA hubbub as of feet;  \nNot audible, as ours to us,  \nBut dapperer, more sweet;\n\nA hurrying home of little men  \nTo houses unperceived, \u2014   \nAll this, and more, if I should tell,  \nWould never be believed.\n\nOf robins in the trundle bed  \nHow many I espy  \nWhose nightgowns could not hide the wings,  \nAlthough I heard them try!\n\nBut then I promised ne'er to tell;  \nHow could I break my word?  \nSo go your way and I'll go mine, \u2014   \nNo fear you'll miss the road.\n\n**IX.**\n\nMorning is the place for dew,  \nCorn is made at noon,  \nAfter dinner light for flowers,  \nDukes for setting sun!\n\n**X.**\n\nTo my quick ear the leaves conferred;  \nThe bushes they were bells;  \nI could not find a privacy  \nFrom Nature's sentinels.\n\nIn cave if I presumed to hide,  \nThe walls began to tell;  \nCreation seemed a mighty crack  \nTo make me visible.\n\n**XI.**\n\n**A ROSE.**\n\nA sepal, petal, and a thorn  \nUpon a common summer's morn,  \nA flash of dew, a bee or two,  \nA breeze  \nA caper in the trees, \u2014   \nAnd I'm a rose!\n\n**XII.**\n\nHigh from the earth I heard a bird;  \nHe trod upon the trees  \nAs he esteemed them trifles,  \nAnd then he spied a breeze,  \nAnd situated softly  \nUpon a pile of wind  \nWhich in a perturbation  \nNature had left behind.  \nA joyous-going fellow  \nI gathered from his talk,  \nWhich both of benediction  \nAnd badinage partook,  \nWithout apparent burden,  \nI learned, in leafy wood  \nHe was the faithful father  \nOf a dependent brood;  \nAnd this untoward transport  \nHis remedy for care, \u2014   \nA contrast to our respites.  \nHow different we are!\n\n**XIII.**\n\n**COBWEBS.**\n\nThe spider as an artist  \nHas never been employed  \nThough his surpassing merit  \nIs freely certified\n\nBy every broom and Bridget  \nThroughout a Christian land.  \nNeglected son of genius,  \nI take thee by the hand.\n\n**XIV.**\n\n**A WELL.**\n\nWhat mystery pervades a well!  \nThe water lives so far,  \nLike neighbor from another world  \nResiding in a jar.\n\nThe grass does not appear afraid;  \nI often wonder he  \nCan stand so close and look so bold  \nAt what is dread to me.\n\nRelated somehow they may be, \u2014   \nThe sedge stands next the sea,  \nWhere he is floorless, yet of fear  \nNo evidence gives he.\n\nBut nature is a stranger yet;  \nThe ones that cite her most  \nHave never passed her haunted house,  \nNor simplified her ghost.\n\nTo pity those that know her not  \nIs helped by the regret  \nThat those who know her, know her less  \nThe nearer her they get.\n\n**XV.**\n\nTo make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, \u2014   \nOne clover, and a bee,  \nAnd revery.  \nThe revery alone will do  \nIf bees are few.\n\n**XVI.**\n\n**THE WIND.**\n\nIt's like the light, \u2014   \nA fashionless delight  \nIt's like the bee, \u2014   \nA dateless melody.\n\nIt's like the woods,  \nPrivate like breeze,  \nPhraseless, yet it stirs  \nThe proudest trees.\n\nIt's like the morning, \u2014   \nBest when it's done, \u2014   \nThe everlasting clocks  \nChime noon.\n\n**XVII.**\n\nA dew sufficed itself  \nAnd satisfied a leaf,  \nAnd felt, 'how vast a destiny!  \nHow trivial is life!'\n\nThe sun went out to work,  \nThe day went out to play,  \nBut not again that dew was seen  \nBy physiognomy.\n\nWhether by day abducted,  \nOr emptied by the sun  \nInto the sea, in passing,  \nEternally unknown.\n\n**XVIII.**\n\n**THE WOODPECKER.**\n\nHis bill an auger is,  \nHis head, a cap and frill.  \nHe laboreth at every tree, \u2014   \nA worm his utmost goal.\n\n**XIX.**\n\n**A SNAKE.**\n\nSweet is the swamp with its secrets,  \nUntil we meet a snake;  \n'T is then we sigh for houses,  \nAnd our departure take  \nAt that enthralling gallop  \nThat only childhood knows.  \nA snake is summer's treason,  \nAnd guile is where it goes.\n\n**XX.**\n\nCould I but ride indefinite,  \nAs doth the meadow-bee,  \nAnd visit only where I liked,  \nAnd no man visit me,\n\nAnd flirt all day with buttercups,  \nAnd marry whom I may,  \nAnd dwell a little everywhere,  \nOr better, run away\n\nWith no police to follow,  \nOr chase me if I do,  \nTill I should jump peninsulas  \nTo get away from you, \u2014\n\nI said, but just to be a bee  \nUpon a raft of air,  \nAnd row in nowhere all day long,  \nAnd anchor off the bar, \u2014   \nWhat liberty! So captives deem  \nWho tight in dungeons are.\n\n**XXI.**\n\n**THE MOON.**\n\nThe moon was but a chin of gold  \nA night or two ago,  \nAnd now she turns her perfect face  \nUpon the world below.\n\nHer forehead is of amplest blond;  \nHer cheek like beryl stone;  \nHer eye unto the summer dew  \nThe likest I have known.\n\nHer lips of amber never part;  \nBut what must be the smile  \nUpon her friend she could bestow  \nWere such her silver will!\n\nAnd what a privilege to be  \nBut the remotest star!  \nFor certainly her way might pass  \nBeside your twinkling door.\n\nHer bonnet is the firmament,  \nThe universe her shoe,  \nThe stars the trinkets at her belt,  \nHer dimities of blue.\n\n**XXII.**\n\n**THE BAT.**\n\nThe bat is dun with wrinkled wings  \nLike fallow article,  \nAnd not a song pervades his lips,  \nOr none perceptible.\n\nHis small umbrella, quaintly halved,  \nDescribing in the air  \nAn arc alike inscrutable, \u2014   \nElate philosopher!\n\nDeputed from what firmament  \nOf what astute abode,  \nEmpowered with what malevolence  \nAuspiciously withheld.\n\nTo his adroit Creator  \nAscribe no less the praise;  \nBeneficent, believe me,  \nHis eccentricities.\n\n**XXIII.**\n\n**THE BALLOON.**\n\nYou've seen balloons set, haven't you?  \nSo stately they ascend  \nIt is as swans discarded you  \nFor duties diamond.\n\nTheir liquid feet go softly out  \nUpon a sea of blond;  \nThey spurn the air as 't were too mean  \nFor creatures so renowned.\n\nTheir ribbons just beyond the eye,  \nThey struggle some for breath,  \nAnd yet the crowd applauds below;  \nThey would not encore death.\n\nThe gilded creature strains and spins,  \nTrips frantic in a tree,  \nTears open her imperial veins  \nAnd tumbles in the sea.\n\nThe crowd retire with an oath  \nThe dust in streets goes down,  \nAnd clerks in counting-rooms observe,  \n''T was only a balloon.'\n\n**XXIV.**\n\n**EVENING.**\n\nThe cricket sang,  \nAnd set the sun,  \nAnd workmen finished, one by one,  \nTheir seam the day upon.\n\nThe low grass loaded with the dew,  \nThe twilight stood as strangers do  \nWith hat in hand, polite and new,  \nTo stay as if, or go.\n\nA vastness, as a neighbor, came, \u2014   \nA wisdom without face or name,  \nA peace, as hemispheres at home, \u2014   \nAnd so the night became.\n\n**XXV.**\n\n**COCOON.**\n\nDrab habitation of whom?  \nTabernacle or tomb,  \nOr dome of worm,  \nOr porch of gnome,  \nOr some elf's catacomb?\n\n**XXVI.**\n\n**SUNSET.**\n\nA sloop of amber slips away  \nUpon an ether sea,  \nAnd wrecks in peace a purple tar,  \nThe son of ecstasy.\n\n**XXVII.**\n\n**AURORA.**\n\nOf bronze and blaze  \nThe north, to-night!  \nSo adequate its forms,  \nSo preconcerted with itself,  \nSo distant to alarms, \u2014   \nAn unconcern so sovereign  \nTo universe, or me,  \nIt paints my simple spirit  \nWith tints of majesty,  \nTill I take vaster attitudes,  \nAnd strut upon my stem,  \nDisdaining men and oxygen,  \nFor arrogance of them.\n\nMy splendors are menagerie;  \nBut their competeless show  \nWill entertain the centuries  \nWhen I am, long ago,  \nAn island in dishonored grass,  \nWhom none but daisies know.\n\n**XXVIII.**\n\n**THE COMING OF NIGHT.**\n\nHow the old mountains drip with sunset,  \nAnd the brake of dun!  \nHow the hemlocks are tipped in tinsel  \nBy the wizard sun!\n\nHow the old steeples hand the scarlet,  \nTill the ball is full, \u2014   \nHave I the lip of the flamingo  \nThat I dare to tell?\n\nThen, how the fire ebbs like billows,  \nTouching all the grass  \nWith a departing, sapphire feature,  \nAs if a duchess pass!\n\nHow a small dusk crawls on the village  \nTill the houses blot;  \nAnd the odd flambeaux no men carry  \nGlimmer on the spot!\n\nNow it is night in nest and kennel,  \nAnd where was the wood,  \nJust a dome of abyss is nodding  \nInto solitude! \u2014\n\nThese are the visions baffled Guido;  \nTitian never told;  \nDomenichino dropped the pencil,  \nPowerless to unfold.\n\n**XXIX.**\n\n**AFTERMATH.**\n\nThe murmuring of bees has ceased;  \nBut murmuring of some  \nPosterior, prophetic,  \nHas simultaneous come, \u2014\n\nThe lower metres of the year,  \nWhen nature's laugh is done, \u2014   \nThe Revelations of the book  \nWhose Genesis is June.\n\n**IV. TIME AND ETERNITY.**\n\n**I.**\n\nThis world is not conclusion;  \nA sequel stands beyond,  \nInvisible, as music,  \nBut positive, as sound.  \nIt beckons and it baffles;  \nPhilosophies don't know,  \nAnd through a riddle, at the last,  \nSagacity must go.  \nTo guess it puzzles scholars;  \nTo gain it, men have shown  \nContempt of generations,  \nAnd crucifixion known.\n\n**II.**\n\nWe learn in the retreating  \nHow vast an one  \nWas recently among us.  \nA perished sun\n\nEndears in the departure  \nHow doubly more  \nThan all the golden presence  \nIt was before!\n\n**III.**\n\nThey say that 'time assuages,' \u2014   \nTime never did assuage;  \nAn actual suffering strengthens,  \nAs sinews do, with age.\n\nTime is a test of trouble,  \nBut not a remedy.  \nIf such it prove, it prove too  \nThere was no malady.\n\n**IV.**\n\nWe cover thee, sweet face.  \nNot that we tire of thee,  \nBut that thyself fatigue of us;  \nRemember, as thou flee,  \nWe follow thee until  \nThou notice us no more,  \nAnd then, reluctant, turn away  \nTo con thee o'er and o'er,  \nAnd blame the scanty love  \nWe were content to show,  \nAugmented, sweet, a hundred fold  \nIf thou would'st take it now.\n\n**V.**\n\n**ENDING.**\n\nThat is solemn we have ended, \u2014   \nBe it but a play,  \nOr a glee among the garrets,  \nOr a holiday,\n\nOr a leaving home; or later,  \nParting with a world  \nWe have understood, for better  \nStill it be unfurled.\n\n**VI.**\n\nThe stimulus, beyond the grave  \nHis countenance to see,  \nSupports me like imperial drams  \nAfforded royally.\n\n**VII.**\n\nGiven in marriage unto thee,  \nOh, thou celestial host!  \nBride of the Father and the Son,  \nBride of the Holy Ghost!\n\nOther betrothal shall dissolve,  \nWedlock of will decay;  \nOnly the keeper of this seal  \nConquers mortality.\n\n**VIII.**\n\nThat such have died enables us  \nThe tranquiller to die;  \nThat such have lived, certificate  \nFor immortality.\n\n**IX.**\n\nThey won't frown always, \u2014 some sweet day  \nWhen I forget to tease,  \nThey'll recollect how cold I looked,  \nAnd how I just said 'please.'\n\nThen they will hasten to the door  \nTo call the little child,  \nWho cannot thank them, for the ice  \nThat on her lisping piled.\n\n**X.**\n\n**IMMORTALITY.**\n\nIt is an honorable thought,  \nAnd makes one lift one's hat,  \nAs one encountered gentlefolk  \nUpon a daily street,\n\nThat we've immortal place,  \nThough pyramids decay,  \nAnd kingdoms, like the orchard,  \nFlit russetly away.\n\n**XI.**\n\nThe distance that the dead have gone  \nDoes not at first appear;  \nTheir coming back seems possible  \nFor many an ardent year.\n\nAnd then, that we have followed them  \nWe more than half suspect,  \nSo intimate have we become  \nWith their dear retrospect.\n\n**XII.**\n\nHow dare the robins sing,  \nWhen men and women hear  \nWho since they went to their account  \nHave settled with the year! \u2014   \nPaid all that life had earned  \nIn one consummate bill,  \nAnd now, what life or death can do  \nIs immaterial.  \nInsulting is the sun  \nTo him whose mortal light,  \nBeguiled of immortality,  \nBequeaths him to the night.  \nIn deference to him  \nExtinct be every hum,  \nWhose garden wrestles with the dew,  \nAt daybreak overcome!\n\n**XIII.**\n\n**DEATH.**\n\nDeath is like the insect  \nMenacing the tree,  \nCompetent to kill it,  \nBut decoyed may be.\n\nBait it with the balsam,  \nSeek it with the knife,  \nBaffle, if it cost you  \nEverything in life.\n\nThen, if it have burrowed  \nOut of reach of skill,  \nRing the tree and leave it, \u2014   \n'T is the vermin's will.\n\n**XIV.**\n\n**UNWARNED.**\n\n'T is sunrise, little maid, hast thou  \nNo station in the day?  \n'T was not thy wont to hinder so, \u2014   \nRetrieve thine industry.\n\n'T is noon, my little maid, alas!  \nAnd art thou sleeping yet?  \nThe lily waiting to be wed,  \nThe bee, dost thou forget?\n\nMy little maid, 't is night; alas,  \nThat night should be to thee  \nInstead of morning! Hadst thou broached  \nThy little plan to me,  \nDissuade thee if I could not, sweet,  \nI might have aided thee.\n\n**XV.**\n\nEach that we lose takes part of us;  \nA crescent still abides,  \nWhich like the moon, some turbid night,  \nIs summoned by the tides.\n\n**XVI.**\n\nNot any higher stands the grave  \nFor heroes than for men;  \nNot any nearer for the child  \nThan numb three-score and ten.\n\nThis latest leisure equal lulls  \nThe beggar and his queen;  \nPropitiate this democrat  \nBy summer's gracious mien.\n\n**XVII.**\n\n**ASLEEP.**\n\nAs far from pity as complaint,  \nAs cool to speech as stone,  \nAs numb to revelation  \nAs if my trade were bone.\n\nAs far from time as history,  \nAs near yourself to-day  \nAs children to the rainbow's scarf,  \nOr sunset's yellow play\n\nTo eyelids in the sepulchre.  \nHow still the dancer lies,  \nWhile color's revelations break,  \nAnd blaze the butterflies!\n\n**XVIII.**\n\n**THE SPIRIT.**\n\n'T is whiter than an Indian pipe,  \n'T is dimmer than a lace;  \nNo stature has it, like a fog,  \nWhen you approach the place.\n\nNot any voice denotes it here,  \nOr intimates it there;  \nA spirit, how doth it accost?  \nWhat customs hath the air?\n\nThis limitless hyperbole  \nEach one of us shall be;  \n'T is drama, if (hypothesis)  \nIt be not tragedy!\n\n**XIX.**\n\n**THE MONUMENT.**\n\nShe laid her docile crescent down,  \nAnd this mechanic stone  \nStill states, to dates that have forgot,  \nThe news that she is gone.\n\nSo constant to its stolid trust,  \nThe shaft that never knew,  \nIt shames the constancy that fled  \nBefore its emblem flew.\n\n**XX.**\n\nBless God, he went as soldiers,  \nHis musket on his breast;  \nGrant, God, he charge the bravest  \nOf all the martial blest.\n\nPlease God, might I behold him  \nIn epauletted white,  \nI should not fear the foe then,  \nI should not fear the fight.\n\n**XXI.**\n\nImmortal is an ample word  \nWhen what we need is by,  \nBut when it leaves us for a time,  \n'T is a necessity.\n\nOf heaven above the firmest proof  \nWe fundamental know,  \nExcept for its marauding hand,  \nIt had been heaven below.\n\n**XXII.**\n\nWhere every bird is bold to go,  \nAnd bees abashless play,  \nThe foreigner before he knocks  \nMust thrust the tears away.\n\n**XXIII.**\n\nThe grave my little cottage is,  \nWhere, keeping house for thee,  \nI make my parlor orderly,  \nAnd lay the marble tea,\n\nFor two divided, briefly,  \nA cycle, it may be,  \nTill everlasting life unite  \nIn strong society.\n\n**XXIV.**\n\nThis was in the white of the year,  \nThat was in the green,  \nDrifts were as difficult then to think  \nAs daisies now to be seen.\n\nLooking back is best that is left,  \nOr if it be before,  \nRetrospection is prospect's half,  \nSometimes almost more.\n\n**XXV.**\n\nSweet hours have perished here;  \nThis is a mighty room;  \nWithin its precincts hopes have played, \u2014   \nNow shadows in the tomb.\n\n**XXVI.**\n\nMe! Come! My dazzled face  \nIn such a shining place!\n\nMe! Hear! My foreign ear  \nThe sounds of welcome near!\n\nThe saints shall meet  \nOur bashful feet.\n\nMy holiday shall be  \nThat they remember me;\n\nMy paradise, the fame  \nThat they pronounce my name.\n\n**XXVII.**\n\n**INVISIBLE.**\n\nFrom us she wandered now a year,  \nHer tarrying unknown;  \nIf wilderness prevent her feet,  \nOr that ethereal zone\n\nNo eye hath seen and lived,  \nWe ignorant must be.  \nWe only know what time of year  \nWe took the mystery.\n\n**XXVIII.**\n\nI wish I knew that woman's name,  \nSo, when she comes this way,  \nTo hold my life, and hold my ears,  \nFor fear I hear her say\n\nShe's 'sorry I am dead,' again,  \nJust when the grave and I  \nHave sobbed ourselves almost to sleep, \u2014   \nOur only lullaby.\n\n**XXIX.**\n\n**TRYING TO FORGET.**\n\nBereaved of all, I went abroad,  \nNo less bereaved to be  \nUpon a new peninsula, \u2014   \nThe grave preceded me,\n\nObtained my lodgings ere myself,  \nAnd when I sought my bed,  \nThe grave it was, reposed upon  \nThe pillow for my head.\n\nI waked, to find it first awake,  \nI rose, \u2014 it followed me;  \nI tried to drop it in the crowd,  \nTo lose it in the sea,\n\nIn cups of artificial drowse  \nTo sleep its shape away, \u2014   \nThe grave was finished, but the spade  \nRemained in memory.\n\n**XXX.**\n\nI felt a funeral in my brain,  \nAnd mourners, to and fro,  \nKept treading, treading, till it seemed  \nThat sense was breaking through.\n\nAnd when they all were seated,  \nA service like a drum  \nKept beating, beating, till I thought  \nMy mind was going numb.\n\nAnd then I heard them lift a box,  \nAnd creak across my soul  \nWith those same boots of lead, again.  \nThen space began to toll\n\nAs all the heavens were a bell,  \nAnd Being but an ear,  \nAnd I and silence some strange race,  \nWrecked, solitary, here.\n\n**XXXI.**\n\nI meant to find her when I came;  \nDeath had the same design;  \nBut the success was his, it seems,  \nAnd the discomfit mine.\n\nI meant to tell her how I longed  \nFor just this single time;  \nBut Death had told her so the first,  \nAnd she had hearkened him.\n\nTo wander now is my abode;  \nTo rest, \u2014 to rest would be  \nA privilege of hurricane  \nTo memory and me.\n\n**XXXII.**\n\n**WAITING.**\n\nI sing to use the waiting,  \nMy bonnet but to tie,  \nAnd shut the door unto my house;  \nNo more to do have I,\n\nTill, his best step approaching,  \nWe journey to the day,  \nAnd tell each other how we sang  \nTo keep the dark away.\n\n**XXXIII.**\n\nA sickness of this world it most occasions  \nWhen best men die;  \nA wishfulness their far condition  \nTo occupy.\n\nA chief indifference, as foreign  \nA world must be  \nThemselves forsake contented,  \nFor Deity.\n\n**XXXIV.**\n\nSuperfluous were the sun  \nWhen excellence is dead;  \nHe were superfluous every day,  \nFor every day is said\n\nThat syllable whose faith  \nJust saves it from despair,  \nAnd whose 'I'll meet you' hesitates  \nIf love inquire, 'Where?'\n\nUpon his dateless fame  \nOur periods may lie,  \nAs stars that drop anonymous  \nFrom an abundant sky.\n\n**XXXV.**\n\nSo proud she was to die  \nIt made us all ashamed  \nThat what we cherished, so unknown  \nTo her desire seemed.\n\nSo satisfied to go  \nWhere none of us should be,  \nImmediately, that anguish stooped  \nAlmost to jealousy.\n\n**XXXVI.**\n\n**FAREWELL.**\n\nTie the strings to my life, my Lord,  \nThen I am ready to go!  \nJust a look at the horses \u2014   \nRapid! That will do!\n\nPut me in on the firmest side,  \nSo I shall never fall;  \nFor we must ride to the Judgment,  \nAnd it's partly down hill.\n\nBut never I mind the bridges,  \nAnd never I mind the sea;  \nHeld fast in everlasting race  \nBy my own choice and thee.\n\nGood-by to the life I used to live,  \nAnd the world I used to know;  \nAnd kiss the hills for me, just once;  \nNow I am ready to go!\n\n**XXXVII.**\n\nThe dying need but little, dear, \u2014   \nA glass of water's all,  \nA flower's unobtrusive face  \nTo punctuate the wall,\n\nA fan, perhaps, a friend's regret,  \nAnd certainly that one  \nNo color in the rainbow  \nPerceives when you are gone.\n\n**XXXVIII.**\n\n**DEAD.**\n\nThere's something quieter than sleep  \nWithin this inner room!  \nIt wears a sprig upon its breast,  \nAnd will not tell its name.\n\nSome touch it and some kiss it,  \nSome chafe its idle hand;  \nIt has a simple gravity  \nI do not understand!\n\nWhile simple-hearted neighbors  \nChat of the 'early dead,'  \nWe, prone to periphrasis,  \nRemark that birds have fled!\n\n**XXXIX.**\n\nThe soul should always stand ajar,  \nThat if the heaven inquire,  \nHe will not be obliged to wait,  \nOr shy of troubling her.\n\nDepart, before the host has slid  \nThe bolt upon the door,  \nTo seek for the accomplished guest, \u2014   \nHer visitor no more.\n\n**XL.**\n\nThree weeks passed since I had seen her, \u2014   \nSome disease had vexed;  \n'T was with text and village singing  \nI beheld her next,\n\nAnd a company \u2014 our pleasure  \nTo discourse alone;  \nGracious now to me as any,  \nGracious unto none.\n\nBorne, without dissent of either,  \nTo the parish night;  \nOf the separated people  \nWhich are out of sight?\n\n**XLI.**\n\nI breathed enough to learn the trick,  \nAnd now, removed from air,  \nI simulate the breath so well,  \nThat one, to be quite sure\n\nThe lungs are stirless, must descend  \nAmong the cunning cells,  \nAnd touch the pantomime himself.  \nHow cool the bellows feels!\n\n**XLII.**\n\nI wonder if the sepulchre  \nIs not a lonesome way,  \nWhen men and boys, and larks and June  \nGo down the fields to hay!\n\n**XLIII.**\n\n**JOY IN DEATH.**\n\nIf tolling bell I ask the cause.  \n'A soul has gone to God,'  \nI'm answered in a lonesome tone;  \nIs heaven then so sad?\n\nThat bells should joyful ring to tell  \nA soul had gone to heaven,  \nWould seem to me the proper way  \nA good news should be given.\n\n**XLIV.**\n\nIf I may have it when it's dead  \nI will contented be;  \nIf just as soon as breath is out  \nIt shall belong to me,\n\nUntil they lock it in the grave,  \n'T is bliss I cannot weigh,  \nFor though they lock thee in the grave,  \nMyself can hold the key.\n\nThink of it, lover! I and thee  \nPermitted face to face to be;  \nAfter a life, a death we'll say, \u2014   \nFor death was that, and this is thee.\n\n**XLV.**\n\nBefore the ice is in the pools,  \nBefore the skaters go,  \nOr any cheek at nightfall  \nIs tarnished by the snow,\n\nBefore the fields have finished,  \nBefore the Christmas tree,  \nWonder upon wonder  \nWill arrive to me!\n\nWhat we touch the hems of  \nOn a summer's day;  \nWhat is only walking  \nJust a bridge away;\n\nThat which sings so, speaks so,  \nWhen there's no one here, \u2014   \nWill the frock I wept in  \nAnswer me to wear?\n\n**XLVI.**\n\n**DYING.**\n\nI heard a fly buzz when I died;  \nThe stillness round my form  \nWas like the stillness in the air  \nBetween the heaves of storm.\n\nThe eyes beside had wrung them dry,  \nAnd breaths were gathering sure  \nFor that last onset, when the king  \nBe witnessed in his power.\n\nI willed my keepsakes, signed away  \nWhat portion of me I  \nCould make assignable, \u2014 and then  \nThere interposed a fly,\n\nWith blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,  \nBetween the light and me;  \nAnd then the windows failed, and then  \nI could not see to see.\n\n**XLVII.**\n\nAdrift! A little boat adrift!  \nAnd night is coming down!  \nWill no one guide a little boat  \nUnto the nearest town?\n\nSo sailors say, on yesterday,  \nJust as the dusk was brown,  \nOne little boat gave up its strife,  \nAnd gurgled down and down.\n\nBut angels say, on yesterday,  \nJust as the dawn was red,  \nOne little boat o'erspent with gales  \nRetrimmed its masts, redecked its sails  \nExultant, onward sped!\n\n**XLVIII.**\n\nThere's been a death in the opposite house  \nAs lately as to-day.  \nI know it by the numb look  \nSuch houses have alway.\n\nThe neighbors rustle in and out,  \nThe doctor drives away.  \nA window opens like a pod,  \nAbrupt, mechanically;\n\nSomebody flings a mattress out, \u2014   \nThe children hurry by;  \nThey wonder if It died on that, \u2014   \nI used to when a boy.\n\nThe minister goes stiffly in  \nAs if the house were his,  \nAnd he owned all the mourners now,  \nAnd little boys besides;\n\nAnd then the milliner, and the man  \nOf the appalling trade,  \nTo take the measure of the house.  \nThere'll be that dark parade\n\nOf tassels and of coaches soon;  \nIt's easy as a sign, \u2014   \nThe intuition of the news  \nIn just a country town.\n\n**XLIX.**\n\nWe never know we go, \u2014 when we are going  \nWe jest and shut the door;  \nFate following behind us bolts it,  \nAnd we accost no more.\n\n**L.**\n\n**THE SOUL'S STORM.**\n\nIt struck me every day  \nThe lightning was as new  \nAs if the cloud that instant slit  \nAnd let the fire through.\n\nIt burned me in the night,  \nIt blistered in my dream;  \nIt sickened fresh upon my sight  \nWith every morning's beam.\n\nI thought that storm was brief, \u2014   \nThe maddest, quickest by;  \nBut Nature lost the date of this,  \nAnd left it in the sky.\n\n**LI.**\n\nWater is taught by thirst;  \nLand, by the oceans passed;  \nTransport, by throe;  \nPeace, by its battles told;  \nLove, by memorial mould;  \nBirds, by the snow.\n\n**LII.**\n\n**THIRST.**\n\nWe thirst at first, \u2014 't is Nature's act;  \nAnd later, when we die,  \nA little water supplicate  \nOf fingers going by.\n\nIt intimates the finer want,  \nWhose adequate supply  \nIs that great water in the west  \nTermed immortality.\n\n**LIII.**\n\nA clock stopped \u2014 not the mantel's;  \nGeneva's farthest skill  \nCan't put the puppet bowing  \nThat just now dangled still.\n\nAn awe came on the trinket!  \nThe figures hunched with pain,  \nThen quivered out of decimals  \nInto degreeless noon.\n\nIt will not stir for doctors,  \nThis pendulum of snow;  \nThe shopman importunes it,  \nWhile cool, concernless No\n\nNods from the gilded pointers,  \nNods from the seconds slim,  \nDecades of arrogance between  \nThe dial life and him.\n\n**LIV.**\n\n**CHARLOTTE BRONT\u00cb'S GRAVE.**\n\nAll overgrown by cunning moss,  \nAll interspersed with weed,  \nThe little cage of 'Currer Bell,'  \nIn quiet Haworth laid.\n\nThis bird, observing others,  \nWhen frosts too sharp became,  \nRetire to other latitudes,  \nQuietly did the same,\n\nBut differed in returning;  \nSince Yorkshire hills are green,  \nYet not in all the nests I meet  \nCan nightingale be seen.\n\nGathered from many wanderings,  \nGethsemane can tell  \nThrough what transporting anguish  \nShe reached the asphodel!\n\nSoft fall the sounds of Eden  \nUpon her puzzled ear;  \nOh, what an afternoon for heaven,  \nWhen 'Bront\u00eb' entered there!\n\n**LV.**\n\nA toad can die of light!  \nDeath is the common right  \nOf toads and men, \u2014   \nOf earl and midge  \nThe privilege.  \nWhy swagger then?  \nThe gnat's supremacy  \nIs large as thine.\n\n**LVI.**\n\nFar from love the Heavenly Father  \nLeads the chosen child;  \nOftener through realm of briar  \nThan the meadow mild,\n\nOftener by the claw of dragon  \nThan the hand of friend,  \nGuides the little one predestined  \nTo the native land.\n\n**LVII.**\n\n**SLEEPING.**\n\nA long, long sleep, a famous sleep  \nThat makes no show for dawn  \nBy stretch of limb or stir of lid, \u2014   \nAn independent one.\n\nWas ever idleness like this?  \nWithin a hut of stone  \nTo bask the centuries away  \nNor once look up for noon?\n\n**LVIII.**\n\n**RETROSPECT.**\n\n'T was just this time last year I died.  \nI know I heard the corn,  \nWhen I was carried by the farms, \u2014   \nIt had the tassels on.\n\nI thought how yellow it would look  \nWhen Richard went to mill;  \nAnd then I wanted to get out,  \nBut something held my will.\n\nI thought just how red apples wedged  \nThe stubble's joints between;  \nAnd carts went stooping round the fields  \nTo take the pumpkins in.\n\nI wondered which would miss me least,  \nAnd when Thanksgiving came,  \nIf father'd multiply the plates  \nTo make an even sum.\n\nAnd if my stocking hung too high,  \nWould it blur the Christmas glee,  \nThat not a Santa Claus could reach  \nThe altitude of me?\n\nBut this sort grieved myself, and so  \nI thought how it would be  \nWhen just this time, some perfect year,  \nThemselves should come to me.\n\n**LIX.**\n\n**ETERNITY.**\n\nOn this wondrous sea,  \nSailing silently,  \nHo! pilot, ho!  \nKnowest thou the shore  \nWhere no breakers roar,  \nWhere the storm is o'er?\n\nIn the silent west  \nMany sails at rest,  \nTheir anchors fast;  \nThither I pilot thee, \u2014   \nLand, ho! Eternity!  \nAshore at last!\n**POEMS: SERIES THREE**\n\n**CONTENTS**\n\nI. LIFE.\n\nI.\n\nREAL RICHES.\n\nII.\n\nSUPERIORITY TO FATE.\n\nIII.\n\nHOPE.\n\nIV.\n\nFORBIDDEN FRUIT.\n\nI.\n\nV.\n\nFORBIDDEN FRUIT.\n\nII.\n\nVI.\n\nA WORD.\n\nVII.\n\nVIII.\n\nLIFE'S TRADES.\n\nIX.\n\nX.\n\nXI.\n\nXII.\n\nA SYLLABLE.\n\nXIII.\n\nPARTING.\n\nXIV.\n\nASPIRATION.\n\nXV.\n\nTHE INEVITABLE.\n\nXVI.\n\nA BOOK.\n\nXVII.\n\nXVIII.\n\nA PORTRAIT.\n\nXIX.\n\nI HAD A GUINEA GOLDEN.\n\nXX.\n\nSATURDAY AFTERNOON.\n\nXXI.\n\nXXII.\n\nXXIII.\n\nTHE LOST THOUGHT.\n\nXXIV.\n\nRETICENCE.\n\nXXV.\n\nWITH FLOWERS.\n\nXXVI.\n\nXXVII.\n\nXXVIII.\n\nCONTRAST.\n\nXXIX.\n\nFRIENDS.\n\nXXX.\n\nFIRE.\n\nXXXI.\n\nA MAN.\n\nXXXII.\n\nVENTURES.\n\nXXXIII.\n\nGRIEFS.\n\nXXXIV.\n\nXXXV.\n\nDISENCHANTMENT.\n\nXXXVI.\n\nLOST FAITH.\n\nXXXVII.\n\nLOST JOY.\n\nXXXVIII.\n\nXXXIX.\n\nXL.\n\nALPINE GLOW.\n\nXLI.\n\nREMEMBRANCE.\n\nXLII.\n\nXLIII.\n\nTHE BRAIN.\n\nXLIV.\n\nXLV.\n\nTHE PAST.\n\nXLVI.\n\nXLVII.\n\nXLVIII.\n\nDESIRE.\n\nXLIX.\n\nPHILOSOPHY.\n\nL.\n\nPOWER.\n\nLI.\n\nLII.\n\nLIII.\n\nEXPERIENCE.\n\nLIV.\n\nTHANKSGIVING DAY.\n\nLV.\n\nCHILDISH GRIEFS.\n\nII. LOVE.\n\nI.\n\nCONSECRATION.\n\nII.\n\nLOVE'S HUMILITY.\n\nIII.\n\nLOVE.\n\nIV.\n\nSATISFIED.\n\nV.\n\nWITH A FLOWER.\n\nVI.\n\nSONG.\n\nVII.\n\nLOYALTY.\n\nVIII.\n\nIX.\n\nX.\n\nFORGOTTEN.\n\nXI.\n\nXII.\n\nTHE MASTER.\n\nXIII.\n\nXIV.\n\nXV.\n\nXVI.\n\nXVII.\n\nWHO?\n\nXVIII.\n\nXIX.\n\nDREAMS.\n\nXX.\n\nNUMEN LUMEN.\n\nXXI.\n\nLONGING.\n\nXXII.\n\nWEDDED.\n\nIII. NATURE.\n\nI.\n\nNATURE'S CHANGES.\n\nII.\n\nTHE TULIP.\n\nIII.\n\nIV.\n\nTHE WAKING YEAR.\n\nV.\n\nTO MARCH.\n\nVI.\n\nMARCH.\n\nVII.\n\nDAWN.\n\nVIII.\n\nIX.\n\nX.\n\nXI.\n\nA ROSE.\n\nXII.\n\nXIII.\n\nCOBWEBS.\n\nXIV.\n\nA WELL.\n\nXV.\n\nXVI.\n\nTHE WIND.\n\nXVII.\n\nXVIII.\n\nTHE WOODPECKER.\n\nXIX.\n\nA SNAKE.\n\nXX.\n\nXXI.\n\nTHE MOON.\n\nXXII.\n\nTHE BAT.\n\nXXIII.\n\nTHE BALLOON.\n\nXXIV.\n\nEVENING.\n\nXXV.\n\nCOCOON.\n\nXXVI.\n\nSUNSET.\n\nXXVII.\n\nAURORA.\n\nXXVIII.\n\nTHE COMING OF NIGHT.\n\nXXIX.\n\nAFTERMATH.\n\nIV. TIME AND ETERNITY.\n\nI.\n\nII.\n\nIII.\n\nIV.\n\nV.\n\nENDING.\n\nVI.\n\nVII.\n\nVIII.\n\nIX.\n\nX.\n\nIMMORTALITY.\n\nXI.\n\nXII.\n\nXIII.\n\nDEATH.\n\nXIV.\n\nUNWARNED.\n\nXV.\n\nXVI.\n\nXVII.\n\nASLEEP.\n\nXVIII.\n\nTHE SPIRIT.\n\nXIX.\n\nTHE MONUMENT.\n\nXX.\n\nXXI.\n\nXXII.\n\nXXIII.\n\nXXIV.\n\nXXV.\n\nXXVI.\n\nXXVII.\n\nINVISIBLE.\n\nXXVIII.\n\nXXIX.\n\nTRYING TO FORGET.\n\nXXX.\n\nXXXI.\n\nXXXII.\n\nWAITING.\n\nXXXIII.\n\nXXXIV.\n\nXXXV.\n\nXXXVI.\n\nFAREWELL.\n\nXXXVII.\n\nXXXVIII.\n\nDEAD.\n\nXXXIX.\n\nXL.\n\nXLI.\n\nXLII.\n\nXLIII.\n\nJOY IN DEATH.\n\nXLIV.\n\nXLV.\n\nXLVI.\n\nDYING.\n\nXLVII.\n\nXLVIII.\n\nXLIX.\n\nL.\n\nTHE SOUL'S STORM.\n\nLI.\n\nLII.\n\nTHIRST.\n\nLIII.\n\nLIV.\n\nCHARLOTTE BRONT\u00cb'S GRAVE.\n\nLV.\n\nLVI.\n\nLVII.\n\nSLEEPING.\n\nLVIII.\n\nRETROSPECT.\n\nLIX.\n\nETERNITY.\n**The Poems**\n\n_Amherst Academy, which Dickinson attended under the tutelage of scientist and theologian, Edward Hitchcock_\n**Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,**\n\nAwake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,  \nUnwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!\n\nOh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,  \nFor sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.  \nAll things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,  \nGod hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!  \nThe bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,  \nAdam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun;  \nThe life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,  \nWho will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree.  \nThe high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small,  \nNone cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball;  \nThe bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives,  \nAnd they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves;  \nThe wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won,  \nAnd the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son.  \nThe storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune,  \nThe wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon,  \nTheir spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows,  \nNo more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose.  \nThe worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,  \nNight unto day is married, morn unto eventide;  \nEarth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,  \nAnd Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.  \nNow to the application, to the reading of the roll,  \nTo bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul:  \nThou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone,  \nWilt have no kind companion, thou reap'st what thou hast sown.  \nHast never silent hours, and minutes all too long,  \nAnd a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song?  \nThere's Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair,  \nAnd Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!  \nThine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see  \nSix true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree;  \nApproach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb,  \nAnd seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time!  \nThen bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower,  \nAnd give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower \u2014   \nAnd bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum \u2014   \nAnd bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is another sky**\n\nThe cows are going to pasture and little boys with their hands in their pockets are whistling to keep them warm. Don't think that the sky will frown so the day when you come home! She will smile and look happy, and be full of sunshine _then_ \\- and even _should_ she frown upon her child returning,\n\nthere is _another_ sky  \never serene and fair,  \nand there is _another_ sunshine,  \ntho' it be darkness there -  \nnever mind faded forets, Austin,  \nnever mind silent fields -  \n _here_ is a little forest  \nwhose leaf is ever green -  \nhere is a _brighter_ garden -  \nwhere not a frost has been,  \nin its unfading flowers  \nI hear the bright bee hum,  \nprithee, my Brother,  \ninto _my_ garden come!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sic transit gloria mundi**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nSic transit gloria mundi  \n\"How doth the busy bee\"  \nDum vivamus vivamus  \nI stay mine enemy! \u2014\n\nOh veni vidi vici!  \nOh caput cap-a-pie!  \nAnd oh \"memento mori\"  \nWhen I am far from thee\n\nHurrah for Peter Parley  \nHurrrah for Daniel Boone  \nThree cheers sir, for the gentleman  \nWho first observed the moon \u2014\n\nPeter put up the sunshine!  \nPattie arrange the stars  \nTell Luna, tea is waiting  \nAnd call your brother Mars \u2014\n\nPut down the apple Adam  \nAnd come away with me  \nSo shal't thou have a pippin  \nFrom off my Father's tree!\n\nI climb the \"Hill of Science\"  \nI \"view the Landscape o'er\"  \nSuch transcendental prospect  \nI ne'er beheld before! \u2014\n\nUnto the Legislature  \nMy country bids me go,  \nI'll take my india rubbers  \nIn case the wind should blow.\n\nDuring my education  \nIt was announced to me  \nThat gravitation stumbling  \nFell from an apple tree \u2014\n\nThe Earth opon it's axis  \nWas once supposed to turn  \nBy way of a gymnastic  \nIn honor to the sun \u2014\n\nIt was the brave Columbus  \nA sailing o'er the tide  \nWho notified the nations  \nOf where I would reside\n\nMortality is fatal  \nGentility is fine  \nRascality, heroic  \nInsolvency, sublime\n\nOur Fathers being weary  \nLaid down on Bunker Hill  \nAnd though full many a morn'g  \nYet they are sleeping still\n\nThe trumpet sir, shall wake them  \nIn streams I see them rise  \nEach with a solemn musket  \nA marching to the skies!\n\nA coward will remain, Sir,  \nUntil the fight is done;  \nBut an immortal hero  \nWill take his hat and run.\n\nGood bye Sir, I am going  \nMy country calleth me  \nAllow me Sir, at parting  \nTo wipe my weeping e'e\n\nIn token of our friendship  \nAccept this \"Bonnie Doon\"  \nAnd when the hand that pluck'd it  \nHath passed beyond the moon\n\nThe memory of my ashes  \nWill consolation be  \nThen farewell Tuscarora  \nAnd farewell Sir, to thee.\n\n**Version 2**\n\n\"Sic transit gloria mundi,\"  \n\"How doth the busy bee,\"  \n\"Dum vivimus vivamus,\"  \nI stay mine enemy! \u2014\n\nOh \"veni, vidi, vici!\"  \nOh caput cap-a-pie!  \nAnd oh \"memento mori\"  \nWhen I am far from thee!\n\nHurrah for Peter Parley!  \nHurrrah for Daniel Boone!  \nThree cheers, sir, for the gentleman  \nWho first observed the moon!\n\nPeter, put up the sunshine;  \nPattie, arrange the stars;  \nTell Luna, _tea_ is waiting,  \nAnd call your brother Mars!\n\nPut down the apple, Adam,  \nAnd come away with me,  \nSo shalt thou have a _pippin  \n_ _From off my father's tree!_\n\nI climb the \"Hill of Science,\"  \nI \"view the landscape o'er;\"  \nSuch transcendental prospect,  \nI ne'er beheld before! \u2014\n\nUnto the Legislature  \nMy country bids me go;  \nI'll take my _india rubbers_ ,  \nIn case the _wind_ should blow!\n\nDuring my education,  \nIt was announced to me  \nThat _gravitation_ , _stumbling  \n_ _Fell from an_ apple _tree!_\n\nThe earth opon an axis  \nWas once supposed to turn,  \nBy way of a _gymnastic_  \n_In honor of the sun!_\n\nIt _was_ the brave Columbus,  \nA sailing o'er the tide,  \nWho notified the nations  \nOf where I would reside!\n\nMortality is fatal \u2014   \nGentility is fine  \nRascality, heroic,  \n _Insolvency, sublime_\n\n_Our Fathers being weary,_  \nLaid down on Bunker Hill;  \nAnd tho' full many a morning,  \nYet they are sleeping still, \u2014\n\nThe trumpet, sir, shall wake them,  \nIn dreams I see them rise,  \nEach with a solem musket  \nA marching to the skies!\n\nA coward will remain, Sir,  \nUntil the fight is done;  \nBut an _immortal hero  \n_ Will take his hat, and run!\n\nGood bye Sir, I am going;  \nMy country calleth me;  \nAllow me, Sir, at parting,  \nTo wipe my weeping e'e.\n\nIn token of our friendship  \nAccept this \"Bonnie Doon,\"  \nAnd when the hand that plucked it  \nHath passed beyond the moon,\n\nThe memory of my ashes  \nWill consolation be;  \nThen farewell Tuscarora,  \nAnd farewell, Sir, to thee!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**On this wondrous sea**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nWrite! Comrade, write!\n\nOn this wondrous sea  \nSailing silently,  \nHo! Pilot, ho!  \nKnowest thou the shore  \nWhere no breakers roar -  \nWhere the storm is o'er?\n\nIn the peaceful west  \nMany the sails at rest -  \nThe anchors fast -  \nThither I pilot _thee_ -  \nLand Ho! Eternity!  \nAshore at last!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nOn this woundrous sea - sailing silently -  \nHo! Pilot! Ho!  \nKnowest thou the shore  \nWhere no breakers roar -  \nWhere the storm is o'er?\n\nIn the silent West  \nMany - the sails at rest -  \nThen anchors fast.  \nThither I pilot thee -  \nLand! Ho! Eternity!  \nAshore at last!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I have a Bird in spring**\n\nWe have walked very pleasantly - Perhaps this is the point at which our paths diverge - then pass on singing Sue, and up the distant hill I journey on.\n\nI have a Bird in spring  \nWhich for myself doth sing -  \nThe spring decoys.  \nAnd as the summer nears -  \nAnd as the Rose appears,  \nRobin is gone.\n\nYet do I not repine  \nKnowhing that Bird of mine  \nThough flown -  \nLearneth beyond the sea  \nMelody new for me  \nAnd will return.\n\nFast in safer hand  \nHeld in a truer Land  \nAre min -  \nAnd though they now depart,  \nTell I my doubting heart  \nThey're thine.\n\nIn a serener Bright,  \nIn a more golden light  \nI see  \nEach little doubt and fear,  \nEach little discord here  \nRemoved.\n\nThen will I not repine,  \nKnowing that Bird of mine  \nThough flown  \nShall in distant tree  \nBright melody for me  \nReturn.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Frequently the woods are pink -**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nFrequently the woods are pink \u2014   \nFrequently are brown.  \nFrequently the hills undress  \nBehind my native town.  \nOft a head is crested  \nI was wont to see \u2014   \nAnd as oft a cranny  \nWhere it used to be \u2014   \nAnd the Earth \u2014 they tell me \u2014   \nOn it's axis turned!  \nWonderful Rotation!  \nBy but _twelve_ performed!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nFrequently the woods are pink \u2014   \nFrequently, are brown.  \nFrequently the hills undress  \nBehind my native town \u2014   \nOft a head is crested  \nI was wont to see \u2014   \nAnd as oft a cranny  \nWhere it used to be \u2014   \nAnd the Earth \u2014 they tell me  \nOn it's axis turned!  \nWonderful rotation \u2014   \nBy but _twelve_ performed!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The feet of people walking home**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nThe feet of people walking home  \nWith gayer sandals go -  \nThe crocus - till she rises -  \nThe vassal of the snow -  \nThe lips at Hallelujah  \nLong years of practise bore -  \nTill bye and bye, these Bargemen  \nWalked - singing - on the shore\n\nPearls are the Diver's farthings  \nExtorted form the sea -  \nPinions - the Seraph's wagon -  \nPedestrian once - as we -  \nNight is the morning's canvas -  \nLarceny - legacy -  \nDeath - but our rapt attention  \nTo immortality.\n\nMy figures fail to tell me  \nHow far the village lies -  \nWhose peasants are the angels -  \nWhose cantons dot the skies -  \nMy Classics vail their faces -  \nMy faith that Dark adores -  \nWhich from it's solemn abbeys -  \nSuch resurrection pours!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nThe feet of people walking home  \nWith gayer sandals go -  \nThe Crocus - till she rises  \nThe Vassal of the snow -  \nThe lips at Hallelujah  \nLong years of practise bore  \nTill bye and bye these Bargemen  \nWalked singing on the shore\n\nPearls are the Diver's farthings  \nExtorted form the Sea -  \nPinions - the Seraph's wagon  \nPedestrian once - as we -\n\nNight is the morning's Canvas  \nLarceny - legacy -  \nDeath, but our rapt attention  \nTo Immortality.\n\nMy figures fail to tell me  \nHow far the Village lies -  \nWhose peasants are the angels -  \nWhose Cantons dot the skies -  \nMy Classics vail their faces -  \nMy faith that Dark adores -  \nWhich from it's solemn abbeys  \nSuch resurrection pours.\n\n**Version 3**\n\nThe feet of people walking home  \nWith gayer Sandals go -  \nThe Crocus - till she rises  \nThe Vassal of the snow -  \nThe lips at Hallelujah  \nLong years of practise bore  \nTill bye and bye these Bargemen  \nWalked singing, on the shore\n\nPearls are the Diver's farthings -  \nExtorted form the sea -  \nPinions - the Seraph's wagon -  \nPedestrian once, as we -  \nNight is the morning's Canvas  \nLarceny - _legacy_ -  \nDeath, but our rapt attention  \nTo immortality.\n\nMy figures fail to tell me  \nHow far the village lies -  \nWhose peasants are the angels -  \nWhose Cantons dot the skies -  \nMy Classics vail their faces -  \nMy faith that dark adores -  \nWhich from it's solemn abbeys  \nSuch resurrection pours!\n\n**Version 4**\n\nThe feet of people walking home -  \nWith gayer sandals go -  \nThe Crocus, till she rises  \nThe Vassal of the snow -\n\nThe lips at Hallelujah  \nLong years of practise bore -  \nTill bye and bye these Bargemen  \nWalked singing, on the shore.\n\nPearls are the Diver's farthings -  \nExtorted form the sea -  \nPinions - the Seraph's wagon -  \nPedestrian once - as we -\n\nNight is the morning's Canvas  \nLarceny - _Legacy_.  \nDeath, but our rapt attention  \nTo immortality.\n\nMy figures fail to tell me  \nHow far the village lies  \nWhose peasants are the angels -  \nWhose Cantons dot the skies -\n\nMy Classics vail their faces -  \nMy faith that dark adores -  \nWhich from it's solemn abbeys  \nSuch resurrection pours -\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is a word**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nThere is a word  \nWhich bears a sword  \nCan pierce an armed man -  \nIt hurls it's barbed syllables  \nAnd is mute again -  \nBut where it fell  \nThe Saved will tell  \nOn patriotic day,  \nSome epauletted Brother  \nGave his breath away!\n\nWherever runs the breathless sun -  \nWherever roams the day -  \nThere is it's noiseless onset -  \nThere is it's victory!  \nBehold the keenest marksman-  \nThe most accomplished host!  \nTime's sublimest target  \nIs a soul \"forgot\"!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nThere is a word  \nWhich bears a sword  \nCan pierce an armed man -  \nIt hurls it's barbed syllables  \nAnd is mute again -  \nBut where it fell  \nThe saved will tell  \nOn patriotic day,  \nSome epauletted Brother  \nGave his breath away.\n\nWherever runs the breathless sun -  \nWherever roams the day -  \nThere is it's noiseless onset -  \nThere is it's victory!  \nBehold the keenest marsman!  \nThe most accomplished host!  \nTime's sublimest target  \nIs a soul \"forgot\"!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Through lane it lay \u2014 through bramble \u2014**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nThro' lane it lay - thro' bramble -  \nThro' clearing, and thro' wood -  \nBanditti often passed us  \nOpon the lonely road -  \nThe wolf came peering curious -  \nThe Owl looked puzzled down -  \nThe Serpent's satin figure  \nGlid stealthily along -  \nThe tempests touched our garments -  \nThe lightning's poinards gleamed -  \nFierce from the crag above us  \nThe hungry vulture screamed -  \nThe satyr's fingers beckoned -  \nThe Valley murmured \"Come\" -  \nThese were the mates -  \nThis was the road  \nThese Children fluttered home.\n\n**Version 2**\n\nThrough lane it lay - thro' bramble -  \nThrough clearing, and thro' wood -  \nBanditti often passed us  \nOpon the lonely road.\n\nThe wolf came peering curious -  \nThe Owl looked puzzled down -  \nThe Serpent's satin figure  \nGlid stealthily along.\n\nThe tempests touched our garments -  \nThe lightning's poinards gleamed -  \nFierce from the Crag above us  \nThe hungry vulture screamed -\n\nThe Satyr's fingers beckoned -  \nThe Valley murmured \"Come\" -  \n _These_ were the mates -  \n _This_ was the road  \nThese Children fluttered home.\n\n**Version 3**\n\nThrough lane it lay \u2014 through bramble \u2014   \nThrough clearing and through wood \u2014   \nBanditti often passed us  \nUpon the lonely road.\n\nThe wolf came peering curious \u2014   \nThe owl looked puzzled down \u2014   \nThe serpent's satin figure  \nGlid stealthily along \u2014\n\nThe tempests touched our garments \u2014   \nThe lightning's poinards gleamed \u2014   \nFierce from the Crag above us  \nThe hungry Vulture screamed \u2014\n\nThe satyr's fingers beckoned \u2014   \nThe valley murmured \"Come\" \u2014   \nThese were the mates \u2014   \nThis was the road  \nThose children fluttered home.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My wheel is in the dark!**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nMy Wheel is in the dark.  \nI cannot see a spoke -  \nYet know it's dripping feet  \nGo round and round.\n\nMy foot is on the tide -  \nAn unfrequented road  \nYet have all roads  \nA \"Clearing\" at the end.\n\nSome have resigned the Loom -  \nSome - in the busy tomb  \nFind quaint employ.  \nSome with new - stately feet  \nPass royal thro' the gate  \nFlinging the problem back, at you and I.\n\n**Version 2**\n\nMy Wheel is in the dark!  \nI cannot see a spoke  \nYet know it's dripping feet  \nGo round and round.\n\nMy foot is on the Tide!  \nAn unfrequented road -  \nYet have all roads  \nA \"Clearing\" at the end -\n\nSome have resigned the Loom -  \nSome in the busy tomb  \nFind quaint employ -\n\nSome with new - stately feet -  \nPass royal thro' the gate -  \nFlinging the problem back  \nAt you and I!\n\n**Version 3**\n\nMy wheel is in the dark!  \nI cannot see a spoke  \nYet know its dripping feet  \nGo round and round.\n\nMy foot is on the Tide!  \nAn unfrequented road \u2014   \nYet have all roads  \nA clearing at the end \u2014\n\nSome have resigned the Loom \u2014   \nSome in the busy tomb  \nFind quaint employ \u2014\n\nSome with new \u2014 stately feet \u2014   \nPass royal through the gate \u2014   \nFlinging the problem back  \nAt you and I!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I never told the buried gold**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nI never told the buried gold  \nOpon the hill that lies -  \nI saw the sun, his plunder done -  \nCrouch low to guard his prize -\n\nHe stood as near  \nAs stood you hear -  \nA pace had been between -  \nDid but a snake bisect the brake  \nMy life had forfeit been.\n\nThat was a wondrous booty.  \nI hope 'twas honest gained -  \nThose were the fairest ingots  \nThat ever kissed the spade.\n\nWhether to keep the secret -  \nWhether to reveal -  \nWhether while I ponder  \nKidd may sudden sail -\n\nCould a shrewd advise me  \nWe might e'en divide -  \nShould a shrewd _betray_ me -  \n\"Atropos\" decide -\n\n**Version 2**\n\nI never told the buried gold  \nOpon the hill - that lies -  \nI saw the sun - his plunder done  \nCrouch low to guard his prize.\n\nHe stood as near  \nAs stood you hear -  \nA pace had been between -  \nDid but a snake bisect the brake  \nMy life had forfeit been.\n\nThat was a wondrous booty -  \nI hope 'twas honest gained.  \nThose were the fairest ingots  \nThat ever kissed the spade!\n\nWhether to keep the secret -  \nWhether to reveal -  \nWhether as I ponder  \n\"Kidd\" will sudden sail -\n\nCould a shrewd advise me  \nWe might e'en divide -  \nShould a shrewd betray me -  \nAtropos decide!\n\n**Version 3**\n\nI never told the buried gold  \nUpon the hill \u2014 that lies \u2014   \nI saw the sun \u2014 his plunder done  \nCrouch low to guard his prize.\n\nHe stood as near  \nAs stood you here \u2014   \nA pace had been between \u2014   \nDid but a snake bisect the brake  \nMy life had forfeit been.\n\nThat was a wondrous booty \u2014   \nI hope 'twas honest gained.  \nThose were the fairest ingots  \nThat ever kissed the spade!\n\nWhether to keep the secret \u2014   \nWhether to reveal \u2014   \nWhether as I ponder  \nKidd will sudden sail \u2014\n\nCould a shrewd advise me  \nWe might e'en divide \u2014   \nShould a shrewd betray me \u2014   \nAtropos decide!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The morns are meeker than they were \u2014**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nThe morns are meeker than they were -  \nThe nuts are getting brown -  \nThe berry's cheek is plumper -  \nThe Rose is out of town -\n\nThe maple wears a gayer scarf -  \nThe field - a scarlet gown -  \nLest I sh'd seem old fashioned  \nI'll put a trinket on!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nThe morns are meeker than they were -  \nThe nuts are getting brown -  \nThe berry's cheek is plumper -  \nThe Rose is out of town.\n\nThe maple wears a gayer scarf -  \nThe field - a scarlet gown -  \nLest I sh'd be old fashioned  \nI'll put a trinket on.  \n\\- valign=\"top\"\n\n**Version 3**\n\nThe morns are meeker than they were \u2014   \nThe nuts are getting brown \u2014   \nThe berry's cheek is plumper \u2014   \nThe Rose is out of town.\n\nThe Maple wears a gayer scarf \u2014   \nThe field a scarlet gown \u2014   \nLest I should be old fashioned  \nI'll put a trinket on.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sleep is supposed to be**\n\nSLEEP is supposed to be,  \nBy souls of sanity,  \nThe shutting of the eye.\n\nSleep is the station grand  \nDown which on either hand  \nThe hosts of witness stand !\n\nMorn is supposed to be,  \nBy people of degree,  \nThe breaking of the day.\n\nMorning has not occurred !  \nThat shall aurora be  \nEast of eternity ;\n\nOne with the banner gay,  \nOne in the red array, \u2014   \nThat is the break of day.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One Sister have I in our house,**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nOne Sister have I in our house -  \nAnd one, a hedge away.  \nThere's only one recorded,  \nBut both belong to me.\n\nOne came the road that I came -  \nAnd wore my last year's gown -  \nThe other, as a bird her nest,  \nBuilded our hearts among.\n\nShe did not sing as we did -  \nIt was a different tune -  \nHerself to her a music  \nAs Bumble bee of June.\n\nToday is far from Childhood -  \nBut up and down the hills  \nI held her hand the tighter -  \nWhich shortened all the miles -\n\nAnd still her hum  \nThe year among,  \nDeceives the Butterfly;  \nStill in her Eye  \nThe Violets lie  \nMouldered this many May.\n\nI spilt the dew -  \nBut took the morn;  \nI chose this single star  \nFrom out the wide night's numbers -  \nSue - forevermore!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nOne Sister have I in the house -  \nAnd one, a hedge away.  \nThere's only one recorded -  \nBut both belong to me.\n\nOne came the road that I came -  \nAnd wore my last year's gown -  \nThe other, as a bird her nest  \nBuilded our hearts among.\n\nShe did not sing as we did -  \nIt was a different tune -  \nHerself to her a music  \nAs Bumble bee of June.\n\nToday is far from hildhood,  \nBut up and down the hills,  \nI held her hand the tighter -  \nWhich shortened all the miles -\n\nAnd still her hum  \nThe year among,  \nDeceives the Butterfly;  \nAnd in her Eye  \nThe Violets lie,  \nMouldered this many May.\n\nI spilt the dew,  \nBut took the morn -  \nI chose this single star  \nFrom out the wide night's numbers -  \nSue - forevermore!\n\n**Version 3**\n\nOne Sister have I in our house,  \nAnd one, a hedge away.  \nThere's only one recorded,  \nBut both belong to me.\n\nOne came the road that I came \u2014   \nAnd wore my last year's gown \u2014   \nThe other, as a bird her nest,  \nBuilded our hearts among.\n\nShe did not sing as we did \u2014   \nIt was a different tune \u2014   \nHerself to her a music  \nAs Bumble bee of June.\n\nToday is far from Childhood \u2014   \nBut up and down the hills  \nI held her hand the tighter \u2014   \nWhich shortened all the miles \u2014\n\nAnd still her hum  \nThe years among,  \nDeceives the Butterfly;  \nStill in her Eye  \nThe Violets lie  \nMouldered this many May.\n\nI spilt the dew \u2014   \nBut took the morn \u2014   \nI chose this single star  \nFrom out the wide night's numbers \u2014   \nSue - forevermore!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Guest is gold and crimson \u2014**\n\nThe Guest is gold and crimson \u2014   \nAn Opal guest and gray \u2014   \nOf Ermine is his doublet \u2014   \nHis Capuchin gay \u2014\n\nHe reaches town at nightfall \u2014   \nHe stops at every door \u2014   \nWho looks for him at morning  \nI pray him too \u2014 explore  \nThe Lark's pure territory \u2014   \nOr the Lapwing's shore!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I would distil a cup,**\n\nI would distil a cup,  \nAnd bear to all my friends,  \nDrinking to her no more astir,  \nBy beck, or burn, or moor!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Baffled for just a day or two \u2014**\n\nBaffled for just a day or two \u2014   \nEmbarrassed \u2014 not afraid \u2014   \nEncounter in my garden  \nAn unexpected Maid.  \nShe beckons, and the woods start \u2014   \nShe nods, and all begin \u2014   \nSurely, such a country  \nI was never in!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Gentian weaves her fringes \u2014**\n\nThe Gentian weaves her fringes \u2014   \nThe Maple's loom is red \u2014   \nMy departing blossoms  \nObviate parade.\n\nA brief, but patient illness \u2014   \nAn hour to prepare,  \nAnd one below this morning  \nIs where the angels are \u2014   \nIt was a short procession,  \nThe Bobolink was there \u2014   \nAn aged Bee addressed us \u2014   \nAnd then we knelt in prayer \u2014   \nWe trust that she was willing \u2014   \nWe ask that we may be.  \nSummer \u2014 Sister \u2014 Seraph!  \nLet us go with thee!\n\nIn the name of the Bee \u2014   \nAnd of the Butterfly \u2014   \nAnd of the Breeze \u2014 Amen!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A sepal, petal, and a thorn**\n\nA sepal, petal, and a thorn  \nUpon a common summer's morn \u2014   \nA flask of Dew \u2014 A Bee or two \u2014   \nA Breeze \u2014 a caper in the trees \u2014   \nAnd I'm a Rose!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Distrustful of the Gentian \u2014**\n\nDistrustful of the Gentian \u2014   \nAnd just to turn away,  \nThe fluttering of her fringes  \nChild my perfidy \u2014   \nWeary for my \u2014 \u2014 \u2014 \u2014 \u2014   \nI will singing go \u2014   \nI shall not feel the sleet \u2014 then \u2014   \nI shall not fear the snow.\n\nFlees so the phantom meadow  \nBefore the breathless Bee \u2014   \nSo bubble brooks in deserts  \nOn Ears that dying lie \u2014   \nBurn so the Evening Spires  \nTo Eyes that Closing go \u2014   \nHangs so distant Heaven \u2014   \nTo a hand below.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We lose \u2014 because we win \u2014**\n\nWe lose \u2014 because we win \u2014   \nGamblers \u2014 recollecting which  \nToss their dice again!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**All these my banners be.**\n\nAll these my banners be.  \nI sow my pageantry  \nIn May \u2014   \nIt rises train by train \u2014   \nThen sleeps in state again \u2014   \nMy chancel \u2014 all the plain  \nToday.\n\nTo lose \u2014 if one can find again \u2014   \nTo miss \u2014 if one shall meet \u2014   \nThe Burglar cannot rob \u2014 then \u2014   \nThe Broker cannot cheat.  \nSo build the hillocks gaily  \nThou little spade of mine  \nLeaving nooks for Daisy  \nAnd for Columbine \u2014   \nYou and I the secret  \nOf the Crocus know \u2014   \nLet us chant it softly \u2014   \n\"There is no more snow!\"\n\nTo him who keeps an Orchis' heart \u2014   \nThe swamps are pink with June.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I had a guinea golden \u2014**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nI had a guinea golden -  \nI lost it in the sand -  \nAnd tho' the sum was simple  \nAnd pounds were in the land -  \nStill, had it such a value  \nUnto my frugal eye -  \nThat when I could not find it-  \nI sat me down to sigh.\n\nI had a crimson Robin -  \nWho sang full many a day  \nBut when the woods were painted -  \nHe - too - did fly away -  \nTime brought me other Robins -  \nTheir ballads were the same -  \nStill, for my missing Troubadour  \nI kept the \"house at hame\".\n\nI had a star in heaven -  \nOne \"Pleiad\" was it's name -  \nAnd when I was not heeding,  \nIt wandered from the same -  \nAnd tho' the skies are crowded -  \nAnd all the night ashine -  \nI do not care about it -  \nSince none of them are mine -\n\nMy story has a moral -  \nI have a missing friend -  \n\"Pleiad\" it's name - and Robin -  \nAnd guinea in the sand -  \nAnd when this mournful ditty  \nAccompanied with tear -  \nShall meet the eye of traitor  \nIn country far from here -  \nGrant that repentance solemn  \nMay seize opon his mind -  \nAnd he no consolation  \nBeneath the sun may find.\n\n**Version 2**\n\nI had a guinea golden \u2014   \nI lost it in the sand \u2014   \nAnd tho' the sum was simple  \nAnd pounds were in the land \u2014   \nStill, had it such a value  \nUnto my frugal eye \u2014   \nThat when I could not find it \u2014   \nI sat me down to sigh.\n\nI had a crimson Robin \u2014   \nWho sang full many a day  \nBut when the woods were painted,  \nHe, too, did fly away \u2014\n\nTime brought me other Robins \u2014   \nTheir ballads were the same \u2014   \nStill, for my missing Troubador  \nI kept the \"house at hame.\"\n\nI had a star in heaven \u2014   \nOne \"Pleiad\" was its name \u2014   \nAnd when I was not heeding,  \nIt wandered from the same.  \nAnd tho' the skies are crowded \u2014   \nAnd all the night ashine \u2014   \nI do not care about it \u2014   \nSince none of them are mine.\n\nMy story has a moral \u2014   \nI have a missing friend \u2014   \n\"Pleiad\" its name, and Robin,  \nAnd guinea in the sand.  \nAnd when this mournful ditty  \nAccompanied with tear \u2014   \nShall meet the eye of traitor  \nIn country far from here \u2014   \nGrant that repentance solemn  \nMay seize upon his mind \u2014   \nAnd he no consolation  \nBeneath the sun may find.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is a morn by men unseen \u2014**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nThere is a morn by men unseen -  \nWhose maids opon remoter green  \nKeep their seraphic May -  \nAnd all day long, with dance and game,  \nAnd gambo! I may never name -  \nEmploy their holiday.\n\nHere to light measure, move the feet  \nWhich walk no more the village street -  \nNor by the wood are found -  \nHere are the birds that sought the sun  \nWhen last year's distaff idle hung  \nAnd summer's brows were bound.\n\nNe'er saw I such a wondrous scene -  \nNe'er such a ring on such a green -  \nNor so serene array -  \nAs if the stars some summer night  \nShould swing their cups of Chrysolite -  \nAnd revel till the day -\n\nLike thee to dance - like thee to sing -  \nPeople opon that mystic green -  \nI ask, each new May morn.  \nI wait thy far - fantastic bells -  \nAnnouncing me in other dells -  \nUnto the different dawn!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nThere is a morn by men unseen \u2014   \nWhose maids upon remoter green  \nKeep their Seraphic May \u2014   \nAnd all day long, with dance and game,  \nAnd gambol I may never name \u2014   \nEmploy their holiday.\n\nHere to light measure, move the feet  \nWhich walk no more the village street \u2014   \nNor by the wood are found \u2014   \nHere are the birds that sought the sun  \nWhen last year's distaff idle hung  \nAnd summer's brows were bound.\n\nNe'er saw I such a wondrous scene \u2014   \nNe'er such a ring on such a green \u2014   \nNor so serene array \u2014   \nAs if the stars some summer night  \nShould swing their cups of Chrysolite \u2014   \nAnd revel till the day \u2014\n\nLike thee to dance \u2014 like thee to sing \u2014   \nPeople upon the mystic green \u2014   \nI ask, each new May Morn.  \nI wait thy far, fantastic bells \u2014   \nUnto the different dawn!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She slept beneath a tree \u2014**\n\nShe slept beneath a tree \u2014   \nRemembered but by me.  \nI touched her Cradle mute \u2014   \nShe recognized the foot \u2014   \nPut on her carmine suit  \nAnd see!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It's all I have to bring today \u2014**\n\nIt's all I have to bring today \u2014   \nThis, and my heart beside \u2014   \nThis, and my heart, and all the fields \u2014   \nAnd all the meadows wide \u2014   \nBe sure you count \u2014 should I forget  \nSome one the sum could tell \u2014   \nThis, and my heart, and all the Bees  \nWhich in the Clover dwell.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Morns like these \u2014 we parted \u2014**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nMorns like these - we parted  \nNoons like these - she rose!  \nFluttering first - then firmer  \nTo her fair repose -  \nNever did she lisp it  \nAnd 'twas not for _me_ -  \nShe was mute for transport  \nI, for agony!  \nTill the evening nearing  \nOne the shutters drew -  \nQuick! a sharper rustling!  \nAnd this linnet flew!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nMorns like these - we parted.  \nNoons like these - she rose  \nFluttering first - then firmer -  \nTo her fair repose.  \nNever did she lisp it -  \nAnd 'twas not for _me_ -  \nShe was mute from transport -  \nI - from agony -  \nTill - the evening nearing -  \nOne the Curtains drew -  \nQuick! A sharper rustling!  \nAnd this Linnet flew!\n\n**Version 3**\n\nMorns like these - we parted -  \nNoons like these - she rose -  \nFluttering first - then firmer  \nTo her fair repose.\n\nNever did she lisp it -  \nIt was not for _me_ -  \nShe - was mute from transport -  \nI - from agony -\n\nTill - the evening nearing  \nOne the curtains drew -  \nQuick! A sharper rustling!  \nAnd this linnet flew!\n\n**Version 4**\n\nMorns like these \u2014 we parted \u2014   \nNoons like these \u2014 she rose \u2014   \nFluttering first \u2014 then firmer  \nTo her fair repose.  \nNever did she lisp it \u2014   \nIt was not for me \u2014   \nShe \u2014 was mute from transport \u2014   \nI \u2014 from agony \u2014   \nTill \u2014 the evening nearing  \nOne the curtains drew \u2014   \nQuick! A Sharper rustling!  \nAnd this linnet flew!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So has a Daisy vanished**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nSo has a Daisy vanished  \nFrom the fields today -  \nSo tiptoed many a slipper  \nTo Paradise away -  \nOozed so, in crimson bubbles  \nDay's departing tide -  \nBlooming - tripping - flowing -  \nAre ye then with God?\n\n**Version 2**\n\nSo has a Daisy vanished  \nFrom the fields today \u2014   \nSo tiptoed many a slipper  \nTo Paradise away \u2014\n\nOozed so in crimson bubbles  \nDay's departing tide \u2014   \nBlooming \u2014 tripping \u2014 flowing  \nAre ye then with God?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If those I loved were lost**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nIf those I loved were lost,  \nthe crier's voice would tell me -  \nIf those I loved were found,  \nthe bells of Ghent would ring,\n\nDid those I loved repose,  \nthe Daisy would impel me -  \nPhilip when bewildered -  \nbore his riddle in -\n\n**Version 2**\n\nIf those I loved were lost  \nThe Crier's voice w'd tell me -  \nIf those I loved were found  \nThe bells of Ghent w'd ring -  \nDid those I loved repose  \nThe Daisy would impel me.  \nPhilip - when bewildered  \nBore his riddle in!\n\n**Version 3**\n\nIf those I loved were lost  \nThe Crier's voice would tell me \u2014   \nIf those I loved were found  \nThe bells of Ghent would ring \u2014\n\nDid those I loved repose  \nThe Daisy would impel me.  \nPhilip \u2014 when bewildered  \nBore his riddle in!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Adrift! A little boat adrift!**\n\nAdrift! A little boat adrift!  \nAnd night is coming down!  \nWill _no_ one guide a little boat  \nUnto the nearest town?\n\nSo Sailors say \u2014 on yesterday \u2014   \nJust as the dusk was brown  \nOne little boat gave up its strife  \nAnd gurgled down and down.\n\nSo angels say \u2014 on yesterday \u2014   \nJust as the dawn was red  \nOne little boat \u2014 o'erspent with gales \u2014   \nRetrimmed its masts \u2014 redecked its sails \u2014   \nAnd shot \u2014 exultant on!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Summer for thee, grant I may be**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nSummer for thee, grant I may be  \nWhen Summer days are flown!  \nThy music still, when Whippowil  \nAnd Oriole - are done!\n\nFor thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb  \nAnd row my blossoms o'er!  \nPray gather me -  \nAnemone -  \nThy flower - forevermore!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nSummer for thee, grant I may be  \nWhen Summer days are flown!  \nThy music still, when Whipporwill  \nAnd Oriole \u2014 are done!\n\nFor thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb  \nAnd row my blossoms o'er!  \nPray gather me \u2014   \nAnemone \u2014   \nThy flower \u2014 forevermore!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When Roses cease to bloom, Sir,**\n\nWhen Roses cease to bloom, Sir,  \nAnd Violets are done \u2014   \nWhen Bumblebees in solemn flight  \nHave passed beyond the Sun \u2014   \nThe hand that paused to gather  \nUpon this Summer's day  \nWill idle lie \u2014 in Auburn \u2014   \nThen take my flowers \u2014 pray!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If recollecting were forgetting,**\n\n**Version 1**\n\n_Oh_ if remembering were forgetting -  \nThen I remember not!  \nAnd if forgetting - recollecting -  \nHow near I had forgot!  \nAnd if to miss - were merry -  \nAnd to mourn were gay,  \nHow very blithe the maiden  \nWho gathered these today!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nIf recollecting were forgetting,  \nThen I remember not,  \nAnd if forgetting, recollecting,  \nHow near I had forgot,  \nAnd if to miss, were merry,  \nAnd to mourn, were gay,  \nHow very blithe the fingers  \nThat gathered this, today!\n\n**Version 3**\n\nIf recollecting is forgetting,  \nthen I remember yet.  \nAnd if forgetting, recollecting,  \nhow near I shall forget.  \nAnd if to miss, were merry,  \nand to mourn, were gay,  \nhow very blithe the fingers  \nthat gather this today\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Garland for Queens, may be \u2014**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nGarlands for Queens, may be -  \nLaurels - for rare degree  \nOf soul or sword -  \nAh - but remembering me -  \nAh - but remembering thee -  \nNature in chivalry -  \nNature in charity -  \nNature in equity -  \nThe Rose ordained!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nGarland for Queens, may be \u2014   \nLaurels \u2014 for rare degree  \nOf soul or sword.  \nAh \u2014 but remembering me \u2014   \nAh \u2014 but remembering thee \u2014   \nNature in chivalry \u2014   \nNature in charity \u2014   \nNature in equity \u2014   \nThis Rose ordained!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Nobody knows this little Rose \u2014**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nNobody knows this little rose;  \nIt might a pilgrim be,  \nDid I not take it from the ways,  \nAnd lift it up to thee!\n\nOnly a bee will miss it;  \nOnly a butterfly,  \nHastening from far journey,  \nOn it's breast to lie.\n\nOnly a bird will wonder;  \nOnly a breeze will sigh;  \nAh! little rose, how easy  \nFor such as thee to die!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nNobody knows this little Rose \u2014   \nIt might a pilgrim be  \nDid I not take it from the ways  \nAnd lift it up to thee.  \nOnly a Bee will miss it \u2014   \nOnly a Butterfly,  \nHastening from far journey \u2014   \nOn its breast to lie \u2014   \nOnly a Bird will wonder \u2014   \nOnly a Breeze will sigh \u2014   \nAh Little Rose \u2014 how easy  \nFor such as thee to die!\n\n**Version 3**\n\nNobody knows this little Rose.  \nIt might a pilgrim be  \nDid I not take it from the ways  \nAnd lift it up to Thee. -  \nOnly a Bee will miss it -  \nOnly a Butterfly,  \nHastening from far journey  \nOn it's breast - to lie -  \nOnly a Bird - will wonder -  \nOnly a Breeze will sigh,  \nAh, little Rose!  \nHow Easy, for such as thee, to die!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Snow flakes.**\n\nSnow flakes.\n\nI counted till they danced so  \nTheir slippers leaped the town,  \nAnd then I took a pencil  \nTo note the rebels down.  \nAnd then they grew so jolly  \nI did resign the prig,  \nAnd ten of my once stately toes  \nAre marshalled for a jig!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Before the ice is in the pools \u2014**\n\nBefore the ice is in the pools \u2014   \nBefore the skaters go,  \nOr any check at nightfall  \nIs tarnished by the snow \u2014\n\nBefore the fields have finished,  \nBefore the Christmas tree,  \nWonder upon wonder  \nWill arrive to me!\n\nWhat we touch the hems of  \nOn a summer's day \u2014   \nWhat is only walking  \nJust a bridge away \u2014\n\nThat which sings so \u2014 speaks so \u2014   \nWhen there's no one here \u2014   \nWill the frock I wept in  \nAnswer me to wear?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**By such and such an offering**\n\nBy such and such an offering  \nTo Mr. So and So,  \nThe web of live woven \u2014   \nSo martyrs albums show!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It did not surprise me \u2014**\n\nIt did not surprise me \u2014   \nSo I said \u2014 or thought \u2014   \nShe will stir her pinions  \nAnd the nest forgot,\n\nTraverse broader forests \u2014   \nBuild in gayer boughs,  \nBreathe in Ear more modern  \nGod's old fashioned vows \u2014\n\nThis was but a Birdling \u2014   \nWhat and if it be  \nOne within my bosom  \nHad departed me?\n\nThis was but a story \u2014   \nWhat and if indeed  \nThere were just such coffin  \nIn the heart instead?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When I count the seeds**\n\nWhen I count the seeds  \nThat are sown beneath,  \nTo bloom so, bye and bye \u2014   \nWhen I con the people  \nLain so low,  \nTo be received as high \u2014   \nWhen I believe the garden  \nMortal shall not see \u2014   \nPick by faith its blossom  \nAnd avoid its Bee,  \nI can spare this summer, unreluctantly.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I robbed the Woods \u2014**\n\nI robbed the Woods \u2014   \nThe trusting Woods.  \nThe unsuspecting Trees  \nBrought out their Burs and mosses  \nMy fantasy to please.  \nI scanned their trinkets curious \u2014 I grasped \u2014 I bore away \u2014   \nWhat will the solemn Hemlock \u2014   \nWhat will the Oak tree say?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!**\n\nA Day! Help! Help! Another Day!  \nYour prayers, oh Passer by!  \nFrom such a common ball as this  \nMight date a Victory!  \nFrom marshallings as simple  \nThe flags of nations swang.  \nSteady \u2014 my soul: What issues  \nUpon thine arrow hang!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Could live \u2014 did live \u2014**\n\nCould live \u2014 did live \u2014   \nCould die \u2014 did die \u2014   \nCould smile upon the whole  \nThrough faith in one he met not,  \nTo introduce his soul.\n\nCould go from scene familiar  \nTo an untraversed spot \u2014   \nCould contemplate the journey  \nWith unpuzzled heart \u2014\n\nSuch trust had one among us,  \nAmong us not today \u2014   \nWe who saw the launching  \nNever sailed the Bay!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If she had been the Mistletoe**\n\nIf she had been the Mistletoe  \nAnd I had been the Rose \u2014   \nHow gay upon your table  \nMy velvet life to close \u2014   \nSince I am of the Druid,  \nAnd she is of the dew \u2014   \nI'll deck Tradition's buttonhole \u2014   \nAnd send the Rose to you.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There's something quieter than sleep**\n\nThere's something quieter than sleep  \nWithin this inner room!  \nIt wears a sprig upon its breast \u2014   \nAnd will not tell its name.\n\nSome touch it, and some kiss it \u2014   \nSome chafe its idle hand \u2014   \nIt has a simple gravity  \nI do not understand!\n\nI would not weep if I were they \u2014   \nHow rude in one to sob!  \nMight scare the quiet fairy  \nBack to her native wood!\n\nWhile simple-hearted neighbors  \nChat of the \"Early dead\" \u2014   \nWe \u2014 prone to periphrasis  \nRemark that Birds have fled!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I keep my pledge.**\n\nI keep my pledge.  \nI was not called \u2014   \nDeath did not notice me.  \nI bring my Rose.  \nI plight again,  \nBy every sainted Bee \u2014   \nBy Daisy called from hillside \u2014   \nby Bobolink from lane.  \nBlossom and I \u2014   \nHer oath, and mine \u2014   \nWill surely come again.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Heart! We will forget him!**\n\nHeart! We will forget him!  \nYou and I \u2014 tonight!  \nYou may forget the warmth he gave \u2014   \nI will forget the light!\n\nWhen you have done, pray tell me  \nThat I may straight begin!  \nHaste! lest while you're lagging  \nI remember him!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Once more, my now bewildered Dove**\n\nOnce more, my now bewildered Dove  \nBestirs her puzzled wings  \nOnce more her mistress, on the deep  \nHer troubled question flings \u2014\n\nThrice to the floating casement  \nThe Patriarch's bird returned,  \nCourage! My brave Columba!  \nThere may yet be land\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I never lost as much but twice,**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nI NEVER lost as much but twice,  \nAnd that was in the sod ;  \nTwice have I stood a beggar  \nBefore the door of God !\n\nAngels, twice descending,  \nReimbursed my store.  \nBurglar, banker, father,  \nI am poor once more !\n\n**Version 2**\n\nI never lost as much but twice,  \nAnd that was in the sod.  \nTwice have I stood a beggar  \nBefore the door of God!\n\nAngels \u2014 twice descending  \nReimbursed my store \u2014   \nBurglar! Banker \u2014 Father!  \nI am poor once more!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I haven't told my garden yet \u2014**\n\nI haven't told my garden yet \u2014   \nLest that should conquer me.  \nI haven't quite the strength now  \nTo break it to the Bee \u2014\n\nI will not name it in the street  \nFor shops would stare at me \u2014   \nThat one so shy \u2014 so ignorant  \nShould have the face to die.\n\nThe hillsides must not know it \u2014   \nWhere I have rambled so \u2014   \nNor tell the loving forests  \nThe day that I shall go \u2014\n\nNor lisp it at the table \u2014   \nNor heedless by the way  \nHint that within the Riddle  \nOne will walk today \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I often passed the village**\n\nI often passed the village  \nWhen going home from school \u2014   \nAnd wondered what they did there \u2014   \nAnd why it was so still \u2014\n\nI did not know the year then \u2014   \nIn which my call would come \u2014   \nEarlier, by the Dial,  \nThan the rest have gone.\n\nIt's stiller than the sundown.  \nIt's cooler than the dawn \u2014   \nThe Daisies dare to come here \u2014   \nAnd birds can flutter down \u2014\n\nSo when you are tired \u2014   \nOr perplexed \u2014 or cold \u2014   \nTrust the loving promise  \nUnderneath the mould,  \nCry \"it's I,\" \"take Dollie,\"  \nAnd I will enfold!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Whether my bark went down at sea \u2014**\n\nWHETHER my bark went down at sea,  \nWhether she met with gales,  \nWhether to isles enchanted  \nShe bent her docile sails ;\n\nBy what mystic mooring  \nShe is held to-day, \u2014   \nThis is the errand of the eye  \nOut upon the bay.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Taken from men \u2014 this morning \u2014**\n\nTaken from men \u2014 this morning \u2014   \nCarried by men today \u2014   \nMet by the Gods with banners \u2014   \nWho marshalled her away \u2014\n\nOne little maid \u2014 from playmates \u2014   \nOne little mind from school \u2014   \nThere must be guests in Eden \u2014   \nAll the rooms are full \u2014\n\nFar \u2014 as the East from Even \u2014   \nDim \u2014 as the border star \u2014   \nCourtiers quaint, in Kingdoms  \nOur departed are.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If I should die,**\n\nIf I should die,  \nAnd you should live \u2014   \nAnd time should gurgle on \u2014   \nAnd morn should beam \u2014   \nAnd noon should burn \u2014   \nAs it has usual done \u2014   \nIf Birds should build as early  \nAnd Bees as bustling go \u2014   \nOne might depart at option  \nFrom enterprise below!  \n'Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand  \nWhen we with Daisies lie \u2014   \nThat Commerce will continue \u2014   \nAnd Trades as briskly fly \u2014   \nIt makes the parting tranquil  \nAnd keeps the soul serene \u2014   \nThat gentlemen so sprightly  \nConduct the pleasing scene!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**By Chivalries as tiny,**\n\nBy Chivalries as tiny,  \nA Blossom, or a Book,  \nThe seeds of smiles are planted \u2014   \nWhich blossom in the dark.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If I should cease to bring a Rose**\n\nIf I should cease to bring a Rose  \nUpon a festal day,  \n'Twill be because beyond the Rose  \nI have been called away \u2014   \nIf I should cease to take the names  \nMy buds commemorate \u2014   \n'Twill be because Death's finger  \nClaps my murmuring lip!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To venerate the simple days**\n\nTo venerate the simple days  \nWhich lead the seasons by,  \nNeeds but to remember  \nThat from you or I,  \nThey may take the trifle  \nTermed mortality!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Delayed till she had ceased to know \u2014**\n\nDelayed till she had ceased to know \u2014   \nDelayed till in its vest of snow  \nHer loving bosom lay \u2014   \nAn hour behind the fleeting breath \u2014   \nLater by just an hour than Death \u2014   \nOh lagging Yesterday!\n\nCould she have guessed that it would be \u2014   \nCould but a crier of the joy  \nHave climbed the distant hill \u2014   \nHad not the bliss so slow a pace  \nWho knows but this surrendered face  \nWere undefeated still?\n\nOh if there may departing be  \nAny forgot by Victory  \nIn her imperial round \u2014   \nShow them this meek appareled thing  \nThat could not stop to be a king \u2014   \nDoubtful if it be crowned!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A little East of Jordan,**\n\nA little East of Jordan,  \nEvangelists record,  \nA Gymnast and an Angel  \nDid wrestle long and hard \u2014\n\nTill morning touching mountain \u2014   \nAnd Jacob, waxing strong,  \nThe Angel begged permission  \nTo Breakfast \u2014 to return \u2014\n\nNot so, said cunning Jacob!  \n\"I will not let thee go  \nExcept thou bless me\" \u2014 Stranger!  \nThe which acceded to \u2014\n\nLight swung the silver fleeces  \n\"Peniel\" Hills beyond,  \nAnd the bewildered Gymnast  \nFound he had worsted God!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Like her the Saints retire,**\n\nLike her the Saints retire,  \nIn their Chapeaux of fire,  \nMartial as she!\n\nLike her the Evenings steal  \nPurple and Cochineal  \nAfter the Day!\n\n\"Departed\" \u2014 both \u2014 they say!  \ni.e. gathered away,  \nNot found,\n\nArgues the Aster still \u2014   \nReasons the Daffodil  \nProfound!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Papa above!**\n\nPapa above!  \nRegard a Mouse  \nO'erpowered by the Cat!  \nReserve within thy kingdom  \nA \"Mansion\" for the Rat!\n\nSnug in seraphic Cupboards  \nTo nibble all the day  \nWhile unsuspecting Cycles  \nWheel solemnly away!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sown in dishonor!**\n\n\"Sown in dishonor\"!  \nAh! Indeed!  \nMay _this_ \"dishonor\" be?  \nIf I were half so fine myself  \nI'd notice nobody!\n\n\"Sown in corruption\"!  \nNot so fast!  \nApostle is askew!  \nCorinthians 1. 15. narrates  \nA Circumstance or two!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If pain for peace prepares**\n\nIf pain for peace prepares  \nLo, what \"Augustan\" years  \nOur feet await!\n\nIf springs from winter rise,  \nCan the Anemones  \nBe reckoned up?\n\nIf night stands fast \u2014 then noon  \nTo gird us for the sun,  \nWhat gaze!\n\nWhen from a thousand skies  \nOn our developed eyes  \nNoons blaze!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Some Rainbow \u2014 coming from the Fair!**\n\nSome Rainbow \u2014 coming from the Fair!  \nSome Vision of the World Cashmere \u2014   \nI confidently see!  \nOr else a Peacock's purple Train  \nFeather by feather \u2014 on the plain  \nFritters itself away!\n\nThe dreamy Butterflies bestir!  \nLethargic pools resume the whir  \nOf last year's sundered tune!  \nFrom some old Fortress on the sun  \nBaronial Bees \u2014 march \u2014 one by one \u2014   \nIn murmuring platoon!\n\nThe Robins stand as thick today  \nAs flakes of snow stood yesterday \u2014   \nOn fence \u2014 and Roof \u2014 and Twig!  \nThe Orchis binds her feather on  \nFor her old lover - Don the Sun!  \nRevisiting the Bog!\n\nWithout Commander! Countless! Still!  \nThe Regiments of Wood and Hill  \nIn bright detachment stand!  \nBehold! Whose Multitudes are these?  \nThe children of whose turbaned seas \u2014   \nOr what Circassian Land?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I can't tell you \u2014 but you feel it \u2014**\n\nI can't tell you \u2014 but you feel it \u2014   \nNor can you tell me \u2014   \nSaints, with ravished slate and pencil  \nSolve our April Day!\n\nSweeter than a vanished frolic  \nFrom a vanished green!  \nSwifter than the hoofs of Horsemen  \nRound a Ledge of dream!\n\nModest, let us walk among it  \nWith our faces veiled \u2014   \nAs they say polite Archangels  \nDo in meeting God!\n\nNot for me \u2014 to prate about it!  \nNot for you \u2014 to say  \nTo some fashionable Lady  \n\"Charming April Day\"!\n\nRather \u2014 Heaven's \"Peter Parley\"!  \nBy which Children slow  \nTo sublimer Recitation  \nAre prepared to go!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So from the mould**\n\nSo from the mould  \nScarlet and Gold  \nMany a Bulb will rise \u2014   \nHidden away, cunningly, From sagacious eyes.\n\nSo from Cocoon  \nMany a Worm  \nLeap so Highland gay,  \nPeasants like me,  \nPeasants like Thee  \nGaze perplexedly!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Success is counted sweetest**\n\nPOEMS.\n\nI.\n\nSUCCESS.\n\n[Published in \"A Masque of Poets\" at the request of  \n\"H. H.,\" the author's fellow-townswoman and friend]\n\nSUCCESS is counted sweetest  \nBy those who ne'er succeed.  \nTo comprehend a nectar  \nRequires sorest need.\n\nNot one of all the purple host  \nWho took the flag to-day  \nCan tell the definition,  \nSo clear, of victory,\n\nAs he, defeated, dying,  \nOn whose forbidden ear  \nThe distant strains of triumph  \nBreak, agonized and clear.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Ambition cannot find him.**\n\nAmbition cannot find him.  \nAffection doesn't know  \nHow many leagues of nowhere  \nLie between them now.\n\nYesterday, undistinguished!  \nEminent Today  \nFor our mutual hone, Immortality!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Low at my problem bending,**\n\nLow at my problem bending,  \nAnother problem comes \u2014   \nLarger than mine \u2014 Serener \u2014   \nInvolving statelier sums.\n\nI check my busy pencil,  \nMy figures file away.  \nWherefore, my baffled fingers  \nThey perplexity?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Arcturus is his other name \u2014**\n\n\"Arcturus\" is his other name \u2014   \nI'd rather call him \"Star.\"  \nIt's very mean of Science  \nTo go and interfere!\n\nI slew a worm the other day \u2014   \nA \"Savant\" passing by  \nMurmured \"Resurgam\" \u2014 \"Centipede\"!  \n\"Oh Lord \u2014 how frail are we\"!\n\nI pull a flower from the woods \u2014   \nA monster with a glass  \nComputes the stamens in a breath \u2014   \nAnd has her in a \"class\"!\n\nWhereas I took the Butterfly  \nAforetime in my hat \u2014   \nHe sits erect in \"Cabinets\" \u2014   \nThe Clover bells forgot.\n\nWhat once was \"Heaven\" Is \"Zenith\" now \u2014   \nWhere I proposed to go  \nWhen Time's brief masquerade was done  \nIs mapped and charted too.\n\nWhat if the poles should frisk about  \nAnd stand upon their heads!  \nI hope I'm ready for \"the worst\" \u2014   \nWhatever prank betides!\n\nPerhaps the \"Kingdom of Heaven's\" changed \u2014   \nI hope the \"Children\" there  \nWon't be \"new fashioned\" when I come \u2014   \nAnd laugh at me \u2014 and stare \u2014\n\nI hope the Father in the skies  \nWill lift his little girl \u2014   \nOld fashioned \u2014 naught \u2014 everything \u2014   \nOver the stile of \"Pearl.\"\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A throe upon the features \u2014**\n\nA throe upon the features \u2014   \nA hurry in the breath \u2014   \nAn ecstasy of parting  \nDenominated \"Death\" \u2014\n\nAn anguish at the mention  \nWhich when to patience grown,  \nI've known permission given  \nTo rejoin its own.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Glowing is her Bonnet,**\n\nGlowing is her Bonnet,  \nGlowing is her Cheek,  \nGlowing is her Kirtle,  \nYet she cannot speak.\n\nBetter as the Daisy  \nFrom the Summer hill  \nVanish unrecorded  \nSave by tearful rill \u2014\n\nSave by loving sunrise  \nLooking for her face.  \nSave by feet unnumbered  \nPausing at the place.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Who never lost, are unprepared**\n\nWho never lost, are unprepared  \nA Coronet to find!  \nWho never thirsted  \nFlagons, and Cooling Tamarind!\n\nWho never climbed the weary league \u2014   \nCan such a foot explore  \nThe purple territories  \nOn Pizarro's shore?\n\nHow many Legions overcome \u2014   \nThe Emperor will say?  \nHow many Colors taken  \nOn Revolution Day?\n\nHow many Bullets bearest?  \nHast Thou the Royal scar?  \nAngels! Write \"Promoted\"  \nOn this Soldier's brow!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Lady red \u2014 amid the Hill**\n\nA Lady red \u2014 amid the Hill  \nHer annual secret keeps!  \nA Lady white, within the Field  \nIn placid Lily sleeps!\n\nThe tidy Breezes, with their Brooms \u2014   \nSweep vale \u2014 and hill \u2014 and tree!  \nPrithee, My pretty Housewives!  \nWho may expected be?\n\nThe Neighbors do not yet suspect!  \nThe Woods exchange a smile!  \nOrchard, and Buttercup, and Bird \u2014   \nIn such a little while!\n\nAnd yet, how still the Landscape stands!  \nHow nonchalant the Hedge!  \nAs if the \"Resurrection\"  \nWere nothing very strange!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She died at play,**\n\nShe died at play,  \nGambolled away  \nHer lease of spotted hours,  \nThen sank as gaily as a Turk  \nUpon a Couch of flowers.\n\nHer ghost strolled softly o'er the hill  \nYesterday, and Today,  \nHer vestments as the silver fleece \u2014   \nHer countenance as spray.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Exultation is the going**\n\nExultation is the going  \nOf an inland soul to sea,  \nPast the houses \u2014 past the headlands \u2014   \nInto deep Eternity \u2014\n\nBred as we, among the mountains,  \nCan the sailor understand  \nThe divine intoxication  \nOf the first league out from land?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I never hear the word escape**\n\nI never hear the word \"escape\"  \nWithout a quicker blood,  \nA sudden expectation  \nA flying attitude!\n\nI never hear of prisons broad  \nBy soldiers battered down,  \nBut I tug childish at my bars  \nOnly to fail again!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A poor \u2014 torn heart \u2014 a tattered heart \u2014**\n\nA poor \u2014 torn heart \u2014 a tattered heart \u2014   \nThat sat it down to rest \u2014   \nNor noticed that the Ebbing Day  \nFlowed silver to the West \u2014   \nNor noticed Night did soft descend \u2014   \nNor Constellation burn \u2014   \nIntent upon the vision  \nOf latitudes unknown.\n\nThe angels \u2014 happening that way  \nThis dusty heart espied \u2014   \nTenderly took it up from toil  \nAnd carried it to God \u2014   \nThere \u2014 sandals for the Barefoot \u2014   \nThere \u2014 gathered from the gales \u2014   \nDo the blue havens by the hand  \nLead the wandering Sails.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Going to Heaven!**\n\nGoing to Heaven!  \nI don't know when \u2014   \nPray do not ask me how!  \nIndeed I'm too astonished  \nTo think of answering you!  \nGoing to Heaven!  \nHow dim it sounds!  \nAnd yet it will be done  \nAs sure as flocks go home at night  \nUnto the Shepherd's arm!\n\nPerhaps you're going too!  \nWho knows?  \nIf you should get there first  \nSave just a little space for me  \nClose to the two I lost \u2014   \nThe smallest \"Robe\" will fit me  \nAnd just a bit of \"Crown\" \u2014   \nFor you know we do not mind our dress  \nWhen we are going home \u2014\n\nI'm glad I don't believe it  \nFor it would stop my breath \u2014   \nAnd I'd like to look a little more  \nAt such a curious Earth!  \nI'm glad they did believe it  \nWhom I have never found  \nSince the might Autumn afternoon  \nI left them in the ground.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Our lives are Swiss \u2014**\n\nOur lives are Swiss \u2014   \nSo still \u2014 so Cool \u2014   \nTill some odd afternoon  \nThe Alps neglect their Curtains  \nAnd we look farther on!\n\nItaly stands the other side!  \nWhile like a guard between \u2014   \nThe solemn Alps \u2014   \nThe siren Alps  \nForever intervene!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We should not mind so small a flower \u2014**\n\nWe should not mind so small a flower \u2014   \nExcept it quiet bring  \nOur little garden that we lost  \nBack to the Lawn again.\n\nSo spicy her Carnations nod \u2014   \nSo drunken, reel her Bees \u2014   \nSo silver steal a hundred flutes  \nFrom out a hundred trees \u2014\n\nThat whoso sees this little flower  \nBy faith may clear behold  \nThe Bobolinks around the throne  \nAnd Dandelions gold.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Whose cheek is this?**\n\nWhose cheek is this?  \nWhat rosy face  \nHas lost a blush today?  \nI found her \u2014 \"pleiad\" \u2014 in the woods  \nAnd bore her safe away.\n\nRobins, in the tradition  \nDid cover such with leaves,  \nBut which the cheek \u2014   \nAnd which the pall  \nMy scrutiny deceives.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Heart, not so heavy as mine**\n\nHeart, not so heavy as mine  \nWending late home \u2014   \nAs it passed my window  \nWhistled itself a tune \u2014   \nA careless snatch \u2014 a ballad \u2014 A ditty of the street \u2014   \nYet to my irritated Ear  \nAn Anodyne so sweet \u2014   \nIt was as if a Bobolink  \nSauntering this way  \nCarolled, and paused, and carolled \u2014   \nThen bubbled slow away!  \nIt was as if a chirping brook  \nUpon a dusty way \u2014   \nSet bleeding feet to minuets  \nWithout the knowing why!  \nTomorrow, night will come again \u2014   \nPerhaps, weary and sore \u2014   \nAh Bugle! By my window  \nI pray you pass once more.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Her breast is fit for pearls,**\n\nHer breast is fit for pearls,  \nBut I was not a \"Diver\" \u2014   \nHer brow is fit for thrones  \nBut I have not a crest.  \nHer heart is fit for home \u2014   \nI \u2014 a Sparrow \u2014 build there  \nSweet of twigs and twine  \nMy perennial nest.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**They have not chosen me, he said,**\n\n\"They have not chosen me,\" he said,  \n\"But I have chosen them!\"  \nBrave \u2014 Broken hearted statement \u2014   \nUttered in Bethlehem!\n\nI could not have told it,  \nBut since Jesus dared \u2014   \nSovereign! Know a Daisy  \nThey dishonor shared!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**South Winds jostle them \u2014**\n\nSouth Winds jostle them \u2014   \nBumblebees come \u2014   \nHover \u2014 hesitate \u2014   \nDrink, and are gone \u2014\n\nButterflies pause  \nOn their passage Cashmere \u2014   \nI \u2014 softly plucking,  \nPresent them here!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A darting fear \u2014 a pomp \u2014 a tear \u2014**\n\nA darting fear \u2014 a pomp \u2014 a tear \u2014   \nA waking on a morn  \nTo find that what one waked for,  \nInhales the different dawn.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As by the dead we love to sit,**\n\nAs by the dead we love to sit,  \nBecome so wondrous dear \u2014   \nAs for the lost we grapple  \nTho' all the rest are here \u2014\n\nIn broken mathematics  \nWe estimate our prize  \nVast \u2014 in its fading ration  \nTo our penurious eyes!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Some things that fly there be \u2014**\n\nSome things that fly there be \u2014   \nBirds \u2014 Hours \u2014 the Bumblebee \u2014   \nOf these no Elegy.\n\nSome things that stay there be \u2014   \nGrief \u2014 Hills \u2014 Eternity \u2014   \nNor this behooveth me.\n\nThere are that resting, rise.  \nCan I expound the skies?  \nHow still the Riddle lies!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Within my reach!**\n\nWITHIN my reach !  \nI could have touched !  \nI might have chanced that way !  \nSoft sauntered through the village,  \nSauntered as soft away !  \nSo unsuspected violets  \nWithin the fields lie low ;  \nToo late for striving fingers  \nThat passed, an hour ago.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So bashful when I spied her!**\n\nSO bashful when I spied her,  \nSo pretty, so ashamed !  \nSo hidden in her leaflets,  \nLest anybody find ;\n\nSo breathless till I passed her,  \nSo helpless when I turned  \nAnd bore her, struggling, blushing,  \nHer simple haunts beyond !\n\nFor whom I robbed the dingle,  \nFor whom betrayed the dell,  \nMany will doubtless ask me,  \nBut I shall never tell !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My friend must be a Bird \u2014**\n\nMy friend must be a Bird \u2014   \nBecause it flies!  \nMortal, my friend must be,  \nBecause it dies!  \nBarbs has it, like a Bee!  \nAh, curious friend!  \nThou puzzlest me!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Went up a year this evening!**\n\nWent up a year this evening!  \nI recollect it well!  \nAmid no bells nor bravoes  \nThe bystanders will tell!  \nCheerful \u2014 as to the village \u2014   \nTranquil \u2014 as to repose \u2014   \nChastened \u2014 as to the Chapel  \nThis humble Tourist rose!  \nDid not talk of returning!  \nAlluded to no time  \nWhen, were the gales propitious \u2014   \nWe might look for him!  \nWas grateful for the Roses  \nIn life's diverse bouquet \u2014   \nTalked softly of new species  \nTo pick another day;  \nBeguiling thus the wonder  \nThe wondrous nearer drew \u2014   \nHands bustled at the moorings \u2014   \nThe crown respectful grew \u2014   \nAscended from our vision  \nTo Countenances new!  \nA Difference \u2014 A Daisy \u2014   \nIs all the rest I knew!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Angels, in the early morning**\n\nANGELS in the early morning  \nMay be seen the dews among,  \nStooping, plucking, smiling, flying :  \nDo the buds to them belong ?\n\nAngels when the sun is hottest  \nMay be seen the sands among,  \nStooping, plucking, sighing, flying ;  \nParched the flowers they bear along.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My nosegays are for Captives \u2014**\n\nMy nosegays are for Captives \u2014   \nDim \u2014 expectant eyes,  \nFingers denied the plucking,  \nPatient till Paradise.\n\nTo such, if they should whisper  \nOf morning and the moor,  \nThey bear no other errand,  \nAnd I, no other prayer.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sexton! My Master's sleeping here.**\n\nSexton! My Master's sleeping here.  \nPray lead me to his bed!  \nI came to build the Bird's nest,  \nAnd sow the Early seed \u2014\n\nThat when the snow creeps slowly  \nFrom off his chamber door \u2014   \nDaisies point the way there \u2014   \nAnd the Troubadour.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The rainbow never tells me**\n\nThe rainbow never tells me  \nThat gust and storm are by,  \nYet is she more convincing  \nThan Philosophy.\n\nMy flowers turn from Forums \u2014   \nYet eloquent declare  \nWhat Cato couldn't prove me  \nExcept the birds were here!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One dignity delays for all \u2014**\n\nONE dignity delays for all,  \nOne mitred afternoon.  \nNone can avoid this purple,  \nNone evade this crown.\n\nCoach it insures, and footmen,  \nChamber and state and throng ;  \nBells, also, in the village,  \nAs we ride grand along.\n\nWhat dignified attendants,  \nWhat service when we pause !  \nHow loyally at parting  \nTheir hundred hats they raise !\n\nHow pomp surpassing ermine,  \nWhen simple you and I  \nPresent our meek escutcheon,  \nAnd claim the rank to die !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**New feet within my garden go \u2014**\n\nNEW feet within my garden go,  \nNew fingers stir the sod ;  \nA troubadour upon the elm  \nBetrays the solitude.\n\nNew children play upon the green,  \nNew weary sleep below ;  \nAnd still the pensive spring returns,  \nAnd still the punctual snow !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A science \u2014 so the Savants say,**\n\nA science \u2014 so the Savants say,  \n\"Comparative Anatomy\" \u2014   \nBy which a single bone \u2014   \nIs made a secret to unfold  \nOf some rare tenant of the mold,  \nElse perished in the stone \u2014\n\nSo to the eye prospective led,  \nThis meekest flower of the mead  \nUpon a winter's day,  \nStands representative in gold  \nOf Rose and Lily, manifold,  \nAnd countless Butterfly!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Will there really be a Morning?**\n\nWill there really be a \"Morning\"?  \nIs there such a thing as \"Day\"?  \nCould I see it from the mountains  \nIf I were as tall as they?\n\nHas it feet like Water lilies?  \nHas it feathers like a Bird?  \nIs it brought from famous countries  \nOf which I have never heard?\n\nOh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor!  \nOh some Wise Men from the skies!  \nPlease to tell a little Pilgrim  \nWhere the place called \"Morning\" lies!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Great Caesar! Condescend**\n\nGreat Caesar! Condescend  \nThe Daisy, to receive,  \nGathered by Cato's Daughter,  \nWith your majestic leave!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I have a King, who does not speak \u2014**\n\nI have a King, who does not speak \u2014   \nSo \u2014 wondering \u2014 thro' the hours meek  \nI trudge the day away \u2014   \nHalf glad when it is night, and sleep,  \nIf, haply, thro' a dream, to peep  \nIn parlors, shut by day.\n\nAnd if I do \u2014 when morning comes \u2014   \nIt is as if a hundred drums  \nDid round my pillow roll,  \nAnd shouts fill all my Childish sky,  \nAnd Bells keep saying \"Victory\"  \nFrom steeples in my soul!\n\nAnd if I don't \u2014 the little Bird  \nWithin the Orchard, is not heard,  \nAnd I omit to pray  \n\"Father, thy will be done\" today  \nFor my will goes the other way,  \nAnd it were perjury!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Where I have lost, I softer tread \u2014**\n\nWhere I have lost, I softer tread \u2014   \nI sow sweet flower from garden bed \u2014   \nI pause above that vanished head  \nAnd mourn.\n\nWhom I have lost, I pious guard  \nFrom accent harsh, or ruthless word \u2014   \nFeeling as if their pillow heard,  \nThough stone!\n\nWhen I have lost, you'll know by this \u2014   \nA Bonnet black \u2014 A dusk surplice \u2014   \nA little tremor in my voice Like this!\n\nWhy, I have lost, the people know  \nWho dressed in flocks of purest snow  \nWent home a century ago  \nNext Bliss!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To hang our head \u2014 ostensibly \u2014**\n\nTo hang our head \u2014 ostensibly \u2014   \nAnd subsequent, to find  \nThat such was not the posture  \nOf our immortal mind \u2014\n\nAffords the sly presumption  \nThat in so dense a fuzz \u2014   \nYou \u2014 too \u2014 take Cobweb attitudes  \nUpon a plane of Gauze!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Daisy follows soft the Sun \u2014**\n\nTHE daisy follows soft the sun,  \nAnd when his golden walk is done,  \nSits shyly at his feet.  \nHe, walking, finds the flower near.  \n\"Wherefore, marauder, art thou here ?  \n\"Because, sir, love is sweet !\"\n\nWe are the flower, Thou the sun !  \nForgive us, if as days decline,  \nWe nearer steal to Thee, \u2014   \nEnamoured of the parting west,  \nThe peace, the flight, the amethyst,  \nNight's possibility !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas such a little \u2014 little boat**\n\n'Twas such a little \u2014 little boat  \nThat toddled down the bay!  \n'Twas such a gallant \u2014 gallant sea  \nThat beckoned it away!\n\n'Twas such a greedy, greedy wave  \nThat licked it from the Coast \u2014   \nNor ever guessed the stately sails  \nMy little craft was lost!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Surgeons must be very careful**\n\nSurgeons must be very careful  \nWhen they take the knife!  \nUnderneath their fine incisions  \nStirs the Culprit \u2014 Life!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**By a flower \u2014 By a letter \u2014**\n\nBy a flower \u2014 By a letter \u2014   \nBy a nimble love \u2014   \nIf I weld the Rivet faster \u2014   \nFinal fast \u2014 above \u2014\n\nNever mind my breathless Anvil!  \nNever mind Repose!  \nNever mind the sooty faces  \nTugging at the Forge!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Artists wrestled here!**\n\nArtists wrestled here!  \nLo, a tint Cashmere!  \nLo, a Rose!  \nStudent of the Year!  \nFor the easel here  \nSay Repose!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Bee is not afraid of me.**\n\nTHE bee is not afraid of me,  \nI know the butterfly ;  \nThe pretty people in the woods  \nReceive me cordially.\n\nThe brooks laugh louder when I come,  \nThe breezes madder play.  \nWherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists ?  \nWherefore, O summer's day ?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Where bells no more affright the morn \u2014**\n\nWhere bells no more affright the morn \u2014   \nWhere scrabble never comes \u2014   \nWhere very nimble Gentlemen  \nAre forced to keep their rooms \u2014\n\nWhere tired Children placid sleep  \nThro' Centuries of noon  \nThis place is Bliss \u2014 this town is Heaven \u2014   \nPlease, Pater, pretty soon!\n\n\"Oh could we climb where Moses stood,  \nAnd view the Landscape o'er\"  \nNot Father's bells \u2014 nor Factories,  \nCould scare us any more!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Our share of night to bear \u2014**\n\nII.\n\nOUR share of night to bear,  \nOur share of morning,  \nOur blank in bliss to fill,  \nOur blank in scorning.\n\nHere a star, and there a star,  \nSome lose their way.  \nHere a mist, and there a mist,  \nAfterwards \u2014 day!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Good night, because we must,**\n\nGood night, because we must,  \nHow intricate the dust!  \nI would go, to know!  \nOh incognito!  \nSaucy, Saucy Seraph  \nTo elude me so!  \nFather! they won't tell me,  \nWon't you tell them to?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What Inn is this**\n\nWhat Inn is this  \nWhere for the night  \nPeculiar Traveller comes?  \nWho is the Landlord?  \nWhere the maids?  \nBehold, what curious rooms!  \nNo ruddy fires on the hearth \u2014   \nNo brimming Tankards flow \u2014   \nNecromancer! Landlord!  \nWho are these below?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I had some things that I called mine \u2014**\n\nI had some things that I called mine \u2014   \nAnd God, that he called his,  \nTill, recently a rival Claim  \nDisturbed these amities.\n\nThe property, my garden,  \nWhich having sown with care,  \nHe claims the pretty acre,  \nAnd sends a Bailiff there.\n\nThe station of the parties  \nForbids publicity,  \nBut Justice is sublimer  \nThan arms, or pedigree.\n\nI'll institute an \"Action\" \u2014   \nI'll vindicate the law \u2014   \nJove! Choose your counsel \u2014   \nI retain \"Shaw\"!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**In rags mysterious as these**\n\nIn rags mysterious as these  \nThe shining Courtiers go \u2014   \nVeiling the purple, and the plumes \u2014   \nVeiling the ermine so.\n\nSmiling, as they request an alms \u2014   \nAt some imposing door!  \nSmiling when we walk barefoot  \nUpon their golden floor!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My friend attacks my friend!**\n\nMy friend attacks my friend!  \nOh Battle picturesque!  \nThen I turn Soldier too,  \nAnd he turns Satirist!  \nHow martial is this place!  \nHad I a mighty gun  \nI think I'd shoot the human race  \nAnd then to glory run!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Talk with prudence to a Beggar**\n\nTalk with prudence to a Beggar  \nOf \"Potose,\" and the mines!  \nReverently, to the Hungry  \nOf your viands, and your wines!\n\nCautious, hint to any Captive  \nYou have passed enfranchised feet!  \nAnecdotes of air in Dungeons  \nHave sometimes proved deadly sweet!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If this is fading**\n\nIf this is \"fading\"  \nOh let me immediately \"fade\"!  \nIf this is \"dying\"  \nBury me, in such a shroud of red!  \nIf this is \"sleep,\"  \nOn such a night  \nHow proud to shut the eye!  \nGood Evening, gentle Fellow men!  \nPeacock presumes to die!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As Watchers hang upon the East,**\n\nAs Watchers hang upon the East,  \nAs Beggars revel at a feast  \nBy savory Fancy spread \u2014   \nAs brooks in deserts babble sweet  \nOn ear too far for the delight,  \nHeaven beguiles the tired.\n\nAs that same watcher, when the East  \nOpens the lid of Amethyst  \nAnd lets the morning go \u2014   \nThat Beggar, when an honored Guest,  \nThose thirsty lips to flagons pressed,  \nHeaven to us, if true.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A something in a summer's Day**\n\nA something in a summer's Day  \nAs slow her flambeaux burn away  \nWhich solemnizes me.\n\nA something in a summer's noon \u2014   \nA depth \u2014 an Azure \u2014 a perfume \u2014   \nTranscending ecstasy.\n\nAnd still within a summer's night  \nA something so transporting bright  \nI clap my hands to see \u2014\n\nThen veil my too inspecting face  \nLets such a subtle \u2014 shimmering grace  \nFlutter too far for me \u2014\n\nThe wizard fingers never rest \u2014   \nThe purple brook within the breast  \nStill chafes its narrow bed \u2014\n\nStill rears the East her amber Flag \u2014   \nGuides still the sun along the Crag  \nHis Caravan of Red \u2014\n\nSo looking on \u2014 the night \u2014 the morn  \nConclude the wonder gay \u2014   \nAnd I meet, coming thro' the dews  \nAnother summer's Day!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Many cross the Rhine**\n\nMany cross the Rhine  \nIn this cup of mine.  \nSip old Frankfort air  \nFrom my brown Cigar.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**In lands I never saw \u2014 they say**\n\nIn lands I never saw \u2014 they say  \nImmortal Alps look down \u2014   \nWhose Bonnets touch the firmament \u2014   \nWhose Sandals touch the town \u2014\n\nMeek at whose everlasting feet  \nA Myriad Daisy play \u2014   \nWhich, Sir, are you and which am I  \nUpon an August day?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**For each ecstatic instant**\n\nFor each ecstatic instant  \nWe must an anguish pay  \nIn keen and quivering ratio  \nTo the ecstasy.\n\nFor each beloved hour  \nSharp pittances of years \u2014   \nBitter contested farthings \u2014   \nAnd Coffers heaped with Tears!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To fight aloud, is very brave \u2014**\n\nTO fight aloud is very brave,  \nBut gallanter, I know,  \nWho charge within the bosom,  \nThe cavalry of woe.\n\nWho win, and nations do not see,  \nWho fall, and none observe,  \nWhose dying eyes no country  \nRegards with patriot love.\n\nWe trust, in plumed procession,  \nFor such the angels go,  \nRank after rank, with even feet  \nAnd uniforms of snow.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Houses \u2014 so the Wise Men tell me \u2014**\n\n\"Houses\" \u2014 so the Wise Men tell me \u2014   \n\"Mansions\"! Mansions must be warm!  \nMansions cannot let the tears in,  \nMansions must exclude the storm!\n\n\"Many Mansions,\" by \"his Father,\"  \nI don't know him; snugly built!  \nCould the Children find the way there \u2014   \nSome, would even trudge tonight!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Bring me the sunset in a cup,**\n\nBring me the sunset in a cup,  \nReckon the morning's flagons up  \nAnd say how many Dew,  \nTell me how far the morning leaps \u2014   \nTell me what time the weaver sleeps  \nWho spun the breadth of blue!\n\nWrite me how many notes there be  \nIn the new Robin's ecstasy  \nAmong astonished boughs \u2014   \nHow many trips the Tortoise makes \u2014   \nHow many cups the Bee partakes,  \nThe Debauchee of Dews!\n\nAlso, who laid the Rainbow's piers,  \nAlso, who leads the docile spheres  \nBy withes of supple blue?  \nWhose fingers string the stalactite \u2014   \nWho counts the wampum of the night  \nTo see that none is due?\n\nWho built this little Alban House  \nAnd shut the windows down so close  \nMy spirit cannot see?  \nWho'll let me out some gala day  \nWith implements to fly away,  \nPassing Pomposity?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Cocoon above! Cocoon below!**\n\nCocoon above! Cocoon below!  \nStealthy Cocoon, why hide you so  \nWhat all the world suspect?  \nAn hour, and gay on every tree  \nYour secret, perched in ecstasy  \nDefies imprisonment!\n\nAn hour in Chrysalis to pass,  \nThen gay above receding grass  \nA Butterfly to go!  \nA moment to interrogate,  \nThen wiser than a \"Surrogate,\"  \nThe Universe to know!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**These are the days when Birds come back \u2014**\n\nThese are the days when Birds come back \u2014   \nA very few \u2014 a Bird or two \u2014   \nTo take a backward look.\n\nThese are the days when skies resume  \nThe old \u2014 old sophistries of June \u2014   \nA blue and gold mistake.\n\nOh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee \u2014   \nAlmost thy plausibility  \nInduces my belief.\n\nTill ranks of seeds their witness bear \u2014   \nAnd softly thro' the altered air  \nHurries a timid leaf.\n\nOh Sacrament of summer days,  \nOh Last Communion in the Haze \u2014   \nPermit a child to join.\n\nThy sacred emblems to partake \u2014   \nThey consecrated bread to take  \nAnd thine immortal wine!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Besides the Autumn poets sing**\n\nBesides the Autumn poets sing  \nA few prosaic days  \nA little this side of the snow  \nAnd that side of the Haze \u2014\n\nA few incisive Mornings \u2014   \nA few Ascetic Eves \u2014   \nGone \u2014 Mr. Bryant's \"Golden Rod\" \u2014   \nAnd Mr. Thomson's \"sheaves.\"\n\nStill, is the bustle in the Brook \u2014   \nSealed are the spicy valves \u2014   \nMesmeric fingers softly touch  \nThe Eyes of many Elves \u2014\n\nPerhaps a squirrel may remain \u2014   \nMy sentiments to share \u2014   \nGrant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind \u2014   \nThy windy will to bear!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I bring an unaccustomed wine**\n\nI bring an unaccustomed wine  \nTo lips long parching  \nNext to mine,  \nAnd summon them to drink;\n\nCrackling with fever, they Essay,  \nI turn my brimming eyes away,  \nAnd come next hour to look.\n\nThe hands still hug the tardy glass \u2014   \nThe lips I would have cooled, alas \u2014   \nAre so superfluous Cold \u2014\n\nI would as soon attempt to warm  \nThe bosoms where the frost has lain  \nAges beneath the mould \u2014\n\nSome other thirsty there may be  \nTo whom this would have pointed me  \nHad it remained to speak \u2014\n\nAnd so I always bear the cup  \nIf, haply, mine may be the drop  \nSome pilgrim thirst to slake \u2014\n\nIf, haply, any say to me  \n\"Unto the little, unto me,\"  \nWhen I at last awake.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As Children bid the Guest Good Night**\n\nAS children bid the guest good-night,  \nAnd then reluctant turn,  \nMy flowers raise their pretty lips,  \nThen put their nightgowns on.\n\nAs children caper when they wake,  \nMerry that it is morn,  \nMy flowers from a hundred cribs  \nWill peep, and prance again.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower,**\n\nPERHAPS you'd like to buy a flower ?  \nBut I could never sell.  \nIf you would like to borrow  \nUntil the daffodil\n\nUnties her yellow bonnet  \nBeneath the village door,  \nUntil the bees, from clover rows  \nTheir hock and sherry draw,\n\nWhy, I will lend until just then,  \nBut not an hour more !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Water, is taught by thirst.**\n\nWater, is taught by thirst.  \nLand \u2014 by the Oceans passed.  \nTransport \u2014 by throe \u2014   \nPeace \u2014 by its battles told \u2014   \nLove, by Memorial Mold \u2014   \nBirds, by the Snow.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Have you got a Brook in your little heart,**\n\nHAVE you got a brook in your little heart,  \nWhere bashful flowers blow,  \nAnd blushing birds go down to drink,  \nAnd shadows tremble so ?\n\nAnd nobody knows, so still it flows,  \nThat any brook is there ;  \nAnd yet your little draught of life  \nIs daily drunken there.\n\nThen look out for the little brook in March,  \nWhen the rivers overflow,  \nAnd the snows come hurrying from the hills,  \nAnd the bridges often go.\n\nAnd later, in August it may be,  \nWhen the meadows parching lie,  \nBeware, lest this little brook of life  \nSome burning noon go dry !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Flowers \u2014 Well \u2014 if anybody**\n\nFlowers \u2014 Well \u2014 if anybody  \nCan the ecstasy define \u2014   \nHalf a transport \u2014 half a trouble \u2014   \nWith which flowers humble men:  \nAnybody find the fountain  \nFrom which floods so contra flow \u2014   \nI will give him all the Daisies  \nWhich upon the hillside blow.\n\nToo much pathos in their faces  \nFor a simple breast like mine \u2014   \nButterflies from St. Domingo  \nCruising round the purple line \u2014   \nHave a system of aesthetics \u2014   \nFar superior to mine.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Pigmy seraphs \u2014 gone astray \u2014**\n\nPigmy seraphs \u2014 gone astray \u2014   \nVelvet people from Vevay \u2014   \nBalles from some lost summer day \u2014   \nBees exclusive Coterie \u2014   \nParis could not lay the fold  \nBelted down with Emerald \u2014   \nVenice could not show a check  \nOf a tint so lustrous meek \u2014   \nNever such an Ambuscade  \nAs of briar and leaf displayed  \nFor my little damask maid \u2014\n\nI had rather wear her grace  \nThan an Earl's distinguished face \u2014   \nI had rather dwell like her  \nThan be \"Duke of Exeter\" \u2014   \nRoyalty enough for me  \nTo subdue the Bumblebee.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Soul, Wilt thou toss again?**\n\nSoul, Wilt thou toss again?  \nBy just such a hazard  \nHundreds have lost indeed \u2014   \nBut tens have won an all \u2014\n\nAngel's breathless ballot  \nLingers to record thee \u2014   \nImps in eager Caucus  \nRaffle for my Soul!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**An altered look about the hills \u2014**\n\nAn altered look about the hills \u2014   \nA Tyrian light the village fills \u2014   \nA wider sunrise in the morn \u2014   \nA deeper twilight on the lawn \u2014   \nA print of a vermillion foot \u2014   \nA purple finger on the slope \u2014   \nA flippant fly upon the pane \u2014   \nA spider at his trade again \u2014   \nAn added strut in Chanticleer \u2014   \nA flower expected everywhere \u2014   \nAn axe shrill singing in the woods \u2014   \nFern odors on untravelled roads \u2014   \nAll this and more I cannot tell \u2014   \nA furtive look you know as well \u2014   \nAnd Nicodemus' Mystery  \nReceives its annual reply!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Some, too fragile for winter winds**\n\nSome, too fragile for winter winds  \nThe thoughtful grave encloses \u2014   \nTenderly tucking them in from frost  \nBefore their feet are cold.\n\nNever the treasures in her nest  \nThe cautious grave exposes,  \nBuilding where schoolboy dare not look,  \nAnd sportsman is not bold.\n\nThis covert have all the children  \nEarly aged, and often cold,  \nSparrow, unnoticed by the Father \u2014   \nLambs for whom time had not a fold.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Whose are the little beds, I asked**\n\nWhose are the little beds, I asked  \nWhich in the valleys lie?  \nSome shook their heads, and others smiled \u2014   \nAnd no one made reply.\n\nPerhaps they did not hear, I said,  \nI will inquire again \u2014   \nWhose are the beds \u2014 the tiny beds  \nSo thick upon the plain?\n\n'Tis Daisy, in the shortest \u2014   \nA little further on \u2014   \nNearest the door \u2014 to wake the Ist \u2014   \nLittle Leontoden.\n\n'Tis Iris, Sir, and Aster \u2014   \nAnemone, and Bell \u2014   \nBartsia, in the blanket red \u2014   \nAnd chubby Daffodil.\n\nMeanwhile, at many cradles  \nHer busy foot she plied \u2014   \nHumming the quaintest lullaby  \nThat ever rocked a child.\n\nHush! Epigea wakens!  \nThe Crocus stirs her lids \u2014   \nRhodora's cheek is crimson,  \nShe's dreaming of the woods!\n\nThen turning from them reverent \u2014   \nTheir bedtime 'tis, she said \u2014   \nThe Bumble bees will wake them  \nWhen April woods are red.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**For every Bird a Nest \u2014**\n\nFor every Bird a Nest \u2014   \nWherefore in timid quest  \nSome little Wren goes seeking round \u2014\n\nWherefore when boughs are free \u2014   \nHouseholds in every tree \u2014   \nPilgrim be found?\n\nPerhaps a home too high \u2014   \nAh Aristocracy!  \nThe little Wren desires \u2014\n\nPerhaps of twig so fine \u2014   \nOf twine e'en superfine,  \nHer pride aspires \u2014\n\nThe Lark is not ashamed  \nTo build upon the ground  \nHer modest house \u2014\n\nYet who of all the throng  \nDancing around the sun  \nDoes so rejoice?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She bore it till the simple veins**\n\nShe bore it till the simple veins  \nTraced azure on her hand \u2014   \nTil pleading, round her quiet eyes  \nThe purple Crayons stand.\n\nTill Daffodils had come and gone  \nI cannot tell the sum,  \nAnd then she ceased to bear it \u2014   \nAnd with the Saints sat down.\n\nNo more her patient figure  \nAt twilight soft to meet \u2014   \nNo more her timid bonnet  \nUpon the village street \u2014\n\nBut Crowns instead, and Courtiers \u2014   \nAnd in the midst so fair,  \nWhose but her shy \u2014 immortal face  \nOf whom we're whispering here?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This heart that broke so long \u2014**\n\nThis heart that broke so long \u2014   \nThese feet that never flagged \u2014   \nThis faith that watched for star in vain,  \nGive gently to the dead \u2014\n\nHound cannot overtake the Hare  \nThat fluttered panting, here \u2014   \nNor any schoolboy rob the nest  \nTenderness builded there.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**On such a night, or such a night,**\n\nOn such a night, or such a night,  \nWould anybody care  \nIf such a little figure  \nSlipped quiet from its chair \u2014\n\nSo quiet \u2014 Oh how quiet,  \nThat nobody might know  \nBut that the little figure  \nRocked softer \u2014 to and fro \u2014\n\nOn such a dawn, or such a dawn \u2014   \nWould anybody sigh  \nThat such a little figure  \nToo sound asleep did lie\n\nFor Chanticleer to wake it \u2014   \nOr stirring house below \u2014   \nOr giddy bird in orchard \u2014   \nOr early task to do?\n\nThere was a little figure plump  \nFor every little knoll \u2014   \nBusy needles, and spools of thread \u2014   \nAnd trudging feet from school \u2014\n\nPlaymates, and holidays, and nuts \u2014   \nAnd visions vast and small \u2014   \nStrange that the feet so precious charged  \nShould reach so small a goal!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Bless God, he went as soldiers,**\n\nBless God, he went as soldiers,  \nHis musket on his breast \u2014   \nGrant God, he charge the bravest  \nOf all the martial blest!\n\nPlease God, might I behold him  \nIn epauletted white \u2014   \nI should not fear the foe then \u2014   \nI should not fear the fight!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**All overgrown by cunning moss,**\n\nAll overgrown by cunning moss,  \nAll interspersed with weed,  \nThe little cage of \"Currer Bell\"  \nIn quiet \"Haworth\" laid.\n\nGathered from many wanderings \u2014   \nGethsemane can tell  \nThro' what transporting anguish  \nShe reached the Asphodel!\n\nSoft fall the sounds of Eden  \nUpon her puzzled ear \u2014   \nOh what an afternoon for Heaven,  \nWhen \"Bronte\" entered there!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She went as quiet as the Dew**\n\nSHE went as quiet as the dew  \nFrom a familiar flower.  \nNot like the dew did she return  \nAt the accustomed hour !\n\nShe dropt as softly as a star  \nFrom out my summer's eve ;  \nLess skilful than Leverrier  \nIt's sorer to believe !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She died \u2014 this was the way she died.**\n\nShe died \u2014 this was the way she died.  \nAnd when her breath was done  \nTook up her simple wardrobe  \nAnd started for the sun.  \nHer little figure at the gate  \nThe Angels must have spied,  \nSince I could never find her  \nUpon the mortal side.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Mute thy Coronation \u2014**\n\nMute thy Coronation \u2014   \nMeek my Vive le roi,  \nFold a tiny courtier  \nIn thine Ermine, Sir,  \nThere to rest revering  \nTill the pageant by,  \nI can murmur broken,  \nMaster, It was I \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sun kept stooping \u2014 stooping \u2014 low!**\n\nThe Sun kept stooping \u2014 stooping \u2014 low!  \nThe Hills to meet him rose!  \nOn his side, what Transaction!  \nOn their side, what Repose!\n\nDeeper and deeper grew the stain  \nUpon the window pane \u2014   \nThicker and thicker stood the feet  \nUntil the Tyrian\n\nWas crowded dense with Armies \u2014   \nSo gay, so Brigadier \u2014   \nThat I felt martial stirrings  \nWho once the Cockade wore \u2014\n\nCharged from my chimney corner \u2014   \nBut Nobody was there!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Dust is the only Secret \u2014**\n\nDust is the only Secret \u2014   \nDeath, the only One  \nYou cannot find out all about  \nIn his \"native town.\"\n\nNobody know \"his Father\" \u2014   \nNever was a Boy \u2014   \nHadn't any playmates,  \nOr \"Early history\" \u2014\n\nIndustrious! Laconic!  \nPunctual! Sedate!  \nBold as a Brigand!  \nStiller than a Fleet!\n\nBuilds, like a Bird, too!  \nChrist robs the Nest \u2014   \nRobin after Robin  \nSmuggled to Rest!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Except to Heaven, she is nought.**\n\nExcept to Heaven, she is nought.  \nExcept for Angels \u2014 lone.  \nExcept to some wide-wandering Bee  \nA flower superfluous blown.\n\nExcept for winds \u2014 provincial.  \nExcept by Butterflies  \nUnnoticed as a single dew  \nThat on the Acre lies.\n\nThe smallest Housewife in the grass,  \nYet take her from the Lawn  \nAnd somebody has lost the face  \nThat made Existence \u2014 Home!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Murmur of a Bee**\n\nThe Murmur of a Bee  \nA Witchcraft \u2014 yieldeth me \u2014   \nIf any ask me why \u2014   \n'Twere easier to die \u2014   \nThan tell \u2014\n\nThe Red upon the Hill  \nTaketh away my will \u2014   \nIf anybody sneer \u2014   \nTake care \u2014 for God is here \u2014   \nThat's all.\n\nThe Breaking of the Day  \nAddeth to my Degree \u2014   \nIf any ask me how \u2014   \nArtist \u2014 who drew me so \u2014   \nMust tell!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You love me \u2014 you are sure \u2014**\n\nYou love me \u2014 you are sure \u2014   \nI shall not fear mistake \u2014   \nI shall not cheated wake \u2014   \nSome grinning morn \u2014   \nTo find the Sunrise left \u2014   \nAnd Orchards \u2014 unbereft \u2014   \nAnd Dollie \u2014 gone!\n\nI need not start \u2014 you're sure \u2014   \nThat night will never be \u2014   \nWhen frightened \u2014 home to Thee I run \u2014   \nTo find the windows dark \u2014   \nAnd no more Dollie \u2014 mark \u2014   \nQuite none?\n\nBe sure you're sure \u2014 you know \u2014   \nI'll bear it better now \u2014   \nIf you'll just tell me so \u2014   \nThan when \u2014 a little dull Balm grown \u2014   \nOver this pain of mine \u2014   \nYou sting \u2014 again!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Musicians wrestle everywhere \u2014**\n\nMusicians wrestle everywhere \u2014   \nAll day \u2014 among the crowded air  \nI hear the silver strife \u2014   \nAnd \u2014 waking \u2014 long before the morn \u2014   \nSuch transport breaks upon the town  \nI think it that \"New Life\"!\n\nIf is not Bird \u2014 it has no nest \u2014   \nNor \"Band\" \u2014 in brass and scarlet \u2014 drest \u2014   \nNor Tamborin \u2014 nor Man \u2014   \nIt is not Hymn from pulpit read \u2014   \nThe \"Morning Stars\" the Treble led  \nOn Time's first Afternoon!\n\nSome \u2014 say \u2014 it is \"the Spheres\" \u2014 at play!  \nSome say that bright Majority  \nOf vanished Dames \u2014 and Men!  \nSome \u2014 think it service in the place  \nWhere we \u2014 with late \u2014 celestial face \u2014   \nPlease God \u2014 shall Ascertain!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Dying! Dying in the night!**\n\nDying! Dying in the night!  \nWon't somebody bring the light  \nSo I can see which way to go  \nInto the everlasting snow?\n\nAnd \"Jesus\"! Where is Jesus gone?  \nThey said that Jesus \u2014 always came \u2014   \nPerhaps he doesn't know the House \u2014   \nThis way, Jesus, Let him pass!\n\nSomebody run to the great gate  \nAnd see if Dollie's coming! Wait!  \nI hear her feet upon the stair!  \nDeath won't hurt \u2014 now Dollie's here!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A little bread \u2014 a crust \u2014 a crumb \u2014**\n\nA little bread \u2014 a crust \u2014 a crumb \u2014   \nA little trust \u2014 a demijohn \u2014   \nCan keep the soul alive \u2014   \nNot portly, mind! but breathing \u2014 warm \u2014   \nConscious \u2014 as old Napoleon,  \nThe night before the Crown!\n\nA modest lot \u2014 A fame petite \u2014   \nA brief Campaign of sting and sweet  \nIs plenty! Is enough!  \nA Sailor's business is the shore!  \nA Soldier's \u2014 balls! Who asketh more,  \nMust seek the neighboring life!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Just lost, when I was saved!**\n\nJust lost, when I was saved!  \nJust felt the world go by!  \nJust girt me for the onset with Eternity,  \nWhen breath blew back,  \nAnd on the other side  \nI heard recede the disappointed tide!\n\nTherefore, as One returned, I feel  \nOdd secrets of the line to tell!  \nSome Sailor, skirting foreign shores \u2014   \nSome pale Reporter, from the awful doors  \nBefore the Seal!\n\nNext time, to stay!  \nNext time, the things to see  \nBy Ear unheard,  \nUnscrutinized by Eye \u2014\n\nNext time, to tarry,  \nWhile the Ages steal \u2014   \nSlow tramp the Centuries,  \nAnd the Cycles wheel!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A feather from the Whippoorwill**\n\nA feather from the Whippoorwill  \nThat everlasting \u2014 sings!  \nWhose galleries \u2014 are Sunrise \u2014   \nWhose Opera \u2014 the Springs \u2014   \nWhose Emerald Nest the Ages spin  \nOf mellow \u2014 murmuring thread \u2014   \nWhose Beryl Egg, what Schoolboys hunt  \nIn \"Recess\" \u2014 Overhead!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My River runs to thee \u2014**\n\nMy River runs to thee \u2014   \nBlue Sea! Wilt welcome me?  \nMy River wait reply \u2014   \nOh Sea \u2014 look graciously \u2014   \nI'll fetch thee Brooks  \nFrom spotted nooks \u2014   \nSay \u2014 Sea \u2014 Take Me!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tho' my destiny be Fustian \u2014**\n\nTho' my destiny be Fustian \u2014   \nHers be damask fine \u2014   \nTho' she wear a silver apron \u2014   \nI, a less divine \u2014\n\nStill, my little Gypsy being  \nI would far prefer,  \nStill, my little sunburnt bosom  \nTo her Rosier,\n\nFor, when Frosts, their punctual fingers  \nOn her forehead lay,  \nYou and I, and Dr. Holland,  \nBloom Eternally!\n\nRoses of a steadfast summer  \nIn a steadfast land,  \nWhere no Autumn lifts her pencil \u2014   \nAnd no Reapers stand!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Mama never forgets her birds,**\n\nMama never forgets her birds,  \nThough in another tree \u2014   \nShe looks down just as often  \nAnd just as tenderly  \nAs when her little mortal nest  \nWith cunning care she wove \u2014   \nIf either of her \"sparrows fall,\"  \nShe \"notices,\" above.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A wounded Deer - leaps highest -**\n\nA WOUNDED deer leaps highest,  \nI've heard the hunter tell ;  \n'T is but the ecstasy of death,  \nAnd then the brake is still.\n\nThe smitten rock that gushes,  \nThe trampled steel that springs :  \nA cheek is always redder  \nJust where the hectic stings !\n\nMirth is the mail of anguish,  \nIn which it cautions arm,  \nLest anybody spy the blood  \nAnd \"You're hurt\" exclaim !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I met a King this afternoon!**\n\nI met a King this afternoon!  \nHe had not on a Crown indeed,  \nA little Palmleaf Hat was all,  \nAnd he was barefoot, I'm afraid!\n\nBut sure I am he Ermine wore  \nBeneath his faded Jacket's blue \u2014   \nAnd sure I am, the crest he bore  \nWithin that Jacket's pocket too!\n\nFor 'twas too stately for an Earl \u2014   \nA Marquis would not go so grand!  \n'Twas possibly a Czar petite \u2014   \nA Pope, or something of that kind!\n\nIf I must tell you, of a Horse  \nMy freckled Monarch held the rein \u2014   \nDoubtless an estimable Beast,  \nBut not at all disposed to run!\n\nAnd such a wagon! While I live  \nDare I presume to see  \nAnother such a vehicle  \nAs then transported me!\n\nTwo other ragged Princes  \nHis royal state partook!  \nDoubtless the first excursion  \nThese sovereigns ever took!\n\nI question if the Royal Coach  \nRound which the Footmen wait  \nHas the significance, on high,  \nOf this Barefoot Estate!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To learn the Transport by the Pain**\n\nTo learn the Transport by the Pain  \nAs Blind Men learn the sun!  \nTo die of thirst \u2014 suspecting  \nThat Brooks in Meadows run!\n\nTo stay the homesick \u2014 homesick feet  \nUpon a foreign shore \u2014   \nHaunted by native lands, the while \u2014   \nAnd blue \u2014 beloved air!\n\nThis is the Sovereign Anguish!  \nThis \u2014 the signal woe!  \nThese are the patient \"Laureates\"  \nWhose voices \u2014 trained \u2014 below \u2014\n\nAscend in ceaseless Carol \u2014   \nInaudible, indeed,  \nTo us \u2014 the duller scholars  \nOf the Mysterious Bard!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If the foolish, call them flowers \u2014**\n\nIf the foolish, call them \"flowers\" \u2014   \nNeed the wiser, tell?  \nIf the Savants \"Classify\" them  \nIt is just as well!\n\nThose who read the \"Revelations\"  \nMust not criticize  \nThose who read the same Edition \u2014   \nWith beclouded Eyes!\n\nCould we stand with that Old \"Moses\" \u2014   \n\"Canaan\" denied \u2014   \nScan like him, the stately landscape  \nOn the other side \u2014\n\nDoubtless, we should deem superfluous  \nMany Sciences,  \nNot pursued by learned Angels  \nIn scholastic skies!\n\nLow amid that glad Belles lettres  \nGrant that we may stand,  \nStars, amid profound Galaxies \u2014   \nAt that grand \"Right hand\"!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**In Ebon Box, when years have flown**\n\nIn Ebon Box, when years have flown  \nTo reverently peer,  \nWiping away the velvet dust  \nSummers have sprinkled there!\n\nTo hold a letter to the light \u2014   \nGrown Tawny now, with time \u2014   \nTo con the faded syllables  \nThat quickened us like Wine!\n\nPerhaps a Flower's shrivelled check  \nAmong its stores to find \u2014   \nPlucked far away, some morning \u2014   \nBy gallant \u2014 mouldering hand!\n\nA curl, perhaps, from foreheads  \nOur Constancy forgot \u2014   \nPerhaps, an Antique trinket \u2014   \nIn vanished fashions set!\n\nAnd then to lay them quiet back \u2014   \nAnd go about its care \u2014   \nAs if the little Ebon Box  \nWere none of our affair!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Portraits are to daily faces**\n\nPortraits are to daily faces  \nAs an Evening West,  \nTo a fine, pedantic sunshine \u2014   \nIn a satin Vest!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Wait till the Majesty of Death**\n\nWait till the Majesty of Death  \nInvests so mean a brow!  \nAlmost a powdered Footman  \nMight dare to touch it now!\n\nWait till in Everlasting Robes  \nThat Democrat is dressed,  \nThen prate about \"Preferment\" \u2014   \nAnd \"Station,\" and the rest!\n\nAround this quiet Courtier  \nObsequious Angels wait!  \nFull royal is his Retinue!  \nFull purple is his state!\n\nA Lord, might dare to lift the Hat  \nTo such a Modest Clay  \nSince that My Lord, \"the Lord of Lords\"  \nReceives unblushingly!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy!**\n\n'T IS so much joy ! 'T is so much joy !  \nIf I should fail, what poverty !  \nAnd yet, as poor as I  \nHave ventured upon a throw ;  \nHave gained! Yes ! Hesitated so  \nThis side the victory !\n\nLife is but life, and death but death !  \nBliss is but bliss and breath but breath !  \nAnd if, indeed, I fail,  \nAt least to know the worst is sweet.  \nDefeat means nothing but defeat,  \nNo drearier can prevail !\n\nAnd if I gain, \u2014 oh, gun at sea,  \nOh, bells that in the steeples be,  \nAt first repeat it slow !  \nFor heaven is a different thing  \nConjectured, and waked sudden in,  \nAnd might o'erwhelm me so !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A fuzzy fellow, without feet,**\n\nA fuzzy fellow, without feet,  \nYet doth exceeding run!  \nOf velvet, is his Countenance,  \nAnd his Complexion, dun!\n\nSometime, he dwelleth in the grass!  \nSometime, upon a bough,  \nFrom which he doth descend in plush  \nUpon the Passer-by!\n\nAll this in summer.  \nBut when winds alarm the Forest Folk,  \nHe taketh Damask Residence \u2014   \nAnd struts in sewing silk!\n\nThen, finer than a Lady,  \nEmerges in the spring!  \nA Feather on each shoulder!  \nYou'd scarce recognize him!\n\nBy Men, yclept Caterpillar!  \nBy me! But who am I,  \nTo tell the pretty secret  \nOf the Butterfly!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**At last, to be identified!**\n\nAt last, to be identified!  \nAt last, the lamps upon thy side  \nThe rest of Life to see!\n\nPast Midnight! Past the Morning Star!  \nPast Sunrise!  \nAh, What leagues there were  \nBetween our feet, and Day!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I have never seen Volcanoes \u2014**\n\nI have never seen \"Volcanoes\" \u2014   \nBut, when Travellers tell  \nHow those old \u2014 phlegmatic mountains  \nUsually so still \u2014\n\nBear within \u2014 appalling Ordnance,  \nFire, and smoke, and gun,  \nTaking Villages for breakfast,  \nAnd appalling Men \u2014\n\nIf the stillness is Volcanic  \nIn the human face  \nWhen upon a pain Titanic  \nFeatures keep their place \u2014\n\nIf at length the smouldering anguish  \nWill not overcome \u2014   \nAnd the palpitating Vineyard  \nIn the dust, be thrown?\n\nIf some loving Antiquary,  \nOn Resumption Morn,  \nWill not cry with joy \"Pompeii\"!  \nTo the Hills return!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I'm the little Heart's Ease!**\n\nI'm the little \"Heart's Ease\"!  \nI don't care for pouting skies!  \nIf the Butterfly delay  \nCan I, therefore, stay away?\n\nIf the Coward Bumble Bee  \nIn his chimney corner stay,  \nI, must resoluter be!  \nWho'll apologize for me?\n\nDear, Old fashioned, little flower!  \nEden is old fashioned, too!  \nBirds are antiquated fellows!  \nHeaven does not change her blue.  \nNor will I, the little Heart's Ease \u2014   \nEver be induced to do!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Ah, Necromancy Sweet!**\n\nAh, Necromancy Sweet!  \nAh, Wizard erudite!  \nTeach me the skill,\n\nThat I instil the pain  \nSurgeons assuage in vain,  \nNor Herb of all the plain  \nCan Heal!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I cautious, scanned my little life \u2014**\n\nI cautious, scanned my little life \u2014   \nI winnowed what would fade  \nFrom what would last till Heads like mine  \nShould be a-dreaming laid.\n\nI put the latter in a Barn \u2014   \nThe former, blew away.  \nI went one winter morning  \nAnd lo - my priceless Hay\n\nWas not upon the \"Scaffold\" \u2014   \nWas not upon the \"Beam\" \u2014   \nAnd from a thriving Farmer \u2014   \nA Cynic, I became.\n\nWhether a Thief did it \u2014   \nWhether it was the wind \u2014   \nWhether Deity's guiltless \u2014   \nMy business is, to find!\n\nSo I begin to ransack!  \nHow is it Hearts, with Thee?  \nArt thou within the little Barn  \nLove provided Thee?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If I could bribe them by a Rose**\n\nIf I could bribe them by a Rose  \nI'd bring them every flower that grows  \nFrom Amherst to Cashmere!  \nI would not stop for night, or storm \u2014   \nOr frost, or death, or anyone \u2014   \nMy business were so dear!\n\nIf they would linger for a Bird  \nMy Tambourin were soonest heard  \nAmong the April Woods!  \nUnwearied, all the summer long,  \nOnly to break in wilder song  \nWhen Winter shook the boughs!\n\nWhat if they hear me!  \nWho shall say  \nThat such an importunity  \nMay not at last avail?\n\nThat, weary of this Beggar's face \u2014   \nThey may not finally say, Yes \u2014   \nTo drive her from the Hall?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As if some little Arctic flower**\n\nAs if some little Arctic flower  \nUpon the polar hem \u2014   \nWent wandering down the Latitudes  \nUntil it puzzled came  \nTo continents of summer \u2014   \nTo firmaments of sun \u2014   \nTo strange, bright crowds of flowers \u2014   \nAnd birds, of foreign tongue!  \nI say, As if this little flower  \nTo Eden, wandered in \u2014   \nWhat then? Why nothing,  \nOnly, your inference therefrom!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I lost a World - the other day!**\n\nI lost a World - the other day!  \nHas Anybody found?  \nYou'll know it by the Row of Stars  \nAround its forehead bound.\n\nA Rich man \u2014 might not notice it \u2014   \nYet \u2014 to my frugal Eye,  \nOf more Esteem than Ducats \u2014   \nOh find it \u2014 Sir \u2014 for me!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If I shouldn't be alive**\n\nIF I should n't be alive  \nWhen the robins come,  \nGive the one in red cravat  \nA memorial crumb.\n\nIf I could n't thank you,  \nBeing just asleep,  \nYou will know I'm trying  \nWith my granite lip !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I've heard an Organ talk, sometimes**\n\nI've heard an Organ talk, sometimes  \nIn a Cathedral Aisle,  \nAnd understood no word it said \u2014   \nYet held my breath, the while \u2014\n\nAnd risen up \u2014 and gone away,  \nA more Berdardine Girl \u2014   \nYet \u2014 know not what was done to me  \nIn that old Chapel Aisle.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A transport one cannot contain**\n\nA transport one cannot contain  \nMay yet a transport be \u2014   \nThough God forbid it lift the lid \u2014   \nUnto its Ecstasy!\n\nA Diagram \u2014 of Rapture!  \nA sixpence at a Show \u2014   \nWith Holy Ghosts in Cages!  \nThe Universe would go!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Faith is a fine invention**\n\n\"Faith\" is a fine invention  \nFor Gentlemen who _see!_  \nBut _Microscopes_ are prudent  \nIn an Emergency!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What shall I do \u2014 it whimpers so \u2014**\n\nWhat shall I do \u2014 it whimpers so \u2014   \nThis little Hound within the Heart  \nAll day and night with bark and start \u2014   \nAnd yet, it will not go \u2014   \nWould you untie it, were you me \u2014   \nWould it stop whining \u2014 if to Thee \u2014   \nI sent it \u2014 even now?\n\nIt should not tease you \u2014   \nBy your chair \u2014 or, on the mat \u2014   \nOr if it dare \u2014 to climb your dizzy knee \u2014   \nOr \u2014 sometimes at your side to run \u2014   \nWhen you were willing \u2014   \nShall it come?  \nTell Carlo \u2014   \nHe'll tell me!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How many times these low feet staggered \u2014**\n\nHow many times these low feet staggered \u2014   \nOnly the soldered mouth can tell \u2014   \nTry \u2014 can you stir the awful rivet \u2014   \nTry \u2014 can you lift the hasps of steel!\n\nStroke the cool forehead \u2014 hot so often \u2014   \nLift \u2014 if you care \u2014 the listless hair \u2014   \nHandle the adamantine fingers  \nNever a thimble \u2014 more \u2014 shall wear \u2014\n\nBuzz the dull flies \u2014 on the chamber window \u2014   \nBrave \u2014 shines the sun through the freckled pane \u2014   \nFearless \u2014 the cobweb swings from the ceiling \u2014   \nIndolent Housewife \u2014 in Daisies \u2014 lain!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Make me a picture of the sun \u2014**\n\nMake me a picture of the sun \u2014   \nSo I can hang it in my room \u2014   \nAnd make believe I'm getting warm  \nWhen others call it \"Day\"!\n\nDraw me a Robin \u2014 on a stem \u2014   \nSo I am hearing him, I'll dream,  \nAnd when the Orchards stop their tune \u2014   \nPut my pretense \u2014 away \u2014\n\nSay if it's really \u2014 warm at noon \u2014   \nWhether it's Buttercups \u2014 that \"skim\" \u2014   \nOr Butterflies \u2014 that \"bloom\"?  \nThen \u2014 skip \u2014 the frost \u2014 upon the lea \u2014   \nAnd skip the Russet \u2014 on the tree \u2014   \nLet's play those \u2014 never come!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It's such a little thing to weep \u2014**\n\nIt's such a little thing to weep \u2014   \nSo short a thing to sigh \u2014   \nAnd yet \u2014 by Trades \u2014 the size of these  \nWe men and women die!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He was weak, and I was strong \u2014 then \u2014**\n\nHe was weak, and I was strong \u2014 then \u2014   \nSo He let me lead him in \u2014   \nI was weak, and He was strong then \u2014   \nSo I let him lead me \u2014 Home.\n\n'Twasn't far \u2014 the door was near \u2014   \n'Twasn't dark \u2014 for He went \u2014 too \u2014   \n'Twasn't loud, for He said nought \u2014   \nThat was all I cared to know.\n\nDay knocked \u2014 and we must part \u2014   \nNeither \u2014 was strongest \u2014 now \u2014   \nHe strove \u2014 and I strove \u2014 too \u2014   \nWe didn't do it \u2014 tho'!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Skies can't keep their secret!**\n\nThe Skies can't keep their secret!  \nThey tell it to the Hills \u2014   \nThe Hills just tell the Orchards \u2014   \nAnd they \u2014 the Daffodils!\n\nA Bird \u2014 by chance \u2014 that goes that way \u2014   \nSoft overhears the whole \u2014   \nIf I should bribe the little Bird \u2014   \nWho knows but she would tell?\n\nI think I won't \u2014 however \u2014   \nIt's finer \u2014 not to know \u2014   \nIf Summer were an Axiom \u2014   \nWhat sorcery had Snow?\n\nSo keep your secret \u2014 Father!  \nI would not \u2014 if I could,  \nKnow what the Sapphire Fellows, do,  \nIn your new-fashioned world!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Poor little Heart!**\n\nPoor little Heart!  \nDid they forget thee?  \nThen dinna care! Then dinna care!\n\nProud little Heart!  \nDid they forsake thee?  \nBe debonnaire! Be debonnaire!\n\nFrail little Heart!  \nI would not break thee \u2014   \nCould'st credit me? Could'st credit me?\n\nGay little Heart \u2014   \nLike Morning Glory!  \nWind and Sun \u2014 wilt thee array!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I shall know why \u2014 when Time is over \u2014**\n\nI SHALL know why, when time is over,  \nAnd I have ceased to wonder why ;  \nChrist will explain each separate anguish  \nIn the fair schoolroom of the sky.\n\nHe will tell me what Peter promised,  \nAnd I, for wonder at his woe,  \nI shall forget the drop of anguish  \nThat scalds me now, that scalds me now.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**On this long storm the Rainbow rose \u2014**\n\nON this long storm the rainbow rose,  \nOn this late morn the sun ;  \nThe clouds, like listless elephants,  \nHorizons straggled down.\n\nThe birds rose smiling in their nests,  \nThe gales indeed were done ;  \nAlas ! how heedless were the eyes  \nOn whom the summer shone !\n\nThe quiet nonchalance of death  \nNo daybreak can bestir ;  \nThe slow archangel's syllables  \nMust awaken her.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**For this \u2014 accepted Breath \u2014**\n\nFor this \u2014 accepted Breath \u2014   \nThrough it \u2014 compete with Death \u2014   \nThe fellow cannot touch this Crown \u2014   \nBy it \u2014 my title take \u2014   \nAh, what a royal sake  \nTo my necessity \u2014 stooped down!\n\nNo Wilderness \u2014 can be  \nWhere this attendeth me \u2014   \nNo Desert Noon \u2014   \nNo fear of frost to come  \nHaunt the perennial bloom \u2014   \nBut Certain June!\n\nGet Gabriel \u2014 to tell \u2014 the royal syllable \u2014   \nGet Saints \u2014 with new \u2014 unsteady tongue \u2014   \nTo say what trance below  \nMost like their glory show \u2014   \nFittest the Crown!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We don't cry \u2014 Tim and I,**\n\nWe don't cry \u2014 Tim and I,  \nWe are far too grand \u2014   \nBut we bolt the door tight  \nTo prevent a friend \u2014\n\nThen we hide our brave face  \nDeep in our hand \u2014   \nNot to cry \u2014 Tim and I \u2014   \nWe are far too grand \u2014\n\nNor to dream \u2014 he and me \u2014   \nDo we condescend \u2014   \nWe just shut our brown eye  \nTo see to the end \u2014\n\nTim \u2014 see Cottages \u2014   \nBut, Oh, so high!  \nThen \u2014 we shake \u2014 Tim and I \u2014   \nAnd lest I \u2014 cry \u2014\n\nTim \u2014 reads a little Hymn \u2014   \nAnd we both pray \u2014   \nPlease, Sir, I and Tim \u2014   \nAlways lost the way!\n\nWe must die \u2014 by and by \u2014   \nClergymen say \u2014   \nTim \u2014 shall \u2014 if I \u2014 do \u2014   \nI \u2014 too \u2014 if he \u2014\n\nHow shall we arrange it \u2014   \nTim \u2014 was \u2014 so \u2014 shy?  \nTake us simultaneous \u2014 Lord \u2014   \nI \u2014 \"Tim\" \u2014 and Me!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Morning \u2014 is the place for Dew \u2014**\n\nMorning \u2014 is the place for Dew \u2014   \nCorn \u2014 is made at Noon \u2014   \nAfter dinner light \u2014 for flowers \u2014   \nDukes \u2014 for Setting Sun!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**An awful Tempest mashed the air \u2014**\n\nAn awful Tempest mashed the air \u2014   \nThe clouds were gaunt, and few \u2014   \nA Black \u2014 as of a Spectre's Cloak  \nHid Heaven and Earth from view.\n\nThe creatures chuckled on the Roofs \u2014   \nAnd whistled in the air \u2014   \nAnd shook their fists \u2014   \nAnd gnashed their teeth \u2014   \nAnd swung their frenzied hair.\n\nThe morning lit \u2014 the Birds arose \u2014   \nThe Monster's faded eyes  \nTurned slowly to his native coast \u2014   \nAnd peace \u2014 was Paradise!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I'm wife \u2014 I've finished that \u2014**\n\nI'm \"wife\" \u2014 I've finished that \u2014   \nThat other state \u2014   \nI'm Czar \u2014 I'm \"Woman\" now \u2014   \nIt's safer so \u2014\n\nHow odd the Girl's life looks  \nBehind this soft Eclipse \u2014   \nI think that Earth feels so  \nTo folks in Heaven \u2014 now \u2014\n\nThis being comfort \u2014 then  \nThat other kind \u2014 was pain \u2014   \nBut why compare?  \nI'm \"Wife\"! Stop there!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I stole them from a Bee \u2014**\n\nI stole them from a Bee \u2014   \nBecause \u2014 Thee \u2014   \nSweet plea \u2014   \nHe pardoned me!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Two swimmers wrestled on the spar \u2014**\n\nTWO swimmers wrestled on the spar  \nUntil the morning sun,  \nWhen one turned smiling to the land.  \nO God, the other one !\n\nThe stray ships passing spied a face  \nUpon the waters borne,  \nWith eyes in death still begging raised,  \nAnd hands beseeching thrown.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Eye is fuller than my vase \u2014**\n\nMy Eye is fuller than my vase \u2014   \nHer Cargo \u2014 is of Dew \u2014   \nAnd still \u2014 my Heart \u2014 my Eye outweighs \u2014   \nEast India \u2014 for you!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He forgot \u2014 and I \u2014 remembered \u2014**\n\nHe forgot \u2014 and I \u2014 remembered \u2014   \n'Twas an everyday affair \u2014   \nLong ago as Christ and Peter \u2014   \n\"Warmed them\" at the \"Temple fire.\"\n\n\"Thou wert with him\" \u2014 quoth \"the Damsel\"?  \n\"No\" \u2014 said Peter, 'twasn't me \u2014   \nJesus merely \"looked\" at Peter \u2014   \nCould I do aught else \u2014 to Thee?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A slash of Blue \u2014**\n\nA slash of Blue \u2014   \nA sweep of Gray \u2014   \nSome scarlet patches on the way,  \nCompose an Evening Sky \u2014   \nA little purple \u2014 slipped between \u2014   \nSome Ruby Trousers hurried on \u2014   \nA Wave of Gold \u2014   \nA Bank of Day \u2014   \nThis just makes out the Morning Sky.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I should not dare to leave my friend,**\n\nI should not dare to leave my friend,  \nBecause \u2014 because if he should die  \nWhile I was gone \u2014 and I \u2014 too late \u2014   \nShould reach the Heart that wanted me \u2014\n\nIf I should disappoint the eyes  \nThat hunted \u2014 hunted so \u2014 to see \u2014   \nAnd could not bear to shut until  \nThey \"noticed\" me \u2014 they noticed me \u2014\n\nIf I should stab the patient faith  \nSo sure I'd come \u2014 so sure I'd come \u2014   \nIt listening \u2014 listening \u2014 went to sleep \u2014   \nTelling my tardy name \u2014\n\nMy Heart would wish it broke before \u2014   \nSince breaking then \u2014 since breaking then \u2014   \nWere useless as next morning's sun \u2014   \nWhere midnight frosts \u2014 had lain!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Flower must not blame the Bee \u2014**\n\nThe Flower must not blame the Bee \u2014   \nThat seeketh his felicity  \nToo often at her door \u2014\n\nBut teach the Footman from Vevay \u2014   \nMistress is \"not at home\" \u2014 to say \u2014   \nTo people \u2014 any more!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tho' I get home how late \u2014 how late \u2014**\n\nTho' I get home how late \u2014 how late \u2014   \nSo I get home - 'twill compensate \u2014   \nBetter will be the Ecstasy  \nThat they have done expecting me \u2014   \nWhen Night \u2014 descending \u2014 dumb \u2014 and dark \u2014   \nThey hear my unexpected knock \u2014   \nTransporting must the moment be \u2014   \nBrewed from decades of Agony!\n\nTo think just how the fire will burn \u2014   \nJust how long-cheated eyes will turn \u2014   \nTo wonder what myself will say,  \nAnd what itself, will say to me \u2014   \nBeguiles the Centuries of way!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Rose did caper on her cheek \u2014**\n\nThe Rose did caper on her cheek \u2014   \nHer Bodice rose and fell \u2014   \nHer pretty speech \u2014 like drunken men \u2014   \nDid stagger pitiful \u2014\n\nHer fingers fumbled at her work \u2014   \nHer needle would not go \u2014   \nWhat ailed so smart a little Maid \u2014   \nIt puzzled me to know \u2014\n\nTill opposite \u2014 I spied a cheek  \nThat bore another Rose \u2014   \nJust opposite \u2014 Another speech  \nThat like the Drunkard goes \u2014\n\nA Vest that like her Bodice, danced \u2014   \nTo the immortal tune \u2014   \nTill those two troubled \u2014 little Clocks  \nTicked softly into one.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**With thee, in the Desert \u2014**\n\nWith thee, in the Desert \u2014   \nWith thee in the thirst \u2014   \nWith thee in the Tamarind wood \u2014   \nLeopard breathes \u2014 at last!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The thought beneath so slight a film \u2014**\n\nThe thought beneath so slight a film \u2014   \nIs more distinctly seen \u2014   \nAs laces just reveal the surge \u2014   \nOr mists \u2014 the Apennine\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Come slowly - Eden!**\n\nCome slowly - Eden!  \nLips unused to Thee -  \nBashful - sip they Jessamines -  \nas the fainting Bee -  \nReaching late his flower,  \nRound her chamber hums -  \nCounts his nectars -  \nEnters - and is lost in Balms.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Least Rivers \u2014 docile to some sea.**\n\nLeast Rivers \u2014 docile to some sea.  \nMy Caspian \u2014 thee.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Did the Harebell loose her girdle**\n\nDid the Harebell loose her girdle  \nTo the lover Bee  \nWould the Bee the Harebell hallow  \nMuch as formerly?\n\nDid the \"Paradise\" \u2014 persuaded \u2014   \nYield her moat of pearl \u2014   \nWould the Eden be an Eden,  \nOr the Earl \u2014 an Earl?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I taste a liquor never brewed**\n\nI TASTE a liquor never brewed,  \nFrom tankards scooped in pearl;  \nNot all the vats upon the Rhine  \nYield such an alcohol!\n\nInebriate of air am I,  \nAnd debauchee of dew,  \nReeling, through endless summer days,  \nFrom inns of molten blue.\n\nWhen landlords turn the drunken bee  \nOut of the foxglove's door,  \nWhen butterflies renounce their drams,  \nI shall but drink the more!\n\nTill seraphs swing their snowy hats,  \nAnd saints to windows run,  \nTo see the little tippler  \nLeaning against the sun!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What is \u2014 Paradise \u2014**\n\nWhat is \u2014 \"Paradise\" \u2014   \nWho live there \u2014   \nAre they \"Farmers\" \u2014   \nDo they \"hoe\" \u2014   \nDo they know that this is \"Amherst\" \u2014   \nAnd that I \u2014 am coming \u2014 too \u2014\n\nDo they wear \"new shoes\" \u2014 in \"Eden\" \u2014   \nIs it always pleasant \u2014 there \u2014   \nWon't they scold us \u2014 when we're homesick \u2014   \nOr tell God \u2014 how cross we are \u2014\n\nYou are sure there's such a person  \nAs \"a Father\" \u2014 in the sky \u2014   \nSo if I get lost \u2014 there \u2014 ever \u2014   \nOr do what the Nurse calls \"die\" \u2014   \nI shan't walk the \"Jasper\" \u2014 barefoot \u2014   \nRansomed folks \u2014 won't laugh at me \u2014   \nMaybe \u2014 \"Eden\" a'n't so lonesome  \nAs New England used to be!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Safe in their alabaster chambers**\n\nSafe in their Alabaster Chambers \u2014   \nUntouched by Morning  \nAnd untouched by Noon \u2014   \nSleep the meek members of the Resurrection \u2014   \nRafter of satin,  \nAnd Roof of stone.\n\nLight laughs the breeze  \nIn her Castle above them \u2014   \nBabbles the Bee in a stolid Ear,  \nPipe the Sweet Birds in ignorant cadence \u2014   \nAh, what sagacity perished here!\n\nGrand go the years in the crescent above them;  \nWorlds scoop their arcs, and firmaments row,  \nDiadems drop and Doges surrender,  \nSoundless as dots on a disk of snow.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Savior! I've no one else to tell \u2014**\n\nSavior! I've no one else to tell \u2014   \nAnd so I trouble thee.  \nI am the one forgot thee so \u2014   \nDost thou remember me?  \nNor, for myself, I came so far \u2014   \nThat were the little load \u2014   \nI brought thee the imperial Heart  \nI had not strength to hold \u2014   \nThe Heart I carried in my own \u2014   \nTill mine too heavy grew \u2014   \nYet \u2014 strangest \u2014 heavier since it went \u2014   \nIs it too large for you?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Is it true, dear Sue?**\n\nIs it true, dear Sue?  \nAre there two?  \nI shouldn't like to come  \nFor fear of joggling Him!  \nIf I could shut him up  \nIn a Coffee Cup,  \nOr tie him to a pin  \nTill I got in \u2014   \nOr make him fast  \nTo \"Toby's\" fist \u2014   \nHist! Whist! I'd come!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She sweeps with many-colored Brooms \u2014**\n\nShe sweeps with many-colored Brooms \u2014   \nAnd leaves the Shreds behind \u2014   \nOh Housewife in the Evening West \u2014   \nCome back, and dust the Pond!\n\nYou dropped a Purple Ravelling in \u2014   \nYou dropped an Amber thread \u2014   \nAnd how you've littered all the East  \nWith duds of Emerald!\n\nAnd still, she plies her spotted Brooms,  \nAnd still the Aprons fly,  \nTill Brooms fade softly into stars \u2014   \nAnd then I come away \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Could I \u2014 then \u2014 shut the door \u2014**\n\nCould I \u2014 then \u2014 shut the door \u2014   \nLest my beseeching face \u2014 at last \u2014   \nRejected \u2014 be \u2014 of Her?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It can't be Summer!**\n\nIt can't be \"Summer\"!  \nThat \u2014 got through!  \nIt's early \u2014 yet \u2014 for \"Spring\"!  \nThere's that long town of White \u2014 to cross \u2014   \nBefore the Blackbirds sing!  \nIt can't be \"Dying\"!  \nIt's too Rouge \u2014   \nThe Dead shall go in White \u2014   \nSo Sunset shuts my question down  \nWith Cuffs of Chrysolite!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When Katie walks, this simple pair accompany her side,**\n\nWhen Katie walks, this simple pair accompany her side,  \nWhen Katie runs unwearied they follow on the road,  \nWhen Katie kneels, their loving hands still clasp her pious knee \u2014   \nAh! Katie! Smile at Fortune, with two so knit to thee!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I Came to buy a smile \u2014 today \u2014**\n\nI Came to buy a smile \u2014 today \u2014   \nBut just a single smile \u2014   \nThe smallest one upon your face  \nWill suit me just as well \u2014   \nThe one that no one else would miss  \nIt shone so very small \u2014   \nI'm pleading at the \"counter\" \u2014 sir \u2014   \nCould you afford to sell \u2014   \nI've Diamonds \u2014 on my fingers \u2014   \nYou know what Diamonds are?  \nI've Rubies \u2014 live the Evening Blood \u2014   \nAnd Topaz \u2014 like the star!  \n'Twould be \"a Bargain\" for a Jew!  \nSay \u2014 may I have it \u2014 Sir?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I've nothing else \u2014 to bring, You know \u2014**\n\nI've nothing else \u2014 to bring, You know \u2014   \nSo I keep bringing These \u2014   \nJust as the Night keeps fetching Stars  \nTo our familiar eyes \u2014\n\nMaybe, we shouldn't mind them \u2014   \nUnless they didn't come \u2014   \nThen \u2014 maybe, it would puzzle us  \nTo find our way Home \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Jesus! thy Crucifix**\n\nJesus! thy Crucifix  \nEnable thee to guess  \nThe smaller size!\n\nJesus! thy second face  \nMind thee in Paradise  \nOf ours!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Should you but fail at \u2014 Sea \u2014**\n\nShould you but fail at \u2014 Sea \u2014   \nIn sight of me \u2014   \nOr doomed lie \u2014   \nNext Sun \u2014 to die \u2014   \nOr rap \u2014 at Paradise \u2014 unheard  \nI'd harass God  \nUntil he let you in!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Teach Him \u2014 When He makes the names \u2014**\n\nTeach Him \u2014 When He makes the names \u2014   \nSuch an one \u2014 to say \u2014   \nOn his babbling \u2014 Berry \u2014 lips \u2014   \nAs should sound \u2014 to me \u2014   \nWere my Ear \u2014 as near his nest \u2014   \nAs my thought \u2014 today \u2014   \nAs should sound \u2014   \n\"Forbid us not\" \u2014   \nSome like \"Emily.\"\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Blazing in Gold and quenching in Purple**\n\nBlazing in Gold and quenching in Purple  \nLeaping like Leopards to the Sky  \nThen at the feet of the old Horizon  \nLaying her spotted Face to die  \nStooping as low as the Otter's Window  \nTouching the Roof and tinting the Barn  \nKissing her Bonnet to the Meadow  \nAnd the Juggler of Day is gone\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Burdock \u2014 clawed my Gown \u2014**\n\nA Burdock \u2014 clawed my Gown \u2014   \nNot Burdock's \u2014 blame \u2014   \nBut mine \u2014   \nWho went too near  \nThe Burdock's Den \u2014\n\nA Bog \u2014 affronts my shoe \u2014   \nWhat else have Bogs \u2014 to do \u2014   \nThe only Trade they know \u2014   \nThe splashing Men!  \nAh, pity \u2014 then!\n\n'Tis Minnows can despise!  \nThe Elephant's \u2014 calm eyes  \nLook further on!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We \u2014 Bee and I \u2014 live by the quaffing \u2014**\n\nWe \u2014 Bee and I \u2014 live by the quaffing \u2014   \n'Tisn't all Hock \u2014 with us \u2014   \nLife has its Ale \u2014   \nBut it's many a lay of the Dim Burgundy \u2014   \nWe chant \u2014 for cheer \u2014 when the Wines \u2014 fail \u2014\n\nDo we \"get drunk\"?  \nAsk the jolly Clovers!  \nDo we \"beat\" our \"Wife\"?  \nI \u2014 never wed \u2014   \nBee \u2014 pledges his \u2014 in minute flagons \u2014   \nDainty \u2014 as the trees \u2014 on our deft Head \u2014\n\nWhile runs the Rhine \u2014   \nHe and I \u2014 revel \u2014   \nFirst \u2014 at the vat \u2014 and latest at the Vine \u2014   \nNoon \u2014 our last Cup \u2014   \n\"Found dead\" \u2014 \"of Nectar\" \u2014   \nBy a humming Coroner \u2014   \nIn a By-Thyme!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**God permits industrious Angels \u2014**\n\nGod permits industrious Angels \u2014   \nAfternoons \u2014 to play \u2014   \nI met one \u2014 forgot my Schoolmates \u2014   \nAll \u2014 for Him \u2014 straightway \u2014   \nGod calls home \u2014 the Angels \u2014 promptly \u2014   \nAt the Setting Sun \u2014   \nI missed mine \u2014 how dreary \u2014 Marbles \u2014   \nAfter playing Crown!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sun \u2014 just touched the Morning \u2014**\n\nThe Sun \u2014 just touched the Morning \u2014   \nThe Morning \u2014 Happy thing \u2014   \nSupposed that He had come to dwell \u2014   \nAnd Life would all be Spring!\n\nShe felt herself supremer \u2014   \nA Raised \u2014 Ethereal Thing!  \nHenceforth \u2014 for Her \u2014 What Holiday!  \nMeanwhile \u2014 Her wheeling King \u2014   \nTrailed \u2014 slow \u2014 along the Orchards \u2014   \nHis haughty \u2014 spangled Hems \u2014   \nLeaving a new necessity!  \nThe want of Diadems!\n\nThe Morning \u2014 fluttered \u2014 staggered \u2014   \nFelt feebly \u2014 for Her Crown \u2014   \nHer unanointed forehead \u2014   \nHenceforth \u2014 Her only One!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Lamp burns sure \u2014 within \u2014**\n\nThe Lamp burns sure \u2014 within \u2014   \nTho' Serfs \u2014 supply the Oil \u2014   \nIt matters not the busy Wick \u2014   \nAt her phosphoric toil!\n\nThe Slave \u2014 forgets \u2014 to fill \u2014   \nThe Lamp \u2014 burns golden \u2014 on \u2014   \nUnconscious that the oil is out \u2014   \nAs that the Slave \u2014 is gone.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You're right \u2014 the way is narrow \u2014**\n\nYou're right \u2014 \"the way is narrow\" \u2014   \nAnd \"difficult the Gate\" \u2014   \nAnd \"few there be\" \u2014 Correct again \u2014   \nThat \"enter in \u2014 thereat\" \u2014\n\n'Tis Costly \u2014 So are purples!  \n'Tis just the price of Breath \u2014   \nWith but the \"Discount\" of the Grave \u2014   \nTermed by the Brokers \u2014 \"Death\"!\n\nAnd after that \u2014 there's Heaven \u2014   \nThe Good Man's \u2014 \"Dividend\" \u2014   \nAnd Bad Men \u2014 \"go to Jail\" \u2014   \nI guess \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Court is far away \u2014**\n\nThe Court is far away \u2014   \nNo Umpire \u2014 have I \u2014   \nMy Sovereign is offended \u2014   \nTo gain his grace \u2014 I'd die!\n\nI'll seek his royal feet \u2014   \nI'll say \u2014 Remember \u2014 King \u2014   \nThou shalt \u2014 thyself \u2014 one day \u2014 a Child \u2014   \nImplore a larger \u2014 thing \u2014\n\nThat Empire \u2014 is of Czars \u2014   \nAs small \u2014 they say \u2014 as I \u2014   \nGrant me \u2014 that day \u2014 the royalty \u2014   \nTo intercede \u2014 for Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If He dissolve \u2014 then \u2014 there is nothing \u2014 more \u2014**\n\nIf He dissolve \u2014 then \u2014 there is nothing \u2014 more \u2014   \nEclipse \u2014 at Midnight \u2014   \nIt was dark \u2014 before \u2014   \nSunset \u2014 at Easter \u2014   \nBlindness \u2014 on the Dawn \u2014   \nFaint Star of Bethlehem \u2014   \nGone down!\n\nWould but some God \u2014 inform Him \u2014   \nOr it be too late!  \nSay \u2014 that the pulse just lisps \u2014   \nThe Chariots wait \u2014\n\nSay \u2014 that a little life \u2014 for His \u2014   \nIs leaking \u2014 red \u2014   \nHis little Spaniel \u2014 tell Him!  \nWill He heed?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I think just how my shape will rise \u2014**\n\nI think just how my shape will rise \u2014   \nWhen I shall be \"forgiven\" \u2014   \nTill Hair \u2014 and Eyes \u2014 and timid Head \u2014   \nAre out of sight \u2014 in Heaven \u2014\n\nI think just how my lips will weigh \u2014   \nWith shapeless \u2014 quivering \u2014 prayer \u2014   \nThat you \u2014 so late \u2014 \"Consider\" me \u2014   \nThe \"Sparrow\" of your Care \u2014\n\nI mind me that of Anguish \u2014 sent \u2014   \nSome drifts were moved away \u2014   \nBefore my simple bosom \u2014 broke \u2014   \nAnd why not this \u2014 if they?\n\nAnd so I con that thing \u2014 \"forgiven\" \u2014   \nUntil \u2014 delirious \u2014 borne \u2014   \nBy my long bright \u2014 and longer \u2014 trust \u2014   \nI drop my Heart \u2014 unshriven!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Kill your Balm \u2014 and its Odors bless you \u2014**\n\nKill your Balm \u2014 and its Odors bless you \u2014   \nBare your Jessamine \u2014 to the storm \u2014   \nAnd she will fling her maddest perfume \u2014   \nHaply \u2014 your Summer night to Charm \u2014\n\nStab the Bird \u2014 that built in your bosom \u2014   \nOh, could you catch her last Refrain \u2014   \nBubble! \"forgive\" \u2014 \"Some better\" \u2014 Bubble!  \n\"Carol for Him \u2014 when I am gone\"!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Heaven \u2014 is what I cannot reach!**\n\n\"Heaven\" \u2014 is what I cannot reach!  \nThe Apple on the Tree \u2014   \nProvided it do hopeless \u2014 hang \u2014   \nThat \u2014 \"Heaven\" is \u2014 to Me!\n\nThe Color, on the Cruising Cloud \u2014   \nThe interdicted Land \u2014   \nBehind the Hill \u2014 the House behind \u2014   \nThere \u2014 Paradise \u2014 is found!\n\nHer teasing Purples \u2014 Afternoons \u2014   \nThe credulous \u2014 decoy \u2014   \nEnamored \u2014 of the Conjurer \u2014   \nThat spurned us \u2014 Yesterday!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Ah, Moon \u2014 and Star!**\n\nAh, Moon \u2014 and Star!  \nYou are very far \u2014   \nBut were no one  \nFarther than you \u2014   \nDo you think I'd stop  \nFor a Firmament \u2014   \nOr a Cubit \u2014 or so?\n\nI could borrow a Bonnet  \nOf the Lark \u2014   \nAnd a Chamois' Silver Boot \u2014   \nAnd a stirrup of an Antelope \u2014   \nAnd be with you \u2014 Tonight!\n\nBut, Moon, and Star,  \nThough you're very far \u2014   \nThere is one \u2014 farther than you \u2014   \nHe \u2014 is more than a firmament \u2014 from Me \u2014   \nSo I can never go!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I like a look of Agony,**\n\nI like a look of Agony,  \nBecause I know it's true \u2014   \nMen do not sham Convulsion,  \nNor simulate, a Throe \u2014\n\nThe Eyes glaze once \u2014 and that is Death \u2014   \nImpossible to feign  \nThe Beads upon the Forehead  \nBy homely Anguish strung.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When we stand on the tops of Things \u2014**\n\nWhen we stand on the tops of Things \u2014   \nAnd like the Trees, look down \u2014   \nThe smoke all cleared away from it \u2014   \nAnd Mirrors on the scene \u2014\n\nJust laying light \u2014 no soul will wink  \nExcept it have the flaw \u2014   \nThe Sound ones, like the Hills \u2014 shall stand \u2014   \nNo Lighting, scares away \u2014\n\nThe Perfect, nowhere be afraid \u2014   \nThey bear their dauntless Heads,  \nWhere others, dare not go at Noon,  \nProtected by their deeds \u2014\n\nThe Stars dare shine occasionally  \nUpon a spotted World \u2014   \nAnd Suns, go surer, for their Proof,  \nAs if an Axle, held \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I've known a Heaven, like a Tent \u2014**\n\nI've known a Heaven, like a Tent \u2014   \nTo wrap its shining Yards \u2014   \nPluck up its stakes, and disappear \u2014   \nWithout the sound of Boards  \nOr Rip of Nail \u2014 Or Carpenter \u2014   \nBut just the miles of Stare \u2014   \nThat signalize a Show's Retreat \u2014   \nIn North America \u2014\n\nNo Trace \u2014 no Figment of the Thing  \nThat dazzled, Yesterday,  \nNo Ring \u2014 no Marvel \u2014   \nMen, and Feats \u2014   \nDissolved as utterly \u2014   \nAs Bird's far Navigation  \nDiscloses just a Hue \u2014   \nA plash of Oars, a Gaiety \u2014   \nThen swallowed up, of View.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It is easy to work when the soul is at play \u2014**\n\nIt is easy to work when the soul is at play \u2014   \nBut when the soul is in pain \u2014   \nThe hearing him put his playthings up  \nMakes work difficult \u2014 then \u2014\n\nIt is simple, to ache in the Bone, or the Rind \u2014   \nBut Gimlets \u2014 among the nerve \u2014   \nMangle daintier \u2014 terribler \u2014   \nLike a Panter in the Glove \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I held a Jewel in my fingers \u2014**\n\nI held a Jewel in my fingers \u2014   \nAnd went to sleep \u2014   \nThe day was warm, and winds were prosy \u2014   \nI said \"'Twill keep\" \u2014\n\nI woke \u2014 and chid my honest fingers,  \nThe Gem was gone \u2014   \nAnd now, an Amethyst remembrance  \nIs all I own \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Forever at His side to walk \u2014**\n\nForever at His side to walk \u2014   \nThe smaller of the two!  \nBrain of His Brain \u2014   \nBlood of His Blood \u2014   \nTwo lives \u2014 One Being \u2014 now \u2014\n\nForever of His fate to taste \u2014   \nIf grief \u2014 the largest part \u2014   \nIf joy \u2014 to put my piece away  \nFor that beloved Heart \u2014\n\nAll life \u2014 to know each other \u2014   \nWhom we can never learn \u2014   \nAnd bye and bye \u2014 a Change \u2014   \nCalled Heaven \u2014   \nRapt Neighborhoods of Men \u2014   \nJust finding out \u2014 what puzzled us \u2014   \nWithout the lexicon!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What would I give to see his face?**\n\nWhat would I give to see his face?  \nI'd give \u2014 I'd give my life \u2014 of course \u2014   \nBut that is not enough!  \nStop just a minute \u2014 let me think!  \nI'd give my biggest Bobolink!  \nThat makes two \u2014 Him \u2014 and Life!  \nYou know who \"June\" is \u2014   \nI'd give her \u2014   \nRoses a day from Zanzibar \u2014   \nAnd Lily tubes \u2014 like Wells \u2014   \nBees \u2014 by the furlong \u2014   \nStraits of Blue  \nNavies of Butterflies \u2014 sailed thro' \u2014   \nAnd dappled Cowslip Dells \u2014\n\nThen I have \"shares\" in Primrose \"Banks\" \u2014   \nDaffodil Dowries \u2014 spicy \"Stocks\" \u2014   \nDominions \u2014 broad as Dew \u2014   \nBags of Doublons \u2014 adventurous Bees  \nBrought me \u2014 from firmamental seas \u2014   \nAnd Purple \u2014 from Peru \u2014\n\nNow \u2014 have I bought it \u2014   \n\"Shylock\"? Say!  \nSign me the Bond!  \n\"I vow to pay  \nTo Her \u2014 who pledges this \u2014   \nOne hour \u2014 of her Sovereign's face\"!  \nEcstatic Contract!  \nNiggard Grace!  \nMy Kingdom's worth of Bliss!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Why \u2014 do they shut Me out of Heaven?**\n\nWhy \u2014 do they shut Me out of Heaven?  \nDid I sing \u2014 too loud?  \nBut \u2014 I can say a little \"Minor\"  \nTimid as a Bird!\n\nWouldn't the Angels try me \u2014   \nJust \u2014 once \u2014 more \u2014   \nJust \u2014 see \u2014 if I troubled them \u2014   \nBut don't \u2014 shut the door!\n\nOh, if I \u2014 were the Gentleman  \nIn the \"White Robe\" \u2014   \nAnd they \u2014 were the little Hand \u2014 that knocked \u2014   \nCould \u2014 I \u2014 forbid?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Wild Nights \u2014 Wild Nights!**\n\nWild Nights \u2014 Wild Nights!  \nWere I with thee  \nWild Nights should be  \nOur luxury!\n\nFutile \u2014 the Winds \u2014   \nTo a Heart in port \u2014   \nDone with the Compass \u2014   \nDone with the Chart!\n\nRowing in Eden \u2014   \nAh, the Sea!  \nMight I but moor \u2014 Tonight \u2014   \nIn Thee!\n\n_ _\n\n_The original manuscript of the poem_\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I shall keep singing!**\n\nI shall keep singing!  \nBirds will pass me  \nOn their way to Yellower Climes \u2014   \nEach \u2014 with a Robin's expectation \u2014   \nI \u2014 with my Redbreast \u2014   \nAnd my Rhymes \u2014\n\nLate \u2014 when I take my place in summer \u2014   \nBut \u2014 I shall bring a fuller tune \u2014   \nVespers \u2014 are sweeter than Matins \u2014 Signor \u2014   \nMorning \u2014 only the seed of Noon \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Over the fence \u2014**\n\nOver the fence \u2014   \nStrawberries \u2014 grow \u2014   \nOver the fence \u2014   \nI could climb \u2014 if I tried, I know \u2014   \nBerries are nice!\n\nBut \u2014 if I stained my Apron \u2014   \nGod would certainly scold!  \nOh, dear, \u2014 I guess if He were a Boy \u2014   \nHe'd \u2014 climb \u2014 if He could!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I can wade Grief \u2014**\n\nI can wade Grief \u2014   \nWhole Pools of it \u2014   \nI'm used to that \u2014   \nBut the least push of Joy  \nBreaks up my feet \u2014   \nAnd I tip \u2014 drunken \u2014   \nLet no Pebble \u2014 smile \u2014   \n'Twas the New Liquor \u2014   \nThat was all!\n\nPower is only Pain \u2014   \nStranded, thro' Discipline,  \nTill Weights \u2014 will hang \u2014   \nGive Balm \u2014 to Giants \u2014   \nAnd they'll wilt, like Men \u2014   \nGive Himmaleh \u2014   \nThey'll Carry \u2014 Him!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You see I cannot see \u2014 your lifetime \u2014**\n\nYou see I cannot see \u2014 your lifetime \u2014   \nI must guess \u2014   \nHow many times it ache for me \u2014 today \u2014 Confess \u2014   \nHow many times for my far sake  \nThe brave eyes film \u2014   \nBut I guess guessing hurts \u2014   \nMine \u2014 got so dim!\n\nToo vague \u2014 the face \u2014   \nMy own \u2014 so patient \u2014 covers \u2014   \nToo far \u2014 the strength \u2014   \nMy timidness enfolds \u2014   \nHaunting the Heart \u2014   \nLike her translated faces \u2014   \nTeasing the want \u2014   \nIt \u2014 only \u2014 can suffice!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Hope is the thing with feathers \u2014**\n\n\"Hope\" is the thing with feathers \u2014   \nThat perches in the soul \u2014   \nAnd sings the tune without the words \u2014   \nAnd never stops \u2014 at all \u2014\n\nAnd sweetest \u2014 in the Gale \u2014 is heard \u2014   \nAnd sore must be the storm \u2014   \nThat could abash the little Bird  \nThat kept so many warm \u2014\n\nI've heard it in the chillest land \u2014   \nAnd on the strangest Sea \u2014   \nYet, never, in Extremity,  \nIt asked a crumb \u2014 of Me.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To die \u2014 takes just a little while \u2014**\n\nTo die \u2014 takes just a little while \u2014   \nThey say it doesn't hurt \u2014   \nIt's only fainter \u2014 by degrees \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 it's out of sight \u2014\n\nA darker Ribbon \u2014 for a Day \u2014   \nA Crape upon the Hat \u2014   \nAnd then the pretty sunshine comes \u2014   \nAnd helps us to forget \u2014\n\nThe absent \u2014 mystic \u2014 creature \u2014   \nThat but for love of us \u2014   \nHad gone to sleep \u2014 that soundest time \u2014   \nWithout the weariness \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If I'm lost \u2014 now**\n\nIf I'm lost \u2014 now  \nThat I was found \u2014   \nShall still my transport be \u2014   \nThat once \u2014 on me \u2014 those Jasper Gates  \nBlazed open \u2014 suddenly \u2014\n\nThat in my awkward \u2014 gazing \u2014 face \u2014   \nThe Angels \u2014 softly peered \u2014   \nAnd touched me with their fleeces,  \nAlmost as if they cared \u2014   \nI'm banished \u2014 now \u2014 you know it \u2014   \nHow foreign that can be \u2014   \nYou'll know \u2014 Sir \u2014 when the Savior's face  \nTurns so \u2014 away from you \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Delight is as the flight \u2014**\n\nDelight is as the flight \u2014   \nOr in the Ratio of it,  \nAs the Schools would say \u2014   \nThe Rainbow's way \u2014   \nA Skein  \nFlung colored, after Rain,  \nWould suit as bright,  \nExcept that flight  \nWere Aliment \u2014\n\n\"If it would last\"  \nI asked the East,  \nWhen that Bent Stripe  \nStruck up my childish  \nFirmament \u2014   \nAnd I, for glee,  \nTook Rainbows, as the common way,  \nAnd empty Skies  \nThe Eccentricity \u2014\n\nAnd so with Lives \u2014   \nAnd so with Butterflies \u2014   \nSeen magic \u2014 through the fright  \nThat they will cheat the sight \u2014   \nAnd Dower latitudes far on \u2014   \nSome sudden morn \u2014   \nOur portion \u2014 in the fashion \u2014   \nDone \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There's a certain Slant of light**\n\nXXXI.\n\nThere's a certain slant of light,  \nOn winter afternoons,  \nThat oppresses, like the weight  \nOf cathedral tunes.\n\nHeavenly hurt it gives us ;  \nWe can find no scar,  \nBut internal difference  \nWhere the meanings are.\n\nNone may teach it anything,  \n'T is the seal, despair, \u2014   \nAn imperial affliction  \nSent us of the air.\n\nWhen it comes, the landscape listens,  \nShadows hold their breath ;  \nWhen it goes, 't is like the distance  \nOn the look of death.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Good Night! Which put the Candle out?**\n\nGood Night! Which put the Candle out?  \nA jealous Zephyr \u2014 not a doubt \u2014   \nAh, friend, you little knew  \nHow long at that celestial wick  \nThe Angels \u2014 labored diligent \u2014   \nExtinguished \u2014 now \u2014 for you!\n\nIt might \u2014 have been the Light House spark \u2014   \nSome Sailor \u2014 rowing in the Dark \u2014   \nHad importuned to see!  \nIt might \u2014 have been the waning lamp  \nThat lit the Drummer from the Camp  \nTo purer Reveille!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Read \u2014 Sweet \u2014 how others \u2014 strove \u2014**\n\nRead \u2014 Sweet \u2014 how others \u2014 strove \u2014   \nTill we \u2014 are stouter \u2014   \nWhat they \u2014 renounced \u2014   \nTill we \u2014 are less afraid \u2014   \nHow many times they \u2014 bore the faithful witness \u2014   \nTill we \u2014 are helped \u2014   \nAs if a Kingdom \u2014 cared!\n\nRead then \u2014 of faith \u2014   \nThat shone above the fagot \u2014   \nClear strains of Hymn  \nThe River could not drown \u2014   \nBrave names of Men \u2014   \nAnd Celestial Women \u2014   \nPassed out \u2014 of Record  \nInto \u2014 Renown!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Put up my lute!**\n\nPut up my lute!  \nWhat of \u2014 my Music!  \nSince the sole ear I cared to charm \u2014   \nPassive \u2014 as Granite \u2014 laps My Music \u2014   \nSobbing \u2014 will suit \u2014 as well as psalm!\n\nWould but the \"Memnon\" of the Desert \u2014   \nTeach me the strain  \nThat vanquished Him \u2014   \nWhen He \u2014 surrendered to the Sunrise \u2014   \nMaybe \u2014 that \u2014 would awaken \u2014 them!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The lonesome for they know not What \u2014**\n\nThe lonesome for they know not What \u2014   \nThe Eastern Exiles \u2014 be \u2014   \nWho strayed beyond the Amber line  \nSome madder Holiday \u2014\n\nAnd ever since \u2014 the purple Moat  \nThey strive to climb \u2014 in vain \u2014   \nAs Birds \u2014 that tumble from the clouds  \nDo fumble at the strain \u2014\n\nThe Blessed Ether \u2014 taught them \u2014   \nSome Transatlantic Morn \u2014   \nWhen Heaven \u2014 was too common \u2014 to miss \u2014   \nToo sure \u2014 to dote upon!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A single Screw of Flesh**\n\nA single Screw of Flesh  \nIs all that pins the Soul  \nThat stands for Deity, to Mine,  \nUpon my side the Veil \u2014\n\nOnce witnessed of the Gauze \u2014   \nIts name is put away  \nAs far from mine, as if no plight  \nHad printed yesterday,\n\nIn tender \u2014 solemn Alphabet,  \nMy eyes just turned to see,  \nWhen it was smuggled by my sight  \nInto Eternity \u2014\n\nMore Hands \u2014 to hold \u2014 These are but Two \u2014   \nOne more new-mailed Nerve  \nJust granted, for the Peril's sake \u2014   \nSome striding \u2014 Giant \u2014 Love \u2014\n\nSo greater than the Gods can show,  \nThey slink before the Clay,  \nThat not for all their Heaven can boast  \nWill let its Keepsake \u2014 go\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Weight with Needles on the pounds \u2014**\n\nA Weight with Needles on the pounds \u2014   \nTo push, and pierce, besides \u2014   \nThat if the Flesh resist the Heft \u2014   \nThe puncture \u2014 coolly tries \u2014\n\nThat not a pore be overlooked  \nOf all this Compound Frame \u2014   \nAs manifold for Anguish \u2014   \nAs Species \u2014 be \u2014 for name \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Where Ships of Purple \u2014 gently toss \u2014**\n\nWhere Ships of Purple \u2014 gently toss \u2014   \nOn Seas of Daffodil \u2014   \nFantastic Sailors \u2014 mingle \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 the Wharf is still!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This \u2014 is the land \u2014 the Sunset washes \u2014**\n\nThis \u2014 is the land \u2014 the Sunset washes \u2014   \nThese \u2014 are the Banks of the Yellow Sea \u2014   \nWhere it rose \u2014 or whither it rushes \u2014   \nThese \u2014 are the Western Mystery!\n\nNight after Night  \nHer purple traffic  \nStrews the landing with Opal Bales \u2014   \nMerchantmen \u2014 poise upon Horizons \u2014   \nDip \u2014 and vanish like Orioles!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Did we disobey Him?**\n\nDid we disobey Him?  \nJust one time!  \nCharged us to forget Him \u2014   \nBut we couldn't learn!\n\nWere Himself \u2014 such a Dunce \u2014   \nWhat would we \u2014 do?  \nLove the dull lad \u2014 best \u2014   \nOh, wouldn't you?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Me, change! Me, alter!**\n\nMe, change! Me, alter!  \nThen I will, when on the Everlasting Hill  \nA Smaller Purple grows \u2014   \nAt sunset, or a lesser glow  \nFlickers upon Cordillera \u2014   \nAt Day's superior close!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Bound \u2014 a trouble \u2014**\n\nBound \u2014 a trouble \u2014   \nAnd lives can bear it!  \nLimit \u2014 how deep a bleeding go!  \nSo \u2014 many \u2014 drops \u2014 of vital scarlet \u2014   \nDeal with the soul  \nAs with Algebra!\n\nTell it the Ages \u2014 to a cypher \u2014   \nAnd it will ache \u2014 contented \u2014 on \u2014   \nSing \u2014 at its pain \u2014 as any Workman \u2014   \nNotching the fall of the Even Sun!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One Life of so much Consequence!**\n\nOne Life of so much Consequence!  \nYet I \u2014 for it \u2014 would pay \u2014   \nMy Soul's entire income \u2014   \nIn ceaseless \u2014 salary \u2014\n\nOne Pearl \u2014 to me \u2014 so signal \u2014   \nThat I would instant dive \u2014   \nAlthough \u2014 I knew \u2014 to take it \u2014   \nWould cost me \u2014 just a life!\n\nThe Sea is full \u2014 I know it!  \nThat \u2014 does not blur my Gem!  \nIt burns \u2014 distinct from all the row \u2014   \nIntact \u2014 in Diadem!\n\nThe life is thick \u2014 I know it!  \nYet \u2014 not so dense a crowd \u2014   \nBut Monarchs \u2014 are perceptible \u2014   \nFar down the dustiest Road!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A solemn thing \u2014 it was \u2014 I said \u2014**\n\nA solemn thing \u2014 it was \u2014 I said \u2014   \nA woman \u2014 white \u2014 to be \u2014   \nAnd wear \u2014 if God should count me fit \u2014   \nHer blameless mystery \u2014\n\nA hallowed thing \u2014 to drop a life  \nInto the purple well \u2014   \nToo plummetless \u2014 that it return \u2014   \nEternity \u2014 until \u2014\n\nI pondered how the bliss would look \u2014   \nAnd would it feel as big \u2014   \nWhen I could take it in my hand \u2014   \nAs hovering \u2014 seen \u2014 through fog \u2014\n\nAnd then \u2014 the size of this \"small\" life \u2014   \nThe Sages \u2014 call it small \u2014   \nSwelled \u2014 like Horizons \u2014 in my vest \u2014   \nAnd I sneered \u2014 softly \u2014 \"small\"!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I breathed enough to take the Trick \u2014**\n\nI breathed enough to take the Trick \u2014   \nAnd now, removed from Air \u2014   \nI simulate the Breath, so well \u2014   \nThat One, to be quite sure \u2014\n\nThe Lungs are stirless \u2014 must descend  \nAmong the Cunning Cells \u2014   \nAnd touch the Pantomine \u2014 Himself,  \nHow numb, the Bellows feels!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He put the Belt around my life**\n\nHe put the Belt around my life  \nI heard the Buckle snap \u2014   \nAnd turned away, imperial,  \nMy Lifetime folding up \u2014   \nDeliberate, as a Duke would do  \nA Kingdom's Title Deed \u2014   \nHenceforth, a Dedicated sort \u2014   \nA Member of the Cloud.\n\nYet not too far to come at call \u2014   \nAnd do the little Toils  \nThat make the Circuit of the Rest \u2014   \nAnd deal occasional smiles  \nTo lives that stoop to notice mine \u2014   \nAnd kindly ask it in \u2014   \nWhose invitation, know you not  \nFor Whom I must decline?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The only Ghost I ever saw**\n\nThe only Ghost I ever saw  \nWas dressed in Mechlin \u2014 so \u2014   \nHe wore no sandal on his foot \u2014   \nAnd stepped like flakes of snow \u2014\n\nHis Gait \u2014 was soundless, like the Bird \u2014   \nBut rapid \u2014 like the Roe \u2014   \nHis fashions, quaint, Mosaic \u2014   \nOr haply, Mistletoe \u2014\n\nHis conversation \u2014 seldom \u2014   \nHis laughter, like the Breeze \u2014   \nThat dies away in Dimples  \nAmong the pensive Trees \u2014\n\nOur interview \u2014 was transient \u2014   \nOf me, himself was shy \u2014   \nAnd God forbid I look behind \u2014   \nSince that appalling Day!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!**\n\nDoubt Me! My Dim Companion!  \nWhy, God, would be content  \nWith but a fraction of the Life \u2014   \nPoured thee, without a stint \u2014   \nThe whole of me \u2014 forever \u2014   \nWhat more the Woman can,  \nSay quick, that I may dower thee  \nWith last Delight I own!\n\nIt cannot be my Spirit \u2014   \nFor that was thine, before \u2014   \nI ceded all of Dust I knew \u2014   \nWhat Opulence the more  \nHad I \u2014 a freckled Maiden,  \nWhose farthest of Degree,  \nWas \u2014 that she might \u2014   \nSome distant Heaven,  \nDwell timidly, with thee!\n\nSift her, from Brow to Barefoot!  \nStrain till your last Surmise \u2014   \nDrop, like a Tapestry, away,  \nBefore the Fire's Eyes \u2014   \nWinnow her finest fondness \u2014   \nBut hallow just the snow  \nIntact, in Everlasting flake \u2014   \nOh, Caviler, for you!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Many a phrase has the English language \u2014**\n\nMany a phrase has the English language \u2014   \nI have heard but one \u2014   \nLow as the laughter of the Cricket,  \nLoud, as the Thunder's Tongue \u2014\n\nMurmuring, like old Caspian Choirs,  \nWhen the Tide's a' lull \u2014   \nSaying itself in new infection \u2014   \nLike a Whippoorwill \u2014\n\nBreaking in bright Orthography  \nOn my simple sleep \u2014   \nThundering its Prospective \u2014   \nTill I stir, and weep \u2014\n\nNot for the Sorrow, done me \u2014   \nBut the push of Joy \u2014   \nSay it again, Saxon!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What if I say I shall not wait!**\n\nWhat if I say I shall not wait!  \nWhat if I burst the fleshly Gate \u2014   \nAnd pass escaped \u2014 to thee!\n\nWhat if I file this Mortal \u2014 off \u2014   \nSee where it hurt me \u2014 That's enough \u2014   \nAnd wade in Liberty!\n\nThey cannot take me \u2014 any more!  \nDungeons can call \u2014 and Guns implore  \nUnmeaning \u2014 now \u2014 to me \u2014\n\nAs laughter \u2014 was \u2014 an hour ago \u2014   \nOr Laces \u2014 or a Travelling Show \u2014   \nOr who died \u2014 yesterday!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A shady friend \u2014 for Torrid days \u2014**\n\nA shady friend \u2014 for Torrid days \u2014   \nIs easier to find \u2014   \nThan one of higher temperature  \nFor Frigid \u2014 hour of Mind \u2014\n\nThe Vane a little to the East \u2014   \nScares Muslin souls \u2014 away \u2014   \nIf Broadcloth Hearts are firmer \u2014   \nThan those of Organdy \u2014\n\nWho is to blame? The Weaver?  \nAh, the bewildering thread!  \nThe Tapestries of Paradise  \nSo notelessly \u2014 are made!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord,**\n\nTie the Strings to my Life, My Lord,  \nThen, I am ready to go!  \nJust a look at the Horses \u2014   \nRapid! That will do!\n\nPut me in on the firmest side \u2014   \nSo I shall never fall \u2014   \nFor we must ride to the Judgment \u2014   \nAnd it's partly, down Hill \u2014\n\nBut never I mind the steeper \u2014   \nAnd never I mind the Sea \u2014   \nHeld fast in Everlasting Race \u2014   \nBy my own Choice, and Thee \u2014\n\nGoodbye to the Life I used to live \u2014   \nAnd the World I used to know \u2014   \nAnd kiss the Hills, for me, just once \u2014   \nThen \u2014 I am ready to go!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,**\n\nI felt a Funeral, in my Brain,  \nAnd Mourners to and fro  \nKept treading \u2014 treading \u2014 till it seemed  \nThat Sense was breaking through \u2014\n\nAnd when they all were seated,  \nA Service, like a Drum \u2014   \nKept beating \u2014 beating \u2014 till I thought  \nMy Mind was going numb \u2014\n\nAnd then I heard them lift a Box  \nAnd creak across my Soul  \nWith those same Boots of Lead, again,  \nThen Space \u2014 began to toll,\n\nAs all the Heavens were a Bell,  \nAnd Being, but an Ear,  \nAnd I, and Silence, some strange Race  \nWrecked, solitary, here \u2014\n\nAnd then a Plank in Reason, broke,  \nAnd I dropped down, and down \u2014   \nAnd hit a World, at every plunge,  \nAnd Finished knowing \u2014 then \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis so appalling \u2014 it exhilarates \u2014**\n\n'Tis so appalling \u2014 it exhilarates \u2014   \nSo over Horror, it half Captivates \u2014   \nThe Soul stares after it, secure \u2014   \nA Sepulchre, fears frost, no more \u2014\n\nTo scan a Ghost, is faint \u2014   \nBut grappling, conquers it \u2014   \nHow easy, Torment, now \u2014   \nSuspense kept sawing so \u2014\n\nThe Truth, is Bald, and Cold \u2014   \nBut that will hold \u2014   \nIf any are not sure \u2014   \nWe show them \u2014 prayer \u2014   \nBut we, who know,  \nStop hoping, now \u2014\n\nLooking at Death, is Dying \u2014   \nJust let go the Breath \u2014   \nAnd not the pillow at your Cheek  \nSo Slumbereth \u2014\n\nOthers, Can wrestle \u2014   \nYours, is done \u2014   \nAnd so of Woe, bleak dreaded \u2014 come,  \nIt sets the Fright at liberty \u2014   \nAnd Terror's free \u2014   \nGay, Ghastly, Holiday!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How noteless Men, and Pleiads, stand,**\n\nHow noteless Men, and Pleiads, stand,  \nUntil a sudden sky  \nReveals the fact that One is rapt  \nForever from the Eye \u2014\n\nMembers of the Invisible,  \nExisting, while we stare,  \nIn Leagueless Opportunity,  \nO'ertakenless, as the Air \u2014\n\nWhy didn't we detain Them?  \nThe Heavens with a smile,  \nSweep by our disappointed Heads  \nWithout a syllable \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Mien to move a Queen \u2014**\n\nA Mien to move a Queen \u2014   \nHalf Child \u2014 Half Heroine \u2014   \nAn Orleans in the Eye  \nThat puts its manner by  \nFor humbler Company  \nWhen none are near  \nEven a Tear \u2014   \nIts frequent Visitor \u2014\n\nA Bonnet like a Duke \u2014   \nAnd yet a Wren's Peruke  \nWere not so shy  \nOf Goer by \u2014   \nAnd Hands \u2014 so slight \u2014   \nThey would elate a Sprite  \nWith Merriment \u2014\n\nA Voice that Alters \u2014 Low  \nAnd on the Ear can go  \nLike Let of Snow \u2014   \nOr shift supreme \u2014   \nAs tone of Realm  \nOn Subjects Diadem \u2014\n\nToo small \u2014 to fear \u2014   \nToo distant \u2014 to endear \u2014   \nAnd so Men Compromise  \nAnd just \u2014 revere \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Drop, that wrestles in the Sea \u2014**\n\nThe Drop, that wrestles in the Sea \u2014   \nForgets her own locality \u2014   \nAs I \u2014 toward Thee \u2014\n\nShe knows herself an incense small \u2014   \nYet small \u2014 she sighs \u2014 if All \u2014 is All \u2014   \nHow larger \u2014 be?\n\nThe Ocean \u2014 smiles \u2014 at her Conceit \u2014   \nBut she, forgetting Amphitrite \u2014   \nPleads \u2014 \"Me\"?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Robin's my Criterion for Tune \u2014**\n\nThe Robin's my Criterion for Tune \u2014   \nBecause I grow \u2014 where Robins do \u2014   \nBut, were I Cuckoo born \u2014   \nI'd swear by him \u2014   \nThe ode familiar \u2014 rules the Noon \u2014   \nThe Buttercup's, my Whim for Bloom \u2014   \nBecause, we're Orchard sprung \u2014   \nBut, were I Britain born,  \nI'd Daisies spurn \u2014   \nNone but the Nut \u2014 October fit \u2014   \nBecause, through dropping it,  \nThe Seasons flit \u2014 I'm taught \u2014   \nWithout the Snow's Tableau  \nWinter, were lie \u2014 to me \u2014   \nBecause I see \u2014 New Englandly \u2014   \nThe Queen, discerns like me \u2014   \nProvincially \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That after Horror \u2014 that 'twas us \u2014**\n\nThat after Horror \u2014 that 'twas us \u2014   \nThat passed the mouldering Pier \u2014   \nJust as the Granite Crumb let go \u2014   \nOur Savior, by a Hair \u2014\n\nA second more, had dropped too deep  \nFor Fisherman to plumb \u2014   \nThe very profile of the Thought  \nPuts Recollection numb \u2014\n\nThe possibility \u2014 to pass  \nWithout a Moment's Bell \u2014   \nInto Conjecture's presence \u2014   \nIs like a Face of Steel \u2014   \nThat suddenly looks into ours  \nWith a metallic grin \u2014   \nThe Cordiality of Death \u2014   \nWho drills his Welcome in \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Clock stopped \u2014**\n\nA Clock stopped \u2014   \nNot the Mantel's \u2014   \nGeneva's farthest skill  \nCan't put the puppet bowing \u2014   \nThat just now dangled still \u2014\n\nAn awe came on the Trinket!  \nThe Figures hunched, with pain \u2014   \nThen quivered out of Decimals \u2014   \nInto Degreeless Noon \u2014\n\nIt will not stir for Doctors \u2014   \nThis Pendulum of snow \u2014   \nThis Shopman importunes it \u2014   \nWhile cool \u2014 concernless No \u2014\n\nNods from the Gilded pointers \u2014   \nNods from the Seconds slim \u2014   \nDecades of Arrogance between  \nThe Dial life \u2014   \nAnd Him \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I'm Nobody! Who are you?**\n\nI'm nobody! Who are you?  \nAre you nobody, too?  \nThen there's a pair of us--don't tell!  \nThey'd banish us, you know.\n\nHow dreary to be somebody!  \nHow public, like a frog  \nTo tell your name the livelong day  \nTo an admiring bog!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I know some lonely Houses off the Road**\n\nI know some lonely Houses off the Road  \nA Robber'd like the look of \u2014   \nWooden barred,  \nAnd Windows hanging low,  \nInviting to \u2014   \nA Portico,  \nWhere two could creep \u2014   \nOne \u2014 hand the Tools \u2014   \nThe other peep \u2014   \nTo make sure All's Asleep \u2014   \nOld fashioned eyes \u2014   \nNot easy to surprise!\n\nHow orderly the Kitchen'd look, by night,  \nWith just a Clock \u2014   \nBut they could gag the Tick \u2014   \nAnd Mice won't bark \u2014   \nAnd so the Walls \u2014 don't tell \u2014   \nNone \u2014 will \u2014\n\nA pair of Spectacles ajar just stir \u2014   \nAn Almanac's aware \u2014   \nWas it the Mat \u2014 winked,  \nOr a Nervous Star?  \nThe Moon \u2014 slides down the stair,  \nTo see who's there!\n\nThere's plunder \u2014 where \u2014   \nTankard, or Spoon \u2014   \nEarring \u2014 or Stone \u2014   \nA Watch \u2014 Some Ancient Brooch  \nTo match the Grandmama \u2014   \nStaid sleeping \u2014 there \u2014\n\nDay \u2014 rattles \u2014 too  \nStealth's \u2014 slow \u2014   \nThe Sun has got as far  \nAs the third Sycamore \u2014   \nScreams Chanticleer  \n\"Who's there\"?\n\nAnd Echoes \u2014 Trains away,  \nSneer \u2014 \"Where\"!  \nWhile the old Couple, just astir,  \nFancy the Sunrise \u2014 left the door ajar!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Bronze \u2014 and Blaze \u2014**\n\nOf Bronze \u2014 and Blaze \u2014   \nThe North \u2014 Tonight \u2014   \nSo adequate \u2014 it forms \u2014   \nSo preconcerted with itself \u2014   \nSo distant \u2014 to alarms \u2014   \nAn Unconcern so sovereign  \nTo Universe, or me \u2014   \nInfects my simple spirit  \nWith Taints of Majesty \u2014   \nTill I take vaster attitudes \u2014   \nAnd strut upon my stem \u2014   \nDisdaining Men, and Oxygen,  \nFor Arrogance of them \u2014\n\nMy Splendors, are Menagerie \u2014   \nBut their Competeless Show  \nWill entertain the Centuries  \nWhen I, am long ago,  \nAn Island in dishonored Grass \u2014   \nWhom none but Beetles \u2014 know.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How the old Mountains drip with Sunset**\n\nHow the old Mountains drip with Sunset  \nHow the Hemlocks burn \u2014   \nHow the Dun Brake is draped in Cinder  \nBy the Wizard Sun \u2014\n\nHow the old Steeples hand the Scarlet  \nTill the Ball is full \u2014   \nHave I the lip of the Flamingo  \nThat I dare to tell?\n\nThen, how the Fire ebbs like Billows \u2014   \nTouching all the Grass  \nWith a departing \u2014 Sapphire \u2014 feature \u2014   \nAs a Duchess passed \u2014\n\nHow a small Dusk crawls on the Village  \nTill the Houses blot  \nAnd the odd Flambeau, no men carry  \nGlimmer on the Street \u2014\n\nHow it is Night \u2014 in Nest and Kennel \u2014   \nAnd where was the Wood \u2014   \nJust a Dome of Abyss is Bowing  \nInto Solitude \u2014\n\nThese are the Visions flitted Guido \u2014   \nTitian \u2014 never told \u2014   \nDomenichino dropped his pencil \u2014   \nParalyzed, with Gold \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If your Nerve, deny you \u2014**\n\nIf your Nerve, deny you \u2014   \nGo above your Nerve \u2014   \nHe can lean against the Grave,  \nIf he fear to swerve \u2014\n\nThat's a steady posture \u2014   \nNever any bend  \nHeld of those Brass arms \u2014   \nBest Giant made \u2014\n\nIf your Soul seesaw \u2014   \nLift the Flesh door \u2014   \nThe Poltroon wants Oxygen \u2014   \nNothing more \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I got so I could take his name \u2014**\n\nI got so I could take his name \u2014   \nWithout \u2014 Tremendous gain \u2014   \nThat Stop-sensation \u2014 on my Soul \u2014   \nAnd Thunder \u2014 in the Room \u2014\n\nI got so I could walk across  \nThat Angle in the floor,  \nWhere he turned so, and I turned \u2014 how \u2014   \nAnd all our Sinew tore \u2014\n\nI got so I could stir the Box \u2014   \nIn which his letters grew  \nWithout that forcing, in my breath \u2014   \nAs Staples \u2014 driven through \u2014\n\nCould dimly recollect a Grace \u2014   \nI think, they call it \"God\" \u2014   \nRenowned to ease Extremity \u2014   \nWhen Formula, had failed \u2014\n\nAnd shape my Hands \u2014   \nPetition's way,  \nTho' ignorant of a word  \nThat Ordination \u2014 utters \u2014\n\nMy Business, with the Cloud,  \nIf any Power behind it, be,  \nNot subject to Despair \u2014   \nIt care, in some remoter way,  \nFor so minute affair  \nAs Misery \u2014   \nItself, too vast, for interrupting \u2014 more \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Doomed \u2014 regard the Sunrise**\n\nThe Doomed \u2014 regard the Sunrise  \nWith different Delight \u2014   \nBecause \u2014 when next it burns abroad  \nThey doubt to witness it \u2014\n\nThe Man \u2014 to die \u2014 tomorrow \u2014   \nHarks for the Meadow Bird \u2014   \nBecause its Music stirs the Axe  \nThat clamors for his head \u2014\n\nJoyful \u2014 to whom the Sunrise  \nPrecedes Enamored \u2014 Day \u2014   \nJoyful \u2014 for whom the Meadow Bird  \nHas ought but Elegy!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Unto like Story \u2014 Trouble has enticed me \u2014**\n\nUnto like Story \u2014 Trouble has enticed me \u2014   \nHow Kinsmen fell \u2014   \nBrothers and Sister \u2014 who preferred the Glory \u2014   \nAnd their young will  \nBent to the Scaffold, or in Dungeons \u2014 chanted \u2014   \nTill God's full time \u2014   \nWhen they let go the ignominy \u2014 smiling \u2014   \nAnd Shame went still \u2014\n\nUnto guessed Crests, my moaning fancy, leads me,  \nWorn fair  \nBy Heads rejected \u2014 in the lower country \u2014   \nOf honors there \u2014   \nSuch spirit makes her perpetual mention,  \nThat I \u2014 grown bold \u2014   \nStep martial \u2014 at my Crucifixion \u2014   \nAs Trumpets \u2014 rolled \u2014\n\nFeet, small as mine \u2014 have marched in Revolution  \nFirm to the Drum \u2014   \nHands \u2014 not so stout \u2014 hoisted them \u2014 in witness \u2014   \nWhen Speech went numb \u2014   \nLet me not shame their sublime deportments \u2014   \nDrilled bright \u2014   \nBeckoning \u2014 Etruscan invitation \u2014   \nToward Light \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One Year ago \u2014 jots what?**\n\nOne Year ago \u2014 jots what?  \nGod \u2014 spell the word! I \u2014 can't \u2014   \nWas't Grace? Not that \u2014   \nWas't Glory? That \u2014 will do \u2014   \nSpell slower \u2014 Glory \u2014\n\nSuch Anniversary shall be \u2014   \nSometimes \u2014 not often \u2014 in Eternity \u2014   \nWhen farther Parted, than the Common Woe \u2014   \nLook \u2014 feed upon each other's faces \u2014 so \u2014   \nIn doubtful meal, if it be possible  \nTheir Banquet's true \u2014\n\nI tasted \u2014 careless \u2014 then \u2014   \nI did not know the Wine  \nCame once a World \u2014 Did you?  \nOh, had you told me so \u2014   \nThis Thirst would blister \u2014 easier \u2014 now \u2014   \nYou said it hurt you \u2014 most \u2014   \nMine \u2014 was an Acorn's Breast \u2014   \nAnd could not know how fondness grew  \nIn Shaggier Vest \u2014   \nPerhaps \u2014 I couldn't \u2014   \nBut, had you looked in \u2014   \nA Giant \u2014 eye to eye with you, had been \u2014   \nNo Acorn \u2014 then \u2014\n\nSo \u2014 Twelve months ago \u2014   \nWe breathed \u2014   \nThen dropped the Air \u2014   \nWhich bore it best?  \nWas this \u2014 the patientest \u2014   \nBecause it was a Child, you know \u2014   \nAnd could not value \u2014 Air?\n\nIf to be \"Elder\" \u2014 mean most pain \u2014   \nI'm old enough, today, I'm certain \u2014 then \u2014   \nAs old as thee \u2014 how soon?  \nOne \u2014 Birthday more \u2014 or Ten?  \nLet me \u2014 choose!  \nAh, Sir, None!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It's like the Light \u2014**\n\nIt's like the Light \u2014   \nA fashionless Delight \u2014   \nIt's like the Bee \u2014   \nA dateless \u2014 Melody \u2014\n\nIt's like the Woods \u2014   \nPrivate \u2014 Like the Breeze \u2014   \nPhraseless \u2014 yet it stirs  \nThe proudest Trees \u2014\n\nIt's like the Morning \u2014   \nBest \u2014 when it's done \u2014   \nAnd the Everlasting Clocks \u2014   \nChime \u2014 Noon!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Alone, I cannot be \u2014**\n\nAlone, I cannot be \u2014   \nFor Hosts \u2014 do visit me \u2014   \nRecordless Company \u2014   \nWho baffle Key \u2014\n\nThey have no Robes, nor Names \u2014   \nNo Almanacs \u2014 nor Climes \u2014   \nBut general Homes  \nLike Gnomes \u2014\n\nTheir Coming, may be known  \nBy Couriers within \u2014   \nTheir going \u2014 is not \u2014   \nFor they've never gone \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Your Riches \u2014 taught me \u2014 Poverty**\n\nYour Riches \u2014 taught me \u2014 Poverty.  \nMyself \u2014 a Millionaire  \nIn little Wealths, as Girls could boast  \nTill broad as Buenos Ayre \u2014\n\nYou drifted your Dominions \u2014   \nA Different Peru \u2014   \nAnd I esteemed All Poverty  \nFor Life's Estate with you \u2014\n\nOf Mines, I little know \u2014 myself \u2014   \nBut just the names, of Gems \u2014   \nThe Colors of the Commonest \u2014   \nAnd scarce of Diadems \u2014\n\nSo much, that did I meet the Queen \u2014   \nHer Glory I should know \u2014   \nBut this, must be a different Wealth \u2014   \nTo miss it \u2014 beggars so \u2014\n\nI'm sure 'tis India \u2014 all Day \u2014   \nTo those who look on You \u2014   \nWithout a stint \u2014 without a blame,  \nMight I \u2014 but be the Jew \u2014\n\nI'm sure it is Golconda \u2014   \nBeyond my power to deem \u2014   \nTo have a smile for Mine \u2014 each Day,  \nHow better, than a Gem!\n\nAt least, it solaces to know  \nThat there exists \u2014 a Gold \u2014   \nAltho' I prove it, just in time  \nIts distance \u2014 to behold \u2014\n\nIts far \u2014 far Treasure to surmise \u2014   \nAnd estimate the Pearl \u2014   \nThat slipped my simple fingers through \u2014   \nWhile just a Girl at School.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Morning \u2014 means Milking \u2014 to the Farmer \u2014**\n\n\"Morning\" \u2014 means \"Milking\" \u2014 to the Farmer \u2014   \nDawn \u2014 to the Teneriffe \u2014   \nDice \u2014 to the Maid \u2014   \nMorning means just Risk \u2014 to the Lover \u2014   \nJust revelation \u2014 to the Beloved \u2014\n\nEpicures \u2014 date a Breakfast \u2014 by it \u2014   \nBrides \u2014 an Apocalypse \u2014   \nWorlds \u2014 a Flood \u2014   \nFaint-going Lives \u2014 Their Lapse from Sighing \u2014   \nFaith \u2014 The Experiment of Our Lord\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I reason, Earth is short \u2014**\n\nI REASON, earth is short,  \nAnd anguish absolute,  \nAnd many hurt ;  \nBut what of that ?\n\nI reason, we could die :  \nThe best vitality  \nCannot excel decay ;  \nBut what of that ?\n\nI reason that in heaven  \nSomehow, it will be even,  \nSome new equation given ;  \nBut what of that ?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Like Some Old fashioned Miracle**\n\nLike Some Old fashioned Miracle  \nWhen Summertime is done \u2014   \nSeems Summer's Recollection  \nAnd the Affairs of June\n\nAs infinite Tradition  \nAs Cinderella's Bays \u2014   \nOr Little John \u2014 of Lincoln Green \u2014   \nOr Blue Beard's Galleries \u2014\n\nHer Bees have a fictitious Hum \u2014   \nHer Blossoms, like a Dream \u2014   \nElate us \u2014 till we almost weep \u2014   \nSo plausible \u2014 they seem \u2014\n\nHer Memories like Strains \u2014 Review \u2014   \nWhen Orchestra is dumb \u2014   \nThe Violin in Baize replaced \u2014   \nAnd Ear \u2014 and Heaven \u2014 numb \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Soul selects her own Society \u2014**\n\nThe Soul selects her own Society \u2014   \nThen \u2014 shuts the Door \u2014   \nTo her divine Majority \u2014   \nPresent no more \u2014\n\nUnmoved \u2014 she notes the Chariots \u2014 pausing \u2014   \nAt her low Gate \u2014   \nUnmoved \u2014 an Emperor be kneeling  \nUpon her Mat \u2014\n\nI've known her \u2014 from an ample nation \u2014   \nChoose One \u2014   \nThen \u2014 close the Valves of her attention \u2014   \nLike Stone \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Day came slow \u2014 till Five o'clock \u2014**\n\nThe Day came slow \u2014 till Five o'clock \u2014   \nThen sprang before the Hills  \nLike Hindered Rubies \u2014 or the Light  \nA Sudden Musket \u2014 spills \u2014\n\nThe Purple could not keep the East \u2014   \nThe Sunrise shook abroad  \nLike Breadths of Topaz \u2014 packed a Night \u2014   \nThe Lady just unrolled \u2014\n\nThe Happy Winds \u2014 their Timbrels took \u2014   \nThe Birds \u2014 in docile Rows  \nArranged themselves around their Prince  \nThe Wind \u2014 is Prince of Those \u2014\n\nThe Orchard sparkled like a Jew \u2014   \nHow mighty 'twas \u2014 to be  \nA Guest in this stupendous place \u2014   \nThe Parlor \u2014 of the Day \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The difference between Despair**\n\nThe difference between Despair  \nAnd Fear \u2014 is like the One  \nBetween the instant of a Wreck  \nAnd when the Wreck has been \u2014\n\nThe Mind is smooth \u2014 no Motion \u2014   \nContented as the Eye  \nUpon the Forehead of a Bust \u2014   \nThat knows \u2014 it cannot see \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Soul's Superior instants**\n\nThe Soul's Superior instants  \nOccur to Her \u2014 alone \u2014   \nWhen friend \u2014 and Earth's occasion  \nHave infinite withdrawn \u2014\n\nOr She \u2014 Herself \u2014 ascended  \nTo too remote a Height  \nFor lower Recognition  \nThan Her Omnipotent \u2014\n\nThis Mortal Abolition  \nIs seldom \u2014 but as fair  \nAs Apparition \u2014 subject  \nTo Autocratic Air \u2014\n\nEternity's disclosure  \nTo favorites \u2014 a few \u2014   \nOf the Colossal substance  \nOf Immortality\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The One who could repeat the Summer day \u2014**\n\nThe One who could repeat the Summer day \u2014   \nWere greater than itself \u2014 though He  \nMinutest of Mankind should be \u2014\n\nAnd He \u2014 could reproduce the Sun \u2014   \nAt period of going down \u2014   \nThe Lingering \u2014 and the Stain \u2014 I mean \u2014\n\nWhen Orient have been outgrown \u2014   \nAnd Occident \u2014 become Unknown \u2014   \nHis Name \u2014 remain \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I send Two Sunsets \u2014**\n\nI send Two Sunsets \u2014   \nDay and I \u2014 in competition ran \u2014   \nI finished Two \u2014 and several Stars \u2014   \nWhile He \u2014 was making One \u2014\n\nHis own was ampler \u2014 but as I  \nWas saying to a friend \u2014   \nMine \u2014 is the more convenient  \nTo Carry in the Hand \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**For largest Woman's Hearth I knew \u2014**\n\nFor largest Woman's Hearth I knew \u2014   \n'Tis little I can do \u2014   \nAnd yet the largest Woman's Heart  \nCould hold an Arrow \u2014 too \u2014   \nAnd so, instructed by my own,  \nI tenderer, turn Me to.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Give little Anguish \u2014**\n\nGive little Anguish \u2014   \nLives will fret \u2014   \nGive Avalanches \u2014   \nAnd they'll slant \u2014   \nStraighten \u2014 look cautious for their Breath \u2014   \nBut make no syllable \u2014 like Death \u2014   \nWho only shows the Marble Disc \u2014   \nSublimer sort \u2014 than Speech \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It sifts from Leaden Sieves \u2014**\n\nIt sifts from Leaden Sieves \u2014   \nIt powders all the Wood.  \nIt fills with Alabaster Wool  \nThe Wrinkles of the Road \u2014\n\nIt makes an Even Face  \nOf Mountain, and of Plain \u2014   \nUnbroken Forehead from the East  \nUnto the East again \u2014\n\nIt reaches to the Fence \u2014   \nIt wraps it Rail by Rail  \nTill it is lost in Fleeces \u2014   \nIt deals Celestial Vail\n\nTo Stump, and Stack \u2014 and Stem \u2014   \nA Summer's empty Room \u2014   \nAcres of Joints, where Harvests were,  \nRecordless, but for them \u2014\n\nIt Ruffles Wrists of Posts  \nAs Ankles of a Queen \u2014   \nThen stills its Artisans \u2014 like Ghosts \u2014   \nDenying they have been \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Her \u2014 last Poems \u2014**\n\nHer \u2014 \"last Poems\" \u2014   \nPoets \u2014 ended \u2014   \nSilver \u2014 perished \u2014 with her Tongue \u2014   \nNot on Record \u2014 bubbled other,  \nFlute \u2014 or Woman \u2014   \nSo divine \u2014   \nNot unto its Summer \u2014 Morning  \nRobin \u2014 uttered Half the Tune \u2014   \nGushed too free for the Adoring \u2014   \nFrom the Anglo-Florentine \u2014   \nLate \u2014 the Praise \u2014   \n'Tis dull \u2014 conferring  \nOn the Head too High to Crown \u2014   \nDiadem \u2014 or Ducal Showing \u2014   \nBe its Grave \u2014 sufficient sign \u2014   \nNought \u2014 that We \u2014 No Poet's Kinsman \u2014   \nSuffocate \u2014 with easy woe \u2014   \nWhat, and if, Ourself a Bridegroom \u2014   \nPut Her down \u2014 in Italy?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I should have been too glad, I see \u2014**\n\nI should have been too glad, I see \u2014   \nToo lifted \u2014 for the scant degree  \nOf Life's penurious Round \u2014   \nMy little Circuit would have shamed  \nThis new Circumference \u2014 have blamed \u2014   \nThe homelier time behind.\n\nI should have been too saved \u2014 I see \u2014   \nToo rescued \u2014 Fear too dim to me  \nThat I could spell the Prayer  \nI knew so perfect \u2014 yesterday \u2014   \nThat Scalding One \u2014 Sabachthani \u2014   \nRecited fluent \u2014 here \u2014\n\nEarth would have been too much \u2014 I see \u2014   \nAnd Heaven \u2014 not enough for me \u2014   \nI should have had the Joy  \nWithout the Fear \u2014 to justify \u2014   \nThe Palm \u2014 without the Calvary \u2014   \nSo Savior \u2014 Crucify \u2014   \nDefeat \u2014 whets Victory \u2014 they say \u2014   \nThe Reefs \u2014 in old Gethsemane \u2014   \nEndear the Coast \u2014 beyond!  \n'Tis Beggars \u2014 Banquets \u2014 can define \u2014   \n'Tis Parching \u2014 vitalizes Wine \u2014   \n\"Faith\" bleats \u2014 to understand!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Nature \u2014 sometimes sears a Sapling \u2014**\n\nNature \u2014 sometimes sears a Sapling \u2014   \nSometimes \u2014 scalps a Tree \u2014   \nHer Green People recollect it  \nWhen they do not die \u2014\n\nFainter Leaves \u2014 to Further Seasons \u2014   \nDumbly testify \u2014   \nWe \u2014 who have the Souls \u2014   \nDie oftener \u2014 Not so vitally \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He fumbles at your Soul**\n\nHe fumbles at your Soul  \nAs Players at the Keys  \nBefore they drop full Music on \u2014   \nHe stuns you by degrees \u2014   \nPrepares your brittle Nature  \nFor the Ethereal Blow  \nBy fainter Hammers \u2014 further heard \u2014   \nThen nearer \u2014 Then so slow  \nYour Breath has time to straighten \u2014   \nYour Brain \u2014 to bubble Cool \u2014   \nDeals \u2014 One \u2014 imperial \u2014 Thunderbolt \u2014   \nThat scalps your naked Soul \u2014\n\nWhen Winds take Forests in the Paws \u2014   \nThe Universe \u2014 is still \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Wind didn't come from the Orchard \u2014 today \u2014**\n\nThe Wind didn't come from the Orchard \u2014 today \u2014   \nFurther than that \u2014   \nNor stop to play with the Hay \u2014   \nNor joggle a Hat \u2014   \nHe's a transitive fellow \u2014 very \u2014   \nRely on that \u2014\n\nIf He leave a Bur at the door  \nWe know He has climbed a Fir \u2014   \nBut the Fir is Where \u2014 Declare \u2014   \nWere you ever there?\n\nIf He brings Odors of Clovers \u2014   \nAnd that is His business \u2014 not Ours \u2014   \nThen He has been with the Mowers \u2014   \nWhetting away the Hours  \nTo sweet pauses of Hay \u2014   \nHis Way \u2014 of a June Day \u2014\n\nIf He fling Sand, and Pebble \u2014   \nLittle Boys Hats \u2014 and Stubble \u2014   \nWith an occasional Steeple \u2014   \nAnd a hoarse \"Get out of the way, I say,\"  \nWho'd be the fool to stay?  \nWould you \u2014 Say \u2014   \nWould you be the fool to stay?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Just so \u2014 Jesus \u2014 raps \u2014**\n\nJust so \u2014 Jesus \u2014 raps \u2014   \nHe \u2014 doesn't weary \u2014   \nLast \u2014 at the Knocker \u2014   \nAnd first \u2014 at the Bell.  \nThen \u2014 on divinest tiptoe \u2014 standing \u2014   \nMight He but spy the lady's soul \u2014   \nWhen He \u2014 retires \u2014   \nChilled \u2014 or weary \u2014   \nIt will be ample time for \u2014 me \u2014   \nPatient \u2014 upon the steps \u2014 until then \u2014   \nHears! I am knocking \u2014 low at thee.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I'll tell you how the Sun rose \u2014**\n\nI'll tell you how the Sun rose \u2014   \nA Ribbon at a time \u2014   \nThe Steeples swam in Amethyst \u2014   \nThe news, like Squirrels, ran \u2014   \nThe Hills untied their Bonnets \u2014   \nThe Bobolinks \u2014 begun \u2014   \nThen I said softly to myself \u2014   \n\"That must have been the Sun\"!  \nBut how he set \u2014 I know not \u2014   \nThere seemed a purple stile  \nThat little Yellow boys and girls  \nWere climbing all the while \u2014   \nTill when they reached the other side,  \nA Dominie in Gray \u2014   \nPut gently up the evening Bars \u2014   \nAnd led the flock away \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The nearest Dream recedes \u2014 unrealized \u2014**\n\nThe nearest Dream recedes \u2014 unrealized \u2014   \nThe Heaven we chase,  \nLike the June Bee \u2014 before the School Boy,  \nInvites the Race \u2014   \nStoops \u2014 to an easy Clover \u2014   \nDips \u2014 evades \u2014 teases \u2014 deploys \u2014   \nThen \u2014 to the Royal Clouds  \nLifts his light Pinnace \u2014   \nHeedless of the Boy \u2014   \nStaring \u2014 bewildered \u2014 at the mocking sky \u2014   \nHomesick for steadfast Honey \u2014   \nAh, the Bee flies not  \nThat brews that rare variety!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We play at Paste \u2014**\n\nWe play at Paste \u2014   \nTill qualified, for Pearl \u2014   \nThen, drop the Paste \u2014   \nAnd deem ourself a fool \u2014\n\nThe Shapes \u2014 though \u2014 were similar \u2014   \nAnd our new Hands  \nLearned Gem-Tactics \u2014   \nPracticing Sands \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of all the Sounds despatched abroad,**\n\nOf all the Sounds despatched abroad,  \nThere's not a Charge to me  \nLike that old measure in the Boughs \u2014   \nThat phraseless Melody \u2014   \nThe Wind does \u2014 working like a Hand,  \nWhose fingers Comb the Sky \u2014   \nThen quiver down \u2014 with tufts of Tune \u2014   \nPermitted Gods, and me \u2014\n\nInheritance, it is, to us \u2014   \nBeyond the Art to Earn \u2014   \nBeyond the trait to take away  \nBy Robber, since the Gain  \nIs gotten not of fingers \u2014   \nAnd inner than the Bone \u2014   \nHid golden, for the whole of Days,  \nAnd even in the Urn,  \nI cannot vouch the merry Dust  \nDo not arise and play  \nIn some odd fashion of its own,  \nSome quainter Holiday,  \nWhen Winds go round and round in Bands \u2014   \nAnd thrum upon the door,  \nAnd Birds take places, overhead,  \nTo bear them Orchestra.\n\nI crave Him grace of Summer Boughs,  \nIf such an Outcast be \u2014   \nWho never heard that fleshless Chant \u2014   \nRise \u2014 solemn \u2014 on the Tree,  \nAs if some Caravan of Sound  \nOff Deserts, in the Sky,  \nHad parted Rank,  \nThen knit, and swept \u2014   \nIn Seamless Company \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There came a Day at Summer's full,**\n\nThere came a Day at Summer's full,  \nEntirely for me \u2014   \nI thought that such were for the Saints,  \nWhere Resurrections \u2014 be \u2014\n\nThe Sun, as common, went abroad,  \nThe flowers, accustomed, blew,  \nAs if no soul the solstice passed  \nThat maketh all things new \u2014\n\nThe time was scarce profaned, by speech \u2014   \nThe symbol of a word  \nWas needless, as at Sacrament,  \nThe Wardrobe \u2014 of our Lord \u2014\n\nEach was to each The Sealed Church,  \nPermitted to commune this \u2014 time \u2014   \nLest we too awkward show  \nAt Supper of the Lamb.\n\nThe Hours slid fast \u2014 as Hours will,  \nClutched tight, by greedy hands \u2014   \nSo faces on two Decks, look back,  \nBound to opposing lands \u2014\n\nAnd so when all the time had leaked,  \nWithout external sound  \nEach bound the Other's Crucifix \u2014   \nWe gave no other Bond \u2014\n\nSufficient troth, that we shall rise \u2014   \nDeposed \u2014 at length, the Grave \u2014   \nTo that new Marriage,  \nJustified \u2014 through Calvaries of Love \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As if I asked a common Alms,**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nAs if I asked a common alms -\n\nAnd in my wondering hand,\n\nA stranger pressed a kingdom -\n\nAnd I - bewildered stand -\n\nAs if I asked the Orient\n\nHad it for me a morn?\n\nAnd it sh'd lift it's purple dikes\n\nAnd flood me with the Dawn!\n\n**Version 2**\n\nThe \"hand you stretch me in the Dark\", I put mine in, and turn away - I have no Saxon, now -\n\nAs if I asked a common Alms,\n\nAnd in my wondering hand\n\nA Stranger pressed a Kingdom,\n\nAnd I, bewildered, stand -\n\nAs if I asked the Orient\n\nHad it for me a Morn -\n\nAnd it should lift its purple Dikes,\n\nAnd shatter Me with Dawn!\n\n**Version 3**\n\nThank you for the Grave - empty and full - too -\n\nAs if I asked a common Alms and in my wondering Hand\n\nA stranger pressed a Kingdom, and I bewildered stand,\n\nAs if I asked the Orient had it for me a Morn,\n\nAnd it should lift it's purple Dikes, and shatter me with Dawn -\n\nVersion appearing in Thomas Johnson, Collected Poems\n\nAs if I asked a common Alms -\n\nAnd in my wondering hand\n\nA Stranger pressed a Kingdom,\n\nAnd I, bewildered, stand -\n\nAs if I asked the Orient\n\nHad it for me a Morn -\n\nAnd it should lift its purple Dikes,\n\nAnd shatter Me with Dawn!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Some keep the Sabbath going to Church \u2014**\n\nSome keep the Sabbath going to Church \u2014   \nI keep it, staying at Home \u2014   \nWith a Bobolink for a Chorister \u2014   \nAnd an Orchard, for a Dome \u2014\n\nSome keep the Sabbath in Surplice \u2014   \nI just wear my Wings \u2014   \nAnd instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,  \nOur little Sexton \u2014 sings.\n\nGod preaches, a noted Clergyman \u2014   \nAnd the sermon is never long,  \nSo instead of getting to Heaven, at last \u2014   \nI'm going, all along.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Tribulation, these are They,**\n\nOf Tribulation, these are They,  \nDenoted by the White \u2014   \nThe Spangled Gowns, a lesser Rank  \nOf Victors \u2014 designate \u2014\n\nAll these \u2014 did conquer \u2014   \nBut the ones who overcame most times \u2014   \nWear nothing commoner than Snow \u2014   \nNo Ornament, but Palms \u2014\n\nSurrender \u2014 is a sort unknown \u2014   \nOn this superior soil \u2014   \nDefeat \u2014 an outgrown Anguish \u2014   \nRemembered, as the Mile\n\nOur panting Ankle barely passed \u2014   \nWhen Night devoured the Road \u2014   \nBut we \u2014 stood whispering in the House \u2014   \nAnd all we said \u2014 was \"Saved\"!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I cannot dance upon my Toes \u2014**\n\nI cannot dance upon my Toes \u2014   \nNo Man instructed me \u2014   \nBut oftentimes, among my mind,  \nA Glee possesseth me,\n\nThat had I Ballet knowledge \u2014   \nWould put itself abroad  \nIn Pirouette to blanch a Troupe \u2014   \nOr lay a Prima, mad,\n\nAnd though I had no Gown of Gauze \u2014   \nNo Ringlet, to my Hair,  \nNor hopped to Audiences \u2014 like Birds,  \nOne Claw upon the Air,\n\nNor tossed my shape in Eider Balls,  \nNor rolled on wheels of snow  \nTill I was out of sight, in sound,  \nThe House encore me so \u2014\n\nNor any know I know the Art  \nI mention \u2014 easy \u2014 Here \u2014   \nNor any Placard boast me \u2014   \nIt's full as Opera \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Before I got my eye put out**\n\nBefore I got my eye put out  \nI liked as well to see \u2014   \nAs other Creatures, that have Eyes  \nAnd know no other way \u2014\n\nBut were it told to me \u2014 Today \u2014   \nThat I might have the sky  \nFor mine \u2014 I tell you that my Heart  \nWould split, for size of me \u2014\n\nThe Meadows \u2014 mine \u2014   \nThe Mountains \u2014 mine \u2014   \nAll Forests \u2014 Stintless Stars \u2014   \nAs much of Noon as I could take  \nBetween my finite eyes \u2014\n\nThe Motions of the Dipping Birds \u2014   \nThe Morning's Amber Road \u2014   \nFor mine \u2014 to look at when I liked \u2014   \nThe News would strike me dead \u2014\n\nSo safer \u2014 guess \u2014 with just my soul  \nUpon the Window pane \u2014   \nWhere other Creatures put their eyes \u2014   \nIncautious \u2014 of the Sun \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Bird came down the Walk \u2014**\n\nA Bird came down the Walk \u2014   \nHe did not know I saw \u2014   \nHe bit an Angleworm in halves  \nAnd ate the fellow, raw,\n\nAnd then he drank a Dew  \nFrom a convenient Grass \u2014   \nAnd then hopped sidewise to the Wall  \nTo let a Beetle pass \u2014\n\nHe glanced with rapid eyes  \nThat hurried all around \u2014   \nThey looked like frightened Beads, I thought \u2014   \nHe stirred his Velvet Head\n\nLike one in danger, Cautious,  \nI offered him a Crumb  \nAnd he unrolled his feathers  \nAnd rowed him softer home \u2014\n\nThan Oars divide the Ocean,  \nToo silver for a seam \u2014   \nOr Butterflies, off Banks of Noon  \nLeap, plashless as they swim.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So glad we are \u2014 a Stranger'd deem**\n\nSo glad we are \u2014 a Stranger'd deem  \n'Twas sorry, that we were \u2014   \nFor where the Holiday should be  \nThere publishes a Tear \u2014   \nNor how Ourselves be justified \u2014   \nSince Grief and Joy are done  \nSo similar \u2014 An Optizan  \nCould not decide between \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Juggler's Hat her Country is \u2014**\n\nThe Juggler's Hat her Country is \u2014   \nThe Mountain Gorse \u2014 the Bee's!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**While Asters \u2014**\n\nWhile Asters \u2014   \nOn the Hill \u2014   \nTheir Everlasting fashions \u2014 set \u2014   \nAnd Covenant Gentians \u2014 Frill!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There are two Ripenings \u2014 one \u2014 of sight \u2014**\n\nThere are two Ripenings \u2014 one \u2014 of sight \u2014   \nWhose forces Spheric wind  \nUntil the Velvet product  \nDrop spicy to the ground \u2014   \nA homelier maturing \u2014   \nA process in the Bur \u2014   \nThat teeth of Frosts alone disclose  \nIn far October Air.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Grass so little has to do \u2014**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nTHE grass so little has to do, \u2014   \nA sphere of simple green,  \nWith only butterflies to brood,  \nAnd bees to entertain,\n\nAnd stir all day to pretty tunes  \nThe breezes fetch along,  \nAnd hold the sunshine in its lap  \nAnd bow to everything ;\n\nAnd thread the dews all night, like pearls,  \nAnd make myself so fine, \u2014   \nA duchess were too common  \nFor such a noticing.\n\nAnd even when it dies, to pass  \nIn odors so divine,  \nAs lowly spices gone to sleep,  \nOr amulets of pine\n\nAnd then to dwell in sovereign barns,  \nAnd dream the days away, \u2014   \nThe grass so little has to do,  \nI wish I were the hay !\n\n**Version 2**\n\nThe Grass so little has to do \u2014   \nA Sphere of simple Green \u2014   \nWith only Butterflies to brood  \nAnd Bees to entertain \u2014\n\nAnd stir all day to pretty Tunes  \nThe Breezes fetch along \u2014   \nAnd hold the Sunshine in its lap  \nAnd bow to everything \u2014\n\nAnd thread the Dews, all night, like Pearls \u2014   \nAnd make itself so fine  \nA Duchess were too common  \nFor such a noticing \u2014\n\nAnd even when it dies \u2014 to pass  \nIn Odors so divine \u2014   \nLike Lowly spices, lain to sleep \u2014   \nOr Spikenards, perishing \u2014\n\nAnd then, in Sovereign Barns to dwell \u2014   \nAnd dream the Days away,  \nThe Grass so little has to do  \nI wish I were a Hay \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**All the letters I can write**\n\nAll the letters I can write  \nAre not fair as this \u2014   \nSyllables of Velvet \u2014   \nSentences of Plush,  \nDepths of Ruby, undrained,  \nHid, Lip, for Thee \u2014   \nPlay it were a Humming Bird \u2014   \nAnd just sipped \u2014 me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis not that Dying hurts us so \u2014**\n\n'Tis not that Dying hurts us so \u2014   \n'Tis Living \u2014 hurts us more \u2014   \nBut Dying \u2014 is a different way \u2014   \nA Kind behind the Door \u2014\n\nThe Southern Custom \u2014 of the Bird \u2014   \nThat ere the Frosts are due \u2014   \nAccepts a better Latitude \u2014   \nWe \u2014 are the Birds \u2014 that stay.\n\nThe Shrivers round Farmers' doors \u2014   \nFor whose reluctant Crumb \u2014   \nWe stipulate \u2014 till pitying Snows  \nPersuade our Feathers Home.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The face I carry with me \u2014 last \u2014**\n\nThe face I carry with me \u2014 last \u2014   \nWhen I go out of Time \u2014   \nTo take my Rank \u2014 by \u2014 in the West \u2014   \nThat face \u2014 will just be thine \u2014\n\nI'll hand it to the Angel \u2014   \nThat \u2014 Sir \u2014 was my Degree \u2014   \nIn Kingdoms \u2014 you have heard the Raised \u2014   \nRefer to \u2014 possibly.\n\nHe'll take it \u2014 scan it \u2014 step aside \u2014   \nReturn \u2014 with such a crown  \nAs Gabriel \u2014 never capered at \u2014   \nAnd beg me put it on \u2014\n\nAnd then \u2014 he'll turn me round and round \u2014   \nTo an admiring sky \u2014   \nAs one that bore her Master's name \u2014   \nSufficient Royalty!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I know a place where Summer strives**\n\nI know a place where Summer strives  \nWith such a practised Frost \u2014   \nShe \u2014 each year \u2014 leads her Daisies back \u2014   \nRecording briefly \u2014 \"Lost\" \u2014\n\nBut when the South Wind stirs the Pools  \nAnd struggles in the lanes \u2014   \nHer Heart misgives Her, for Her Vow \u2014   \nAnd she pours soft Refrains\n\nInto the lap of Adamant \u2014   \nAnd spices \u2014 and the Dew \u2014   \nThat stiffens quietly to Quartz \u2014   \nUpon her Amber Shoe \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I know that He exists.**\n\nI know that He exists.  \nSomewhere \u2014 in Silence \u2014   \nHe has hid his rare life  \nFrom our gross eyes.\n\n'Tis an instant's play.  \n'Tis a fond Ambush \u2014   \nJust to make Bliss  \nEarn her own surprise!\n\nBut \u2014 should the play  \nProve piercing earnest \u2014   \nShould the glee \u2014 glaze \u2014   \nIn Death's \u2014 stiff \u2014 stare \u2014\n\nWould not the fun  \nLook too expensive!  \nWould not the jest \u2014   \nHave crawled too far!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I tend my flowers for thee \u2014**\n\nI tend my flowers for thee \u2014   \nBright Absentee!  \nMy Fuchsia's Coral Seams  \nRip \u2014 while the Sower \u2014 dreams\n\nGeraniums \u2014 tint \u2014 and spot \u2014   \nLow Daisies \u2014 dot \u2014   \nMy Cactus \u2014 splits her Beard  \nTo show her throat \u2014\n\nCarnations \u2014 tip their spice \u2014   \nAnd Bees \u2014 pick up \u2014   \nA Hyacinth \u2014 I hid \u2014   \nPuts out a Ruffled Head \u2014   \nAnd odors fall  \nFrom flasks \u2014 so small \u2014   \nYou marvel how they held \u2014\n\nGlobe Roses \u2014 break their satin flake \u2014   \nUpon my Garden floor  \nYet \u2014 thou \u2014 not there \u2014   \nI had as lief they bore  \nNo Crimson \u2014 more \u2014\n\nThy flower \u2014 be gay \u2014   \nHer Lord \u2014 away!  \nIt ill becometh me \u2014   \nI'll dwell in Calyx \u2014 Gray \u2014   \nHow modestly \u2014 alway \u2014   \nThy Daisy \u2014   \nDraped for thee!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Is Bliss then, such Abyss,**\n\nIs Bliss then, such Abyss,  \nI must not put my foot amiss  \nFor fear I spoil my shoe?\n\nI'd rather suit my foot  \nThan save my Boot \u2014   \nFor yet to buy another Pair  \nIs possible,  \nAt any store \u2014\n\nBut Bliss, is sold just once.  \nThe Patent lost  \nNone buy it any more \u2014   \nSay, Foot, decide the point \u2014   \nThe Lady cross, or not?  \nVerdict for Boot!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**After great pain, a formal feeling comes \u2014**\n\nAfter great pain, a formal feeling comes \u2014   \nThe Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs \u2014   \nThe stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,  \nAnd Yesterday, or Centuries before?\n\nThe Feet, mechanical, go round \u2014   \nOf Ground, or Air, or Ought \u2014   \nA Wooden way  \nRegardless grown,  \nA Quartz contentment, like a stone \u2014\n\nThis is the Hour of Lead \u2014   \nRemembered, if outlived,  \nAs Freezing persons, recollect the Snow \u2014   \nFirst \u2014 Chill \u2014 then Stupor \u2014 then the letting go \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It will be Summer \u2014 eventually.**\n\nIt will be Summer \u2014 eventually.  \nLadies \u2014 with parasols \u2014   \nSauntering Gentlemen \u2014 with Canes \u2014   \nAnd little Girls \u2014 with Dolls \u2014\n\nWill tint the pallid landscape \u2014   \nAs 'twere a bright Bouquet \u2014   \nThro' drifted deep, in Parian \u2014   \nThe Village lies \u2014 today \u2014\n\nThe Lilacs \u2014 bending many a year \u2014   \nWill sway with purple load \u2014   \nThe Bees \u2014 will not despise the tune \u2014   \nTheir Forefathers \u2014 have hummed \u2014\n\nThe Wild Rose \u2014 redden in the Bog \u2014   \nThe Aster \u2014 on the Hill  \nHer everlasting fashion \u2014 set \u2014   \nAnd Covenant Gentians \u2014 frill \u2014\n\nTill Summer folds her miracle \u2014   \nAs Women \u2014 do \u2014 their Gown \u2014   \nOf Priests \u2014 adjust the Symbols \u2014   \nWhen Sacrament \u2014 is done \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Reward for Being, was This.**\n\nMy Reward for Being, was This.  \nMy premium \u2014 My Bliss \u2014   \nAn Admiralty, less \u2014   \nA Sceptre \u2014 penniless \u2014   \nAnd Realms \u2014 just Dross \u2014\n\nWhen Thrones accost my Hands \u2014   \nWith \"Me, Miss, Me\" \u2014   \nI'll unroll Thee \u2014   \nDominions dowerless \u2014 beside this Grace \u2014   \nElection \u2014 Vote \u2014   \nThe Ballots of Eternity, will show just that.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas the old \u2014 road \u2014 through pain \u2014**\n\n'Twas the old \u2014 road \u2014 through pain \u2014   \nThat unfrequented \u2014 one \u2014   \nWith many a turn \u2014 and thorn \u2014   \nThat stops \u2014 at Heaven \u2014\n\nThis \u2014 was the Town \u2014 she passed \u2014   \nThere \u2014 where she \u2014 rested \u2014 last \u2014   \nThen \u2014 stepped more fast \u2014   \nThe little tracks \u2014 close prest \u2014   \nThen \u2014 not so swift \u2014   \nSlow \u2014 slow \u2014 as feet did weary \u2014 grow \u2014   \nThen \u2014 stopped \u2014 no other track!\n\nWait! Look! Her little Book \u2014   \nThe leaf \u2014 at love \u2014 turned back \u2014   \nHer very Hat \u2014   \nAnd this worn shoe just fits the track \u2014   \nHerself \u2014 though \u2014 fled!\n\nAnother bed \u2014 a short one \u2014   \nWomen make \u2014 tonight \u2014   \nIn Chambers bright \u2014   \nToo out of sight \u2014 though \u2014   \nFor our hoarse Good Night \u2014   \nTo touch her Head!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Funny \u2014 to be a Century \u2014**\n\nFunny \u2014 to be a Century \u2014   \nAnd see the People \u2014 going by \u2014   \nI \u2014 should die of the Oddity \u2014   \nBut then \u2014 I'm not so staid \u2014 as He \u2014\n\nHe keeps His Secrets safely \u2014 very \u2014   \nWere He to tell \u2014 extremely sorry  \nThis Bashful Globe of Ours would be \u2014   \nSo dainty of Publicity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not probable \u2014 The barest Chance \u2014**\n\nNot probable \u2014 The barest Chance \u2014   \nA smile too few \u2014 a word too much  \nAnd far from Heaven as the Rest \u2014   \nThe Soul so close on Paradise \u2014\n\nWhat if the Bird from journey far \u2014   \nConfused by Sweets \u2014 as Mortals \u2014 are \u2014   \nForget the secret of His wing  \nAnd perish \u2014 but a Bough between \u2014   \nOh, Groping feet \u2014   \nOh Phantom Queen!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When Night is almost done \u2014**\n\nWhen Night is almost done \u2014   \nAnd Sunrise grows so near  \nThat we can touch the Spaces \u2014   \nIt's time to smooth the Hair \u2014\n\nAnd get the Dimples ready \u2014   \nAnd wonder we could care  \nFor that old \u2014 faded Midnight \u2014   \nThat frightened \u2014 but an Hour \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I dreaded that first Robin, so,**\n\nI dreaded that first Robin, so,  \nBut He is mastered, now,  \nI'm accustomed to Him grown,  \nHe hurts a little, though \u2014\n\nI thought If I could only live  \nTill that first Shout got by \u2014   \nNot all Pianos in the Woods  \nHad power to mangle me \u2014\n\nI dared not meet the Daffodils \u2014   \nFor fear their Yellow Gown  \nWould pierce me with a fashion  \nSo foreign to my own \u2014\n\nI wished the Grass would hurry \u2014   \nSo \u2014 when 'twas time to see \u2014   \nHe'd be too tall, the tallest one  \nCould stretch \u2014 to look at me \u2014\n\nI could not bear the Bees should come,  \nI wished they'd stay away  \nIn those dim countries where they go,  \nWhat word had they, for me?\n\nThey're here, though; not a creature failed \u2014   \nNo Blossom stayed away  \nIn gentle deference to me \u2014   \nThe Queen of Calvary \u2014\n\nEach one salutes me, as he goes,  \nAnd I, my childish Plumes,  \nLift, in bereaved acknowledgment  \nOf their unthinking Drums \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I had the Glory \u2014 that will do \u2014**\n\nI had the Glory \u2014 that will do \u2014   \nAn Honor, Thought can turn her to  \nWhen lesser Fames invite \u2014   \nWith one long \"Nay\" \u2014   \nBliss' early shape  \nDeforming \u2014 Dwindling \u2014 Gulfing up \u2014   \nTime's possibility.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**They leave us with the Infinite.**\n\nThey leave us with the Infinite.  \nBut He \u2014 is not a man \u2014   \nHis fingers are the size of fists \u2014   \nHis fists, the size of men \u2014\n\nAnd whom he foundeth, with his Arm  \nAs Himmaleh, shall stand \u2014   \nGibraltar's Everlasting Shoe  \nPoised lightly on his Hand,\n\nSo trust him, Comrade \u2014   \nYou for you, and I, for you and me  \nEternity is ample,  \nAnd quick enough, if true.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I felt my life with both my hands**\n\nI felt my life with both my hands  \nTo see if it was there \u2014   \nI held my spirit to the Glass,  \nTo prove it possibler \u2014\n\nI turned my Being round and round  \nAnd paused at every pound  \nTo ask the Owner's name \u2014   \nFor doubt, that I should know the Sound \u2014\n\nI judged my features \u2014 jarred my hair \u2014   \nI pushed my dimples by, and waited \u2014   \nIf they \u2014 twinkled back \u2014   \nConviction might, of me \u2014\n\nI told myself, \"Take Courage, Friend \u2014   \nThat \u2014 was a former time \u2014   \nBut we might learn to like the Heaven,  \nAs well as our Old Home!\"\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Perhaps I asked too large \u2014**\n\nPerhaps I asked too large \u2014   \nI take \u2014 no less than skies \u2014   \nFor Earths, grow thick as  \nBerries, in my native town \u2014\n\nMy Basket holds \u2014 just \u2014 Firmaments \u2014   \nThose \u2014 dangle easy \u2014 on my arm,  \nBut smaller bundles \u2014 Cram.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A happy lip \u2014 breaks sudden \u2014**\n\nA happy lip \u2014 breaks sudden \u2014   \nIt doesn't state you how  \nIt contemplated \u2014 smiling \u2014   \nJust consummated \u2014 now \u2014   \nBut this one, wears its merriment  \nSo patient \u2014 like a pain \u2014   \nFresh gilded \u2014 to elude the eyes  \nUnqualified, to scan \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**From Cocoon forth a Butterfly**\n\nFrom Cocoon forth a Butterfly  \nAs Lady from her Door  \nEmerged \u2014 a Summer Afternoon \u2014   \nRepairing Everywhere \u2014\n\nWithout Design \u2014 that I could trace  \nExcept to stray abroad  \nOn Miscellaneous Enterprise  \nThe Clovers \u2014 understood \u2014\n\nHer pretty Parasol be seen  \nContracting in a Field  \nWhere Men made Hay \u2014   \nThen struggling hard  \nWith an opposing Cloud \u2014\n\nWhere Parties \u2014 Phantom as Herself \u2014   \nTo Nowhere \u2014 seemed to go  \nIn purposeless Circumference \u2014   \nAs 'twere a Tropic Show \u2014\n\nAnd notwithstanding Bee \u2014 that worked \u2014   \nAnd Flower \u2014 that zealous blew \u2014   \nThis Audience of Idleness  \nDisdained them, from the Sky \u2014\n\nTill Sundown crept \u2014 a steady Tide \u2014   \nAnd Men that made the Hay \u2014   \nAnd Afternoon \u2014 and Butterfly \u2014   \nExtinguished \u2014 in the Sea \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis Opposites \u2014 entice \u2014**\n\n'Tis Opposites \u2014 entice \u2014   \nDeformed Men \u2014 ponder Grace \u2014   \nBright fires \u2014 the Blanketless \u2014   \nThe Lost \u2014 Day's face \u2014\n\nThe Blind \u2014 esteem it be  \nEnough Estate \u2014 to see \u2014   \nThe Captive \u2014 strangles new \u2014   \nFor deeming \u2014 Beggars \u2014 play \u2014\n\nTo lack \u2014 enamor Thee \u2014   \nTho' the Divinity \u2014   \nBe only  \nMe \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Day that I was crowned**\n\nThe Day that I was crowned  \nWas like the other Days \u2014   \nUntil the Coronation came \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 'twas Otherwise \u2014\n\nAs Carbon in the Coal  \nAnd Carbon in the Gem  \nAre One \u2014 and yet the former  \nWere dull for Diadem \u2014\n\nI rose, and all was plain \u2014   \nBut when the Day declined  \nMyself and It, in Majesty  \nWere equally \u2014 adorned \u2014\n\nThe Grace that I \u2014 was chose \u2014   \nTo Me \u2014 surpassed the Crown  \nThat was the Witness for the Grace \u2014   \n'Twas even that 'twas Mine \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**God is a distant \u2014 stately Lover \u2014**\n\nGod is a distant \u2014 stately Lover \u2014   \nWoos, as He states us \u2014 by His Son \u2014   \nVerily, a Vicarious Courtship \u2014   \n\"Miles\", and \"Priscilla\", were such an One \u2014\n\nBut, lest the Soul \u2014 like fair \"Priscilla\"  \nChoose the Envoy \u2014 and spurn the Groom \u2014   \nVouches, with hyperbolic archness \u2014   \n\"Miles\", and \"John Alden\" were Synonym \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If any sink, assure that this, now standing \u2014**\n\nIf any sink, assure that this, now standing \u2014   \nFailed like Themselves \u2014 and conscious that it rose \u2014   \nGrew by the Fact, and not the Understanding  \nHow Weakness passed \u2014 or Force \u2014 arose \u2014\n\nTell that the Worst, is easy in a Moment \u2014   \nDread, but the Whizzing, before the Ball \u2014   \nWhen the Ball enters, enters Silence \u2014   \nDying \u2014 annuls the power to kill.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I gained it so \u2014**\n\nI gained it so \u2014   \nBy Climbing slow \u2014   \nBy Catching at the Twigs that grow  \nBetween the Bliss \u2014 and me \u2014   \nIt hung so high  \nAs well the Sky  \nAttempt by Strategy \u2014\n\nI said I gained it \u2014   \nThis \u2014 was all \u2014   \nLook, how I clutch it  \nLest it fall \u2014   \nAnd I a Pauper go \u2014   \nUnfitted by an instant's Grace  \nFor the Contented \u2014 Beggar's face  \nI wore \u2014 an hour ago \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Death sets a Thing significant**\n\nDeath sets a Thing significant  \nThe Eye had hurried by  \nExcept a perished Creature  \nEntreat us tenderly\n\nTo ponder little Workmanships  \nIn Crayon, or in Wool,  \nWith \"This was last Her fingers did\" \u2014   \nIndustrious until \u2014\n\nThe Thimble weighed too heavy \u2014   \nThe stitches stopped \u2014 by themselves \u2014   \nAnd then 'twas put among the Dust  \nUpon the Closet shelves \u2014\n\nA Book I have \u2014 a friend gave \u2014   \nWhose Pencil \u2014 here and there \u2014   \nHad notched the place that pleased Him \u2014   \nAt Rest \u2014 His fingers are \u2014\n\nNow \u2014 when I read \u2014 I read not \u2014   \nFor interrupting Tears \u2014   \nObliterate the Etchings  \nToo Costly for Repairs.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What I can do \u2014 I will \u2014**\n\nWhat I can do \u2014 I will \u2014   \nThough it be little as a Daffodil \u2014   \nThat I cannot \u2014 must be  \nUnknown to possibility \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It struck me \u2014 every Day \u2014**\n\nIt struck me \u2014 every Day \u2014   \nThe Lightning was as new  \nAs if the Cloud that instant slit  \nAnd let the Fire through \u2014\n\nIt burned Me \u2014 in the Night \u2014   \nIt Blistered to My Dream \u2014   \nIt sickened fresh upon my sight \u2014   \nWith every Morn that came \u2014\n\nI though that Storm \u2014 was brief \u2014   \nThe Maddest \u2014 quickest by \u2014   \nBut Nature lost the Date of This \u2014   \nAnd left it in the Sky \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I went to thank Her \u2014**\n\nI WENT to thank her,  \nBut she slept ;  \nHer bed a funnelled stone,  \nWith nosegays at the head and foot,  \nThat travellers had thrown,\n\nWho went to thank her ;  \nBut she slept.  \n'T was short to cross the sea  \nTo look upon her like, alive,  \nBut turning back 't was slow.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Morning after Woe \u2014**\n\nThe Morning after Woe \u2014   \n'Tis frequently the Way \u2014   \nSurpasses all that rose before \u2014   \nFor utter Jubilee \u2014\n\nAs Nature did not care \u2014   \nAnd piled her Blossoms on \u2014   \nAnd further to parade a Joy  \nHer Victim stared upon \u2014\n\nThe Birds declaim their Tunes \u2014   \nPronouncing every word  \nLike Hammers \u2014 Did they know they fell  \nLike Litanies of Lead \u2014\n\nOn here and there \u2014 a creature \u2014   \nThey'd modify the Glee  \nTo fit some Crucifixal Clef \u2014   \nSome Key of Calvary \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?**\n\nDare you see a Soul at the White Heat? \u2014   \nThen crouch within the door \u2014   \nRed \u2014 is the Fire's common tint \u2014   \nBut when the vivid Ore  \nHas vanquished Flame's conditions,  \nIt quivers from the Forge  \nWithout a color, but the light  \nOf unanointed Blaze.  \nLeast Village has its Blacksmith  \nWhose Anvil's even ring  \nStands symbol for the finer Forge  \nThat soundless tugs \u2014 within \u2014   \nRefining these impatient Ores  \nWith Hammer, and with Blaze  \nUntil the Designated Light  \nRepudiate the Forge \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Although I put away his life \u2014**\n\nAlthough I put away his life \u2014   \nAn Ornament too grand  \nFor Forehead low as mine, to wear,  \nThis might have been the Hand\n\nThat sowed the flower, he preferred \u2014   \nOr smoothed a homely pain,  \nOr pushed the pebble from his path \u2014   \nOr played his chosen tune \u2014\n\nOn Lute the least \u2014 the latest \u2014   \nBut just his Ear could know  \nThat whatsoe'er delighted it,  \nI never would let go \u2014\n\nThe foot to bear his errand \u2014   \nA little Boot I know \u2014   \nWould leap abroad like Antelope \u2014   \nWith just the grant to do \u2014\n\nHis weariest Commandment \u2014   \nA sweeter to obey,  \nThan \"Hide and Seek\" \u2014   \nOr skip to Flutes \u2014   \nOr all Day, chase the Bee \u2014\n\nYour Servant, Sir, will weary \u2014   \nThe Surgeon, will not come \u2014   \nThe World, will have its own \u2014 to do \u2014   \nThe Dust, will vex your Fame \u2014\n\nThe Cold will force your tightest door  \nSome February Day,  \nBut say my apron bring the sticks  \nTo make your Cottage gay \u2014\n\nThat I may take that promise  \nTo Paradise, with me \u2014   \nTo teach the Angels, avarice,  \nYou, Sir, taught first \u2014 to me.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Over and over, like a Tune \u2014**\n\nOver and over, like a Tune \u2014   \nThe Recollection plays \u2014   \nDrums off the Phantom Battlements  \nCornets of Paradise \u2014\n\nSnatches, from Baptized Generations \u2014   \nCadences too grand  \nBut for the Justified Processions  \nAt the Lord's Right hand.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How sick \u2014 to wait \u2014 in any place \u2014 but thine \u2014**\n\nHow sick \u2014 to wait \u2014 in any place \u2014 but thine \u2014   \nI knew last night \u2014 when someone tried to twine \u2014   \nThinking \u2014 perhaps \u2014 that I looked tired \u2014 or alone \u2014   \nOr breaking \u2014 almost \u2014 with unspoken pain \u2014\n\nAnd I turned \u2014 ducal \u2014   \nThat right \u2014 was thine \u2014   \nOne port \u2014 suffices \u2014 for a Brig \u2014 like mine \u2014\n\nOurs be the tossing \u2014 wild though the sea \u2014   \nRather than a Mooring \u2014 unshared by thee.  \nOurs be the Cargo \u2014 unladed \u2014 here \u2014   \nRather than the \"spicy isles \u2014 \"  \nAnd thou \u2014 not there \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She lay as if at play**\n\nShe lay as if at play  \nHer life had leaped away \u2014   \nIntending to return \u2014   \nBut not so soon \u2014\n\nHer merry Arms, half dropt \u2014   \nAs if for lull of sport \u2014   \nAn instant had forgot \u2014   \nThe Trick to start \u2014\n\nHer dancing Eyes \u2014 ajar \u2014   \nAs if their Owner were  \nStill sparkling through  \nFor fun \u2014 at you \u2014\n\nHer Morning at the door \u2014   \nDevising, I am sure \u2014   \nTo force her sleep \u2014   \nSo light \u2014 so deep \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Heaven is so far of the Mind**\n\nHeaven is so far of the Mind  \nThat were the Mind dissolved \u2014   \nThe Site \u2014 of it \u2014 by Architect  \nCould not again be proved \u2014\n\n'Tis vast \u2014 as our Capacity \u2014   \nAs fair \u2014 as our idea \u2014   \nTo Him of adequate desire  \nNo further 'tis, than Here \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A precious \u2014 mouldering pleasure \u2014 'tis \u2014**\n\nA precious \u2014 mouldering pleasure \u2014 'tis \u2014   \nTo meet an Antique Book \u2014   \nIn just the Dress his Century wore \u2014   \nA privilege \u2014 I think \u2014\n\nHis venerable Hand to take \u2014   \nAnd warming in our own \u2014   \nA passage back \u2014 or two \u2014 to make \u2014   \nTo Times when he \u2014 was young \u2014\n\nHis quaint opinions \u2014 to inspect \u2014   \nHis thought to ascertain  \nOn Themes concern our mutual mind \u2014   \nThe Literature of Man \u2014\n\nWhat interested Scholars \u2014 most \u2014   \nWhat Competitions ran \u2014   \nWhen Plato \u2014 was a Certainty \u2014   \nAnd Sophocles \u2014 a Man \u2014\n\nWhen Sappho \u2014 was a living Girl \u2014   \nAnd Beatrice wore  \nThe Gown that Dante \u2014 deified \u2014   \nFacts Centuries before\n\nHe traverses \u2014 familiar \u2014   \nAs One should come to Town \u2014   \nAnd tell you all your Dreams \u2014 were true \u2014   \nHe lived \u2014 where Dreams were born \u2014\n\nHis presence is Enchantment \u2014   \nYou beg him not to go \u2014   \nOld Volume shake their Vellum Heads  \nAnd tantalize \u2014 just so \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I know lives, I could miss**\n\nI know lives, I could miss  \nWithout a Misery \u2014   \nOthers \u2014 whose instant's wanting \u2014   \nWould be Eternity \u2014\n\nThe last \u2014 a scanty Number \u2014   \n'Twould scarcely fill a Two \u2014   \nThe first \u2014 a Gnat's Horizon  \nCould easily outgrow \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I'm saying every day**\n\nI'm saying every day  \n\"If I should be a Queen, tomorrow\" \u2014   \nI'd do this way \u2014   \nAnd so I deck, a little,\n\nIf it be, I wake a Bourbon,  \nNone on me, bend supercilious \u2014   \nWith \"This was she \u2014   \nBegged in the Market place \u2014   \nYesterday.\"\n\nCourt is a stately place \u2014   \nI've heard men say \u2014   \nSo I loop my apron, against the Majesty  \nWith bright Pins of Buttercup \u2014   \nThat not too plain \u2014   \nRank \u2014 overtake me \u2014\n\nAnd perch my Tongue  \nOn Twigs of singing \u2014 rather high \u2014   \nBut this, might be my brief Term  \nTo qualify \u2014\n\nPut from my simple speech all plain word \u2014   \nTake other accents, as such I heard  \nThough but for the Cricket \u2014 just,  \nAnd but for the Bee \u2014   \nNot in all the Meadow \u2014   \nOne accost me \u2014\n\nBetter to be ready \u2014   \nThan did next morn  \nMeet me in Aragon \u2014   \nMy old Gown \u2014 on \u2014\n\nAnd the surprised Air  \nRustics \u2014 wear \u2014   \nSummoned \u2014 unexpectedly \u2014   \nTo Exeter \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I went to Heaven \u2014**\n\nI went to Heaven \u2014   \n'Twas a small Town \u2014   \nLit \u2014 with a Ruby \u2014   \nLathed \u2014 with Down \u2014\n\nStiller \u2014 than the fields  \nAt the full Dew \u2014   \nBeautiful \u2014 as Pictures \u2014   \nNo Man drew.  \nPeople \u2014 like the Moth \u2014   \nOf Mechlin \u2014 frames \u2014   \nDuties \u2014 of Gossamer \u2014   \nAnd Eider \u2014 names \u2014   \nAlmost \u2014 contented \u2014   \nI \u2014 could be \u2014   \n'Mong such unique  \nSociety \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Angle of a Landscape \u2014**\n\nThe Angle of a Landscape \u2014   \nThat every time I wake \u2014   \nBetween my Curtain and the Wall  \nUpon an ample Crack \u2014\n\nLike a Venetian \u2014 waiting \u2014   \nAccosts my open eye \u2014   \nIs just a Bough of Apples \u2014   \nHeld slanting, in the Sky \u2014\n\nThe Pattern of a Chimney \u2014   \nThe Forehead of a Hill \u2014   \nSometimes \u2014 a Vane's Forefinger \u2014   \nBut that's \u2014 Occasional \u2014\n\nThe Seasons \u2014 shift \u2014 my Picture \u2014   \nUpon my Emerald Bough,  \nI wake \u2014 to find no \u2014 Emeralds \u2014   \nThen \u2014 Diamonds \u2014 which the Snow\n\nFrom Polar Caskets \u2014 fetched me \u2014   \nThe Chimney \u2014 and the Hill \u2014   \nAnd just the Steeple's finger \u2014   \nThese \u2014 never stir at all \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Course \u2014 I prayed \u2014**\n\nOf Course \u2014 I prayed \u2014   \nAnd did God Care?  \nHe cared as much as on the Air  \nA Bird \u2014 had stamped her foot \u2014   \nAnd cried \"Give Me\" \u2014   \nMy Reason \u2014 Life \u2014   \nI had not had \u2014 but for Yourself \u2014   \n'Twere better Charity  \nTo leave me in the Atom's Tomb \u2014   \nMerry, and Nought, and gay, and numb \u2014   \nThan this smart Misery.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To lose one's faith \u2014 surpass**\n\nTo lose one's faith \u2014 surpass  \nThe loss of an Estate \u2014   \nBecause Estates can be  \nReplenished \u2014 faith cannot \u2014\n\nInherited with Life \u2014   \nBelief \u2014 but once \u2014 can be \u2014   \nAnnihilate a single clause \u2014   \nAnd Being's \u2014 Beggary \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I saw no Way \u2014 The Heavens were stitched \u2014**\n\nI saw no Way \u2014 The Heavens were stitched \u2014   \nI felt the Columns close \u2014   \nThe Earth reversed her Hemispheres \u2014   \nI touched the Universe \u2014\n\nAnd back it slid \u2014 and I alone \u2014   \nA Speck upon a Ball \u2014   \nWent out upon Circumference \u2014   \nBeyond the Dip of Bell \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Rehearsal to Ourselves**\n\nRehearsal to Ourselves  \nOf a Withdrawn Delight \u2014   \nAffords a Bliss like Murder \u2014   \nOmnipotent \u2014 Acute \u2014\n\nWe will not drop the Dirk \u2014   \nBecause We love the Wound  \nThe Dirk Commemorate \u2014 Itself  \nRemind Us that we died.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is a flower that Bees prefer \u2014**\n\nThere is a flower that Bees prefer \u2014   \nAnd Butterflies \u2014 desire \u2014   \nTo gain the Purple Democrat  \nThe Humming Bird \u2014 aspire \u2014\n\nAnd Whatsoever Insect pass \u2014   \nA Honey bear away  \nProportioned to his several dearth  \nAnd her \u2014 capacity \u2014\n\nHer face be rounder than the Moon  \nAnd ruddier than the Gown  \nOr Orchis in the Pasture \u2014   \nOr Rhododendron \u2014 worn \u2014\n\nShe doth not wait for June \u2014   \nBefore the World be Green \u2014   \nHer sturdy little Countenance  \nAgainst the Wind \u2014 be seen \u2014\n\nContending with the Grass \u2014   \nNear Kinsman to Herself \u2014   \nFor Privilege of Sod and Sun \u2014   \nSweet Litigants for Life \u2014\n\nAnd when the Hills be full \u2014   \nAnd newer fashions blow \u2014   \nDoth not retract a single spice  \nFor pang of jealousy \u2014\n\nHer Public \u2014 be the Noon \u2014   \nHer Providence \u2014 the Sun \u2014   \nHer Progress \u2014 by the Bee \u2014 proclaimed \u2014   \nIn sovereign \u2014 Swerveless Tune \u2014\n\nThe Bravest \u2014 of the Host \u2014   \nSurrendering \u2014 the last \u2014   \nNor even of Defeat \u2014 aware \u2014   \nWhat cancelled by the Frost \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Secret told \u2014**\n\nA Secret told \u2014   \nCeases to be a Secret \u2014 then \u2014   \nA Secret \u2014 kept \u2014   \nThat \u2014 can appal but One \u2014\n\nBetter of it \u2014 continual be afraid \u2014   \nThan it \u2014   \nAnd Whom you told it to \u2014 beside \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**For Death \u2014 or rather**\n\nFor Death \u2014 or rather  \nFor the Things 'twould buy \u2014   \nThis \u2014 put away  \nLife's Opportunity \u2014\n\nThe Things that Death will buy  \nAre Room \u2014   \nEscape from Circumstances \u2014   \nAnd a Name \u2014\n\nWith Gifts of Life  \nHow Death's Gifts may compare \u2014   \nWe know not \u2014   \nFor the Rates \u2014 lie Here \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Exhilaration \u2014 is within \u2014**\n\nExhilaration \u2014 is within \u2014   \nThere can no Outer Wine  \nSo royally intoxicate  \nAs that diviner Brand\n\nThe Soul achieves \u2014 Herself \u2014   \nTo drink \u2014 or set away  \nFor Visitor \u2014 Or Sacrament \u2014   \n'Tis not of Holiday\n\nTo stimulate a Man  \nWho hath the Ample Rhine  \nWithin his Closet \u2014 Best you can  \nExhale in offering.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No Rack can torture me \u2014**\n\nNo Rack can torture me \u2014   \nMy Soul \u2014 at Liberty \u2014   \nBehind this mortal Bone  \nThere knits a bolder One \u2014\n\nYou cannot prick with saw \u2014   \nNor pierce with Scimitar \u2014   \nTwo Bodies \u2014 therefore be \u2014   \nBind One \u2014 The Other fly \u2014\n\nThe Eagle of his Nest  \nNo easier divest \u2014   \nAnd gain the Sky  \nThan mayest Thou \u2014\n\nExcept Thyself may be  \nThine Enemy \u2014   \nCaptivity is Consciousness \u2014   \nSo's Liberty.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Smiling back from Coronation**\n\nSmiling back from Coronation  \nMay be Luxury \u2014   \nOn the Heads that started with us \u2014   \nBeing's Peasantry \u2014\n\nRecognizing in Procession  \nOnes We former knew \u2014   \nWhen Ourselves were also dusty \u2014   \nCenturies ago \u2014\n\nHad the Triumph no Conviction  \nOf how many be \u2014   \nStimulated \u2014 by the Contrast \u2014   \nUnto Misery \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Answer July \u2014**\n\nAnswer July \u2014   \nWhere is the Bee \u2014   \nWhere is the Blush \u2014   \nWhere is the Hay?\n\nAh, said July \u2014   \nWhere is the Seed \u2014   \nWhere is the Bud \u2014   \nWhere is the May \u2014   \nAnswer Thee \u2014 Me \u2014\n\nNay \u2014 said the May \u2014   \nShow me the Snow \u2014   \nShow me the Bells \u2014   \nShow me the Jay!\n\nQuibbled the Jay \u2014   \nWhere be the Maize \u2014   \nWhere be the Haze \u2014   \nWhere be the Bur?  \nHere \u2014 said the Year \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The sweetest Heresy received**\n\nThe sweetest Heresy received  \nThat Man and Woman know \u2014   \nEach Other's Convert \u2014   \nThough the Faith accommodate but Two \u2014\n\nThe Churches are so frequent \u2014   \nThe Ritual \u2014 so small \u2014   \nThe Grace so unavoidable \u2014   \nTo fail \u2014 is Infidel \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Take your Heaven further on \u2014**\n\nTake your Heaven further on \u2014   \nThis \u2014 to Heaven divine Has gone \u2014   \nHad You earlier blundered in  \nPossibly, e'en You had seen  \nAn Eternity \u2014 put on \u2014   \nNow \u2014 to ring a Door beyond  \nIs the utmost of Your Hand \u2014   \nTo the Skies \u2014 apologize \u2014   \nNearer to Your Courtesies  \nThan this Sufferer polite \u2014   \nDressed to meet You \u2014   \nSee \u2014 in White!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There's been a Death, in the Opposite House,**\n\nThere's been a Death, in the Opposite House,  \nAs lately as Today \u2014   \nI know it, by the numb look  \nSuch Houses have \u2014 alway \u2014\n\nThe Neighbors rustle in and out \u2014   \nThe Doctor \u2014 drives away \u2014   \nA Window opens like a Pod \u2014   \nAbrupt \u2014 mechanically \u2014\n\nSomebody flings a Mattress out \u2014   \nThe Children hurry by \u2014   \nThey wonder if it died \u2014 on that \u2014   \nI used to \u2014 when a Boy \u2014\n\nThe Minister \u2014 goes stiffly in \u2014   \nAs if the House were His \u2014   \nAnd He owned all the Mourners \u2014 now \u2014   \nAnd little Boys \u2014 besides \u2014\n\nAnd then the Milliner \u2014 and the Man  \nOf the Appalling Trade \u2014   \nTo take the measure of the House \u2014\n\nThere'll be that Dark Parade \u2014\n\nOf Tassels \u2014 and of Coaches \u2014 soon \u2014   \nIt's easy as a Sign \u2014   \nThe Intuition of the News \u2014   \nIn just a Country Town \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It's coming \u2014 the postponeless Creature \u2014**\n\nIt's coming \u2014 the postponeless Creature \u2014   \nIt gains the Block \u2014 and now \u2014 it gains the Door \u2014   \nChooses its latch, from all the other fastenings \u2014   \nEnters \u2014 with a \"You know Me \u2014 Sir\"?\n\nSimple Salute \u2014 and certain Recognition \u2014   \nBold \u2014 were it Enemy \u2014 Brief \u2014 were it friend \u2014   \nDresses each House in Crape, and Icicle \u2014   \nAnd carries one \u2014 out of it \u2014 to God \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Visitor in Marl \u2014**\n\nA Visitor in Marl \u2014   \nWho influences Flowers \u2014   \nTill they are orderly as Busts \u2014   \nAnd Elegant \u2014 as Glass \u2014\n\nWho visits in the Night \u2014   \nAnd just before the Sun \u2014   \nConcludes his glistening interview \u2014   \nCaresses \u2014 and is gone \u2014\n\nBut whom his fingers touched \u2014   \nAnd where his feet have run \u2014   \nAnd whatsoever Mouth be kissed \u2014   \nIs as it had not been \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Through the Dark Sod \u2014 as Education \u2014**\n\nThrough the Dark Sod \u2014 as Education \u2014   \nThe Lily passes sure \u2014   \nFeels her white foot \u2014 no trepidation \u2014   \nHer faith \u2014 no fear \u2014\n\nAfterward \u2014 in the Meadow \u2014   \nSwinging her Beryl Bell \u2014   \nThe Mold-life \u2014 all forgotten \u2014 now \u2014   \nIn Ecstasy \u2014 and Dell \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Did Our Best Moment last \u2014**\n\nDid Our Best Moment last \u2014   \n'Twould supersede the Heaven \u2014   \nA few \u2014 and they by Risk \u2014 procure \u2014   \nSo this Sort \u2014 are not given \u2014\n\nExcept as stimulants \u2014 in  \nCases of Despair \u2014   \nOr Stupor \u2014 The Reserve \u2014   \nThese Heavenly Moments are \u2014\n\nA Grant of the Divine \u2014   \nThat Certain as it Comes \u2014   \nWithdraws \u2014 and leaves the dazzled Soul  \nIn her unfurnished Rooms\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas Love \u2014 not me \u2014**\n\n'Twas Love \u2014 not me \u2014   \nOh punish \u2014 pray \u2014   \nThe Real one died for Thee \u2014   \nJust Him \u2014 not me \u2014\n\nSuch Guilt \u2014 to love Thee \u2014 most!  \nDoom it beyond the Rest \u2014   \nForgive it \u2014 last \u2014   \n'Twas base as Jesus \u2014 most!\n\nLet Justice not mistake \u2014   \nWe Two \u2014 looked so alike \u2014   \nWhich was the Guilty Sake \u2014   \n'Twas Love's \u2014 Now Strike!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Reverse cannot befall**\n\nReverse cannot befall  \nThat fine Prosperity  \nWhose Sources are interior \u2014   \nAs soon \u2014 Adversity\n\nA Diamond \u2014 overtake  \nIn far \u2014 Bolivian Ground \u2014   \nMisfortune hath no implement  \nCould mar it \u2014 if it found \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is a Languor of the Life**\n\nThere is a Languor of the Life  \nMore imminent than Pain \u2014   \n'Tis Pain's Successor \u2014 When the Soul  \nHas suffered all it can \u2014\n\nA Drowsiness \u2014 diffuses \u2014   \nA Dimness like a Fog  \nEnvelops Consciousness \u2014   \nAs Mists \u2014 obliterate a Crag.\n\nThe Surgeon \u2014 does not blanch \u2014 at pain  \nHis Habit \u2014 is severe \u2014   \nBut tell him that it ceased to feel \u2014   \nThe Creature lying there \u2014\n\nAnd he will tell you \u2014 skill is late \u2014   \nA Mightier than He \u2014   \nHas ministered before Him \u2014   \nThere's no Vitality.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When Diamonds are a Legend,**\n\nWhen Diamonds are a Legend,  \nAnd Diadems \u2014 a Tale \u2014   \nI Brooch and Earrings for Myself,  \nDo sow, and Raise for sale \u2014\n\nAnd tho' I'm scarce accounted,  \nMy Art, a Summer Day \u2014 had Patrons \u2014   \nOnce \u2014 it was a Queen \u2014   \nAnd once \u2014 a Butterfly \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I had not minded \u2014 Walls \u2014**\n\nI had not minded \u2014 Walls \u2014   \nWere Universe \u2014 one Rock \u2014   \nAnd far I heard his silver Call  \nThe other side the Block \u2014\n\nI'd tunnel \u2014 till my Groove  \nPushed sudden thro' to his \u2014   \nThen my face take her Recompense \u2014   \nThe looking in his Eyes \u2014\n\nBut 'tis a single Hair \u2014   \nA filament \u2014 a law \u2014   \nA Cobweb \u2014 wove in Adamant \u2014   \nA Battlement \u2014 of Straw \u2014\n\nA limit like the Veil  \nUnto the Lady's face \u2014   \nBut every Mesh \u2014 a Citadel \u2014   \nAnd Dragons \u2014 in the Crease \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A House upon the Height \u2014**\n\nA House upon the Height \u2014   \nThat Wagon never reached \u2014   \nNo Dead, were ever carried down \u2014   \nNo Peddler's Cart \u2014 approached \u2014\n\nWhose Chimney never smoked \u2014   \nWhose Windows \u2014 Night and Morn \u2014   \nCaught Sunrise first \u2014 and Sunset \u2014 last \u2014   \nThen \u2014 held an Empty Pane \u2014\n\nWhose fate \u2014 Conjecture knew \u2014   \nNo other neighbor \u2014 did \u2014   \nAnd what it was \u2014 we never lisped \u2014   \nBecause He \u2014 never told \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Tongue \u2014 to tell Him I am true!**\n\nA Tongue \u2014 to tell Him I am true!  \nIts fee \u2014 to be of Gold \u2014   \nHad Nature \u2014 in Her monstrous House  \nA single Ragged Child \u2014\n\nTo earn a Mine \u2014 would run  \nThat Interdicted Way,  \nAnd tell Him \u2014 Charge thee speak it plain \u2014   \nThat so far \u2014 Truth is True?\n\nAnd answer What I do \u2014   \nBeginning with the Day  \nThat Night \u2014 begun \u2014   \nNay \u2014 Midnight \u2014 'twas \u2014   \nSince Midnight \u2014 happened \u2014 say \u2014\n\nIf once more \u2014 Pardon \u2014 Boy \u2014   \nThe Magnitude thou may  \nEnlarge my Message \u2014 If too vast  \nAnother Lad \u2014 help thee \u2014\n\nThy Pay \u2014 in Diamonds \u2014 be \u2014   \nAnd His \u2014 in solid Gold \u2014   \nSay Rubies \u2014 if He hesitate \u2014   \nMy Message \u2014 must be told \u2014\n\nSay \u2014 last I said \u2014 was This \u2014   \nThat when the Hills \u2014 come down \u2014   \nAnd hold no higher than the Plain \u2014   \nMy Bond \u2014 have just begun \u2014\n\nAnd when the Heavens \u2014 disband \u2014   \nAnd Deity conclude \u2014   \nThen \u2014 look for me. Be sure you say \u2014   \nLeast Figure \u2014 on the Road \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What Soft \u2014 Cherubic Creatures \u2014**\n\nWhat Soft \u2014 Cherubic Creatures \u2014   \nThese Gentlewomen are \u2014   \nOne would as soon assault a Plush \u2014   \nOr violate a Star \u2014\n\nSuch Dimity Convictions \u2014   \nA Horror so refined  \nOf freckled Human Nature \u2014   \nOf Deity \u2014 ashamed \u2014\n\nIt's such a common \u2014 Glory \u2014   \nA Fisherman's \u2014 Degree \u2014   \nRedemption \u2014 Brittle Lady \u2014   \nBe so \u2014 ashamed of Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I pay \u2014 in Satin Cash \u2014**\n\nI pay \u2014 in Satin Cash \u2014   \nYou did not state \u2014 your price \u2014   \nA Petal, for a Paragraph  \nIt near as I can guess \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Winters are so short \u2014**\n\nThe Winters are so short \u2014   \nI'm hardly justified  \nIn sending all the Birds away \u2014   \nAnd moving into Pod \u2014\n\nMyself \u2014 for scarcely settled \u2014   \nThe Phoebes have begun \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 it's time to strike my Tent \u2014   \nAnd open House \u2014 again \u2014\n\nIt's mostly, interruptions \u2014   \nMy Summer \u2014 is despoiled \u2014   \nBecause there was a Winter \u2014 once \u2014   \nAnd al the Cattle \u2014 starved \u2014\n\nAnd so there was a Deluge \u2014   \nAnd swept the World away \u2014   \nBut Ararat's a Legend \u2014 now \u2014   \nAnd no one credits Noah \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How many Flowers fail in Wood \u2014**\n\nHow many Flowers fail in Wood \u2014   \nOr perish from the Hill \u2014   \nWithout the privilege to know  \nThat they are Beautiful \u2014\n\nHow many cast a nameless Pod  \nUpon the nearest Breeze \u2014   \nUnconscious of the Scarlet Freight \u2014   \nIt bear to Other Eyes \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It might be lonelier**\n\nIt might be lonelier  \nWithout the Loneliness \u2014   \nI'm so accustomed to my Fate \u2014   \nPerhaps the Other \u2014 Peace \u2014\n\nWould interrupt the Dark \u2014   \nAnd crowd the little Room \u2014   \nToo scant \u2014 by Cubits \u2014 to contain  \nThe Sacrament \u2014 of Him \u2014\n\nI am not used to Hope \u2014   \nIt might intrude upon \u2014   \nIts sweet parade \u2014 blaspheme the place \u2014   \nOrdained to Suffering \u2014\n\nIt might be easier  \nTo fail \u2014 with Land in Sight \u2014   \nThan gain \u2014 My Blue Peninsula \u2014   \nTo perish \u2014 of Delight \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Some \u2014 Work for Immortality \u2014**\n\nSome \u2014 Work for Immortality \u2014   \nThe Chiefer part, for Time \u2014   \nHe \u2014 Compensates \u2014 immediately \u2014   \nThe former \u2014 Checks \u2014 on Fame \u2014\n\nSlow Gold \u2014 but Everlasting \u2014   \nThe Bullion of Today \u2014   \nContrasted with the Currency  \nOf Immortality \u2014\n\nA Beggar \u2014 Here and There \u2014   \nIs gifted to discern  \nBeyond the Broker's insight \u2014   \nOne's \u2014 Money \u2014 One's \u2014 the Mine -\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If What we could \u2014 were what we would \u2014**\n\nIf What we could \u2014 were what we would \u2014   \nCriterion \u2014 be small \u2014   \nIt is the Ultimate of Talk \u2014   \nThe Impotence to Tell \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Unit, like Death, for Whom?**\n\nUnit, like Death, for Whom?  \nTrue, like the Tomb,  \nWho tells no secret  \nTold to Him \u2014   \nThe Grave is strict \u2014   \nTickets admit  \nJust two \u2014 the Bearer \u2014   \nAnd the Borne \u2014   \nAnd seat \u2014 just One \u2014   \nThe Living \u2014 tell \u2014   \nThe Dying \u2014 but a Syllable \u2014   \nThe Coy Dead \u2014 None \u2014   \nNo Chatter \u2014 here \u2014 no tea \u2014   \nSo Babbler, and Bohea \u2014 stay there \u2014   \nBut Gravity \u2014 and Expectation \u2014 and Fear \u2014   \nA tremor just, that All's not sure.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**They dropped like Flakes \u2014**\n\nThey dropped like Flakes \u2014   \nThey dropped like Stars \u2014   \nLike Petals from a Rose \u2014   \nWhen suddenly across the June  \nA wind with fingers \u2014 goes \u2014\n\nThey perished in the Seamless Grass \u2014   \nNo eye could find the place \u2014   \nBut God can summon every face  \nOf his Repealless \u2014 List.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The first Day's Night had come \u2014**\n\nThe first Day's Night had come \u2014   \nAnd grateful that a thing  \nSo terrible \u2014 had been endured \u2014   \nI told my Soul to sing \u2014\n\nShe said her Strings were snapt \u2014   \nHer Bow \u2014 to Atoms blown \u2014   \nAnd so to mend her \u2014 gave me work  \nUntil another Morn \u2014\n\nAnd then \u2014 a Day as huge  \nAs Yesterdays in pairs,  \nUnrolled its horror in my face \u2014   \nUntil it blocked my eyes \u2014\n\nMy Brain \u2014 begun to laugh \u2014   \nI mumbled \u2014 like a fool \u2014   \nAnd tho' 'tis Years ago \u2014 that Day \u2014   \nMy Brain keeps giggling \u2014 still.\n\nAnd Something's odd \u2014 within \u2014   \nThat person that I was \u2014   \nAnd this One \u2014 do not feel the same \u2014   \nCould it be Madness \u2014 this?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Color of the Grave is Green \u2014**\n\nThe Color of the Grave is Green \u2014   \nThe Outer Grave \u2014 I mean \u2014   \nYou would not know it from the Field \u2014   \nExcept it own a Stone \u2014\n\nTo help the fond \u2014 to find it \u2014   \nToo infinite asleep  \nTo stop and tell them where it is \u2014   \nBut just a Daisy \u2014 deep \u2014\n\nThe Color of the Grave is white \u2014   \nThe outer Grave \u2014 I mean \u2014   \nYou would not know it from the Drifts \u2014   \nIn Winter \u2014 till the Sun \u2014\n\nHas furrowed out the Aisles \u2014   \nThen \u2014 higher than the Land  \nThe little Dwelling Houses rise  \nWhere each \u2014 has left a friend \u2014\n\nThe Color of the Grave within \u2014   \nThe Duplicate \u2014 I mean \u2014   \nNot all the Snows could make it white \u2014   \nNot all the Summers \u2014 Green \u2014\n\nYou've seen the Color \u2014 maybe \u2014   \nUpon a Bonnet bound \u2014   \nWhen that you met it with before \u2014   \nThe Ferret \u2014 cannot find \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I read my sentence \u2014 steadily \u2014**\n\nI read my sentence \u2014 steadily \u2014   \nReviewed it with my eyes,  \nTo see that I made no mistake  \nIn its extremest clause \u2014   \nThe Date, and manner, of the shame \u2014   \nAnd then the Pious Form  \nThat \"God have mercy\" on the Soul  \nThe Jury voted Him \u2014   \nI made my soul familiar \u2014 with her extremity \u2014   \nThat at the last, it should not be a novel Agony \u2014   \nBut she, and Death, acquainted \u2014   \nMeet tranquilly, as friends \u2014   \nSalute, and pass, without a Hint \u2014   \nAnd there, the Matter ends \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I never felt at Home \u2014 Below \u2014 -**\n\nI never felt at Home \u2014 Below \u2014 -  \nAnd in the Handsome Skies  \nI shall not feel at Home \u2014 I know \u2014   \nI don't like Paradise \u2014\n\nBecause it's Sunday \u2014 all the time \u2014   \nAnd Recess \u2014 never comes \u2014   \nAnd Eden'll be so lonesome  \nBright Wednesday Afternoons \u2014\n\nIf God could make a visit \u2014   \nOr ever took a Nap \u2014   \nSo not to see us \u2014 but they say  \nHimself \u2014 a Telescope\n\nPerennial beholds us \u2014   \nMyself would run away  \nFrom Him \u2014 and Holy Ghost \u2014 and All \u2014   \nBut there's the \"Judgement Day\"!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch,**\n\n'Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch,  \nThat nearer, every Day,  \nKept narrowing its boiling Wheel  \nUntil the Agony\n\nToyed coolly with the final inch  \nOf your delirious Hem \u2014   \nAnd you dropt, lost,  \nWhen something broke \u2014   \nAnd let you from a Dream \u2014\n\nAs if a Goblin with a Gauge \u2014   \nKept measuring the Hours \u2014   \nUntil you felt your Second  \nWeigh, helpless, in his Paws \u2014\n\nAnd not a Sinew \u2014 stirred \u2014 could help,  \nAnd sense was setting numb \u2014   \nWhen God \u2014 remembered \u2014 and the Fiend  \nLet go, then, Overcome \u2014\n\nAs if your Sentence stood \u2014 pronounced \u2014   \nAnd you were frozen led  \nFrom Dungeon's luxury of Doubt  \nTo Gibbets, and the Dead \u2014\n\nAnd when the Film had stitched your eyes  \nA Creature gasped \"Reprieve\"!  \nWhich Anguish was the utterest \u2014 then \u2014   \nTo perish, or to live?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sunset at Night \u2014 is natural \u2014**\n\nSunset at Night \u2014 is natural \u2014   \nBut Sunset on the Dawn  \nReverses Nature \u2014 Master \u2014   \nSo Midnight's \u2014 due \u2014 at Noon.\n\nEclipses be \u2014 predicted \u2014   \nAnd Science bows them in \u2014   \nBut do one face us suddenly \u2014   \nJehovah's Watch \u2014 is wrong.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Murmur in the Trees \u2014 to note \u2014**\n\nA Murmur in the Trees \u2014 to note \u2014   \nNot loud enough \u2014 for Wind \u2014   \nA Star \u2014 not far enough to seek \u2014   \nNor near enough \u2014 to find \u2014\n\nA long \u2014 long Yellow \u2014 on the Lawn \u2014   \nA Hubbub \u2014 as of feet \u2014   \nNot audible \u2014 as Ours \u2014 to Us \u2014   \nBut dapperer \u2014 More Sweet \u2014\n\nA Hurrying Home of little Men  \nTo Houses unperceived \u2014   \nAll this \u2014 and more \u2014 if I should tell \u2014   \nWould never be believed \u2014\n\nOf Robins in the Trundle bed  \nHow many I espy  \nWhose Nightgowns could not hide the Wings \u2014   \nAlthough I heard them try \u2014\n\nBut then I promised ne'er to tell \u2014   \nHow could I break My Word?  \nSo go your Way \u2014 and I'll go Mine \u2014   \nNo fear you'll miss the Road.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Is it dead \u2014 Find it \u2014**\n\nIs it dead \u2014 Find it \u2014   \nOut of sound \u2014 Out of sight \u2014   \n\"Happy\"? Which is wiser \u2014   \nYou, or the Wind?  \n\"Conscious\"? Won't you ask that \u2014   \nOf the low Ground?\n\n\"Homesick\"? Many met it \u2014   \nEven through them \u2014 This  \nCannot testify \u2014   \nThemself \u2014 as dumb \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not in this World to see his face \u2014**\n\nNot in this World to see his face \u2014   \nSounds long \u2014 until I read the place  \nWhere this \u2014 is said to be  \nBut just the Primer \u2014 to a life \u2014   \nUnopened \u2014 rare \u2014 Upon the Shelf \u2014   \nClasped yet \u2014 to Him \u2014 and Me \u2014\n\nAnd yet \u2014 My Primer suits me so  \nI would not choose \u2014 a Book to know  \nThan that \u2014 be sweeter wise \u2014   \nMight some one else \u2014 so learned \u2014 be \u2014   \nAnd leave me \u2014 just my A \u2014 B \u2014 C \u2014   \nHimself \u2014 could have the Skies \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We grow accustomed to the Dark \u2014**\n\nWe grow accustomed to the Dark \u2014   \nWhen light is put away \u2014   \nAs when the Neighbor holds the Lamp  \nTo witness her Goodbye \u2014\n\nA Moment \u2014 We uncertain step  \nFor newness of the night \u2014   \nThen \u2014 fit our Vision to the Dark \u2014   \nAnd meet the Road \u2014 erect \u2014\n\nAnd so of larger \u2014 Darkness \u2014   \nThose Evenings of the Brain \u2014   \nWhen not a Moon disclose a sign \u2014   \nOr Star \u2014 come out \u2014 within \u2014\n\nThe Bravest \u2014 grope a little \u2014   \nAnd sometimes hit a Tree  \nDirectly in the Forehead \u2014   \nBut as they learn to see \u2014\n\nEither the Darkness alters \u2014   \nOr something in the sight  \nAdjusts itself to Midnight \u2014   \nAnd Life steps almost straight.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You'll know it \u2014 as you know 'tis Noon \u2014**\n\nYou'll know it \u2014 as you know 'tis Noon \u2014   \nBy Glory \u2014   \nAs you do the Sun \u2014   \nBy Glory \u2014   \nAs you will in Heaven \u2014   \nKnow God the Father \u2014 and the Son.\n\nBy intuition, Mightiest Things  \nAssert themselves \u2014 and not by terms \u2014   \n\"I'm Midnight\" \u2014 need the Midnight say \u2014   \n\"I'm Sunrise\" \u2014 Need the Majesty?\n\nOmnipotence \u2014 had not a Tongue \u2014   \nHis lisp \u2014 is Lightning \u2014 and the Sun \u2014   \nHis Conversation \u2014 with the Sea \u2014   \n\"How shall you know\"?  \nConsult your Eye!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Charm invests a face**\n\nA Charm invests a face  \nImperfectly beheld \u2014   \nThe Lady dare not lift her Veil  \nFor fear it be dispelled \u2014\n\nBut peers beyond her mesh \u2014   \nAnd wishes \u2014 and denies \u2014   \nLest Interview \u2014 annul a want  \nThat Image \u2014 satisfies \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**More Life \u2014 went out \u2014 when He went**\n\nMore Life \u2014 went out \u2014 when He went  \nThan Ordinary Breath \u2014   \nLit with a finer Phosphor \u2014   \nRequiring in the Quench \u2014\n\nA Power of Renowned Cold,  \nThe Climate of the Grave  \nA Temperature just adequate  \nSo Anthracite, to live \u2014\n\nFor some \u2014 an Ampler Zero \u2014   \nA Frost more needle keen  \nIs necessary, to reduce  \nThe Ethiop within.\n\nOthers \u2014 extinguish easier \u2014   \nA Gnat's minutest Fan  \nSufficient to obliterate  \nA Tract of Citizen \u2014\n\nWhose Peat lift \u2014 amply vivid \u2014   \nIgnores the solemn News  \nThat Popocatapel exists \u2014   \nOr Etna's Scarlets, Choose \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Months have ends \u2014 the Years \u2014 a knot \u2014**\n\nThe Months have ends \u2014 the Years \u2014 a knot \u2014   \nNo Power can untie  \nTo stretch a little further  \nA Skein of Misery \u2014\n\nThe Earth lays back these tired lives  \nIn her mysterious Drawers \u2014   \nToo tenderly, that any doubt  \nAn ultimate Repose \u2014\n\nThe manner of the Children \u2014   \nWho weary of the Day \u2014   \nThemself \u2014 the noisy Plaything  \nThey cannot put away \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Removed from Accident of Loss**\n\nRemoved from Accident of Loss  \nBy Accident of Gain  \nBefalling not my simple Days \u2014   \nMyself had just to earn \u2014\n\nOf Riches \u2014 as unconscious  \nAs is the Brown Malay  \nOf Pearls in Eastern Waters,  \nMarked His \u2014 What Holiday  \nWould stir his slow conception \u2014   \nHad he the power to dream  \nThat put the Dower's fraction \u2014   \nAwaited even \u2014 Him \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Good Morning \u2014 Midnight \u2014**\n\nGood Morning \u2014 Midnight \u2014   \nI'm coming Home \u2014   \nDay \u2014 got tired of Me \u2014   \nHow could I \u2014 of Him?\n\nSunshine was a sweet place \u2014   \nI liked to stay \u2014   \nBut Morn \u2014 didn't want me \u2014 now \u2014   \nSo \u2014 Goodnight \u2014 Day!\n\nI can look \u2014 can't I \u2014   \nWhen the East is Red?  \nThe Hills \u2014 have a way \u2014 then \u2014   \nThat puts the Heart \u2014 abroad \u2014\n\nYou \u2014 are not so fair \u2014 Midnight \u2014   \nI chose \u2014 Day \u2014   \nBut \u2014 please take a little Girl \u2014   \nHe turned away!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It don't sound so terrible \u2014 quite \u2014 as it did \u2014**\n\nIt don't sound so terrible \u2014 quite \u2014 as it did \u2014   \nI run it over \u2014 \"Dead\", Brain, \"Dead.\"  \nPut it in Latin \u2014 left of my school \u2014   \nSeems it don't shriek so \u2014 under rule.\n\nTurn it, a little \u2014 full in the face  \nA Trouble looks bitterest \u2014   \nShift it \u2014 just \u2014   \nSay \"When Tomorrow comes this way \u2014   \nI shall have waded down one Day.\"\n\nI suppose it will interrupt me some  \nTill I get accustomed \u2014 but then the Tomb  \nLike other new Things \u2014 shows largest \u2014 then \u2014   \nAnd smaller, by Habit \u2014\n\nIt's shrewder then  \nPut the Thought in advance \u2014 a Year \u2014   \nHow like \"a fit\" \u2014 then \u2014   \nMurder \u2014 wear!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I'll clutch \u2014 and clutch \u2014**\n\nI'll clutch \u2014 and clutch \u2014   \nNext \u2014 One \u2014 Might be the golden touch \u2014   \nCould take it \u2014   \nDiamonds \u2014 Wait \u2014   \nI'm diving \u2014 just a little late \u2014   \nBut stars \u2014 go slow \u2014 for night \u2014\n\nI'll string you \u2014 in fine Necklace \u2014   \nTiaras \u2014 make \u2014 of some \u2014   \nWear you on Hem \u2014   \nLoop up a Countess \u2014 with you \u2014   \nMake \u2014 a Diadem \u2014 and mend my old One \u2014   \nCount \u2014 Hoard \u2014 then lose \u2014   \nAnd doubt that you are mine \u2014   \nTo have the joy of feeling it \u2014 again \u2014\n\nI'll show you at the Court \u2014   \nBear you \u2014 for Ornament  \nWhere Women breathe \u2014   \nThat every sigh \u2014 may lift you  \nJust as high \u2014 as I \u2014\n\nAnd \u2014 when I die \u2014   \nIn meek array \u2014 display you \u2014   \nStill to show \u2014 how rich I go \u2014   \nLest Skies impeach a wealth so wonderful \u2014   \nAnd banish me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Taking up the fair Ideal,**\n\nTaking up the fair Ideal,  \nJust to cast her down  \nWhen a fracture \u2014 we discover \u2014   \nOr a splintered Crown \u2014   \nMakes the Heavens portable \u2014   \nAnd the Gods \u2014 a lie \u2014   \nDoubtless \u2014 \"Adam\" \u2014 scowled at Eden \u2014   \nFor his perjury!\n\nCherishing \u2014 our pool Ideal \u2014   \nTill in purer dress \u2014   \nWe behold her \u2014 glorified \u2014   \nComforts \u2014 search \u2014 like this \u2014   \nTill the broken creatures \u2014   \nWe adored \u2014 for whole \u2014   \nStains \u2014 all washed \u2014   \nTransfigured \u2014 mended \u2014   \nMeet us \u2014 with a smile \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Moon is distant from the Sea \u2014**\n\nThe Moon is distant from the Sea \u2014   \nAnd yet, with Amber Hands \u2014   \nShe leads Him \u2014 docile as a Boy \u2014   \nAlong appointed Sands \u2014\n\nHe never misses a Degree \u2014   \nObedient to Her Eye  \nHe comes just so far \u2014 toward the Town \u2014   \nJust so far \u2014 goes away \u2014\n\nOh, Signor, Thine, the Amber Hand \u2014   \nAnd mine \u2014 the distant Sea \u2014   \nObedient to the least command  \nThine eye impose on me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It would never be Common \u2014 more \u2014 I said \u2014**\n\nIt would never be Common \u2014 more \u2014 I said \u2014   \nDifference \u2014 had begun \u2014   \nMany a bitterness \u2014 had been \u2014   \nBut that old sort \u2014 was done \u2014\n\nOr \u2014 if it sometime \u2014 showed \u2014 as 'twill \u2014   \nUpon the Downiest \u2014 Morn \u2014   \nSuch bliss \u2014 had I \u2014 for all the years \u2014   \n'Twould give an Easier \u2014 pain \u2014\n\nI'd so much joy \u2014 I told it \u2014 Red \u2014   \nUpon my simple Cheek \u2014   \nI felt it publish \u2014 in my Eye \u2014   \n'Twas needless \u2014 any speak \u2014\n\nI walked \u2014 as wings \u2014 my body bore \u2014   \nThe feet \u2014 I former used \u2014   \nUnnecessary \u2014 now to me \u2014   \nAs boots \u2014 would be \u2014 to Birds \u2014\n\nI put my pleasure all abroad \u2014   \nI dealth a word of Gold  \nTo every Creature \u2014 that I met \u2014   \nAnd Dowered \u2014 all the World \u2014\n\nWhen \u2014 suddenly \u2014 my Riches shrank \u2014   \nA Goblin \u2014 drank my Dew \u2014   \nMy Palaces \u2014 dropped tenantless \u2014   \nMyself \u2014 was beggared \u2014 too \u2014\n\nI clutched at sounds \u2014   \nI groped at shapes \u2014   \nI touched the tops of Films \u2014   \nI felt the Wilderness roll back  \nAlong my Golden lines \u2014\n\nThe Sackcloth \u2014 hangs upon the nail \u2014   \nThe Frock I used to wear \u2014   \nBut where my moment of Brocade \u2014   \nMy \u2014 drop \u2014 of India?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Me \u2014 come! My dazzled face**\n\nMe \u2014 come! My dazzled face  \nIn such a shining place!  \nMe \u2014 hear! My foreign Ear  \nThe sounds of Welcome \u2014 there!\n\nThe Saints forget  \nOur bashful feet \u2014\n\nMy Holiday, shall be  \nThat They \u2014 remember me \u2014   \nMy Paradise \u2014 the fame  \nThat They \u2014 pronounce my name \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Do People moulder equally,**\n\nDo People moulder equally,  \nThey bury, in the Grave?  \nI do believe a Species  \nAs positively live\n\nAs I, who testify it  \nDeny that I \u2014 am dead \u2014   \nAnd fill my Lungs, for Witness \u2014   \nFrom Tanks \u2014 above my Head \u2014\n\nI say to you, said Jesus \u2014   \nThat there be standing here \u2014   \nA Sort, that shall not taste of Death \u2014   \nIf Jesus was sincere \u2014\n\nI need no further Argue \u2014   \nThat statement of the Lord  \nIs not a controvertible \u2014   \nHe told me, Death was dead \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Knows how to forget!**\n\nKnows how to forget!  \nBut could It teach it?  \nEasiest of Arts, they say  \nWhen one learn how\n\nDull Hearts have died  \nIn the Acquisition  \nSacrificed for Science  \nIs common, though, now \u2014\n\nI went to School  \nBut was not wiser  \nGlobe did not teach it  \nNor Logarithm Show\n\n\"How to forget\"!  \nSay \u2014 some \u2014 Philosopher!  \nAh, to be erudite  \nEnough to know!\n\nIs it in a Book?  \nSo, I could buy it \u2014   \nIs it like a Planet?  \nTelescopes would know \u2014\n\nIf it be invention  \nIt must have a Patent.  \nRabbi of the Wise Book  \nDon't you know?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To love thee Year by Year \u2014**\n\nTo love thee Year by Year \u2014   \nMay less appear  \nThan sacrifice, and cease \u2014   \nHowever, dear,  \nForever might be short, I thought to show \u2014   \nAnd so I pieced it, with a flower, now.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Much Madness is divinest Sense \u2014**\n\nMUCH madness is divinest sense  \nTo a discerning eye ;  \nMuch sense the starkest madness.  \n'T is the majority  \nIn this, as all, prevails.  \nAssent, and you are sane ;  \nDemur, \u2014 you're straightway dangerous,  \nAnd handled with a chain.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Wind \u2014 tapped like a tired Man \u2014**\n\nThe Wind \u2014 tapped like a tired Man \u2014   \nAnd like a Host \u2014 \"Come in\"  \nI boldly answered \u2014 entered then  \nMy Residence within\n\nA Rapid \u2014 footless Guest \u2014   \nTo offer whom a Chair  \nWere as impossible as hand  \nA Sofa to the Air \u2014\n\nNo Bone had He to bind Him \u2014   \nHis Speech was like the Push  \nOf numerous Humming Birds at once  \nFrom a superior Bush \u2014\n\nHis Countenance \u2014 a Billow \u2014   \nHis Fingers, as He passed  \nLet go a music \u2014 as of tunes  \nBlown tremulous in Glass \u2014\n\nHe visited \u2014 still flitting \u2014   \nThen like a timid Man  \nAgain, He tapped \u2014 'twas flurriedly \u2014   \nAnd I became alone \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Prayer is the little implement**\n\nPrayer is the little implement  \nThrough which Men reach  \nWhere Presence \u2014 is denied them.  \nThey fling their Speech\n\nBy means of it \u2014 in God's Ear \u2014   \nIf then He hear \u2014   \nThis sums the Apparatus  \nComprised in Prayer \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Forget! The lady with the Amulet**\n\nForget! The lady with the Amulet  \nForget she wore it at her Heart  \nBecause she breathed against  \nWas Treason twixt?\n\nDeny! Did Rose her Bee \u2014   \nFor Privilege of Play  \nOr Wile of Butterfly  \nOr Opportunity \u2014 Her Lord away?\n\nThe lady with the Amulet \u2014 will face \u2014   \nThe Bee \u2014 in Mausoleum laid \u2014   \nDiscard his Bride \u2014   \nBut longer than the little Rill \u2014   \nThat cooled the Forehead of the Hill \u2014   \nWhile Other \u2014 went the Sea to fill \u2014   \nAnd Other \u2014 went to turn the Mill \u2014   \nI'll do thy Will \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Undue Significance a starving man attaches**\n\nUndue Significance a starving man attaches  \nTo Food \u2014   \nFar off \u2014 He sighs \u2014 and therefore \u2014 Hopeless \u2014   \nAnd therefore \u2014 Good \u2014\n\nPartaken \u2014 it relieves \u2014 indeed \u2014   \nBut proves us  \nThat Spices fly  \nIn the Receipt \u2014 It was the Distance \u2014   \nWas Savory \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis customary as we part**\n\n'Tis customary as we part  \nA trinket \u2014 to confer \u2014   \nIt helps to stimulate the faith  \nWhen Lovers be afar \u2014\n\n'Tis various \u2014 as the various taste \u2014   \nClematis \u2014 journeying far \u2014   \nPresents me with a single Curl  \nOf her Electric Hair \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This is my letter to the World**\n\nThis is my letter to the World  \nThat never wrote to Me \u2014   \nThe simple News that Nature told \u2014   \nWith tender Majesty\n\nHer Message is committed  \nTo Hands I cannot see \u2014   \nFor love of Her \u2014 Sweet \u2014 countrymen \u2014   \nJudge tenderly \u2014 of Me\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**God made a little Gentian \u2014**\n\nGod made a little Gentian \u2014   \nIt tried \u2014 to be a Rose \u2014   \nAnd failed \u2014 and all the Summer laughed \u2014   \nBut just before the Snows\n\nThere rose a Purple Creature \u2014   \nThat ravished all the Hill \u2014   \nAnd Summer hid her Forehead \u2014   \nAnd Mockery \u2014 was still \u2014\n\nThe Frosts were her condition \u2014   \nThe Tyrian would not come  \nUntil the North \u2014 invoke it \u2014   \nCreator \u2014 Shall I \u2014 bloom?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I tie my Hat \u2014 I crease my Shawl \u2014**\n\nI tie my Hat \u2014 I crease my Shawl \u2014   \nLife's little duties do \u2014 precisely \u2014   \nAs the very least  \nWere infinite \u2014 to me \u2014\n\nI put new Blossoms in the Glass \u2014   \nAnd throw the old \u2014 away \u2014   \nI push a petal from my Gown  \nThat anchored there \u2014 I weigh  \nThe time 'twill be till six o'clock  \nI have so much to do \u2014   \nAnd yet \u2014 Existence \u2014 some way back \u2014   \nStopped \u2014 struck \u2014 my ticking \u2014 through \u2014   \nWe cannot put Ourself away  \nAs a completed Man  \nOr Woman \u2014 When the Errand's done  \nWe came to Flesh \u2014 upon \u2014   \nThere may be \u2014 Miles on Miles of Nought \u2014   \nOf Action \u2014 sicker far \u2014   \nTo simulate \u2014 is stinging work \u2014   \nTo cover what we are  \nFrom Science \u2014 and from Surgery \u2014   \nToo Telescopic Eyes  \nTo bear on us unshaded \u2014   \nFor their \u2014 sake \u2014 not for Ours \u2014   \n'Twould start them \u2014   \nWe \u2014 could tremble \u2014   \nBut since we got a Bomb \u2014   \nAnd held it in our Bosom \u2014   \nNay \u2014 Hold it \u2014 it is calm \u2014\n\nTherefore \u2014 we do life's labor \u2014   \nThough life's Reward \u2014 be done \u2014   \nWith scrupulous exactness \u2014   \nTo hold our Senses \u2014 on \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It feels a shame to be Alive \u2014**\n\nIt feels a shame to be Alive \u2014   \nWhen Men so brave \u2014 are dead \u2014   \nOne envies the Distinguished Dust \u2014   \nPermitted \u2014 such a Head \u2014\n\nThe Stone \u2014 that tells defending Whom  \nThis Spartan put away  \nWhat little of Him we \u2014 possessed  \nIn Pawn for Liberty \u2014\n\nThe price is great \u2014 Sublimely paid \u2014   \nDo we deserve \u2014 a Thing \u2014   \nThat lives \u2014 like Dollars \u2014 must be piled  \nBefore we may obtain?\n\nAre we that wait \u2014 sufficient worth \u2014   \nThat such Enormous Pearl  \nAs life \u2014 dissolved be \u2014 for Us \u2014   \nIn Battle's \u2014 horrid Bowl?\n\nIt may be \u2014 a Renown to live \u2014   \nI think the Man who die \u2014   \nThose unsustained \u2014 Saviors \u2014   \nPresent Divinity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas just this time, last year, I died.**\n\n'Twas just this time, last year, I died.  \nI know I heard the Corn,  \nWhen I was carried by the Farms \u2014   \nIt had the Tassels on \u2014\n\nI thought how yellow it would look \u2014   \nWhen Richard went to mill \u2014   \nAnd then, I wanted to get out,  \nBut something held my will.\n\nI thought just how Red \u2014 Apples wedged  \nThe Stubble's joints between \u2014   \nAnd the Carts stooping round the fields  \nTo take the Pumpkins in \u2014\n\nI wondered which would miss me, least,  \nAnd when Thanksgiving, came,  \nIf Father'd multiply the plates \u2014   \nTo make an even Sum \u2014\n\nAnd would it blur the Christmas glee  \nMy Stocking hang too high  \nFor any Santa Claus to reach  \nThe Altitude of me \u2014\n\nBut this sort, grieved myself,  \nAnd so, I thought the other way,  \nHow just this time, some perfect year \u2014   \nThemself, should come to me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I showed her Heights she never saw \u2014**\n\nI showed her Heights she never saw \u2014   \n\"Would'st Climb,\" I said?  \nShe said \u2014 \"Not so\" \u2014   \n\"With me \u2014 \" I said \u2014 With me?  \nI showed her Secrets \u2014 Morning's Nest \u2014   \nThe Rope the Nights were put across \u2014   \nAnd now \u2014 \"Would'st have me for a Guest?\"  \nShe could not find her Yes \u2014   \nAnd then, I brake my life \u2014 And Lo,  \nA Light, for her, did solemn glow,  \nThe larger, as her face withdrew \u2014   \nAnd could she, further, \"No\"?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Could \u2014 I do more \u2014 for Thee \u2014**\n\nCould \u2014 I do more \u2014 for Thee \u2014   \nWert Thou a Bumble Bee \u2014   \nSince for the Queen, have I \u2014   \nNought but Bouquet?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This was a Poet \u2014 It is That**\n\nThis was a Poet \u2014 It is That  \nDistills amazing sense  \nFrom ordinary Meanings \u2014   \nAnd Attar so immense\n\nFrom the familiar species  \nThat perished by the Door \u2014   \nWe wonder it was not Ourselves  \nArrested it \u2014 before \u2014\n\nOf Pictures, the Discloser \u2014   \nThe Poet \u2014 it is He \u2014   \nEntitles Us \u2014 by Contrast \u2014   \nTo ceaseless Poverty \u2014\n\nOf portion \u2014 so unconscious \u2014   \nThe Robbing \u2014 could not harm \u2014   \nHimself \u2014 to Him \u2014 a Fortune \u2014   \nExterior \u2014 to Time \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I died for Beauty \u2014 but was scarce**\n\nI DIED for beauty, but was scarce  \nAdjusted in the tomb,  \nWhen one who died for truth was lain  \nIn an adjoining room.\n\nHe questioned softly why I failed ?  \n\"For beauty,\" I replied.  \n\"And I for truth, \u2014 the two are one ;  \nWe brethren are,\" he said.\n\nAnd so, as kinsmen met a night,  \nWe talked between the rooms,  \nUntil the moss had reached our lips,  \nAnd covered up our names.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Dreams \u2014 are well \u2014 but Waking's better,**\n\nDreams \u2014 are well \u2014 but Waking's better,  \nIf One wake at morn \u2014   \nIf One wake at Midnight \u2014 better \u2014   \nDreaming \u2014 of the Dawn \u2014\n\nSweeter \u2014 the Surmising Robins \u2014   \nNever gladdened Tree \u2014   \nThan a Solid Dawn \u2014 confronting \u2014   \nLeading to no Day \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Outer \u2014 from the Inner**\n\nThe Outer \u2014 from the Inner  \nDerives its Magnitude \u2014   \n'Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according  \nAs is the Central Mood \u2014\n\nThe fine \u2014 unvarying Axis  \nThat regulates the Wheel \u2014   \nThough Spokes \u2014 spin \u2014 more conspicuous  \nAnd fling a dust \u2014 the while.\n\nThe Inner \u2014 paints the Outer \u2014   \nThe Brush without the Hand \u2014   \nIts Picture publishes \u2014 precise \u2014   \nAs is the inner Brand \u2014\n\nOn fine \u2014 Arterial Canvas \u2014   \nA Cheek \u2014 perchance a Brow \u2014   \nThe Star's whole Secret \u2014 in the Lake \u2014   \nEyes were not meant to know.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Malay \u2014 took the Pearl \u2014**\n\nThe Malay \u2014 took the Pearl \u2014   \nNot \u2014 I \u2014 the Earl \u2014   \nI \u2014 feared the Sea \u2014 too much  \nUnsanctified \u2014 to touch \u2014\n\nPraying that I might be  \nWorthy \u2014 the Destiny \u2014   \nThe Swarthy fellow swam \u2014   \nAnd bore my Jewel \u2014 Home \u2014\n\nHome to the Hut! What lot  \nHad I \u2014 the Jewel \u2014 got \u2014   \nBorne on a Dusky Breasty \u2014   \nI had not deemed a Vest  \nOf Amber \u2014 fit \u2014\n\nThe Negro never knew  \nI \u2014 wooed it \u2014 too \u2014   \nTo gain, or be undone \u2014   \nAlike to Him \u2014 One \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Love \u2014 thou art high \u2014**\n\nLove \u2014 thou art high \u2014   \nI cannot climb thee \u2014   \nBut, were it Two \u2014   \nWho knows but we \u2014   \nTaking turns \u2014 at the Chimborazo \u2014   \nDucal \u2014 at last \u2014 stand up by thee \u2014\n\nLove \u2014 thou are deep \u2014   \nI cannot cross thee \u2014   \nBut, were there Two  \nInstead of One \u2014   \nRower, and Yacht \u2014 some sovereign Summer \u2014   \nWho knows \u2014 but we'd reach the Sun?\n\nLove \u2014 thou are Veiled \u2014   \nA few \u2014 behold thee \u2014   \nSmile \u2014 and alter \u2014 and prattle \u2014 and die \u2014   \nBliss \u2014 were an Oddity \u2014 without thee \u2014   \nNicknamed by God \u2014   \nEternity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It was given to me by the Gods \u2014**\n\nIt was given to me by the Gods \u2014   \nWhen I was a little Girl \u2014   \nThey given us Presents most \u2014 you know \u2014   \nWhen we are new \u2014 and small.  \nI kept it in my Hand \u2014   \nI never put it down \u2014   \nI did not dare to eat \u2014 or sleep \u2014   \nFor fear it would be gone \u2014   \nI heard such words as \"Rich\" \u2014   \nWhen hurrying to school \u2014   \nFrom lips at Corners of the Streets \u2014   \nAnd wrestled with a smile.  \nRich! 'Twas Myself \u2014 was rich \u2014   \nTo take the name of Gold \u2014   \nAnd Gold to own \u2014 in solid Bars \u2014   \nThe Difference \u2014 made me bold \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Triumph \u2014 may be of several kinds \u2014**\n\nTriumph \u2014 may be of several kinds \u2014   \nThere's Triumph in the Room  \nWhen that Old Imperator \u2014 Death \u2014   \nBy Faith\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So well that I can live without \u2014**\n\nSo well that I can live without \u2014   \nI love thee \u2014 then How well is that?  \nAs well as Jesus?  \nProve it me  \nThat He \u2014 loved Men \u2014   \nAs I \u2014 love thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sweet \u2014 safe \u2014 Houses \u2014**\n\nSweet \u2014 safe \u2014 Houses \u2014   \nGlad \u2014 gay \u2014 Houses \u2014   \nSealed so stately tight \u2014   \nLids of Steel \u2014 on Lids of Marble \u2014   \nLocking Bare feet out \u2014\n\nBrooks of Plush \u2014 in Banks of Satin  \nNot so softly fall  \nAs the laughter \u2014 and the whisper \u2014   \nFrom their People Pearl \u2014\n\nNo Bald Death \u2014 affront their Parlors \u2014   \nNo Bold Sickness come  \nTo deface their Stately Treasures \u2014   \nAnguish \u2014 and the Tomb \u2014\n\nHum by \u2014 in Muffled Coaches \u2014   \nLest they \u2014 wonder Why \u2014   \nAny \u2014 for the Press of Smiling \u2014   \nInterrupt \u2014 to die \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Like eyes that looked on Wastes \u2014**\n\nLike eyes that looked on Wastes \u2014   \nIncredulous of Ought  \nBut Blank \u2014 and steady Wilderness \u2014   \nDiversified by Night \u2014\n\nJust Infinites of Nought \u2014   \nAs far as it could see \u2014   \nSo looked the face I looked upon \u2014   \nSo looked itself \u2014 on Me \u2014\n\nI offered it no Help \u2014   \nBecause the Cause was Mine \u2014   \nThe Misery a Compact  \nAs hopeless \u2014 as divine \u2014\n\nNeither \u2014 would be absolved \u2014   \nNeither would be a Queen  \nWithout the Other \u2014 Therefore \u2014   \nWe perish \u2014 tho' We reign \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Tooth upon Our Peace**\n\nA Tooth upon Our Peace  \nThe Peace cannot deface \u2014   \nThen Wherefore be the Tooth?  \nTo vitalize the Grace \u2014\n\nThe Heaven hath a Hell \u2014   \nItself to signalize \u2014   \nAnd every sign before the Place  \nIs Gilt with Sacrifice \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I know where Wells grow \u2014 Droughtless Wells \u2014**\n\nI know where Wells grow \u2014 Droughtless Wells \u2014   \nDeep dug \u2014 for Summer days \u2014   \nWhere Mosses go no more away \u2014   \nAnd Pebble \u2014 safely plays \u2014\n\nIt's made of Fathoms \u2014 and a Belt \u2014   \nA Belt of jagged Stone \u2014   \nInlaid with Emerald \u2014 half way down \u2014   \nAnd Diamonds \u2014 jumbled on \u2014\n\nIt has no Bucket \u2014 Were I rich  \nA Bucket I would buy \u2014   \nI'm often thirsty \u2014 but my lips  \nAre so high up \u2014 You see \u2014\n\nI read in an Old fashioned Book  \nThat People \"thirst no more\" \u2014   \nThe Wells have Buckets to them there \u2014   \nIt must mean that \u2014 I'm sure \u2014\n\nShall We remember Parching \u2014 then?  \nThose Waters sound so grand \u2014   \nI think a little Well \u2014 like Mine \u2014   \nDearer to understand \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Wife \u2014 at daybreak I shall be \u2014**\n\nA Wife \u2014 at daybreak I shall be \u2014   \nSunrise \u2014 Hast thou a Flag for me?  \nAt Midnight, I am but a Maid,  \nHow short it takes to make a Bride \u2014   \nThen \u2014 Midnight, I have passed from thee  \nUnto the East, and Victory \u2014\n\nMidnight \u2014 Good Night! I hear them call,  \nThe Angels bustle in the Hall \u2014   \nSoftly my Future climbs the Stair,  \nI fumble at my Childhood's prayer  \nSo soon to be a Child no more \u2014   \nEternity, I'm coming \u2014 Sire,  \nSavior \u2014 I've seen the face \u2014 before!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Why make it doubt \u2014 it hurts it so \u2014**\n\nWhy make it doubt \u2014 it hurts it so \u2014   \nSo sick \u2014 to guess \u2014   \nSo strong \u2014 to know \u2014   \nSo brave \u2014 upon its little Bed  \nTo tell the very last They said  \nUnto Itself \u2014 and smile \u2014 And shake \u2014   \nFor that dear \u2014 distant \u2014 dangerous \u2014 Sake \u2014   \nBut \u2014 the Instead \u2014 the Pinching fear  \nThat Something \u2014 it did do \u2014 or dare \u2014   \nOffend the Vision \u2014 and it flee \u2014   \nAnd They no more remember me \u2014   \nNor ever turn to tell me why \u2014   \nOh, Master, This is Misery \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I live with Him \u2014 I see His face \u2014**\n\nI live with Him \u2014 I see His face \u2014   \nI go no more away  \nFor Visitor \u2014 or Sundown \u2014   \nDeath's single privacy\n\nThe Only One \u2014 forestalling Mine \u2014   \nAnd that \u2014 by Right that He  \nPresents a Claim invisible \u2014   \nNo wedlock \u2014 granted Me \u2014\n\nI live with Him \u2014 I hear His Voice \u2014   \nI stand alive \u2014 Today \u2014   \nTo witness to the Certainty  \nOf Immortality \u2014\n\nTaught Me \u2014 by Time \u2014 the lower Way \u2014   \nConviction \u2014 Every day \u2014   \nThat Life like This \u2014 is stopless \u2014   \nBe Judgment \u2014 what it may \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The power to be true to You,**\n\nThe power to be true to You,  \nUntil upon my face  \nThe Judgment push his Picture \u2014   \nPresumptuous of Your Place \u2014\n\nOf This \u2014 Could Man deprive Me \u2014   \nHimself \u2014 the Heaven excel \u2014   \nWhose invitation \u2014 Yours reduced  \nUntil it showed too small \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I heard a Fly buzz \u2014 when I died \u2014**\n\nI heard a Fly buzz \u2014 when I died \u2014   \nThe Stillness in the Room  \nWas like the Stillness in the Air \u2014   \nBetween the Heaves of Storm \u2014\n\nThe Eyes around \u2014 had wrung them dry \u2014   \nAnd Breaths were gathering firm  \nFor that last Onset \u2014 when the King  \nBe witnessed \u2014 in the Room \u2014\n\nI willed my Keepsakes \u2014 Signed away  \nWhat portion of me be  \nAssignable \u2014 and then it was  \nThere interposed a Fly \u2014\n\nWith Blue \u2014 uncertain stumbling Buzz \u2014   \nBetween the light \u2014 and me \u2014   \nAnd then the Windows failed \u2014 and then  \nI could not see to see \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis little I \u2014 could care for Pearls \u2014**\n\n'Tis little I \u2014 could care for Pearls \u2014   \nWho own the ample sea \u2014   \nOr Brooches \u2014 when the Emperor \u2014   \nWith Rubies \u2014 pelteth me \u2014\n\nOr Gold \u2014 who am the Prince of Mines \u2014   \nOr Diamonds \u2014 when have I  \nA Diadem to fit a Dome \u2014   \nContinual upon me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We do not play on Graves \u2014**\n\nWe do not play on Graves \u2014   \nBecause there isn't Room \u2014   \nBesides \u2014 it isn't even \u2014 it slants  \nAnd People come \u2014\n\nAnd put a Flower on it \u2014   \nAnd hang their faces so \u2014   \nWe're fearing that their Hearts will drop \u2014   \nAnd crush our pretty play \u2014\n\nAnd so we move as far  \nAs Enemies \u2014 away \u2014   \nJust looking round to see how far  \nIt is \u2014 Occasionally \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Manner of its Death**\n\nThe Manner of its Death  \nWhen Certain it must die \u2014   \n'Tis deemed a privilege to choose \u2014   \n'Twas Major Andre's Way \u2014\n\nWhen Choice of Life \u2014 is past \u2014   \nThere yet remains a Love  \nIts little Fate to stipulate \u2014\n\nHow small in those who live \u2014\n\nThe Miracle to tease  \nWith Bable of the styles \u2014   \nHow \"they are Dying mostly \u2014 now\" \u2014   \nAnd Customs at \"St. James\"!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Red \u2014 Blaze \u2014 is the Morning \u2014**\n\nThe Red \u2014 Blaze \u2014 is the Morning \u2014   \nThe Violet \u2014 is Noon \u2014   \nThe Yellow \u2014 Day \u2014 is falling \u2014   \nAnd after that \u2014 is none \u2014\n\nBut Miles of Sparks \u2014 at Evening \u2014   \nReveal the Width that burned \u2014   \nThe Territory Argent \u2014 that  \nNever yet \u2014 consumed \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I am alive \u2014 I guess \u2014**\n\nI am alive \u2014 I guess \u2014   \nThe Branches on my Hand  \nAre full of Morning Glory \u2014   \nAnd at my finger's end \u2014\n\nThe Carmine \u2014 tingles warm \u2014   \nAnd if I hold a Glass  \nAcross my Mouth \u2014 it blurs it \u2014   \nPhysician's \u2014 proof of Breath \u2014\n\nI am alive \u2014 because  \nI am not in a Room \u2014   \nThe Parlor \u2014 Commonly \u2014 it is \u2014   \nSo Visitors may come \u2014\n\nAnd lean \u2014 and view it sidewise \u2014   \nAnd add \"How cold \u2014 it grew\" \u2014   \nAnd \"Was it conscious \u2014 when it stepped  \nIn Immortality?\"\n\nI am alive \u2014 because  \nI do not own a House \u2014   \nEntitled to myself \u2014 precise \u2014   \nAnd fitting no one else \u2014\n\nAnd marked my Girlhood's name \u2014   \nSo Visitors may know  \nWhich Door is mine \u2014 and not mistake \u2014   \nAnd try another Key \u2014\n\nHow good \u2014 to be alive!  \nHow infinite \u2014 to be  \nAlive \u2014 two-fold \u2014 The Birth I had \u2014   \nAnd this \u2014 besides, in \u2014 Thee!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Night \u2014 there lay the Days between \u2014**\n\nA Night \u2014 there lay the Days between \u2014   \nThe Day that was Before \u2014   \nAnd Day that was Behind \u2014 were one \u2014   \nAnd now \u2014 'twas Night \u2014 was here \u2014\n\nSlow \u2014 Night \u2014 that must be watched away \u2014   \nAs Grains upon a shore \u2014   \nToo imperceptible to note \u2014   \nTill it be night \u2014 no more \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Except the Heaven had come so near \u2014**\n\nExcept the Heaven had come so near \u2014   \nSo seemed to choose My Door \u2014   \nThe Distance would not haunt me so \u2014   \nI had not hoped \u2014 before \u2014\n\nBut just to hear the Grace depart \u2014   \nI never thought to see \u2014   \nAfflicts me with a Double loss \u2014   \n'Tis lost \u2014 and lost to me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I am ashamed \u2014 I hide \u2014**\n\nI am ashamed \u2014 I hide \u2014   \nWhat right have I \u2014 to be a Bride \u2014   \nSo late a Dowerless Girl \u2014   \nNowhere to hide my dazzled Face \u2014   \nNo one to teach me that new Grace \u2014   \nNor introduce \u2014 my Soul \u2014\n\nMe to adorn \u2014 How \u2014 tell \u2014   \nTrinket \u2014 to make Me beautiful \u2014   \nFabrics of Cashmere \u2014   \nNever a Gown of Dun \u2014 more \u2014   \nRaiment instead \u2014 of Pompadour \u2014   \nFor Me \u2014 My soul \u2014 to wear \u2014\n\nFingers \u2014 to frame my Round Hair  \nOval \u2014 as Feudal Ladies wore \u2014   \nFar Fashions \u2014 Fair \u2014   \nSkill to hold my Brow like an Earl \u2014   \nPlead \u2014 like a Whippoorwill \u2014   \nProve \u2014 like a Pearl \u2014   \nThen, for Character \u2014   \nFashion My Spirit quaint \u2014 white \u2014   \nQuick \u2014 like a Liquor \u2014   \nGay \u2014 like Light \u2014   \nBring Me my best Pride \u2014   \nNo more ashamed \u2014   \nNo more to hide \u2014   \nMeek \u2014 let it be \u2014 too proud \u2014 for Pride \u2014   \nBaptized \u2014 this Day \u2014 a Bride \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**They put Us far apart \u2014**\n\nThey put Us far apart \u2014   \nAs separate as Sea  \nAnd Her unsown Peninsula \u2014   \nWe signified \"These see\" \u2014\n\nThey took away our Eyes \u2014   \nThey thwarted Us with Guns \u2014   \n\"I see Thee\" each responded straight  \nThrough Telegraphic Signs \u2014\n\nWith Dungeons \u2014 They devised \u2014   \nBut through their thickest skill \u2014   \nAnd their opaquest Adamant \u2014   \nOur Souls saw \u2014 just as well \u2014\n\nThey summoned Us to die \u2014   \nWith sweet alacrity  \nWe stood upon our stapled feet \u2014   \nCondemned \u2014 but just \u2014 to see \u2014\n\nPermission to recant \u2014   \nPermission to forget \u2014   \nWe turned our backs upon the Sun  \nFor perjury of that \u2014\n\nNot Either \u2014 noticed Death \u2014   \nOf Paradise \u2014 aware \u2014   \nEach other's Face \u2014 was all the Disc  \nEach other's setting \u2014 saw \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Doom is the House without the Door \u2014**\n\nDoom is the House without the Door \u2014   \n'Tis entered from the Sun \u2014   \nAnd then the Ladder's thrown away,  \nBecause Escape \u2014 is done \u2014\n\n'Tis varied by the Dream  \nOf what they do outside \u2014   \nWhere Squirrels play \u2014 and Berries die \u2014   \nAnd Hemlocks \u2014 bow \u2014 to God \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I meant to have but modest needs \u2014**\n\nI meant to have but modest needs \u2014   \nSuch as Content \u2014 and Heaven \u2014   \nWithin my income \u2014 these could lie  \nAnd Life and I \u2014 keep even \u2014\n\nBut since the last \u2014 included both \u2014   \nIt would suffice my Prayer  \nBut just for One \u2014 to stipulate \u2014   \nAnd Grace would grant the Pair \u2014\n\nAnd so \u2014 upon this wise \u2014 I prayed \u2014   \nGreat Spirit \u2014 Give to me  \nA Heaven not so large as Yours,  \nBut large enough \u2014 for me \u2014\n\nA Smile suffused Jehovah's face \u2014   \nThe Cherubim \u2014 withdrew \u2014   \nGrave Saints stole out to look at me \u2014   \nAnd showed their dimples \u2014 too \u2014\n\nI left the Place, with all my might \u2014   \nI threw my Prayer away \u2014   \nThe Quiet Ages picked it up \u2014   \nAnd Judgment \u2014 twinkled \u2014 too \u2014   \nTat one so honest \u2014 be extant \u2014   \nIt take the Tale for true \u2014   \nThat \"Whatsoever Ye shall ask \u2014   \nItself be given You\" \u2014\n\nBut I, grown shrewder \u2014 scan the Skies  \nWith a suspicious Air \u2014   \nAs Children \u2014 swindled for the first  \nAll Swindlers \u2014 be \u2014 infer \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No Man can compass a Despair \u2014**\n\nNo Man can compass a Despair \u2014   \nAs round a Goalless Road  \nNo faster than a Mile at once  \nThe Traveller proceed \u2014\n\nUnconscious of the Width \u2014   \nUnconscious that the Sun  \nBe setting on His progress \u2014   \nSo accurate the One\n\nAt estimating Pain \u2014   \nWhose own \u2014 has just begun \u2014   \nHis ignorance \u2014 the Angel  \nThat pilot Him along \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I had no time to Hate \u2014**\n\nI had no time to Hate \u2014   \nBecause  \nThe Grave would hinder Me \u2014   \nAnd Life was not so  \nAmple I  \nCould finish \u2014 Enmity \u2014\n\nNor had I time to Love \u2014   \nBut since  \nSome Industry must be \u2014   \nThe little Toil of Love \u2014   \nI thought  \nBe large enough for Me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She dealt her pretty words like Blades \u2014**\n\nShe dealt her pretty words like Blades \u2014   \nHow glittering they shone \u2014   \nAnd every One unbared a Nerve  \nOr wantoned with a Bone \u2014\n\nShe never deemed \u2014 she hurt \u2014   \nThat \u2014 is not Steel's Affair \u2014   \nA vulgar grimace in the Flesh \u2014   \nHow ill the Creatures bear \u2014\n\nTo Ache is human \u2014 not polite \u2014   \nThe Film upon the eye  \nMortality's old Custom \u2014   \nJust locking up \u2014 to Die.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Why do I love You, Sir?**\n\n\"Why do I love\" You, Sir?  \nBecause \u2014   \nThe Wind does not require the Grass  \nTo answer \u2014 Wherefore when He pass  \nShe cannot keep Her place.\n\nBecause He knows \u2014 and  \nDo not You \u2014   \nAnd We know not \u2014   \nEnough for Us  \nThe Wisdom it be so \u2014\n\nThe Lightning \u2014 never asked an Eye  \nWherefore it shut \u2014 when He was by \u2014   \nBecause He knows it cannot speak \u2014   \nAnd reasons not contained \u2014   \n\u2014 Of Talk \u2014   \nThere be \u2014 preferred by Daintier Folk \u2014\n\nThe Sunrise \u2014 Sire \u2014 compelleth Me \u2014   \nBecause He's Sunrise \u2014 and I see \u2014   \nTherefore \u2014 Then \u2014   \nI love Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Himmaleh was known to stoop**\n\nThe Himmaleh was known to stoop  \nUnto the Daisy low \u2014   \nTransported with Compassion  \nThat such a Doll should grow  \nWhere Tent by Tent \u2014 Her Universe  \nHung out its Flags of Snow \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We Cover Thee \u2014 Sweet Face \u2014**\n\nWe Cover Thee \u2014 Sweet Face \u2014   \nNot that We tire of Thee \u2014   \nBut that Thyself fatigue of Us \u2014   \nRemember \u2014 as Thou go \u2014   \nWe follow Thee until  \nThou notice Us \u2014 no more \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 reluctant \u2014 turn away  \nTo Con Thee o'er and o'er \u2014\n\nAnd blame the scanty love  \nWe were Content to show \u2014   \nAugmented \u2014 Sweet \u2014 a Hundred fold \u2014   \nIf Thou would'st take it \u2014 now \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Solemn thing within the Soul**\n\nA Solemn thing within the Soul  \nTo feel itself get ripe \u2014   \nAnd golden hang \u2014 while farther up \u2014   \nThe Maker's Ladders stop \u2014   \nAnd in the Orchard far below \u2014   \nYou hear a Being \u2014 drop \u2014\n\nA Wonderful \u2014 to feel the Sun  \nStill toiling at the Cheek  \nYou thought was finished \u2014   \nCool of eye, and critical of Work \u2014   \nHe shifts the stem \u2014 a little \u2014   \nTo give your Core \u2014 a look \u2014\n\nBut solemnest \u2014 to know  \nYour chance in Harvest moves  \nA little nearer \u2014 Every Sun  \nThe Single \u2014 to some lives.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Garden \u2014 like the Beach \u2014**\n\nMy Garden \u2014 like the Beach \u2014   \nDenotes there be \u2014 a Sea \u2014   \nThat's Summer \u2014   \nSuch as These \u2014 the Pearls  \nShe fetches \u2014 such as Me\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To make One's Toilette \u2014 after Death**\n\nTo make One's Toilette \u2014 after Death  \nHas made the Toilette cool  \nOf only Taste we cared to please  \nIs difficult, and still \u2014\n\nThat's easier \u2014 than Braid the Hair \u2014   \nAnd make the Bodice gay \u2014   \nWhen eyes that fondled it are wrenched  \nBy Decalogues \u2014 away \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I was the slightest in the House \u2014**\n\nI was the slightest in the House \u2014   \nI took the smallest Room \u2014   \nAt night, my little Lamp, and Book \u2014   \nAnd one Geranium \u2014\n\nSo stationed I could catch the Mint  \nThat never ceased to fall \u2014   \nAnd just my Basket \u2014   \nLet me think \u2014 I'm sure \u2014   \nThat this was all \u2014\n\nI never spoke \u2014 unless addressed \u2014   \nAnd then, 'twas brief and low \u2014   \nI could not bear to live \u2014 aloud \u2014   \nThe Racket shamed me so \u2014\n\nAnd if it had not been so far \u2014   \nAnd any one I knew  \nWere going \u2014 I had often thought  \nHow noteless \u2014 I could die \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You love the Lord \u2014 you cannot see \u2014**\n\nYou love the Lord \u2014 you cannot see \u2014   \nYou write Him \u2014 every day \u2014   \nA little note \u2014 when you awake \u2014   \nAnd further in the Day.\n\nAn Ample Letter \u2014 How you miss \u2014   \nAnd would delight to see \u2014   \nBut then His House \u2014 is but a Step \u2014   \nAnd Mine's \u2014 in Heaven \u2014 You see.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Myself was formed \u2014 a Carpenter \u2014**\n\nMyself was formed \u2014 a Carpenter \u2014   \nAn unpretending time  \nMy Plane \u2014 and I, together wrought  \nBefore a Builder came \u2014\n\nTo measure our attainments \u2014   \nHad we the Art of Boards  \nSufficiently developed \u2014 He'd hire us  \nAt Halves \u2014\n\nMy Tools took Human \u2014 Faces \u2014   \nThe Bench, where we had toiled \u2014   \nAgainst the Man \u2014 persuaded \u2014   \nWe \u2014 Temples build \u2014 I said \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We pray \u2014 to Heaven \u2014**\n\nWe pray \u2014 to Heaven \u2014   \nWe prate \u2014 of Heaven \u2014   \nRelate \u2014 when Neighbors die \u2014   \nAt what o'clock to heaven \u2014 they fled \u2014   \nWho saw them \u2014 Wherefore fly?\n\nIs Heaven a Place \u2014 a Sky \u2014 a Tree?  \nLocation's narrow way is for Ourselves \u2014   \nUnto the Dead  \nThere's no Geography \u2014\n\nBut State \u2014 Endowal \u2014 Focus \u2014   \nWhere \u2014 Omnipresence \u2014 fly?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To One denied the drink**\n\nTo One denied the drink  \nTo tell what Water is  \nWould be acuter, would it not  \nThan letting Him surmise?\n\nTo lead Him to the Well  \nAnd let Him hear it drip  \nRemind Him, would it not, somewhat  \nOf His condemned lip?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**While it is alive**\n\nWhile it is alive  \nUntil Death touches it  \nWhile it and I lap one Air  \nDwell in one Blood  \nUnder one Sacrament  \nShow me Division can split or pare \u2014\n\nLove is like Life \u2014 merely longer  \nLove is like Death, during the Grave  \nLove is the Fellow of the Resurrection  \nScooping up the Dust and chanting \"Live\"!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Civilization \u2014 spurns \u2014 the Leopard!**\n\nCivilization \u2014 spurns \u2014 the Leopard!  \nWas the Leopard \u2014 bold?  \nDeserts \u2014 never rebuked her Satin \u2014   \nEthiop \u2014 her Gold \u2014   \nTawny \u2014 her Customs \u2014   \nShe was Conscious \u2014   \nSpotted \u2014 her Dun Gown \u2014   \nThis was the Leopard's nature \u2014 Signor \u2014   \nNeed \u2014 a keeper \u2014 frown?\n\nPity \u2014 the Pard \u2014 that left her Asia \u2014   \nMemories \u2014 of Palm \u2014   \nCannot be stifled \u2014 with Narcotic \u2014   \nNor suppressed \u2014 with Balm \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The World \u2014 stands \u2014 solemner \u2014 to me \u2014**\n\nThe World \u2014 stands \u2014 solemner \u2014 to me \u2014   \nSince I was wed \u2014 to Him \u2014   \nA modesty befits the soul  \nThat bears another's \u2014 name \u2014   \nA doubt \u2014 if it be fair \u2014 indeed \u2014   \nTo wear that perfect \u2014 pearl \u2014   \nThe Man \u2014 upon the Woman \u2014 binds \u2014   \nTo clasp her soul \u2014 for all \u2014   \nA prayer, that it more angel \u2014 prove \u2014   \nA whiter Gift \u2014 within \u2014   \nTo that munificence, that chose \u2014   \nSo unadorned \u2014 a Queen \u2014   \nA Gratitude \u2014 that such be true \u2014   \nIt had esteemed the Dream \u2014   \nToo beautiful \u2014 for Shape to prove \u2014   \nOr posture \u2014 to redeem!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Going to Him! Happy letter!**\n\nGoing to Him! Happy letter!  \nTell Him \u2014   \nTell Him the page I didn't write \u2014   \nTell Him \u2014 I only said the Syntax \u2014   \nAnd left the Verb and the pronoun out \u2014   \nTell Him just how the fingers hurried \u2014   \nThen \u2014 how they waded \u2014 slow \u2014 slow \u2014   \nAnd then you wished you had eyes in your pages \u2014   \nSo you could see what moved them so \u2014\n\nTell Him \u2014 it wasn't a Practised Writer \u2014   \nYou guessed \u2014 from the way the sentence toiled \u2014   \nYou could hear the Bodice tug, behind you \u2014   \nAs if it held but the might of a child \u2014   \nYou almost pitied it \u2014 you \u2014 it worked so \u2014   \nTell Him \u2014 no \u2014 you may quibble there \u2014   \nFor it would split His Heart, to know it \u2014   \nAnd then you and I, were silenter.\n\nTell Him \u2014 Night finished \u2014 before we finished \u2014   \nAnd the Old Clock kept neighing \"Day\"!  \nAnd you \u2014 got sleepy \u2014 and begged to be ended \u2014   \nWhat could it hinder so \u2014 to say?  \nTell Him \u2014 just how she sealed you \u2014 Cautious!  \nBut \u2014 if He ask where you are hid  \nUntil tomorrow \u2014 Happy letter!  \nGesture Coquette \u2014 and shake your Head!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It's thoughts \u2014 and just One Heart \u2014**\n\nIt's thoughts \u2014 and just One Heart \u2014   \nAnd Old Sunshine \u2014 about \u2014   \nMake frugal \u2014 Ones \u2014 Content \u2014   \nAnd two or three \u2014 for Company \u2014   \nUpon a Holiday \u2014   \nCrowded \u2014 as Sacrament \u2014\n\nBooks \u2014 when the Unit \u2014   \nSpare the Tenant \u2014 long eno' \u2014   \nA Picture \u2014 if it Care \u2014   \nItself \u2014 a Gallery too rare \u2014   \nFor needing more \u2014\n\nFlowers \u2014 to keep the Eyes \u2014 from going awkward \u2014   \nWhen it snows \u2014   \nA Bird \u2014 if they \u2014 prefer \u2014   \nThough Winter fire \u2014 sing clear as Plover \u2014   \nTo our \u2014 ear \u2014\n\nA Landscape \u2014 not so great  \nTo suffocate the Eye \u2014   \nA Hill \u2014 perhaps \u2014   \nPerhaps \u2014 the profile of a Mill  \nTurned by the Wind \u2014   \nTho' such \u2014 are luxuries \u2014\n\nIt's thoughts \u2014 and just two Heart \u2014   \nAnd Heaven \u2014 about \u2014   \nAt least \u2014 a Counterfeit \u2014   \nWe would not have Correct \u2014   \nAnd Immortality \u2014 can be almost \u2014   \nNot quite \u2014 Content \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As far from pity, as complaint \u2014**\n\nAs far from pity, as complaint \u2014   \nAs cool to speech \u2014 as stone \u2014   \nAs numb to Revelation  \nAs if my Trade were Bone \u2014\n\nAs far from time \u2014 as History \u2014   \nAs near yourself \u2014 Today \u2014   \nAs Children, to the Rainbow's scarf \u2014   \nOr Sunset's Yellow play\n\nTo eyelids in the Sepulchre \u2014   \nHow dumb the Dancer lies \u2014   \nWhile Color's Revelations break \u2014   \nAnd blaze \u2014 the Butterflies!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He strained my faith \u2014**\n\nHe strained my faith \u2014   \nDid he find it supple?  \nShook my strong trust \u2014   \nDid it then \u2014 yield?\n\nHurled my belief \u2014   \nBut \u2014 did he shatter \u2014 it?  \nRacked \u2014 with suspense \u2014   \nNot a nerve failed!\n\nWrung me \u2014 with Anguish \u2014   \nBut I never doubted him \u2014   \n'Tho' for what wrong  \nHe did never say \u2014\n\nStabbed \u2014 while I sued  \nHis sweet forgiveness \u2014   \nJesus \u2014 it's your little \"John\"!  \nDon't you know \u2014 me?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I envy Seas, whereon He rides \u2014**\n\nI envy Seas, whereon He rides \u2014   \nI envy Spokes of Wheels  \nOf Chariots, that Him convey \u2014   \nI envy Crooked Hills\n\nThat gaze upon His journey \u2014   \nHow easy All can see  \nWhat is forbidden utterly  \nAs Heaven \u2014 unto me!\n\nI envy Nests of Sparrows \u2014   \nThat dot His distant Eaves \u2014   \nThe wealthy Fly, upon His Pane \u2014   \nThe happy \u2014 happy Leaves \u2014\n\nThat just abroad His Window  \nHave Summer's leave to play \u2014   \nThe Ear Rings of Pizarro  \nCould not obtain for me \u2014\n\nI envy Light \u2014 that wakes Him \u2014   \nAnd Bells \u2014 that boldly ring  \nTo tell Him it is Noon, abroad \u2014   \nMyself \u2014 be Noon to Him \u2014\n\nYet interdict \u2014 my Blossom \u2014   \nAnd abrogate \u2014 my Bee \u2014   \nLest Noon in Everlasting Night \u2014   \nDrop Gabriel \u2014 and Me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Those fair \u2014 fictitious People \u2014**\n\nThose fair \u2014 fictitious People \u2014   \nThe Women \u2014 plucked away  \nFrom our familiar Lifetime \u2014   \nThe Men of Ivory \u2014\n\nThose Boys and Girls, in Canvas \u2014   \nWho stay upon the Wall  \nIn Everlasting Keepsake \u2014   \nCan Anybody tell?\n\nWe trust \u2014 in places perfecter \u2014   \nInheriting Delight  \nBeyond our faint Conjecture \u2014   \nOur dizzy Estimate \u2014\n\nRemembering ourselves, we trust \u2014   \nYet Blesseder \u2014 than We \u2014   \nThrough Knowing \u2014 where We only hope \u2014   \nReceiving \u2014 where we \u2014 pray \u2014\n\nOf Expectation \u2014 also \u2014   \nAnticipating us  \nWith transport, that would be a pain  \nExcept for Holiness \u2014\n\nEsteeming us \u2014 as Exile \u2014   \nThemself \u2014 admitted Home \u2014   \nThrough easy Miracle of Death \u2014   \nThe Way ourself, must come \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Within my Garden, rides a Bird**\n\nWithin my Garden, rides a Bird  \nUpon a single Wheel \u2014   \nWhose spokes a dizzy Music make  \nAs 'twere a travelling Mill \u2014\n\nHe never stops, but slackens  \nAbove the Ripest Rose \u2014   \nPartakes without alighting  \nAnd praises as he goes,\n\nTill every spice is tasted \u2014   \nAnd then his Fairy Gig  \nReels in remoter atmospheres \u2014   \nAnd I rejoin my Dog,\n\nAnd He and I, perplex us  \nIf positive, 'twere we \u2014   \nOr bore the Garden in the Brain  \nThis Curiosity \u2014\n\nBut He, the best Logician,  \nRefers my clumsy eye \u2014   \nTo just vibrating Blossoms!  \nAn Exquisite Reply!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This World is not Conclusion.**\n\nThis World is not Conclusion.  \nA Species stands beyond \u2014   \nInvisible, as Music \u2014   \nBut positive, as Sound \u2014   \nIt beckons, and it baffles \u2014   \nPhilosophy \u2014 don't know \u2014   \nAnd through a Riddle, at the last \u2014   \nSagacity, must go \u2014   \nTo guess it, puzzles scholars \u2014   \nTo gain it, Men have borne  \nContempt of Generations  \nAnd Crucifixion, shown \u2014   \nFaith slips \u2014 and laughs, and rallies \u2014   \nBlushes, if any see \u2014   \nPlucks at a twig of Evidence \u2014   \nAnd asks a Vane, the way \u2014   \nMuch Gesture, from the Pulpit \u2014   \nStrong Hallelujahs roll \u2014   \nNarcotics cannot still the Tooth  \nThat nibbles at the soul \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**At least \u2014 to pray \u2014 is left \u2014 is left \u2014**\n\nAt least \u2014 to pray \u2014 is left \u2014 is left \u2014   \nOh Jesus \u2014 in the Air \u2014   \nI know not which thy chamber is \u2014   \nI'm knocking \u2014 everywhere \u2014\n\nThou settest Earthquake in the South \u2014   \nAnd Maelstrom, in the Sea \u2014   \nSay, Jesus Christ of Nazareth \u2014   \nHast thou no Arm for Me?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Better \u2014 than Music! For I \u2014 who heard it \u2014**\n\nBetter \u2014 than Music! For I \u2014 who heard it \u2014   \nI was used \u2014 to the Birds \u2014 before \u2014   \nThis \u2014 was different \u2014 'Twas Translation \u2014   \nOf all tunes I knew \u2014 and more \u2014\n\n'Twasn't contained \u2014 like other stanza \u2014   \nNo one could play it \u2014 the second time \u2014   \nBut the Composer \u2014 perfect Mozart \u2014   \nPerish with him \u2014 that Keyless Rhyme!\n\nSo \u2014 Children \u2014 told how Brooks in Eden \u2014   \nBubbled a better \u2014 Melody \u2014   \nQuaintly infer \u2014 Eve's great surrender \u2014   \nUrging the feet \u2014 that would \u2014 not \u2014 fly \u2014\n\nChildren \u2014 matured \u2014 are wiser \u2014 mostly \u2014   \nEden \u2014 a legend \u2014 dimly told \u2014   \nEve \u2014 and the Anguish \u2014 Grandame's story \u2014   \nBut \u2014 I was telling a tune \u2014 I heard \u2014\n\nNot such a strain \u2014 the Church \u2014 baptizes \u2014   \nWhen the last Saint \u2014 goes up the Aisles \u2014   \nNot such a stanza splits the silence \u2014   \nWhen the Redemption strikes her Bells \u2014\n\nLet me not spill \u2014 its smallest cadence \u2014   \nHumming \u2014 for promise \u2014 when alone \u2014   \nHumming \u2014 until my faint Rehearsal \u2014   \nDrop into tune \u2014 around the Throne \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You know that Portrait in the Moon \u2014**\n\nYou know that Portrait in the Moon \u2014   \nSo tell me who 'tis like \u2014   \nThe very Brow \u2014 the stooping eyes \u2014   \nA fog for \u2014 Say \u2014 Whose Sake?\n\nThe very Pattern of the Cheek \u2014   \nIt varies \u2014 in the Chin \u2014   \nBut \u2014 Ishmael \u2014 since we met \u2014 'tis long \u2014   \nAnd fashions \u2014 intervene \u2014\n\nWhen Moon's at full \u2014 'Tis Thou \u2014 I say \u2014   \nMy lips just hold the name \u2014   \nWhen crescent \u2014 Thou art worn \u2014 I note \u2014   \nBut \u2014 there \u2014 the Golden Same \u2014\n\nAnd when \u2014 Some Night \u2014 Bold \u2014 slashing Clouds  \nCut Thee away from Me \u2014   \nThat's easier \u2014 than the other film  \nThat glazes Holiday \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I would not paint \u2014 a picture \u2014**\n\nI would not paint \u2014 a picture \u2014   \nI'd rather be the One  \nIts bright impossibility  \nTo dwell \u2014 delicious \u2014 on \u2014   \nAnd wonder how the fingers feel  \nWhose rare \u2014 celestial \u2014 stir \u2014   \nEvokes so sweet a Torment \u2014   \nSuch sumptuous \u2014 Despair \u2014\n\nI would not talk, like Cornets \u2014   \nI'd rather be the One  \nRaised softly to the Ceilings \u2014   \nAnd out, and easy on \u2014   \nThrough Villages of Ether \u2014   \nMyself endued Balloon  \nBy but a lip of Metal \u2014   \nThe pier to my Pontoon \u2014\n\nNor would I be a Poet \u2014   \nIt's finer \u2014 own the Ear \u2014   \nEnamored \u2014 impotent \u2014 content \u2014   \nThe License to revere,  \nA privilege so awful  \nWhat would the Dower be,  \nHad I the Art to stun myself  \nWith Bolts of Melody!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He touched me, so I live to know**\n\nHe touched me, so I live to know  \nThat such a day, permitted so,  \nI groped upon his breast \u2014   \nIt was a boundless place to me  \nAnd silenced, as the awful sea  \nPuts minor streams to rest.\n\nAnd now, I'm different from before,  \nAs if I breathed superior air \u2014   \nOr brushed a Royal Gown \u2014   \nMy feet, too, that had wandered so \u2014   \nMy Gypsy face \u2014 transfigured now \u2014   \nTo tenderer Renown \u2014\n\nInto this Port, if I might come,  \nRebecca, to Jerusalem,  \nWould not so ravished turn \u2014   \nNor Persian, baffled at her shrine  \nLift such a Crucifixial sign  \nTo her imperial Sun.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She sights a Bird \u2014 she chuckles \u2014**\n\nShe sights a Bird \u2014 she chuckles \u2014   \nShe flattens \u2014 then she crawls \u2014   \nShe runs without the look of feet \u2014   \nHer eyes increase to Balls \u2014\n\nHer Jaws stir \u2014 twitching \u2014 hungry \u2014   \nHer Teeth can hardly stand \u2014   \nShe leaps, but Robin leaped the first \u2014   \nAh, Pussy, of the Sand,\n\nThe Hopes so juicy ripening \u2014   \nYou almost bather your Tongue \u2014   \nWhen Bliss disclosed a hundred Toes \u2014   \nAnd fled with every one \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I'm ceded \u2014 I've stopped being Theirs \u2014**\n\nI'm ceded \u2014 I've stopped being Theirs \u2014   \nThe name They dropped upon my face  \nWith water, in the country church  \nIs finished using, now,  \nAnd They can put it with my Dolls,  \nMy childhood, and the string of spools,  \nI've finished threading \u2014 too \u2014\n\nBaptized, before, without the choice,  \nBut this time, consciously, of Grace \u2014   \nUnto supremest name \u2014   \nCalled to my Full \u2014 The Crescent dropped \u2014   \nExistence's whole Arc, filled up,  \nWith one small Diadem.\n\nMy second Rank \u2014 too small the first \u2014   \nCrowned \u2014 Crowing \u2014 on my Father's breast \u2014   \nA half unconscious Queen \u2014   \nBut this time \u2014 Adequate \u2014 Erect,  \nWith Will to choose, or to reject,  \nAnd I choose, just a Crown \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If anybody's friend be dead**\n\nIf anybody's friend be dead  \nIt's sharpest of the theme  \nThe thinking how they walked alive \u2014   \nAt such and such a time \u2014\n\nTheir costume, of a Sunday,  \nSome manner of the Hair \u2014   \nA prank nobody knew but them  \nLost, in the Sepulchre \u2014\n\nHow warm, they were, on such a day,  \nYou almost feel the date \u2014   \nSo short way off it seems \u2014   \nAnd now \u2014 they're Centuries from that \u2014\n\nHow pleased they were, at what you said \u2014   \nYou try to touch the smile  \nAnd dip your fingers in the frost \u2014   \nWhen was it \u2014 Can you tell \u2014\n\nYou asked the Company to tea \u2014   \nAcquaintance \u2014 just a few \u2014   \nAnd chatted close with this Grand Thing  \nThat don't remember you \u2014\n\nPast Bows, and Invitations \u2014   \nPast Interview, and Vow \u2014   \nPast what Ourself can estimate \u2014   \nThat \u2014 makes the Quick of Woe!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It was not Death, for I stood up,**\n\nIt was not Death, for I stood up,  \nAnd all the Dead, lie down \u2014   \nIt was not Night, for all the Bells  \nPut out their Tongues, for Noon.\n\nIt was not Frost, for on my Flesh  \nI felt Siroccos \u2014 crawl \u2014   \nNor Fire \u2014 for just my Marble feet  \nCould keep a Chancel, cool \u2014\n\nAnd yet, it tasted, like them all,  \nThe Figures I have seen  \nSet orderly, for Burial,  \nReminded me, of mine \u2014\n\nAs if my life were shaven,  \nAnd fitted to a frame,  \nAnd could not breathe without a key,  \nAnd 'twas like Midnight, some -\n\nWhen everything that ticked \u2014 has stopped \u2014   \nAnd Space stares all around \u2014   \nOr Grisly frosts \u2014 first Autumn morns,  \nRepeal the Beating Ground \u2014\n\nBut, most, like Chaos - Stopless \u2014 cool \u2014   \nWithout a Chance, or Spar \u2014   \nOr even a Report of Land \u2014   \nTo justify \u2014 Despair.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If you were coming in the Fall,**\n\nIF you were coming in the fall,  \nI'd brush the summer by  \nWith half a smile and half a spurn,  \nAs housewives do a fly.\n\nIf I could see you in a year,  \nI'd wind the months in balls,  \nAnd put them each in separate drawers,  \nUntil their time befalls.\n\nIf only centuries delayed,  \nI'd count them on my hand,  \nSubtracting till my fingers dropped  \nInto Van Diemen's land.\n\nIf certain, when this life was out  \nThat yours and mine should be,  \nI'd toss it yonder like a rind,  \nAnd taste eternity.\n\nBut now, all ignorant of the length\n\nOf time's uncertain wing,\n\nIt goads me, like the goblin bee,\n\nThat will not state its sting.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Soul has Bandaged moments \u2014**\n\nThe Soul has Bandaged moments \u2014   \nWhen too appalled to stir \u2014   \nShe feels some ghastly Fright come up  \nAnd stop to look at her \u2014\n\nSalute her \u2014 with long fingers \u2014   \nCaress her freezing hair \u2014   \nSip, Goblin, from the very lips  \nThe Lover \u2014 hovered \u2014 o'er \u2014   \nUnworthy, that a thought so mean  \nAccost a Theme \u2014 so \u2014 fair \u2014\n\nThe soul has moments of Escape \u2014   \nWhen bursting all the doors \u2014   \nShe dances like a Bomb, abroad,  \nAnd swings upon the Hours,\n\nAs do the Bee \u2014 delirious borne \u2014   \nLong Dungeoned from his Rose \u2014   \nTouch Liberty \u2014 then know no more,  \nBut Noon, and Paradise \u2014\n\nThe Soul's retaken moments \u2014   \nWhen, Felon led along,  \nWith shackles on the plumed feet,  \nAnd staples, in the Song,\n\nThe Horror welcomes her, again,  \nThese, are not brayed of Tongue \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews,**\n\nLike Flowers, that heard the news of Dews,  \nBut never deemed the dripping prize  \nAwaited their \u2014 low Brows \u2014   \nOr Bees \u2014 that thought the Summer's name  \nSome rumor of Delirium,  \nNo Summer \u2014 could \u2014 for Them \u2014\n\nOr Arctic Creatures, dimly stirred \u2014   \nBy Tropic Hint \u2014 some Travelled Bird  \nImported to the Wood \u2014\n\nOr Wind's bright signal to the Ear \u2014   \nMaking that homely, and severe,  \nContented, known, before \u2014\n\nThe Heaven \u2014 unexpected come,  \nTo Lives that thought the Worshipping  \nA too presumptuous Psalm \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Her smile was shaped like other smiles \u2014**\n\nHer smile was shaped like other smiles \u2014   \nThe Dimples ran along \u2014   \nAnd still it hurt you, as some Bird  \nDid hoist herself, to sing,  \nThen recollect a Ball, she got \u2014   \nAnd hold upon the Twig,  \nConvulsive, while the Music broke \u2014   \nLike Beads \u2014 among the Bog \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No Crowd that has occurred**\n\nNo Crowd that has occurred  \nExhibit \u2014 I suppose  \nThat General Attendance  \nThat Resurrection \u2014 does \u2014\n\nCircumference be full \u2014   \nThe long restricted Grave  \nAssert her Vital Privilege \u2014   \nThe Dust \u2014 connect \u2014 and live \u2014\n\nOn Atoms \u2014 features place \u2014   \nAll Multitudes that were  \nEfface in the Comparison \u2014   \nAs Suns \u2014 dissolve a star \u2014\n\nSolemnity \u2014 prevail \u2014   \nIts Individual Doom  \nPossess each separate Consciousness \u2014   \nAugust \u2014 Absorbed \u2014 Numb \u2014\n\nWhat Duplicate \u2014 exist \u2014   \nWhat Parallel can be \u2014   \nOf the Significance of This \u2014   \nTo Universe \u2014 and Me?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Beauty \u2014 be not caused \u2014 It Is \u2014**\n\nBeauty \u2014 be not caused \u2014 It Is \u2014   \nChase it, and it ceases \u2014   \nChase it not, and it abides \u2014\n\nOvertake the Creases\n\nIn the Meadow \u2014 when the Wind  \nRuns his fingers thro' it \u2014   \nDeity will see to it  \nThat You never do it \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He parts Himself \u2014 like Leaves \u2014**\n\nHe parts Himself \u2014 like Leaves \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 He closes up \u2014   \nThen stands upon the Bonnet  \nOf Any Buttercup \u2014\n\nAnd then He runs against  \nAnd oversets a Rose \u2014   \nAnd then does Nothing \u2014   \nThen away upon a Jib \u2014 He goes \u2014\n\nAnd dangles like a Mote  \nSuspended in the Noon \u2014   \nUncertain \u2014 to return Below \u2014   \nOr settle in the Moon \u2014\n\nWhat come of Him \u2014 at Night \u2014   \nThe privilege to say  \nBe limited by Ignorance \u2014   \nWhat come of Him \u2014 That Day \u2014\n\nThe Frost \u2014 possess the World \u2014   \nIn Cabinets \u2014 be shown \u2014   \nA Sepulchre of quaintest Floss \u2014   \nAn Abbey \u2014 a Cocoon \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Her sweet Weight on my Heart a Night**\n\nHer sweet Weight on my Heart a Night  \nHad scarcely deigned to lie \u2014   \nWhen, stirring, for Belief's delight,  \nMy Bride had slipped away \u2014\n\nIf 'twas a Dream \u2014 made solid \u2014 just  \nThe Heaven to confirm \u2014   \nOr if Myself were dreamed of Her \u2014   \nThe power to presume \u2014\n\nWith Him remain \u2014 who unto Me \u2014   \nGave \u2014 even as to All \u2014   \nA Fiction superseding Faith \u2014   \nBy so much \u2014 as 'twas real \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas warm \u2014 at first \u2014 like Us \u2014**\n\n'Twas warm \u2014 at first \u2014 like Us \u2014   \nUntil there crept upon  \nA Chill \u2014 like frost upon a Glass \u2014   \nTill all the scene \u2014 be gone.\n\nThe Forehead copied Stone \u2014   \nThe Fingers grew too cold  \nTo ache \u2014 and like a Skater's Brook \u2014   \nThe busy eyes \u2014 congealed \u2014\n\nIt straightened \u2014 that was all \u2014   \nIt crowded Cold to Cold \u2014   \nIt multiplied indifference \u2014   \nAs Pride were all it could \u2014\n\nAnd even when with Cords \u2014   \n'Twas lowered, like a Weight \u2014   \nIt made no Signal, nor demurred,  \nBut dropped like Adamant.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I started Early \u2014 Took my Dog \u2014**\n\nI started Early \u2014 Took my Dog \u2014   \nAnd visited the Sea \u2014   \nThe Mermaids in the Basement  \nCame out to look at me \u2014\n\nAnd Frigates \u2014 in the Upper Floor  \nExtended Hempen Hands \u2014   \nPresuming Me to be a Mouse \u2014   \nAground \u2014 upon the Sands \u2014\n\nBut no Man moved Me \u2014 till the Tide  \nWent past my simple Shoe \u2014   \nAnd past my Apron \u2014 and my Belt \u2014   \nAnd past my Bodice \u2014 too \u2014\n\nAnd made as He would eat me up \u2014   \nAs wholly as a Dew  \nUpon a Dandelion's Sleeve \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 I started \u2014 too \u2014\n\nAnd He \u2014 He followed \u2014 close behind \u2014   \nI felt his Silver Heel  \nUpon my Ankle \u2014 Then my Shoes  \nWould overflow with Pearl \u2014\n\nUntil We met the Solid Town \u2014   \nNo One He seemed to know \u2014   \nAnd bowing \u2014 with a Mighty look \u2014   \nAt me \u2014 The Sea withdrew \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Endow the Living \u2014 with the Tears \u2014**\n\nEndow the Living \u2014 with the Tears \u2014   \nYou squander on the Dead,  \nAnd They were Men and Women \u2014 now,  \nAround Your Fireside \u2014\n\nInstead of Passive Creatures,  \nDenied the Cherishing  \nTill They \u2014 the Cherishing deny \u2014   \nWith Death's Ethereal Scorn \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Had I presumed to hope \u2014**\n\nHad I presumed to hope \u2014   \nThe loss had been to Me  \nA Value \u2014 for the Greatness' Sake \u2014   \nAs Giants \u2014 gone away \u2014\n\nHad I presumed to gain  \nA Favor so remote \u2014   \nThe failure but confirm the Grace  \nIn further Infinite \u2014\n\n'Tis failure \u2014 not of Hope \u2014   \nBut Confident Despair \u2014   \nAdvancing on Celestial Lists \u2014   \nWith faint \u2014 Terrestial power \u2014\n\n'Tis Honor \u2014 though I die \u2014   \nFor That no Man obtain  \nTill He be justified by Death \u2014   \nThis \u2014 is the Second Gain \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sweet \u2014 You forgot \u2014 but I remembered**\n\nSweet \u2014 You forgot \u2014 but I remembered  \nEvery time \u2014 for Two \u2014   \nSo that the Sum be never hindered  \nThrough Decay of You \u2014\n\nSay if I erred? Accuse my Farthings \u2014   \nBlame the little Hand  \nHappy it be for You \u2014 a Beggar's \u2014   \nSeeking More \u2014 to spend \u2014\n\nJust to be Rich \u2014 to waste my Guineas  \nOn so Best a Heart \u2014   \nJust to be Poor \u2014 for Barefoot Vision  \nYou \u2014 Sweet \u2014 Shut me out \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Departed \u2014 to the Judgment \u2014**\n\nDEPARTED to the judgment,  \nA mighty afternoon ;  \nGreat clouds like ushers leaning,  \nCreation looking on.\n\nThe flesh surrendered, cancelled,  \nThe bodiless begun ;  \nTwo worlds, like audiences, disperse  \nAnd leave the soul alone.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I think the Hemlock likes to stand**\n\nI think the Hemlock likes to stand  \nUpon a Marge of Snow \u2014   \nIt suits his own Austerity \u2014   \nAnd satisfies an awe\n\nThat men, must slake in Wilderness \u2014   \nAnd in the Desert \u2014 cloy \u2014   \nAn instinct for the Hoar, the Bald \u2014   \nLapland's \u2014 necessity \u2014\n\nThe Hemlock's nature thrives \u2014 on cold \u2014   \nThe Gnash of Northern winds  \nIs sweetest nutriment \u2014 to him \u2014   \nHis best Norwegian Wines \u2014\n\nTo satin Races \u2014 he is nought \u2014   \nBut Children on the Don,  \nBeneath his Tabernacles, play,  \nAnd Dnieper Wrestlers, run.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To hear an Oriole sing**\n\nTo hear an Oriole sing  \nMay be a common thing \u2014   \nOr only a divine.\n\nIt is not of the Bird  \nWho sings the same, unheard,  \nAs unto Crowd \u2014\n\nThe Fashion of the Ear  \nAttireth that it hear  \nIn Dun, or fair \u2014\n\nSo whether it be Rune,  \nOr whether it be none  \nIs of within.\n\nThe \"Tune is in the Tree \u2014 \"  \nThe Skeptic \u2014 showeth me \u2014   \n\"No Sir! In Thee!\"\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To put this World down, like a Bundle \u2014**\n\nTo put this World down, like a Bundle \u2014   \nAnd walk steady, away,  \nRequires Energy \u2014 possibly Agony \u2014   \n'Tis the Scarlet way\n\nTrodden with straight renunciation  \nBy the Son of God \u2014   \nLater, his faint Confederates  \nJustify the Road \u2014\n\nFlavors of that old Crucifixion \u2014   \nFilaments of Bloom, Pontius Pilate sowed \u2014   \nStrong Clusters, from Barabbas' Tomb \u2014\n\nSacrament, Saints partook before us \u2014   \nPatent, every drop,  \nWith the Brand of the Gentile Drinker  \nWho indorsed the Cup \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Mine \u2014 by the Right of the White Election!**\n\nMine \u2014 by the Right of the White Election!  \nMine \u2014 by the Royal Seal!  \nMine \u2014 by the Sign in the Scarlet prison \u2014   \nBars \u2014 cannot conceal!\n\nMine \u2014 here \u2014 in Vision \u2014 and in Veto!  \nMine \u2014 by the Grave's Repeal \u2014   \nTilted \u2014 Confirmed \u2014   \nDelirious Charter!  \nMine \u2014 long as Ages steal!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I'm sorry for the Dead \u2014 Today \u2014**\n\nI'm sorry for the Dead \u2014 Today \u2014   \nIt's such congenial times  \nOld Neighbors have at fences \u2014   \nIt's time o' year for Hay.\n\nAnd Broad \u2014 Sunburned Acquaintance  \nDiscourse between the Toil \u2014   \nAnd laugh, a homely species  \nThat makes the Fences smile \u2014\n\nIt seems so straight to lie away  \nFrom all of the noise of Fields \u2014   \nThe Busy Carts \u2014 the fragrant Cocks \u2014   \nThe Mower's Metre \u2014 Steals \u2014\n\nA Trouble lest they're homesick \u2014   \nThose Farmers \u2014 and their Wives \u2014   \nSet separate from the Farming \u2014   \nAnd all the Neighbors' lives \u2014\n\nA Wonder if the Sepulchre  \nDon't feel a lonesome way \u2014   \nWhen Men \u2014 and Boys \u2014 and Carts \u2014 and June,  \nGo down the Fields to \"Hay\" \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You cannot put a Fire out \u2014**\n\nYou cannot put a Fire out \u2014   \nA Thing that can ignite  \nCan go, itself, without a Fan \u2014   \nUpon the slowest Night \u2014\n\nYou cannot fold a Flood \u2014   \nAnd put it in a Drawer \u2014   \nBecause the Winds would find it out \u2014   \nAnd tell your Cedar Floor \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We dream \u2014 it is good we are dreaming \u2014**\n\nWe dream \u2014 it is good we are dreaming \u2014   \nIt would hurt us \u2014 were we awake \u2014   \nBut since it is playing \u2014 kill us,  \nAnd we are playing \u2014 shriek \u2014\n\nWhat harm? Men die \u2014 externally \u2014   \nIt is a truth \u2014 of Blood \u2014   \nBut we \u2014 are dying in Drama \u2014   \nAnd Drama \u2014 is never dead \u2014\n\nCautious \u2014 We jar each other \u2014   \nAnd either \u2014 open the eyes \u2014   \nLest the Phantasm \u2014 prove the Mistake \u2014   \nAnd the livid Surprise\n\nCool us to Shafts of Granite \u2014   \nWith just an Age \u2014 and Name \u2014   \nAnd perhaps a phrase in Egyptian \u2014   \nIt's prudenter \u2014 to dream \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I tried to think a lonelier Thing**\n\nI tried to think a lonelier Thing  \nThan any I had seen \u2014   \nSome Polar Expiation \u2014 An Omen in the Bone  \nOf Death's tremendous nearness \u2014\n\nI probed Retrieveless things  \nMy Duplicate \u2014 to borrow \u2014   \nA Haggard Comfort springs\n\nFrom the belief that Somewhere \u2014   \nWithin the Clutch of Thought \u2014   \nThere dwells one other Creature  \nOf Heavenly Love \u2014 forgot \u2014\n\nI plucked at our Partition  \nAs One should pry the Walls \u2014   \nBetween Himself \u2014 and Horror's Twin \u2014   \nWithin Opposing Cells \u2014\n\nI almost strove to clasp his Hand,  \nSuch Luxury \u2014 it grew \u2014   \nThat as Myself \u2014 could pity Him \u2014   \nPerhaps he \u2014 pitied me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Two butterflies went out at Noon \u2014**\n\nTwo butterflies went out at Noon \u2014   \nAnd waltzed upon a Farm \u2014   \nThen stepped straight through the Firmament  \nAnd rested, on a Beam \u2014\n\nAnd then \u2014 together bore away  \nUpon a shining Sea \u2014   \nThough never yet, in any Port \u2014   \nTheir coming, mentioned \u2014 be \u2014\n\nIf spoken by the distant Bird \u2014   \nIf met in Ether Sea  \nBy Frigate, or by Merchantman \u2014   \nNo notice \u2014 was \u2014 to me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We see \u2014 Comparatively \u2014**\n\nWe see \u2014 Comparatively \u2014   \nThe Thing so towering high  \nWe could not grasp its segment  \nUnaided \u2014 Yesterday \u2014\n\nThis Morning's finer Verdict \u2014   \nMakes scarcely worth the toil \u2014   \nA furrow \u2014 Our Cordillera \u2014   \nOur Apennine \u2014 a Knoll \u2014\n\nPerhaps 'tis kindly \u2014 done us \u2014   \nThe Anguish \u2014 and the loss \u2014   \nThe wrenching \u2014 for His Firmament  \nThe Thing belonged to us \u2014\n\nTo spare these Striding Spirits  \nSome Morning of Chagrin \u2014   \nThe waking in a Gnat's \u2014 embrace \u2014   \nOur Giants \u2014 further on \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She's happy, with a new Content \u2014**\n\nShe's happy, with a new Content \u2014   \nThat feels to her \u2014 like Sacrament \u2014   \nShe's busy \u2014 with an altered Care \u2014   \nAs just apprenticed to the Air \u2014\n\nShe's tearful \u2014 if she weep at all \u2014   \nFor blissful Causes \u2014 Most of all  \nThat Heaven permit so meek as her \u2014   \nTo such a Fate \u2014 to Minister.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Heart asks Pleasure \u2014 first \u2014**\n\nTHE heart asks pleasure first,  \nAnd then, excuse from pain ;  \nAnd then, those little anodynes  \nThat deaden suffering ;\n\nAnd then, to go to sleep ;  \nAnd then, if it should be  \nThe will of its Inquisitor,  \nThe liberty to die.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Me prove it now \u2014 Whoever doubt**\n\nMe prove it now \u2014 Whoever doubt  \nMe stop to prove it \u2014 now \u2014   \nMake haste \u2014 the Scruple! Death be scant  \nFor Opportunity \u2014\n\nThe River reaches to my feet \u2014   \nAs yet \u2014 My Heart be dry \u2014   \nOh Lover \u2014 Life could not convince \u2014   \nMight Death \u2014 enable Thee \u2014\n\nThe River reaches to My Breast \u2014   \nStill \u2014 still \u2014 My Hands above  \nProclaim with their remaining Might \u2014   \nDost recognize the Love?\n\nThe River reaches to my Mouth \u2014   \nRemember \u2014 when the Sea  \nSwept by my searching eyes \u2014 the last \u2014   \nThemselves were quick \u2014 with Thee!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis true \u2014 They shut me in the Cold \u2014**\n\n'Tis true \u2014 They shut me in the Cold \u2014   \nBut then \u2014 Themselves were warm  \nAnd could not know the feeling 'twas \u2014   \nForget it \u2014 Lord \u2014 of Them \u2014\n\nLet not my Witness hinder Them  \nIn Heavenly esteem \u2014   \nNo Paradise could be \u2014 Conferred  \nThrough Their beloved Blame \u2014\n\nThe Harm They did \u2014 was short \u2014 And since  \nMyself \u2014 who bore it \u2014 do \u2014   \nForgive Them \u2014 Even as Myself \u2014   \nOr else \u2014 forgive not me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Province of the Saved**\n\nThe Province of the Saved  \nShould be the Art \u2014 To save \u2014   \nThrough Skill obtained in Themselves \u2014   \nThe Science of the Grave\n\nNo Man can understand  \nBut He that hath endured  \nThe Dissolution \u2014 in Himself \u2014   \nThat Man \u2014 be qualified\n\nTo qualify Despair  \nTo Those who failing new \u2014   \nMistake Defeat for Death \u2014 Each time \u2014   \nTill acclimated \u2014 to \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I took my Power in my Hand \u2014**\n\nI took my Power in my Hand \u2014   \nAnd went against the World \u2014   \n'Twas not so much as David \u2014 had \u2014   \nBut I \u2014 was twice as bold \u2014\n\nI aimed by Pebble \u2014 but Myself  \nWas all the one that fell \u2014   \nWas it Goliath \u2014 was too large \u2014   \nOr was myself \u2014 too small?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Some such Butterfly be seen**\n\nSome such Butterfly be seen  \nOn Brazilian Pampas \u2014   \nJust at noon \u2014 no later \u2014 Sweet \u2014   \nThen \u2014 the License closes \u2014\n\nSome such Spice \u2014 express and pass \u2014   \nSubject to Your Plucking \u2014   \nAs the Stars \u2014 You knew last Night \u2014   \nForeigners \u2014 This Morning \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I had no Cause to be awake \u2014**\n\nI had no Cause to be awake \u2014   \nMy Best \u2014 was gone to sleep \u2014   \nAnd Morn a new politeness took \u2014   \nAnd failed to wake them up \u2014\n\nBut called the others \u2014 clear \u2014   \nAnd passed their Curtains by \u2014   \nSweet Morning \u2014 when I oversleep \u2014   \nKnock \u2014 Recollect \u2014 to Me \u2014\n\nI looked at Sunrise \u2014 Once \u2014   \nAnd then I looked at Them \u2014   \nAnd wishfulness in me arose \u2014   \nFor Circumstance the same \u2014\n\n'Twas such an Ample Peace \u2014   \nIt could not hold a Sigh \u2014   \n'Twas Sabbath \u2014 with the Bells divorced \u2014   \n'Twas Sunset \u2014 all the Day \u2014\n\nSo choosing but a Gown \u2014   \nAnd taking but a Prayer \u2014   \nThe only Raiment I should need \u2014   \nI struggled \u2014 and was There \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I fear a Man of frugal Speech \u2014**\n\nI fear a Man of frugal Speech \u2014   \nI fear a Silent Man \u2014   \nHaranguer \u2014 I can overtake \u2014   \nOr Babbler \u2014 entertain \u2014\n\nBut He who weigheth \u2014 While the Rest \u2014   \nExpend their furthest pound \u2014   \nOf this Man \u2014 I am wary \u2014   \nI fear that He is Grand \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Martyr Poets \u2014 did not tell \u2014**\n\nThe Martyr Poets \u2014 did not tell \u2014   \nBut wrought their Pang in syllable \u2014   \nThat when their mortal name be numb \u2014   \nTheir mortal fate \u2014 encourage Some \u2014\n\nThe Martyr Painters \u2014 never spoke \u2014   \nBequeathing \u2014 rather \u2014 to their Work \u2014   \nThat when their conscious fingers cease \u2014   \nSome seek in Art \u2014 the Art of Peace \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis One by One \u2014 the Father counts \u2014**\n\n'Tis One by One \u2014 the Father counts \u2014   \nAnd then a Tract between  \nSet Cypherless \u2014 to teach the Eye  \nThe Value of its Ten \u2014\n\nUntil the peevish Student  \nAcquire the Quick of Skill \u2014   \nThen Numerals are dowered back \u2014   \nAdorning all the Rule \u2014\n\n'Tis mostly Slate and Pencil \u2014   \nAnd Darkness on the School  \nDistracts the Children's fingers \u2014   \nStill the Eternal Rule\n\nRegards least Cypherer alike  \nWith Leader of the Band \u2014   \nAnd every separate Urchin's Sum \u2014   \nIs fashioned for his hand \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To fill a Gap**\n\nTo fill a Gap  \nInsert the Thing that caused it \u2014   \nBlock it up  \nWith Other \u2014 and 'twill yawn the more \u2014   \nYou cannot solder an Abyss  \nWith Air.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I've seen a Dying Eye**\n\nI'VE seen a dying eye  \nRun round and round a room  \nIn search of something, as it seemed,  \nThen cloudier become ;  \nAnd then, obscure with fog,  \nAnd then be soldered down,  \nWithout disclosing what it be,  \n'T were blessed to have seen.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Death is potential to that Man**\n\nDeath is potential to that Man  \nWho dies \u2014 and to his friend \u2014   \nBeyond that \u2014 unconspicuous  \nTo Anyone but God \u2014\n\nOf these Two \u2014 God remembers  \nThe longest \u2014 for the friend \u2014   \nIs integral \u2014 and therefore  \nItself dissolved \u2014 of God \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That I did always love**\n\nThat I did always love  \nI bring thee Proof  \nThat till I loved  \nI never lived \u2014 Enough \u2014\n\nThat I shall love alway \u2014   \nI argue thee  \nThat love is life \u2014   \nAnd life hath Immortality \u2014\n\nThis \u2014 dost thou doubt \u2014 Sweet \u2014   \nThen have I  \nNothing to show  \nBut Calvary \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I cross till I am weary**\n\nI cross till I am weary  \nA Mountain \u2014 in my mind \u2014   \nMore Mountains \u2014 then a Sea \u2014   \nMore Seas \u2014 And then  \nA Desert \u2014 find \u2014\n\nAnd My Horizon blocks  \nWith steady \u2014 drifting \u2014 Grains  \nOf unconjectured quantity \u2014   \nAs Asiatic Rains \u2014\n\nNor this \u2014 defeat my Pace \u2014   \nIt hinder from the West  \nBut as an Enemy's Salute  \nOne hurrying to Rest \u2014\n\nWhat merit had the Goal \u2014   \nExcept there intervene  \nFaint Doubt \u2014 and far Competitor \u2014   \nTo jeopardize the Gain?\n\nAt last \u2014 the Grace in sight \u2014   \nI shout unto my feet \u2014   \nI offer them the Whole of Heaven  \nThe instant that we meet \u2014\n\nThey strive \u2014 and yet delay \u2014   \nThey perish \u2014 Do we die \u2014   \nOr is this Death's Experiment \u2014   \nReversed \u2014 in Victory?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is a Shame of Nobleness \u2014**\n\nThere is a Shame of Nobleness \u2014   \nConfronting Sudden Pelf \u2014   \nA finer Shame of Ecstasy \u2014   \nConvicted of Itself \u2014\n\nA best Disgrace \u2014 a Brave Man feels \u2014   \nAcknowledged \u2014 of the Brave \u2014   \nOne More \u2014 \"Ye Blessed\" \u2014 to be told \u2014   \nBut that's \u2014 Behind the Grave \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**An ignorance a Sunset**\n\nAn ignorance a Sunset  \nConfer upon the Eye \u2014   \nOf Territory \u2014 Color \u2014   \nCircumference \u2014 Decay \u2014\n\nIts Amber Revelation  \nExhilirate \u2014 Debase \u2014   \nOmnipotence' inspection  \nOf Our inferior face \u2014\n\nAnd when the solemn features  \nConfirm \u2014 in Victory \u2014   \nWe start \u2014 as if detected  \nIn Immortality \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One Crucifixion is recorded \u2014 only \u2014**\n\nOne Crucifixion is recorded \u2014 only \u2014   \nHow many be  \nIs not affirmed of Mathematics \u2014   \nOr History \u2014\n\nOne Calvary \u2014 exhibited to Stranger \u2014   \nAs many be  \nAs persons \u2014 or Peninsulas \u2014   \nGethsemane \u2014\n\nIs but a Province \u2014 in the Being's Centre \u2014   \nJudea \u2014   \nFor Journey \u2014 or Crusade's Achieving \u2014   \nToo near \u2014\n\nOur Lord \u2014 indeed \u2014 made Compound Witness \u2014   \nAnd yet \u2014   \nThere's newer \u2014 nearer Crucifixion  \nThan That \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Black Berry \u2014 wears a Thorn in his side \u2014**\n\nThe Black Berry \u2014 wears a Thorn in his side \u2014   \nBut no Man heard Him cry \u2014   \nHe offers His Berry, just the same  \nTo Partridge \u2014 and to Boy \u2014\n\nHe sometimes holds upon the Fence \u2014   \nOr struggles to a Tree \u2014   \nOr clasps a Rock, with both His Hands \u2014   \nBut not for Sympathy \u2014\n\nWe \u2014 tell a Hurt \u2014 to cool it \u2014   \nThis Mourner \u2014 to the Sky  \nA little further reaches \u2014 instead \u2014   \nBrave Black Berry \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Trust in the Unexpected \u2014**\n\nTrust in the Unexpected \u2014   \nBy this \u2014 was William Kidd  \nPersuaded of the Buried Gold \u2014   \nAs One had testified \u2014\n\nThrough this \u2014 the old Philosopher \u2014   \nHis Talismanic Stone  \nDiscerned \u2014 still withholden  \nTo effort undivine \u2014\n\n'Twas this \u2014 allured Columbus \u2014   \nWhen Genoa \u2014 withdrew  \nBefore an Apparition  \nBaptized America \u2014\n\nThe Same \u2014 afflicted Thomas \u2014   \nWhen Deity assured  \n'Twas better \u2014 the perceiving not \u2014   \nProvided it believed \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Brain, within its Groove**\n\n_two slightly different versions;_\n\nTHE brain within its groove  \nRuns evenly and true ;  \nBut let a splinter swerve,  \n'T were easier for you  \nTo put the water back  \nWhen floods have slit the hills,  \nAnd scooped a turnpike for themselves,  \nAnd blotted out the mills !\n\nThe Brain, within its Groove  \nRuns evenly \u2014 and true \u2014   \nBut let a Splinter swerve \u2014   \n'Twere easier for You \u2014\n\nTo put a Current back \u2014   \nWhen Floods have slit the Hills \u2014   \nAnd scooped a Turnpike for Themselves \u2014   \nAnd trodden out the Mills \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She hideth Her the last \u2014**\n\nShe hideth Her the last \u2014   \nAnd is the first, to rise \u2014   \nHer Night doth hardly recompense  \nThe Closing of Her eyes \u2014\n\nShe doth Her Purple Work \u2014   \nAnd putteth Her away  \nIn low Apartments in the Sod -  \nAs worthily as We.\n\nTo imitate her life  \nAs impotent would be  \nAs make of Our imperfect Mints,  \nThe Julep \u2014 of the Bee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**But little Carmine hath her face \u2014**\n\nBut little Carmine hath her face \u2014   \nOf Emerald scant \u2014 her Gown \u2014   \nHer Beauty \u2014 is the love she doth \u2014   \nItself \u2014 exhibit \u2014 Mine \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It knew no Medicine \u2014**\n\nIt knew no Medicine \u2014   \nIt was not Sickness \u2014 then \u2014   \nNor any need of Surgery \u2014   \nAnd therefore \u2014 'twas not Pain \u2014\n\nIt moved away the Cheeks \u2014   \nA Dimple at a time \u2014   \nAnd left the Profile \u2014 plainer \u2014   \nAnd in the place of Bloom\n\nIt left the little Tint  \nThat never had a Name \u2014   \nYou've seen it on a Cast's face \u2014   \nWas Paradise \u2014 to blame \u2014\n\nIf momently ajar \u2014   \nTemerity \u2014 drew near \u2014   \nAnd sickened \u2014 ever afterward  \nFor Somewhat that it saw?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation \u2014**\n\nIt knew no lapse, nor Diminuation \u2014   \nBut large \u2014 serene \u2014   \nBurned on \u2014 until through Dissolution \u2014   \nIt failed from Men \u2014\n\nI could not deem these Planetary forces  \nAnnulled \u2014   \nBut suffered an Exchange of Territory \u2014   \nOr World \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I measure every Grief I meet**\n\nI measure every Grief I meet  \nWith narrow, probing, Eyes \u2014   \nI wonder if It weighs like Mine \u2014   \nOr has an Easier size.\n\nI wonder if They bore it long \u2014   \nOr did it just begin \u2014   \nI could not tell the Date of Mine \u2014   \nIt feels so old a pain \u2014\n\nI wonder if it hurts to live \u2014   \nAnd if They have to try \u2014   \nAnd whether \u2014 could They choose between \u2014   \nIt would not be \u2014 to die \u2014\n\nI note that Some \u2014 gone patient long \u2014   \nAt length, renew their smile \u2014   \nAn imitation of a Light  \nThat has so little Oil \u2014\n\nI wonder if when Years have piled \u2014   \nSome Thousands \u2014 on the Harm \u2014   \nThat hurt them early \u2014 such a lapse  \nCould give them any Balm \u2014\n\nOr would they go on aching still  \nThrough Centuries of Nerve \u2014   \nEnlightened to a larger Pain -  \nIn Contrast with the Love \u2014\n\nThe Grieved \u2014 are many \u2014 I am told \u2014   \nThere is the various Cause \u2014   \nDeath \u2014 is but one \u2014 and comes but once \u2014   \nAnd only nails the eyes \u2014\n\nThere's Grief of Want \u2014 and Grief of Cold \u2014   \nA sort they call \"Despair\" \u2014   \nThere's Banishment from native Eyes \u2014   \nIn sight of Native Air \u2014\n\nAnd though I may not guess the kind \u2014   \nCorrectly \u2014 yet to me  \nA piercing Comfort it affords  \nIn passing Calvary \u2014\n\nTo note the fashions \u2014 of the Cross \u2014   \nAnd how they're mostly worn \u2014   \nStill fascinated to presume  \nThat Some \u2014 are like My Own \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Conjecturing a Climate**\n\nConjecturing a Climate  \nOf unsuspended Suns \u2014   \nAdds poignancy to Winter \u2014   \nThe Shivering Fancy turns\n\nTo a fictitious Country  \nTo palliate a Cold \u2014   \nNot obviated of Degree \u2014   \nNor erased \u2014 of Latitude \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I could not prove the Years had feet \u2014**\n\nI could not prove the Years had feet \u2014   \nYet confident they run  \nAm I, from symptoms that are past  \nAnd Series that are done \u2014\n\nI find my feet have further Goals \u2014   \nI smile upon the Aims  \nThat felt so ample \u2014 Yesterday \u2014   \nToday's \u2014 have vaster claims \u2014\n\nI do not doubt the self I was  \nWas competent to me \u2014   \nBut something awkward in the fit \u2014   \nProves that \u2014 outgrown \u2014 I see \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My period had come for Prayer \u2014**\n\nMy period had come for Prayer \u2014   \nNo other Art \u2014 would do \u2014   \nMy Tactics missed a rudiment \u2014   \nCreator \u2014 Was it you?\n\nGod grows above \u2014 so those who pray  \nHorizons \u2014 must ascend \u2014   \nAnd so I stepped upon the North  \nTo see this Curious Friend \u2014\n\nHis House was not \u2014 no sign had He \u2014   \nBy Chimney \u2014 nor by Door  \nCould I infer his Residence \u2014   \nVast Prairies of Air\n\nUnbroken by a Settler \u2014   \nWere all that I could see \u2014   \nInfinitude \u2014 Had'st Thou no Face  \nThat I might look on Thee?\n\nThe Silence condescended \u2014   \nCreation stopped \u2014 for Me \u2014   \nBut awed beyond my errand \u2014   \nI worshipped \u2014 did not \"pray\" \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One Anguish \u2014 in a Crowd \u2014**\n\nOne Anguish \u2014 in a Crowd \u2014   \nA Minor thing \u2014 it sounds \u2014   \nAnd yet, unto the single Doe  \nAttempted of the Hounds\n\n'Tis Terror as consummate  \nAs Legions of Alarm  \nDid leap, full flanked, upon the Host \u2014   \n'Tis Units \u2014 make the Swarm \u2014\n\nA Small Leech \u2014 on the Vitals \u2014   \nThe sliver, in the Lung \u2014   \nThe Bung out \u2014 of an Artery \u2014   \nAre scarce accounted \u2014 Harms \u2014\n\nYet might \u2014 by relation  \nTo that Repealless thing \u2014   \nA Being \u2014 impotent to end \u2014   \nWhen once it has begun \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Dying Tiger \u2014 moaned for Drink \u2014**\n\nA Dying Tiger \u2014 moaned for Drink \u2014   \nI hunted all the Sand \u2014   \nI caught the Dripping of a Rock  \nAnd bore it in my Hand \u2014\n\nHis Mighty Balls \u2014 in death were thick \u2014   \nBut searching \u2014 I could see  \nA Vision on the Retina  \nOf Water \u2014 and of me \u2014\n\n'Twas not my blame \u2014 who sped too slow \u2014   \n'Twas not his blame \u2014 who died  \nWhile I was reaching him \u2014   \nBut 'twas \u2014 the fact that He was dead \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He gave away his Life \u2014**\n\nHe gave away his Life \u2014   \nTo Us \u2014 Gigantic Sum \u2014   \nA trifle \u2014 in his own esteem \u2014   \nBut magnified \u2014 by Fame \u2014\n\nUntil it burst the Hearts  \nThat fancied they could hold \u2014   \nWhen swift it slipped its limit \u2014   \nAnd on the Heavens \u2014 unrolled \u2014\n\n'Tis Ours \u2014 to wince \u2014 and weep \u2014   \nAnd wonder \u2014 and decay  \nBy Blossoms gradual process \u2014   \nHe chose \u2014 Maturity \u2014\n\nAnd quickening \u2014 as we sowed \u2014   \nJust obviated Bud \u2014   \nAnd when We turned to note the Growth \u2014   \nBroke \u2014 perfect \u2014 from the Pod \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We learned the Whole of Love \u2014**\n\nWe learned the Whole of Love \u2014   \nThe Alphabet \u2014 the Words \u2014   \nA Chapter \u2014 then the mighty Book \u2014   \nThen \u2014 Revelation closed \u2014\n\nBut in Each Other's eyes  \nAn Ignorance beheld \u2014   \nDiviner than the Childhood's \u2014   \nAnd each to each, a Child \u2014\n\nAttempted to expound  \nWhat Neither \u2014 understood \u2014   \nAlas, that Wisdom is so large \u2014   \nAnd Truth \u2014 so manifold!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I reckon \u2014 when I count it all \u2014**\n\nI reckon \u2014 when I count at all \u2014   \nFirst \u2014 Poets \u2014 Then the Sun \u2014   \nThen Summer \u2014 Then the Heaven of God \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 the List is done \u2014\n\nBut, looking back \u2014 the First so seems  \nTo Comprehend the Whole \u2014   \nThe Others look a needless Show \u2014   \nSo I write \u2014 Poets \u2014 All \u2014\n\nTheir Summer \u2014 lasts a Solid Year \u2014   \nThey can afford a Sun  \nThe East \u2014 would deem extravagant \u2014   \nAnd if the Further Heaven \u2014\n\nBe Beautiful as they prepare  \nFor Those who worship Them \u2014   \nIt is too difficult a Grace \u2014   \nTo justify the Dream \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I could die \u2014 to know \u2014**\n\nI could die \u2014 to know \u2014   \n'Tis a trifling knowledge \u2014   \nNews-Boys salute the Door \u2014   \nCarts \u2014 joggle by \u2014   \nMorning's bold face \u2014 stares in the window \u2014   \nWere but mine \u2014 the Charter of the least Fly \u2014\n\nHouses hunch the House  \nWith their Brick Shoulders \u2014   \nCoals \u2014 from a Rolling Load \u2014 rattle \u2014 how \u2014 near \u2014   \nTo the very Square \u2014 His foot is passing \u2014   \nPossibly, this moment \u2014   \nWhile I \u2014 dream \u2014 Here \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Must be a Woe \u2014**\n\nMust be a Woe \u2014   \nA loss or so \u2014   \nTo bend the eye  \nBest Beauty's way \u2014\n\nBut \u2014 once aslant  \nIt notes Delight  \nAs difficult  \nAs Stalactite\n\nA Common Bliss  \nWere had for less \u2014   \nThe price \u2014 is  \nEven as the Grace \u2014\n\nOur lord \u2014 thought no  \nExtravagance  \nTo pay \u2014 a Cross \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Delight \u2014 becomes pictorial \u2014**\n\nDelight \u2014 becomes pictorial \u2014   \nWhen viewed through Pain \u2014   \nMore fair \u2014 because impossible  \nThan any gain \u2014\n\nThe Mountain \u2014 at a given distance \u2014   \nIn Amber \u2014 lies \u2014   \nApproached \u2014 the Amber flits \u2014 a little \u2014   \nAnd That's \u2014 the Skies \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Test of Love \u2014 is Death \u2014**\n\nThe Test of Love \u2014 is Death \u2014   \nOur Lord \u2014 \"so loved\" \u2014 it saith \u2014   \nWhat Largest Lover \u2014 hath  \nAnother \u2014 doth \u2014\n\nIf smaller Patience \u2014 be \u2014   \nThrough less Infinity \u2014   \nIf Bravo, sometimes swerve \u2014   \nThrough fainter Nerve \u2014\n\nAccept its Most \u2014   \nAnd overlook \u2014 the Dust \u2014   \nLast \u2014 Least \u2014   \nThe Cross' \u2014 Request \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My first well Day \u2014 since many ill \u2014**\n\nMy first well Day \u2014 since many ill \u2014   \nI asked to go abroad,  \nAnd take the Sunshine in my hands,  \nAnd see the things in Pod \u2014\n\nA 'blossom just when I went in  \nTo take my Chance with pain \u2014   \nUncertain if myself, or He,  \nShould prove the strongest One.\n\nThe Summer deepened, while we strove \u2014   \nShe put some flowers away \u2014   \nAnd Redder cheeked Ones \u2014 in their stead \u2014   \nA fond \u2014 illusive way \u2014\n\nTo cheat Herself, it seemed she tried \u2014   \nAs if before a child  \nTo fade \u2014 Tomorrow \u2014 Rainbows held  \nThe Sepulchre, could hide.\n\nShe dealt a fashion to the Nut \u2014   \nShe tied the Hoods to Seeds \u2014   \nShe dropped bright scraps of Tint, about \u2014   \nAnd left Brazilian Threads\n\nOn every shoulder that she met \u2014   \nThen both her Hands of Haze  \nPut up \u2014 to hide her parting Grace  \nFrom our unfitted eyes.\n\nMy loss, by sickness \u2014 Was it Loss?  \nOr that Ethereal Gain  \nOne earns by measuring the Grave \u2014   \nThen \u2014 measuring the Sun \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Heaven has different Signs \u2014 to me \u2014**\n\n\"Heaven\" has different Signs \u2014 to me \u2014   \nSometimes, I think that Noon  \nIs but a symbol of the Place \u2014   \nAnd when again, at Dawn,\n\nA mighty look runs round the World  \nAnd settles in the Hills \u2014   \nAn Awe if it should be like that  \nUpon the Ignorance steals \u2014\n\nThe Orchard, when the Sun is on \u2014   \nThe Triumph of the Birds  \nWhen they together Victory make \u2014   \nSome Carnivals of Clouds \u2014\n\nThe Rapture of a finished Day \u2014   \nReturning to the West \u2014   \nAll these \u2014 remind us of the place  \nThat Men call \"paradise\" \u2014\n\nItself be fairer \u2014 we suppose \u2014   \nBut how Ourself, shall be  \nAdorned, for a Superior Grace \u2014   \nNot yet, our eyes can see \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I prayed, at first, a little Girl,**\n\nI prayed, at first, a little Girl,  \nBecause they told me to \u2014   \nBut stopped, when qualified to guess  \nHow prayer would feel \u2014 to me \u2014\n\nIf I believed God looked around,  \nEach time my Childish eye  \nFixed full, and steady, on his own  \nIn Childish honesty \u2014\n\nAnd told him what I'd like, today,  \nAnd parts of his far plan  \nThat baffled me \u2014   \nThe mingled side  \nOf his Divinity \u2014\n\nAnd often since, in Danger,  \nI count the force 'twould be  \nTo have a God so strong as that  \nTo hold my life for me\n\nTill I could take the Balance  \nThat tips so frequent, now,  \nIt takes me all the while to poise \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 it doesn't stay \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If I may have it, when it's dead,**\n\nIf I may have it, when it's dead,  \nI'll be contented \u2014 so \u2014   \nIf just as soon as Breath is out  \nIt shall belong to me \u2014\n\nUntil they lock it in the Grave,  \n'Tis Bliss I cannot weigh \u2014   \nFor tho' they lock Thee in the Grave,  \nMyself \u2014 can own the key \u2014\n\nThink of it Lover! I and Thee  \nPermitted \u2014 face to face to be \u2014   \nAfter a Life \u2014 a Death \u2014 We'll say \u2014   \nFor Death was That \u2014   \nAnd this \u2014 is Thee \u2014\n\nI'll tell Thee All \u2014 how Bald it grew \u2014   \nHow Midnight felt, at first \u2014 to me \u2014   \nHow all the Clocks stopped in the World \u2014   \nAnd Sunshine pinched me \u2014 'Twas so cold \u2014\n\nThen how the Grief got sleepy \u2014 some \u2014   \nAs if my Soul were deaf and dumb \u2014   \nJust making signs \u2014 across \u2014 to Thee \u2014   \nThat this way \u2014 thou could'st notice me \u2014\n\nI'll tell you how I tried to keep  \nA smile, to show you, when this Deep  \nAll Waded \u2014 We look back for Play,  \nAt those Old Times \u2014 in Calvary,\n\nForgive me, if the Grave come slow \u2014   \nFor Coveting to look at Thee \u2014   \nForgive me, if to stroke thy frost  \nOutvisions Paradise!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Body grows without \u2014**\n\nThe Body grows without \u2014   \nThe more convenient way \u2014   \nThat if the Spirit \u2014 like to hide  \nIts Temple stands, alway,\n\nAjar \u2014 secure \u2014 inviting \u2014   \nIt never did betray  \nThe Soul that asked its shelter  \nIn solemn honesty\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I had been hungry, all the Years \u2014**\n\nI had been hungry, all the Years \u2014   \nMy Noon had Come \u2014 to dine \u2014   \nI trembling drew the Table near \u2014   \nAnd touched the Curious Wine \u2014\n\n'Twas this on Tables I had seen \u2014   \nWhen turning, hungry, Lone  \nI looked in Windows, for the Wealth  \nI could not hope \u2014 to Own \u2014\n\nI did not know the ample Bread \u2014   \n'Twas so unlike the Crumb  \nThe Birds and I, had often shared  \nIn Nature's \u2014 Dining Room \u2014\n\nThe Plenty hurt me \u2014 'twas so new \u2014   \nMyself felt ill \u2014 and odd \u2014   \nAs Berry \u2014 of a Mountain Bush \u2014   \nTransplanted \u2014 to a Road \u2014\n\nNor was I hungry \u2014 so I found  \nThat Hunger \u2014 was a way  \nOf Persons outside Windows \u2014   \nThe Entering \u2014 takes away \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I gave myself to Him \u2014**\n\nI gave myself to Him \u2014   \nAnd took Himself, for Pay,  \nThe solemn contract of a Life  \nWas ratified, this way \u2014\n\nThe Wealth might disappoint \u2014   \nMyself a poorer prove  \nThan this great Purchaser suspect,  \nThe Daily Own \u2014 of Love\n\nDepreciate the Vision \u2014   \nBut till the Merchant buy \u2014   \nStill Fable \u2014 in the Isles of Spice \u2014   \nThe subtle Cargoes \u2014 lie \u2014\n\nAt least \u2014 'tis Mutual \u2014 Risk \u2014   \nSome \u2014 found it \u2014 Mutual Gain \u2014   \nSweet Debt of Life \u2014 Each Night to owe \u2014   \nInsolvent \u2014 every Noon \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I found the words to every thought**\n\nI found the words to every thought  \nI ever had \u2014 but One \u2014   \nAnd that \u2014 defies me \u2014   \nAs a Hand did try to chalk the Sun\n\nTo Races \u2014 nurtured in the Dark \u2014   \nHow would your own \u2014 begin?  \nCan Blaze be shown in Cochineal \u2014   \nOr Noon \u2014 in Mazarin?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Inconceivably solemn!**\n\nInconceivably solemn!  \nThings go gay  \nPierce \u2014 by the very Press  \nOf Imagery \u2014\n\nTheir far Parades \u2014 order on the eye  \nWith a mute Pomp \u2014   \nA pleading Pageantry \u2014\n\nFlags, are a brave sight \u2014   \nBut no true Eye  \nEver went by One \u2014   \nSteadily \u2014\n\nMusic's triumphant \u2014   \nBut the fine Ear  \nWinces with delight  \nAre Drums too near \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Toad, can die of Light \u2014**\n\nA Toad, can die of Light \u2014   \nDeath is the Common Right  \nOf Toads and Men \u2014   \nOf Earl and Midge  \nThe privilege \u2014   \nWhy swagger, then?  \nThe Gnat's supremacy is large as Thine \u2014\n\nLife \u2014 is a different Thing \u2014   \nSo measure Wine \u2014   \nNaked of Flask \u2014 Naked of Cask \u2014   \nBare Rhine \u2014   \nWhich Ruby's mine?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It ceased to hurt me, though so slow**\n\nIt ceased to hurt me, though so slow  \nI could not feel the Anguish go \u2014   \nBut only knew by looking back \u2014   \nThat something \u2014 had benumbed the Track \u2014\n\nNor when it altered, I could say,  \nFor I had worn it, every day,  \nAs constant as the Childish frock \u2014   \nI hung upon the Peg, at night.\n\nBut not the Grief \u2014 that nestled close  \nAs needles \u2014 ladies softly press  \nTo Cushions Cheeks \u2014   \nTo keep their place \u2014\n\nNor what consoled it, I could trace \u2014   \nExcept, whereas 'twas Wilderness \u2014   \nIt's better \u2014 almost Peace \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I like to see it lap the Miles \u2014**\n\nI like to see it lap the Miles \u2014   \nAnd lick the Valleys up \u2014   \nAnd stop to feed itself at Tanks \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 prodigious step\n\nAround a Pile of Mountains \u2014   \nAnd supercilious peer  \nIn Shanties \u2014 by the sides of Roads \u2014   \nAnd then a Quarry pare\n\nTo fit its Ribs  \nAnd crawl between  \nComplaining all the while  \nIn horrid \u2014 hooting stanza \u2014   \nThen chase itself down Hill \u2014\n\nAnd neigh like Boanerges \u2014   \nThen \u2014 punctual as a Star  \nStop \u2014 docile and omnipotent  \nAt its own stable door \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We talked as Girls do \u2014**\n\nWe talked as Girls do \u2014   \nFond, and late \u2014   \nWe speculated fair, on every subject, but the Grave \u2014   \nOf ours, none affair \u2014\n\nWe handled Destinies, as cool \u2014   \nAs we \u2014 Disposers \u2014 be \u2014   \nAnd God, a Quiet Party  \nTo our Authority \u2014\n\nBut fondest, dwelt upon Ourself  \nAs we eventual \u2014 be \u2014   \nWhen Girls to Women, softly raised  \nWe \u2014 occupy \u2014 Degree \u2014\n\nWe parted with a contract  \nTo cherish, and to write  \nBut Heaven made both, impossible  \nBefore another night.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Empty my Heart, of Thee \u2014**\n\nEmpty my Heart, of Thee \u2014   \nIts single Artery \u2014   \nBegin, and leave Thee out \u2014   \nSimply Extinction's Date \u2014\n\nMuch Billow hath the Sea \u2014   \nOne Baltic \u2014 They \u2014   \nSubtract Thyself, in play,  \nAnd not enough of me  \nIs left \u2014 to put away \u2014   \n\"Myself\" meanth Thee \u2014\n\nErase the Root \u2014 no Tree \u2014   \nThee \u2014 then \u2014 no me \u2014   \nThe Heavens stripped \u2014   \nEternity's vast pocket, picked \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I cried at Pity \u2014 not at Pain \u2014**\n\nI cried at Pity \u2014 not at Pain \u2014   \nI heard a Woman say  \n\"Poor Child\" \u2014 and something in her voice  \nConvicted me \u2014 of me \u2014\n\nSo long I fainted, to myself  \nIt seemed the common way,  \nAnd Health, and Laughter, Curious things \u2014   \nTo look at, like a Toy \u2014\n\nTo sometimes hear \"Rich people\" buy  \nAnd see the Parcel rolled \u2014   \nAnd carried, I supposed \u2014 to Heaven,  \nFor children, made of Gold \u2014\n\nBut not to touch, or wish for,  \nOr think of, with a sigh \u2014   \nAnd so and so \u2014 had been to me,  \nHad God willed differently.\n\nI wish I knew that Woman's name \u2014   \nSo when she comes this way,  \nTo hold my life, and hold my ears  \nFor fear I hear her say\n\nShe's \"sorry I am dead\" \u2014 again \u2014   \nJust when the Grave and I \u2014   \nHave sobbed ourselves almost to sleep,  \nOur only Lullaby \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Night was wide, and furnished scant**\n\nThe Night was wide, and furnished scant  \nWith but a single Star \u2014   \nThat often as a Cloud it met \u2014   \nBlew out itself \u2014 for fear \u2014\n\nThe Wind pursued the little Bush \u2014   \nAnd drove away the Leaves  \nNovember left \u2014 then clambered up  \nAnd fretted in the Eaves \u2014\n\nNo Squirrel went abroad \u2014   \nA Dog's belated feet  \nLike intermittent Plush, he heard  \nAdown the empty Street \u2014\n\nTo feel if Blinds be fast \u2014   \nAnd closer to the fire \u2014   \nHer little Rocking Chair to draw \u2014   \nAnd shiver for the Poor \u2014\n\nThe Housewife's gentle Task \u2014   \nHow pleasanter \u2014 said she  \nUnto the Sofa opposite \u2014   \nThe Sleet \u2014 than May, no Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Did you ever stand in a Cavern's Mouth \u2014**\n\nDid you ever stand in a Cavern's Mouth \u2014   \nWidths out of the Sun \u2014   \nAnd look \u2014 and shudder, and block your breath \u2014   \nAnd deem to be alone\n\nIn such a place, what horror,  \nHow Goblin it would be \u2014   \nAnd fly, as 'twere pursuing you?  \nThen Loneliness \u2014 looks so \u2014\n\nDid you ever look in a Cannon's face \u2014   \nBetween whose Yellow eye \u2014   \nAnd yours \u2014 the Judgment intervened \u2014   \nThe Question of \"To die\" \u2014\n\nExtemporizing in your ear  \nAs cool as Satyr's Drums \u2014   \nIf you remember, and were saved \u2014   \nIt's liker so \u2014 it seems \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To interrupt His Yellow Plan**\n\nTo interrupt His Yellow Plan  \nThe Sun does not allow  \nCaprices of the Atmosphere \u2014   \nAnd even when the Snow\n\nHeaves Balls of Specks, like Vicious Boy  \nDirectly in His Eye \u2014   \nDoes not so much as turn His Head  \nBusy with Majesty \u2014\n\n'Tis His to stimulate the Earth \u2014   \nAnd magnetize the Sea \u2014   \nAnd bind Astronomy, in place,  \nYet Any passing by\n\nWould deem Ourselves \u2014 the busier  \nAs the Minutest Bee  \nThat rides \u2014 emits a Thunder \u2014   \nA Bomb \u2014 to justify \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What care the Dead, for Chanticleer \u2014**\n\nWhat care the Dead, for Chanticleer \u2014   \nWhat care the Dead for Day?  \n'Tis late your Sunrise vex their face \u2014   \nAnd Purple Ribaldry \u2014 of Morning\n\nPour as blank on them  \nAs on the Tier of Wall  \nThe Mason builded, yesterday,  \nAnd equally as cool \u2014\n\nWhat care the Dead for Summer?  \nThe Solstice had no Sun  \nCould waste the Snow before their Gate \u2014   \nAnd knew One Bird a Tune \u2014\n\nCould thrill their Mortised Ear  \nOf all the Birds that be \u2014   \nThis One \u2014 beloved of Mankind  \nHenceforward cherished be \u2014\n\nWhat care the Dead for Winter?  \nThemselves as easy freeze \u2014   \nJune Noon \u2014 as January Night \u2014   \nAs soon the South \u2014 her Breeze\n\nOf Sycamore \u2014 or Cinnamon \u2014   \nDeposit in a Stone  \nAnd put a Stone to keep it Warm \u2014   \nGive Spices \u2014 unto Men \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I think I was enchanted**\n\nI think I was enchanted  \nWhen first a sombre Girl \u2014   \nI read that Foreign Lady \u2014   \nThe Dark \u2014 felt beautiful \u2014\n\nAnd whether it was noon at night \u2014   \nOr only Heaven \u2014 at Noon \u2014   \nFor very Lunacy of Light  \nI had not power to tell \u2014\n\nThe Bees \u2014 became as Butterflies \u2014   \nThe Butterflies \u2014 as Swans \u2014   \nApproached \u2014 and spurned the narrow Grass \u2014   \nAnd just the meanest Tunes\n\nThat Nature murmured to herself  \nTo keep herself in Cheer \u2014   \nI took for Giants \u2014 practising  \nTitanic Opera \u2014\n\nThe Days \u2014 to Mighty Metres stept \u2014   \nThe Homeliest \u2014 adorned  \nAs if unto a Jubilee  \n'Twere suddenly Confirmed \u2014\n\nI could not have defined the change \u2014   \nConversion of the Mind  \nLike Sanctifying in the Soul \u2014   \nIs Witnessed \u2014 not Explained \u2014\n\n'Twas a Divine Insanity \u2014   \nThe Danger to be sane  \nShould I again experience \u2014   \n'Tis Antidote to turn \u2014\n\nTo Tomes of solid Witchcraft \u2014   \nMagicians be asleep \u2014   \nBut Magic \u2014 hath an Element \u2014   \nLike Deity \u2014 to keep \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Battle fought between the Soul**\n\nThe Battle fought between the Soul  \nAnd No Man \u2014 is the One  \nOf all the Battles prevalent \u2014   \nBy far the Greater One \u2014\n\nNo News of it is had abroad \u2014   \nIts Bodiless Campaign  \nEstablishes, and terminates \u2014   \nInvisible \u2014 Unknown \u2014\n\nNor History \u2014 record it \u2014   \nAs Legions of a Night  \nThe Sunrise scatters \u2014 These endure \u2014   \nEnact \u2014 and terminate \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Like Mighty Foot Lights \u2014 burned the Red**\n\nLike Mighty Foot Lights \u2014 burned the Red  \nAt Bases of the Trees \u2014   \nThe far Theatricals of Day  \nExhibiting \u2014 to These \u2014\n\n'Twas Universe \u2014 that did applaud \u2014   \nWhile Chiefest \u2014 of the Crowd \u2014   \nEnabled by his Royal Dress \u2014   \nMyself distinguished God \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When I was small, a Woman died \u2014**\n\nWhen I was small, a Woman died \u2014   \nToday \u2014 her Only Boy  \nWent up from the Potomac \u2014   \nHis face all Victory\n\nTo look at her \u2014 How slowly  \nThe Seasons must have turned  \nTill Bullets clipt an Angle  \nAnd He passed quickly round \u2014\n\nIf pride shall be in Paradise \u2014   \nOurself cannot decide \u2014   \nOf their imperial Conduct \u2014   \nNo person testified \u2014\n\nBut, proud in Apparition \u2014   \nThat Woman and her Boy  \nPass back and forth, before my Brain  \nAs even in the sky \u2014\n\nI'm confident that Bravoes \u2014   \nPerpetual break abroad  \nFor Braveries, remote as this  \nIn Scarlet Maryland \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It always felt to me \u2014 a wrong**\n\nIt always felt to me \u2014 a wrong  \nTo that Old Moses \u2014 done \u2014   \nTo let him see \u2014 the Canaan \u2014   \nWithout the entering \u2014\n\nAnd tho' in soberer moments \u2014   \nNo Moses there can be  \nI'm satisfied \u2014 the Romance  \nIn point of injury \u2014\n\nSurpasses sharper stated \u2014   \nOf Stephen \u2014 or of Paul \u2014   \nFor these \u2014 were only put to death \u2014   \nWhile God's adroiter will\n\nOn Moses \u2014 seemed to fasten  \nWith tantalizing Play  \nAs Boy \u2014 should deal with lesser Boy \u2014   \nTo prove ability.\n\nThe fault \u2014 was doubtless Israel's \u2014   \nMyself \u2014 had banned the Tribes \u2014   \nAnd ushered Grand Old Moses  \nIn Pentateuchal Robes\n\nUpon the Broad Possession  \n'Twas little \u2014 But titled Him \u2014 to see \u2014   \nOld Man on Nebo! Late as this \u2014   \nMy justice bleeds \u2014 for Thee!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Three times \u2014 we parted \u2014 Breath \u2014 and I \u2014**\n\nThree times \u2014 we parted \u2014 Breath \u2014 and I \u2014   \nThree times \u2014 He would not go \u2014   \nBut strove to stir the lifeless Fan  \nThe Waters \u2014 strove to stay.\n\nThree Times \u2014 the Billows tossed me up \u2014   \nThen caught me \u2014 like a Ball \u2014   \nThen made Blue faces in my face \u2014   \nAnd pushed away a sail\n\nThat crawled Leagues off \u2014 I liked to see \u2014   \nFor thinking \u2014 while I die \u2014   \nHow pleasant to behold a Thing  \nWhere Human faces \u2014 be \u2014\n\nThe Waves grew sleepy \u2014 Breath \u2014 did not \u2014   \nThe Winds \u2014 like Children \u2014 lulled \u2014   \nThen Sunrise kissed my Chrysalis \u2014   \nAnd I stood up \u2014 and lived \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is a pain \u2014 so utter \u2014**\n\nThere is a pain \u2014 so utter \u2014   \nIt swallows substance up \u2014   \nThen covers the Abyss with Trance \u2014   \nSo Memory can step  \nAround \u2014 across \u2014 upon it \u2014   \nAs one within a Swoon \u2014   \nGoes safely \u2014 where an open eye \u2014   \nWould drop Him \u2014 Bone by Bone.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It troubled me as once I was \u2014**\n\nIt troubled me as once I was \u2014   \nFor I was once a Child \u2014   \nConcluding how an Atom \u2014 fell \u2014   \nAnd yet the Heavens \u2014 held \u2014\n\nThe Heavens weighed the most \u2014 by far \u2014   \nYet Blue \u2014 and solid \u2014 stood \u2014   \nWithout a Bolt \u2014 that I could prove \u2014   \nWould Giants \u2014 understand?\n\nLife set me larger \u2014 problems \u2014   \nSome I shall keep \u2014 to solve  \nTill Algebra is easier \u2014   \nOr simpler proved \u2014 above \u2014\n\nThen \u2014 too \u2014 be comprehended \u2014   \nWhat sorer \u2014 puzzled me \u2014   \nWhy Heaven did not break away \u2014   \nAnd tumble \u2014 Blue \u2014 on me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A still \u2014 Volcano \u2014 Life \u2014**\n\nA still \u2014 Volcano \u2014 Life \u2014   \nThat flickered in the night \u2014   \nWhen it was dark enough to do  \nWithout erasing sight \u2014\n\nA quiet \u2014 Earthquake Style \u2014   \nToo subtle to suspect  \nBy natures this side Naples \u2014   \nThe North cannot detect\n\nThe Solemn \u2014 Torrid \u2014 Symbol \u2014   \nThe lips that never lie \u2014   \nWhose hissing Corals part \u2014 and shut \u2014   \nAnd Cities \u2014 ooze away \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Brussels \u2014 it was not \u2014**\n\nOf Brussels \u2014 it was not \u2014   \nOf Kidderminster? Nay \u2014   \nThe Winds did buy it of the Woods \u2014   \nThey \u2014 sold it unto me\n\nIt was a gentle price \u2014   \nThe poorest \u2014 could afford \u2014   \nIt was within the frugal purse  \nOf Beggar \u2014 or of Bird \u2014\n\nOf small and spicy Yards \u2014   \nIn hue \u2014 a mellow Dun \u2014   \nOf Sunshine \u2014 and of Sere \u2014 Composed \u2014   \nBut, principally \u2014 of Sun \u2014\n\nThe Wind \u2014 unrolled it fast \u2014   \nAnd spread it on the Ground \u2014   \nUpholsterer of the Pines \u2014 is He \u2014   \nUpholsterer \u2014 of the Pond \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He found my Being \u2014 set it up \u2014**\n\nHe found my Being \u2014 set it up \u2014   \nAdjusted it to place \u2014   \nThen carved his name \u2014 upon it \u2014   \nAnd bade it to the East\n\nBe faithful \u2014 in his absence \u2014   \nAnd he would come again \u2014   \nWith Equipage of Amber \u2014   \nThat time \u2014 to take it Home \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Unto my Books \u2014 so good to turn \u2014**\n\nUnto my Books \u2014 so good to turn \u2014   \nFar ends of tired Days \u2014   \nIt half endears the Abstinence \u2014   \nAnd Pain \u2014 is missed \u2014 in Praise \u2014\n\nAs Flavors \u2014 cheer Retarded Guests  \nWith Banquettings to be \u2014   \nSo Spices \u2014 stimulate the time  \nTill my small Library \u2014\n\nIt may be Wilderness \u2014 without \u2014   \nFar feet of failing Men \u2014   \nBut Holiday \u2014 excludes the night \u2014   \nAnd it is Bells \u2014 within \u2014\n\nI thank these Kinsmen of the Shelf \u2014   \nTheir Countenances Kid  \nEnamor \u2014 in Prospective \u2014   \nAnd satisfy \u2014 obtained \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Spider holds a Silver Ball**\n\nThe Spider holds a Silver Ball  \nIn unperceived Hands \u2014   \nAnd dancing softly to Himself  \nHis Yarn of Pearl \u2014 unwinds \u2014\n\nHe plies from Nought to Nought \u2014   \nIn unsubstantial Trade \u2014   \nSupplants our Tapestries with His \u2014   \nIn half the period \u2014\n\nAn Hour to rear supreme  \nHis Continents of Light \u2014   \nThen dangle from the Housewife's Broom \u2014   \nHis Boundaries \u2014 forgot \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Trees like Tassels \u2014 hit \u2014 and swung \u2014**\n\nThe Trees like Tassels \u2014 hit \u2014 and swung \u2014   \nThere seemed to rise a Tune  \nFrom Miniature Creatures  \nAccompanying the Sun \u2014\n\nFar Psalteries of Summer \u2014   \nEnamoring the Ear  \nThey never yet did satisfy \u2014   \nRemotest \u2014 when most fair\n\nThe Sun shone whole at intervals \u2014   \nThen Half \u2014 then utter hid \u2014   \nAs if Himself were optional  \nAnd had Estates of Cloud\n\nSufficient to enfold Him  \nEternally from view \u2014   \nExcept it were a whim of His  \nTo let the Orchards grow \u2014\n\nA Bird sat careless on the fence \u2014   \nOne gossipped in the Lane  \nOn silver matters charmed a Snake  \nJust winding round a Stone \u2014\n\nBright Flowers slit a Calyx  \nAnd soared upon a Stem  \nLike Hindered Flags \u2014 Sweet hoisted \u2014   \nWith Spices \u2014 in the Hem \u2014\n\n'Twas more \u2014 I cannot mention \u2014   \nHow mean \u2014 to those that see \u2014   \nVandyke's Delineation  \nOf Nature's \u2014 Summer Day!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of nearness to her sundered Things**\n\nOf nearness to her sundered Things  \nThe Soul has special times \u2014   \nWhen Dimness \u2014 looks the Oddity \u2014   \nDistinctness \u2014 easy \u2014 seems \u2014\n\nThe Shapes we buried, dwell about,  \nFamiliar, in the Rooms \u2014   \nUntarnished by the Sepulchre,  \nThe Mouldering Playmate comes \u2014\n\nIn just the Jacket that he wore \u2014   \nLong buttoned in the Mold  \nSince we \u2014 old mornings, Children \u2014 played \u2014   \nDivided \u2014 by a world \u2014\n\nThe Grave yields back her Robberies \u2014   \nThe Years, our pilfered Things \u2014   \nBright Knots of Apparitions  \nSalute us, with their wings \u2014\n\nAs we \u2014 it were \u2014 that perished \u2014   \nThemself \u2014 had just remained till we rejoin them \u2014   \nAnd 'twas they, and not ourself  \nThat mourned.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Afraid! Of whom am I afraid?**\n\nAfraid! Of whom am I afraid?  \nNot Death \u2014 for who is He?  \nThe Porter of my Father's Lodge  \nAs much abasheth me!\n\nOf Life? 'Twere odd I fear [a] thing  \nThat comprehendeth me  \nIn one or two existences \u2014   \nAs Deity decree \u2014\n\nOf Resurrection? Is the East  \nAfraid to trust the Morn  \nWith her fastidious forehead?  \nAs soon impeach my Crown!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I Years had been from Home**\n\nI Years had been from Home  \nAnd now before the Door  \nI dared not enter, lest a Face  \nI never saw before\n\nStare solid into mine  \nAnd ask my Business there \u2014   \n\"My Business but a Life I left  \nWas such remaining there?\"\n\nI leaned upon the Awe \u2014   \nI lingered with Before \u2014   \nThe Second like an Ocean rolled  \nAnd broke against my ear \u2014\n\nI laughed a crumbling Laugh  \nThat I could fear a Door  \nWho Consternation compassed  \nAnd never winced before.\n\nI fitted to the Latch  \nMy Hand, with trembling care  \nLest back the awful Door should spring  \nAnd leave me in the Floor \u2014\n\nThen moved my Fingers off  \nAs cautiously as Glass  \nAnd held my ears, and like a Thief  \nFled gasping from the House \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You'll find \u2014 it when you try to die \u2014**\n\nYou'll find \u2014 it when you try to die \u2014   \nThe Easier to let go \u2014   \nFor recollecting such as went \u2014   \nYou could not spare \u2014 you know.\n\nAnd though their places somewhat filled \u2014   \nAs did their Marble names  \nWith Moss \u2014 they never grew so full \u2014   \nYou chose the newer names \u2014\n\nAnd when this World \u2014 sets further back \u2014   \nAs Dying \u2014 say it does \u2014   \nThe former love \u2014 distincter grows \u2014   \nAnd supersedes the fresh \u2014\n\nAnd Thought of them \u2014 so fair invites \u2014   \nIt looks too tawdry Grace  \nTo stay behind \u2014 with just the Toys  \nWe bought \u2014 to ease their place \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I see thee better \u2014 in the Dark \u2014**\n\nI see thee better \u2014 in the Dark \u2014   \nI do not need a Light \u2014   \nThe Love of Thee \u2014 a Prism be \u2014   \nExcelling Violet \u2014\n\nI see thee better for the Years  \nThat hunch themselves between \u2014   \nThe Miner's Lamp \u2014 sufficient be \u2014   \nTo nullify the Mine \u2014\n\nAnd in the Grave \u2014 I see Thee best \u2014   \nIts little Panels be  \nAglow \u2014 All ruddy \u2014 with the Light  \nI held so high, for Thee \u2014\n\nWhat need of Day \u2014   \nTo Those whose Dark \u2014 hath so \u2014 surpassing Sun \u2014   \nIt deem it be \u2014 Continually \u2014   \nAt the Meridian?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It would have starved a Gnat \u2014**\n\nIt would have starved a Gnat \u2014   \nTo live so small as I \u2014   \nAnd yet I was a living Child \u2014   \nWith Food's necessity\n\nUpon me \u2014 like a Claw \u2014   \nI could no more remove  \nThan I could coax a Leech away \u2014   \nOr make a Dragon \u2014 move \u2014\n\nNot like the Gnat \u2014 had I \u2014   \nThe privilege to fly  \nAnd seek a Dinner for myself \u2014   \nHow mightier He \u2014 than I \u2014\n\nNor like Himself \u2014 the Art  \nUpon the Window Pane  \nTo gad my little Being out \u2014   \nAnd not begin \u2014 again \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**They shut me up in Prose \u2014**\n\nThey shut me up in Prose \u2014   \nAs when a little Girl  \nThey put me in the Closet \u2014   \nBecause they liked me \"still\" \u2014\n\nStill! Could themself have peeped \u2014   \nAnd seen my Brain \u2014 go round \u2014   \nThey might as wise have lodged a Bird  \nFor Treason \u2014 in the Pound \u2014\n\nHimself has but to will  \nAnd easy as a Star  \nAbolish his Captivity \u2014   \nAnd laugh \u2014 No more have I \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**In falling Timbers buried \u2014**\n\nIn falling Timbers buried \u2014   \nThere breathed a Man \u2014   \nOutside \u2014 the spades \u2014 were plying \u2014   \nThe Lungs \u2014 within \u2014\n\nCould He \u2014 know \u2014 they sought Him \u2014   \nCould They \u2014 know \u2014 He breathed \u2014   \nHorrid Sand Partition \u2014   \nNeither \u2014 could be heard \u2014\n\nNever slacked the Diggers \u2014   \nBut when Spades had done \u2014   \nOh, Reward of Anguish,  \nIt was dying \u2014 Then \u2014\n\nMany Things \u2014 are fruitless \u2014   \n'Tis a Baffling Earth \u2014   \nBut there is no Gratitude  \nLike the Grace \u2014 of Death \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Our journey had advanced \u2014**\n\nOur journey had advanced \u2014   \nOur feet were almost come  \nTo that odd Fork in Being's Road \u2014   \nEternity \u2014 by Term \u2014\n\nOur pace took sudden awe \u2014   \nOur feet \u2014 reluctant \u2014 led \u2014   \nBefore \u2014 were Cities \u2014 but Between \u2014   \nThe Forest of the Dead \u2014\n\nRetreat \u2014 was out of Hope \u2014   \nBehind \u2014 a Sealed Route \u2014   \nEternity's White Flag \u2014 Before \u2014   \nAnd God \u2014 at every Gate \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I rose \u2014 because He sank \u2014**\n\nI rose \u2014 because He sank \u2014   \nI thought it would be opposite \u2014   \nBut when his power dropped \u2014   \nMy Soul grew straight.\n\nI cheered my fainting Prince \u2014   \nI sang firm \u2014 even \u2014 Chants \u2014   \nI helped his Film \u2014 with Hymn \u2014\n\nAnd when the Dews drew off  \nThat held his Forehead stiff \u2014   \nI met him \u2014   \nBalm to Balm \u2014\n\nI told him Best \u2014 must pass  \nThrough this low Arch of Flesh \u2014   \nNo Casque so brave  \nIt spurn the Grave \u2014\n\nI told him Worlds I knew  \nWhere Emperors grew \u2014   \nWho recollected us  \nIf we were true \u2014\n\nAnd so with Thews of Hymn \u2014   \nAnd Sinew from within \u2014   \nAnd ways I knew not that I knew \u2014 till then \u2014   \nI lifted Him \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Don't put up my Thread and Needle \u2014**\n\nDon't put up my Thread and Needle \u2014   \nI'll begin to Sew  \nWhen the Birds begin to whistle \u2014   \nBetter Stitches \u2014 so \u2014\n\nThese were bent \u2014 my sight got crooked \u2014   \nWhen my mind \u2014 is plain  \nI'll do seams \u2014 a Queen's endeavor  \nWould not blush to own \u2014\n\nHems \u2014 too fine for Lady's tracing  \nTo the sightless Knot \u2014   \nTucks \u2014 of dainty interspersion \u2014   \nLike a dotted Dot \u2014\n\nLeave my Needle in the furrow \u2014   \nWhere I put it down \u2014   \nI can make the zigzag stitches  \nStraight \u2014 when I am strong \u2014\n\nTill then \u2014 dreaming I am sewing  \nFetch the seam I missed \u2014   \nCloser \u2014 so I \u2014 at my sleeping \u2014   \nStill surmise I stitch \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**At leisure is the Soul**\n\nAt leisure is the Soul  \nThat gets a Staggering Blow \u2014   \nThe Width of Life \u2014 before it spreads  \nWithout a thing to do \u2014\n\nIt begs you give it Work \u2014   \nBut just the placing Pins \u2014   \nOr humblest Patchwork \u2014 Children do \u2014   \nTo Help its Vacant Hands \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Glee \u2014 The great storm is over \u2014**\n\nGLEE ! the great storm in over !  \nFour have recovered the land ;  \nForty gone down together  \nInto the boiling sand.\n\nRing, for the scant salvation !  \nToll, for the bonnie souls, \u2014   \nNeighbor and friend and bridegroom,  \nSpinning upon the shoals !\n\nHow they will tell the shipwreck  \nWhen winter shakes the door,  \nTill the children ask, \"But the forty ?  \nDid they come back no more ?\"\n\nThen a silence suffuses the story,  \nAnd a softness the teller's eye ;  \nAnd the children no further question,  \nAnd only the waves reply.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It makes no difference abroad \u2014**\n\nIt makes no difference abroad \u2014   \nThe Seasons \u2014 fit \u2014 the same \u2014   \nThe Mornings blossom into Noons \u2014   \nAnd split their Pods of Flame \u2014\n\nWild flowers \u2014 kindle in the Woods \u2014   \nThe Brooks slam \u2014 all the Day \u2014   \nNo Black bird bates his Banjo \u2014   \nFor passing Calvary \u2014\n\nAuto da Fe \u2014 and Judgment \u2014   \nAre nothing to the Bee \u2014   \nHis separation from His Rose \u2014   \nTo Him \u2014 sums Misery \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I asked no other thing \u2014**\n\nI ASKED no other thing.  \nNo other was denied.  \nI offered Being for it ;  \nThe mighty merchant smiled.\n\nBrazil ? He twirled a button,  \nWithout a glance my way :  \n\"But, madam, is there nothing else  \nThat we can show to-day ?\"\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To know just how He suffered \u2014 would be dear \u2014**\n\nTO know just how he suffered would be dear;  \nTo know if any human eyes were near  \nTo whom he could intrust his wavering gaze,  \nUntil it settled firm on Paradise.\n\nTo know if he was patient, part content,  \nWas dying as he thought, or different;  \nWas it a pleasant day to die,  \nAnd did the sunshine face his way?\n\nWhat was his furthest mind, of home, of God,  \nOr what the distant say  \nAt news that he ceased human nature  \nOn such a day?\n\nAnd wishes, had he any?  \nJust his sigh, accented,  \nHad been legible to me.  \nAnd was he confident until  \nIll fluttered out in everlasting well?\n\nAnd if he spoke, what name was best,  \nWhat first,  \nWhat one broke off with  \nAt the drowsiest?\n\nWas he afraid, or tranquil?  \nMight he know  \nHow conscious consciousness could grow,  \nTill love that was, and love too blest to be,  \nMeet \u2014 and the junction be Eternity?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It was too late for Man \u2014**\n\nIT was too late for man,  \nBut early yet for God ;  \nCreation impotent to help,  \nBut prayer remained our side.\n\nHow excellent the heaven,  \nWhen earth cannot be had ;  \nHow hospitable, then, the face  \nOf our old neighbor, God !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Forever \u2014 is composed of Nows \u2014**\n\nForever \u2014 is composed of Nows \u2014   \n'Tis not a different time \u2014   \nExcept for Infiniteness \u2014   \nAnd Latitude of Home \u2014\n\nFrom this \u2014 experienced Here \u2014   \nRemove the Dates \u2014 to These \u2014   \nLet Months dissolve in further Months \u2014   \nAnd Years \u2014 exhale in Years \u2014\n\nWithout Debate \u2014 or Pause \u2014   \nOr Celebrated Days \u2014   \nNo different Our Years would be  \nFrom Anno Domini's \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas a long Parting \u2014 but the time**\n\n'Twas a long Parting \u2014 but the time  \nFor Interview \u2014 had Come \u2014   \nBefore the Judgment Seat of God \u2014   \nThe last \u2014 and second time\n\nThese Fleshless Lovers met \u2014   \nA Heaven in a Gaze \u2014   \nA Heaven of Heavens \u2014 the Privilege  \nOf one another's Eyes \u2014\n\nNo Lifetime \u2014 on Them \u2014   \nAppareled as the new  \nUnborn \u2014 except They had beheld \u2014   \nBorn infiniter \u2014 now \u2014\n\nWas Bridal \u2014 e'er like This?  \nA Paradise \u2014 the Host \u2014   \nAnd Cherubim \u2014 and Seraphim \u2014   \nThe unobtrusive Guest \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Only God \u2014 detect the Sorrow \u2014**\n\nOnly God \u2014 detect the Sorrow \u2014   \nOnly God \u2014   \nThe Jehovahs \u2014 are no Babblers \u2014   \nUnto God \u2014   \nGod the Son \u2014 Confide it \u2014   \nStill secure \u2014   \nGod the Spirit's Honor \u2014   \nJust as sure \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Tint I cannot take \u2014 is best \u2014**\n\nThe Tint I cannot take \u2014 is best \u2014   \nThe Color too remote  \nThat I could show it in Bazaar \u2014   \nA Guinea at a sight \u2014\n\nThe fine \u2014 impalpable Array \u2014   \nThat swaggers on the eye  \nLike Cleopatra's Company \u2014   \nRepeated \u2014 in the sky \u2014\n\nThe Moments of Dominion  \nThat happen on the Soul  \nAnd leave it with a Discontent  \nToo exquisite \u2014 to tell \u2014\n\nThe eager look \u2014 on Landscapes \u2014   \nAs if they just repressed  \nSome Secret \u2014 that was pushing  \nLike Chariots \u2014 in the Vest \u2014\n\nThe Pleading of the Summer \u2014   \nThat other Prank \u2014 of Snow \u2014   \nThat Cushions Mystery with Tulle,  \nFor fear the Squirrels \u2014 know.\n\nTheir Graspless manners \u2014 mock us \u2014   \nUntil the Cheated Eye  \nShuts arrogantly \u2014 in the Grave \u2014   \nAnother way \u2014 to see \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**They called me to the Window, for**\n\nThey called me to the Window, for  \n\" 'Twas Sunset\" \u2014 Some one said \u2014   \nI only saw a Sapphire Farm \u2014   \nAnd just a Single Herd \u2014\n\nOf Opal Cattle \u2014 feeding far  \nUpon so vain a Hill \u2014   \nAs even while I looked \u2014 dissolved \u2014   \nNor Cattle were \u2014 nor Soil \u2014\n\nBut in their stead \u2014 a Sea \u2014 displayed \u2014   \nAnd Ships \u2014 of such a size  \nAs Crew of Mountains \u2014 could afford \u2014   \nAnd Decks \u2014 to seat the skies \u2014\n\nThis \u2014 too \u2014 the Showman rubbed away \u2014   \nAnd when I looked again \u2014   \nNor Farm \u2014 nor Opal Herd \u2014 was there \u2014   \nNor Mediterranean \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I watched the Moon around the House**\n\nI watched the Moon around the House  \nUntil upon a Pane \u2014   \nShe stopped \u2014 a Traveller's privilege \u2014 for Rest \u2014   \nAnd there upon\n\nI gazed \u2014 as at a stranger \u2014   \nThe Lady in the Town  \nDoth think no incivility  \nTo lift her Glass \u2014 upon \u2014\n\nBut never Stranger justified  \nThe Curiosity  \nLike Mine \u2014 for not a Foot \u2014 nor Hand \u2014   \nNor Formula \u2014 had she \u2014\n\nBut like a Head \u2014 a Guillotine  \nSlid carelessly away \u2014   \nDid independent, Amber \u2014   \nSustain her in the sky \u2014\n\nOr like a Stemless Flower \u2014   \nUpheld in rolling Air  \nBy finer Gravitations \u2014   \nThan bind Philosopher \u2014\n\nNo Hunger \u2014 had she \u2014 nor an Inn \u2014   \nHer Toilette \u2014 to suffice \u2014   \nNor Avocation \u2014 nor Concern  \nFor little Mysteries\n\nAs harass us \u2014 like Life \u2014 and Death \u2014   \nAnd Afterwards \u2014 or Nay \u2014   \nBut seemed engrossed to Absolute \u2014   \nWith shining \u2014 and the Sky \u2014\n\nThe privilege to scrutinize  \nWas scarce upon my Eyes  \nWhen, with a Silver practise \u2014   \nShe vaulted out of Gaze \u2014\n\nAnd next \u2014 I met her on a Cloud \u2014   \nMyself too far below  \nTo follow her superior Road \u2014   \nOr its advantage \u2014 Blue \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Lightning playeth \u2014 all the while \u2014**\n\nThe Lightning playeth \u2014 all the while \u2014   \nBut when He singeth \u2014 then \u2014   \nOurselves are conscious He exist \u2014   \nAnd we approach Him \u2014 stern \u2014\n\nWith Insulators \u2014 and a Glove \u2014   \nWhose short \u2014 sepulchral Bass  \nAlarms us \u2014 tho' His Yellow feet  \nMay pass \u2014 and counterpass \u2014\n\nUpon the Ropes \u2014 above our Head \u2014   \nContinual \u2014 with the News \u2014   \nNor We so much as check our speech \u2014   \nNor stop to cross Ourselves \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Ourselves were wed one summer \u2014 dear \u2014**\n\nOurselves were wed one summer \u2014 dear \u2014   \nYour Vision \u2014 was in June \u2014   \nAnd when Your little Lifetime failed,  \nI wearied \u2014 too \u2014 of mine \u2014\n\nAnd overtaken in the Dark \u2014   \nWhere You had put me down \u2014   \nBy Some one carrying a Light \u2014   \nI \u2014 too \u2014 received the Sign.\n\n'Tis true \u2014 Our Futures different lay \u2014   \nYour Cottage \u2014 faced the sun \u2014   \nWhile Oceans \u2014 and the North must be \u2014   \nOn every side of mine\n\n'Tis true, Your Garden led the Bloom,  \nFor mine \u2014 in Frosts \u2014 was sown \u2014   \nAnd yet, one Summer, we were Queens \u2014   \nBut You \u2014 were crowned in June \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Brain \u2014 is wider than the Sky \u2014**\n\nThe Brain \u2014 is wider than the Sky \u2014   \nFor \u2014 put them side by side \u2014   \nThe one the other will contain  \nWith ease \u2014 and You \u2014 beside \u2014\n\nThe Brain is deeper than the sea \u2014   \nFor \u2014 hold them \u2014 Blue to Blue \u2014   \nThe one the other will absorb \u2014   \nAs Sponges \u2014 Buckets \u2014 do \u2014\n\nThe Brain is just the weight of God \u2014   \nFor \u2014 Heft them \u2014 Pound for Pound \u2014   \nAnd they will differ \u2014 if they do \u2014   \nAs Syllable from Sound \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When Bells stop ringing \u2014 Church \u2014 begins**\n\nWhen Bells stop ringing \u2014 Church \u2014 begins  \nThe Positive \u2014 of Bells \u2014   \nWhen Cogs \u2014 stop \u2014 that's Circumference \u2014   \nThe Ultimate \u2014 of Wheels.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You'll know Her \u2014 by Her Foot \u2014**\n\nYou'll know Her \u2014 by Her Foot \u2014   \nThe smallest Gamboge Hand  \nWith Fingers \u2014 where the Toes should be \u2014   \nWould more affront the Sand \u2014\n\nThan this Quaint Creature's Boot \u2014   \nAdjusted by a Stern \u2014   \nWithout a Button \u2014 I could vouch \u2014   \nUnto a Velvet Limb \u2014\n\nYou'll know Her \u2014 by Her Vest \u2014   \nTight fitting \u2014 Orange \u2014 Brown \u2014   \nInside a Jacket duller \u2014   \nShe wore when she was born \u2014\n\nHer Cap is small \u2014 and snug \u2014   \nConstructed for the Winds \u2014   \nShe'd pass for Barehead \u2014 short way off \u2014   \nBut as She Closer stands \u2014\n\nSo finer 'tis than Wool \u2014   \nYou cannot feel the Seam \u2014   \nNor is it Clasped unto of Band \u2014   \nNor held upon \u2014 of Brim \u2014\n\nYou'll know Her \u2014 by Her Voice \u2014   \nAt first \u2014 a doubtful Tone \u2014   \nA sweet endeavor \u2014 but as March  \nTo April \u2014 hurries on \u2014\n\nShe squanders on your Ear  \nSuch Arguments of Pearl \u2014   \nYou beg the Robin in your Brain  \nTo keep the other \u2014 still \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I think the longest Hour of all**\n\nI think the longest Hour of all  \nIs when the Cars have come \u2014   \nAnd we are waiting for the Coach \u2014   \nIt seems as though the Time\n\nIndignant \u2014 that the Joy was come \u2014   \nDid block the Gilded Hands \u2014   \nAnd would not let the Seconds by \u2014   \nBut slowest instant \u2014 ends \u2014\n\nThe Pendulum begins to count \u2014   \nLike little Scholars \u2014 loud \u2014   \nThe steps grow thicker \u2014 in the Hall \u2014   \nThe Heart begins to crowd \u2014\n\nThen I \u2014 my timid service done \u2014   \nTho' service 'twas, of Love \u2014   \nTake up my little Violin \u2014   \nAnd further North \u2014 remove.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Way I read a Letter's \u2014 this \u2014**\n\nThe Way I read a Letter's \u2014 this \u2014   \n'Tis first \u2014 I lock the Door \u2014   \nAnd push it with my fingers \u2014 next \u2014   \nFor transport it be sure \u2014\n\nAnd then I go the furthest off  \nTo counteract a knock \u2014   \nThen draw my little Letter forth  \nAnd slowly pick the lock \u2014\n\nThen \u2014 glancing narrow, at the Wall \u2014   \nAnd narrow at the floor  \nFor firm Conviction of a Mouse  \nNot exorcised before \u2014\n\nPeruse how infinite I am  \nTo no one that You \u2014 know \u2014   \nAnd sigh for lack of Heaven \u2014 but not  \nThe Heaven God bestow \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Child's faith is new \u2014**\n\nThe Child's faith is new \u2014   \nWhole \u2014 like His Principle \u2014   \nWide \u2014 like the Sunrise  \nOn fresh Eyes \u2014   \nNever had a Doubt \u2014   \nLaughs \u2014 at a Scruple \u2014   \nBelieves all sham  \nBut Paradise \u2014\n\nCredits the World \u2014   \nDeems His Dominion  \nBroadest of Sovereignties \u2014   \nAnd Caesar \u2014 mean \u2014   \nIn the Comparison \u2014   \nBaseless Emperor \u2014   \nRuler of Nought \u2014   \nYet swaying all \u2014\n\nGrown bye and bye  \nTo hold mistaken  \nHis pretty estimates  \nOf Prickly Things  \nHe gains the skill  \nSorrowful \u2014 as certain \u2014   \nMen \u2014 to anticipate  \nInstead of Kings \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To my small Hearth His fire came \u2014**\n\nTo my small Hearth His fire came \u2014   \nAnd all my House aglow  \nDid fan and rock, with sudden light \u2014   \n'Twas Sunrise \u2014 'twas the Sky \u2014\n\nImpanelled from no Summer brief \u2014   \nWith limit of Decay \u2014   \n'Twas Noon \u2014 without the News of Night \u2014   \nNay, Nature, it was Day \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Portion is Defeat \u2014 today \u2014**\n\nMy Portion is Defeat \u2014 today \u2014   \nA paler luck than Victory \u2014   \nLess Paeans \u2014 fewer Bells \u2014   \nThe Drums don't follow Me \u2014 with tunes \u2014   \nDefeat \u2014 a somewhat slower \u2014 means \u2014   \nMore Arduous than Balls \u2014\n\n'Tis populous with Bone and stain \u2014   \nAnd Men too straight to stoop again \u2014 ,  \nAnd Piles of solid Moan \u2014   \nAnd Chips of Blank \u2014 in Boyish Eyes \u2014   \nAnd scraps of Prayer \u2014   \nAnd Death's surprise,  \nStamped visible \u2014 in Stone \u2014\n\nThere's somewhat prouder, over there \u2014   \nThe Trumpets tell it to the Air \u2014   \nHow different Victory  \nTo Him who has it \u2014 and the One  \nWho to have had it, would have been  \nContender \u2014 to die \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I cannot live with You \u2014**\n\nI cannot live with You \u2014   \nIt would be Life \u2014   \nAnd Life is over there \u2014   \nBehind the Shelf\n\nThe Sexton keeps the Key to \u2014   \nPutting up  \nOur Life \u2014 His Porcelain \u2014   \nLike a Cup \u2014\n\nDiscarded of the Housewife \u2014   \nQuaint \u2014 or Broke \u2014   \nA newer Sevres pleases \u2014   \nOld Ones crack \u2014\n\nI could not die \u2014 with You \u2014   \nFor One must wait  \nTo shut the Other's Gaze down \u2014   \nYou \u2014 could not \u2014\n\nAnd I \u2014 Could I stand by  \nAnd see You \u2014 freeze \u2014   \nWithout my Right of Frost \u2014   \nDeath's privilege?\n\nNor could I rise \u2014 with You \u2014   \nBecause Your Face  \nWould put out Jesus' \u2014   \nThat New Grace\n\nGlow plain \u2014 and foreign  \nOn my homesick Eye \u2014   \nExcept that You than He  \nShone closer by \u2014\n\nThey'd judge Us \u2014 How \u2014   \nFor You \u2014 served Heaven \u2014 You know,  \nOr sought to \u2014   \nI could not \u2014\n\nBecause You saturated Sight \u2014   \nAnd I had no more Eyes  \nFor sordid excellence  \nAs Paradise\n\nAnd were You lost, I would be \u2014   \nThough My Name  \nRang loudest  \nOn the Heavenly fame \u2014\n\nAnd were You \u2014 saved \u2014   \nAnd I \u2014 condemned to be  \nWhere You were not \u2014   \nThat self \u2014 were Hell to Me \u2014\n\nSo We must meet apart \u2014   \nYou there \u2014 I \u2014 here \u2014   \nWith just the Door ajar  \nThat Oceans are \u2014 and Prayer \u2014   \nAnd that White Sustenance \u2014   \nDespair \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Size circumscribes \u2014 it has no room**\n\nSize circumscribes \u2014 it has no room  \nFor petty furniture \u2014   \nThe Giant tolerates no Gnat  \nFor Ease of Gianture \u2014\n\nRepudiates it, all the more \u2014   \nBecause intrinsic size  \nIgnores the possibility  \nOf Calumnies \u2014 or Flies.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Me from Myself \u2014 to banish \u2014**\n\nMe from Myself \u2014 to banish \u2014   \nHad I Art \u2014   \nImpregnable my Fortress  \nUnto All Heart \u2014\n\nBut since Myself \u2014 assault Me \u2014   \nHow have I peace  \nExcept by subjugating  \nConsciousness?\n\nAnd since We're mutual Monarch  \nHow this be  \nExcept by Abdication \u2014   \nMe \u2014 of Me?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I could suffice for Him, I knew \u2014**\n\nI could suffice for Him, I knew \u2014   \nHe \u2014 could suffice for Me \u2014   \nYet Hesitating Fractions \u2014 Both  \nSurveyed Infinity \u2014\n\n\"Would I be Whole\" He sudden broached \u2014   \nMy syllable rebelled \u2014   \n'Twas face to face with Nature \u2014 forced \u2014   \n'Twas face to face with God \u2014\n\nWithdrew the Sun \u2014 to Other Wests \u2014   \nWithdrew the furthest Star  \nBefore Decision \u2014 stooped to speech \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 be audibler\n\nThe Answer of the Sea unto  \nThe Motion of the Moon \u2014   \nHerself adjust Her Tides \u2014 unto \u2014   \nCould I \u2014 do else \u2014 with Mine?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You left me \u2014 Sire \u2014 two Legacies \u2014**\n\nYou left me \u2014 Sire \u2014 two Legacies \u2014   \nA Legacy of Love  \nA Heavenly Father would suffice  \nHad He the offer of \u2014\n\nYou left me Boundaries of Pain \u2014   \nCapacious as the Sea \u2014   \nBetween Eternity and Time \u2014   \nYour Consciousness \u2014 and Me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Bereavement in their death to feel**\n\nBereavement in their death to feel  \nWhom We have never seen \u2014   \nA Vital Kinsmanship import  \nOur Soul and theirs \u2014 between \u2014\n\nFor Stranger \u2014 Strangers do not mourn \u2014   \nThere be Immortal friends  \nWhom Death see first \u2014 'tis news of this  \nThat paralyze Ourselves \u2014\n\nWho, vital only to Our Thought \u2014   \nSuch Presence bear away  \nIn dying \u2014 'tis as if Our Souls  \nAbsconded \u2014 suddenly \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I think to Live \u2014 may be a Bliss**\n\nI think to Live \u2014 may be a Bliss  \nTo those who dare to try \u2014   \nBeyond my limit to conceive \u2014   \nMy lip \u2014 to testify \u2014\n\nI think the Heart I former wore  \nCould widen \u2014 till to me  \nThe Other, like the little Bank  \nAppear \u2014 unto the Sea \u2014\n\nI think the Days \u2014 could every one  \nIn Ordination stand \u2014   \nAnd Majesty \u2014 be easier \u2014   \nThan an inferior kind \u2014\n\nNo numb alarm \u2014 lest Difference come \u2014   \nNo Goblin \u2014 on the Bloom \u2014   \nNo start in Apprehension's Ear,  \nNo Bankruptcy \u2014 no Doom \u2014\n\nBut Certainties of Sun \u2014   \nMidsummer \u2014 in the Mind \u2014   \nA steadfast South \u2014 upon the Soul \u2014   \nHer Polar time \u2014 behind \u2014\n\nThe Vision \u2014 pondered long \u2014   \nSo plausible becomes  \nThat I esteem the fiction \u2014 real \u2014   \nThe Real \u2014 fictitious seems \u2014\n\nHow bountiful the Dream \u2014   \nWhat Plenty \u2014 it would be \u2014   \nHad all my Life but been Mistake  \nJust rectified \u2014 in Thee\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A little Road \u2014 not made of Man \u2014**\n\nA LITTLE road not made of man,  \nEnabled of the eye,  \nAccessible to thill of bee,  \nOr cart of butterfly.\n\nIf town it have, beyond itself,  \n'T is that I cannot say ;  \nI only sigh, \u2014 no vehicle  \nBears me along that way.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Promise This** **\u2014** **When You be Dying** **\u2014**\n\nPromise This \u2014 When You be Dying \u2014   \nSome shall summon Me \u2014   \nMine belong Your latest Sighing \u2014   \nMine \u2014 to Belt Your Eye \u2014\n\nNot with Coins \u2014 though they be Minted  \nFrom an Emperor's Hand \u2014   \nBe my lips \u2014 the only Buckle  \nYour low Eyes \u2014 demand \u2014\n\nMine to stay \u2014 when all have wandered \u2014   \nTo devise once more  \nIf the Life be too surrendered \u2014   \nLife of Mine \u2014 restore \u2014\n\nPoured like this \u2014 My Whole Libation \u2014   \nJust that You should see  \nBliss of Death \u2014 Life's Bliss extol thro'  \nImitating You \u2014\n\nMine \u2014 to guard Your Narrow Precinct \u2014   \nTo seduce the Sun  \nLongest on Your South, to linger,  \nLargest Dews of Morn\n\nTo demand, in Your low favor  \nLest the Jealous Grass  \nGreener lean \u2014 Or fonder cluster  \nRound some other face \u2014\n\nMine to supplicate Madonna \u2014   \nIf Madonna be  \nCould behold so far a Creature \u2014   \nChrist \u2014 omitted \u2014 Me \u2014\n\nJust to follow Your dear future \u2014   \nNe'er so far behind \u2014   \nFor My Heaven \u2014   \nHad I not been  \nMost enough \u2014 denied?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead**\n\nHer Sweet turn to leave the Homestead  \nCame the Darker Way \u2014   \nCarriages \u2014 Be Sure \u2014 and Guests \u2014 too \u2014   \nBut for Holiday\n\n'Tis more pitiful Endeavor  \nThan did Loaded Sea  \nO'er the Curls attempt to caper  \nIt had cast away \u2014\n\nNever Bride had such Assembling \u2014   \nNever kinsmen kneeled  \nTo salute so fair a Forehead \u2014   \nGarland be indeed \u2014\n\nFitter Feet \u2014 of Her before us \u2014   \nThan whatever Brow  \nArt of Snow \u2014 or Trick of Lily  \nPossibly bestow\n\nOf Her Father \u2014 Whoso ask Her \u2014   \nHe shall seek as high  \nAs the Palm \u2014 that serve the Desert \u2014   \nTo obtain the Sky \u2014\n\nDistance \u2014 be Her only Motion \u2014   \nIf 'tis Nay \u2014 or Yes \u2014   \nAcquiescence \u2014 or Demurral \u2014   \nWhosoever guess \u2014\n\nHe \u2014 must pass the Crystal Angle  \nThat obscure Her face \u2014   \nHe \u2014 must have achieved in person  \nEqual Paradise \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Pain \u2014 has an Element of Blank \u2014**\n\nPain \u2014 has an Element of Blank \u2014   \nIt cannot recollect  \nWhen it begun \u2014 or if there were  \nA time when it was not \u2014\n\nIt has no Future \u2014 but itself \u2014   \nIts Infinite realms contain  \nIts Past \u2014 enlightened to perceive  \nNew Periods \u2014 of Pain.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So much Summer**\n\nSo much Summer  \nMe for showing  \nIllegitimate \u2014   \nWould a Smile's minute bestowing  \nToo exorbitant\n\nTo the Lady  \nWith the Guinea  \nLook \u2014 if She should know  \nCrumb of Mine  \nA Robin's Larder  \nWould suffice to stow \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Prison gets to be a friend \u2014**\n\nA Prison gets to be a friend \u2014   \nBetween its Ponderous face  \nAnd Ours \u2014 a Kinsmanship express \u2014   \nAnd in its narrow Eyes \u2014\n\nWe come to look with gratitude  \nFor the appointed Beam  \nIt deal us \u2014 stated as our food \u2014   \nAnd hungered for \u2014 the same \u2014\n\nWe learn to know the Planks \u2014   \nThat answer to Our feet \u2014   \nSo miserable a sound \u2014 at first \u2014   \nNor ever now \u2014 so sweet \u2014\n\nAs plashing in the Pools \u2014   \nWhen Memory was a Boy \u2014   \nBut a Demurer Circuit \u2014   \nA Geometric Joy \u2014\n\nThe Posture of the Key  \nThat interrupt the Day  \nTo Our Endeavor \u2014 Not so real  \nThe Check of Liberty \u2014\n\nAs this Phantasm Steel \u2014   \nWhose features \u2014 Day and Night \u2014   \nAre present to us \u2014 as Our Own \u2014   \nAnd as escapeless \u2014 quite \u2014\n\nThe narrow Round \u2014 the Stint \u2014   \nThe slow exchange of Hope \u2014   \nFor something passiver \u2014 Content  \nToo steep for looking up \u2014\n\nThe Liberty we knew  \nAvoided \u2014 like a Dream \u2014   \nToo wide for any Night but Heaven \u2014   \nIf That \u2014 indeed \u2014 redeem \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Being is a Bird**\n\nOf Being is a Bird  \nThe likest to the Down  \nAn Easy Breeze do put afloat  \nThe General Heavens \u2014 upon \u2014\n\nIt soars \u2014 and shifts \u2014 and whirls \u2014   \nAnd measures with the Clouds  \nIn easy \u2014 even \u2014 dazzling pace \u2014   \nNo different the Birds \u2014\n\nExcept a Wake of Music  \nAccompany their feet \u2014   \nAs did the Down emit a Tune \u2014   \nFor Ecstasy \u2014 of it\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A long \u2014 long Sleep \u2014 A famous \u2014 Sleep \u2014**\n\nA long \u2014 long Sleep \u2014 A famous \u2014 Sleep \u2014   \nThat makes no show for Morn \u2014   \nBy Stretch of Limb \u2014 or stir of Lid \u2014   \nAn independent One \u2014\n\nWas ever idleness like This?  \nUpon a Bank of Stone  \nTo bask the Centuries away \u2014   \nNor once look up \u2014 for Noon?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Without this \u2014 there is nought \u2014**\n\nWithout this \u2014 there is nought \u2014   \nAll other Riches be  \nAs is the Twitter of a Bird \u2014   \nHeard opposite the Sea \u2014\n\nI could not care \u2014 to gain  \nA lesser than the Whole \u2014   \nFor did not this include themself \u2014   \nAs Seams \u2014 include the Ball?\n\nI wished a way might be  \nMy Heart to subdivide \u2014   \n'Twould magnify \u2014 the Gratitude \u2014   \nAnd not reduce \u2014 the Gold \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The name \u2014 of it \u2014 is Autumn \u2014**\n\nThe name \u2014 of it \u2014 is \"Autumn\" \u2014   \nThe hue \u2014 of it \u2014 is Blood \u2014   \nAn Artery \u2014 upon the Hill \u2014   \nA Vein \u2014 along the Road \u2014\n\nGreat Globules \u2014 in the Alleys \u2014   \nAnd Oh, the Shower of Stain \u2014   \nWhen Winds \u2014 upset the Basin \u2014   \nAnd spill the Scarlet Rain \u2014\n\nIt sprinkles Bonnets \u2014 far below \u2014   \nIt gathers ruddy Pools \u2014   \nThen \u2014 eddies like a Rose \u2014 away \u2014   \nUpon Vermilion Wheels \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I dwell in Possibility \u2014**\n\nI dwell in Possibility \u2014   \nA fairer House than Prose \u2014   \nMore numerous of Windows \u2014   \nSuperior \u2014 for Doors \u2014\n\nOf Chambers as the Cedars \u2014   \nImpregnable of Eye \u2014   \nAnd for an Everlasting Roof  \nThe Gambrels of the Sky \u2014\n\nOf Visitors \u2014 the fairest \u2014   \nFor Occupation \u2014 This \u2014   \nThe spreading wide my narrow Hands  \nTo gather Paradise \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Whole Gulfs \u2014 of Red, and Fleets \u2014 of Red \u2014**\n\nWhole Gulfs \u2014 of Red, and Fleets \u2014 of Red \u2014   \nAnd Crews \u2014 of solid Blood \u2014   \nDid place upon the West \u2014 Tonight \u2014   \nAs 'twere specific Ground \u2014\n\nAnd They \u2014 appointed Creatures \u2014   \nIn Authorized Arrays \u2014   \nDue \u2014 promptly \u2014 as a Drama \u2014   \nThat bows \u2014 and disappears \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That first Day, when you praised Me, Sweet,**\n\nThat first Day, when you praised Me, Sweet,  \nAnd said that I was strong \u2014   \nAnd could be mighty, if I liked \u2014   \nThat Day \u2014 the Days among \u2014\n\nGlows Central \u2014 like a Jewel  \nBetween Diverging Golds \u2014   \nThe Minor One \u2014 that gleamed behind \u2014   \nAnd Vaster \u2014 of the World's.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis good \u2014 the looking back on Grief \u2014**\n\n'Tis good \u2014 the looking back on Grief \u2014   \nTo re-endure a Day \u2014   \nWe thought the Mighty Funeral \u2014   \nOf All Conceived Joy \u2014\n\nTo recollect how Busy Grass  \nDid meddle \u2014 one by one \u2014   \nTill all the Grief with Summer \u2014 waved  \nAnd none could see the stone.\n\nAnd though the Woe you have Today  \nBe larger \u2014 As the Sea  \nExceeds its Unremembered Drop \u2014   \nThey're Water \u2014 equally \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Could I but ride indefinite**\n\nCould I but ride indefinite  \nAs doth the Meadow Bee  \nAnd visit only where I liked  \nAnd No one visit me\n\nAnd flirt all Day with Buttercups  \nAnd marry whom I may  \nAnd dwell a little everywhere  \nOr better, run away\n\nWith no Police to follow  \nOr chase Him if He do  \nTill He should jump Peninsulas  \nTo get away from me \u2014\n\nI said \"But just to be a Bee\"  \nUpon a Raft of Air  \nAnd row in Nowhere all Day long  \nAnd anchor \"off the Bar\"\n\nWhat Liberty! So Captives deem  \nWho tight in Dungeons are.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Embarrassment of one another**\n\nEmbarrassment of one another  \nAnd God  \nIs Revelation's limit,  \nAloud  \nIs nothing that is chief,  \nBut still,  \nDivinity dwells under a seal.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Again \u2014 his voice is at the door \u2014**\n\nAgain \u2014 his voice is at the door \u2014   \nI feel the old Degree \u2014   \nI hear him ask the servant  \nFor such an one \u2014 as me \u2014\n\nI take a flower \u2014 as I go \u2014   \nMy face to justify \u2014   \nHe never saw me \u2014 in this life \u2014   \nI might surprise his eye!\n\nI cross the Hall with mingled steps \u2014   \nI \u2014 silent \u2014 pass the door \u2014   \nI look on all this world contains \u2014   \nJust his face \u2014 nothing more!\n\nWe talk in careless \u2014 and it toss \u2014   \nA kind of plummet strain \u2014   \nEach \u2014 sounding \u2014 shyly \u2014   \nJust \u2014 how \u2014 deep \u2014   \nThe other's one \u2014 had been \u2014\n\nWe walk \u2014 I leave my Dog \u2014 at home \u2014   \nA tender \u2014 thoughtful Moon \u2014   \nGoes with us \u2014 just a little way \u2014   \nAnd \u2014 then \u2014 we are alone \u2014\n\nAlone \u2014 if Angels are \"alone\" \u2014   \nFirst time they try the sky!  \nAlone \u2014 if those \"veiled faces\" \u2014 be \u2014   \nWe cannot count \u2014 on High!\n\nI'd give \u2014 to live that hour \u2014 again \u2014   \nThe purple \u2014 in my Vein \u2014   \nBut He must count the drops \u2014 himself \u2014   \nMy price for every stain!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of all the Souls that stand create \u2014**\n\nOf all the Souls that stand create \u2014   \nI have elected \u2014 One \u2014   \nWhen Sense from Spirit \u2014 files away \u2014   \nAnd Subterfuge \u2014 is done \u2014   \nWhen that which is \u2014 and that which was \u2014   \nApart \u2014 intrinsic \u2014 stand \u2014   \nAnd this brief Drama in the flesh \u2014   \nIs shifted \u2014 like a Sand \u2014   \nWhen Figures show their royal Front \u2014   \nAnd Mists \u2014 are carved away,  \nBehold the Atom \u2014 I preferred \u2014   \nTo all the lists of Clay!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Dropped into the Ether Acre \u2014**\n\nDropped into the Ether Acre \u2014   \nWearing the Sod Gown \u2014   \nBonnet of Everlasting Laces \u2014   \nBrooch \u2014 frozen on \u2014\n\nHorses of Blonde \u2014 and Coach of Silver \u2014   \nBaggage a strapped Pearl \u2014   \nJourney of Down \u2014 and Whip of Diamond \u2014   \nRiding to meet the Earl \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Ah, Teneriffe!**\n\nAh, Teneriffe!  \nRetreating Mountain!  \nPurples of Ages \u2014 pause for you \u2014   \nSunset \u2014 reviews her Sapphire Regiment \u2014   \nDay \u2014 drops you her Red Adieu!\n\nStill \u2014 Clad in your Mail of ices \u2014   \nThigh of Granite \u2014 and thew \u2014 of Steel \u2014   \nHeedless \u2014 alike \u2014 of pomp \u2014 or parting\n\nAh, Teneriffe!  \nI'm kneeling \u2014 still \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Bloom upon the Mountain \u2014 stated \u2014**\n\nBloom upon the Mountain \u2014 stated \u2014   \nBlameless of a Name \u2014   \nEfflorescence of a Sunset \u2014   \nReproduced \u2014 the same \u2014\n\nSeed, had I, my Purple Sowing  \nShould endow the Day \u2014   \nNot a Topic of a Twilight \u2014   \nShow itself away \u2014\n\nWho for tilling \u2014 to the Mountain  \nCome, and disappear \u2014   \nWhose be Her Renown, or fading,  \nWitness, is not here \u2014\n\nWhile I state \u2014 the Solemn Petals,  \nFar as North \u2014 and East,  \nFar as South and West \u2014 expanding \u2014   \nCulminate \u2014 in Rest \u2014\n\nAnd the Mountain to the Evening  \nFit His Countenance \u2014   \nIndicating, by no Muscle \u2014   \nThe Experience \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Nature is what we see \u2014**\n\n\"Nature\" is what we see \u2014   \nThe Hill \u2014 the Afternoon \u2014   \nSquirrel \u2014 Eclipse \u2014 the Bumble bee \u2014   \nNay \u2014 Nature is Heaven \u2014   \nNature is what we hear \u2014   \nThe Bobolink \u2014 the Sea \u2014   \nThunder \u2014 the Cricket \u2014   \nNay \u2014 Nature is Harmony \u2014   \nNature is what we know \u2014   \nYet have no art to say \u2014   \nSo impotent Our Wisdom is  \nTo her Simplicity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No Romance sold unto**\n\nNo Romance sold unto  \nCould so enthrall a Man  \nAs the perusal of  \nHis Individual One \u2014   \n'Tis Fiction's \u2014 When 'tis small enough  \nTo Credit \u2014 'Tisn't true!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One need not be a Chamber \u2014 to be Haunted \u2014**\n\nOne need not be a Chamber \u2014 to be Haunted \u2014   \nOne need not be a House \u2014   \nThe Brain has Corridors \u2014 surpassing  \nMaterial Place \u2014\n\nFar safer, of a Midnight Meeting  \nExternal Ghost  \nThan its interior Confronting \u2014   \nThat Cooler Host.\n\nFar safer, through an Abbey gallop,  \nThe Stones a'chase \u2014   \nThan Unarmed, one's a'self encounter \u2014   \nIn lonesome Place \u2014\n\nOurself behind ourself, concealed \u2014   \nShould startle most \u2014   \nAssassin hid in our Apartment  \nBe Horror's least.\n\nThe Body \u2014 borrows a Revolver \u2014   \nHe bolts the Door \u2014   \nO'erlooking a superior spectre \u2014   \nOr More \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She dwelleth in the Ground \u2014**\n\nShe dwelleth in the Ground \u2014   \nWhere Daffodils \u2014 abide \u2014   \nHer Maker \u2014 Her Metropolis \u2014   \nThe Universe \u2014 Her Maid \u2014\n\nTo fetch Her Grace \u2014 and Hue \u2014   \nAnd Fairness \u2014 and Renown \u2014   \nThe Firmament's \u2014 To Pluck Her \u2014   \nAnd fetch Her Thee \u2014 be mine \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Future \u2014 never spoke \u2014**\n\nThe Future \u2014 never spoke \u2014   \nNor will He \u2014 like the Dumb \u2014   \nReveal by sign \u2014 a syllable  \nOf His Profound To Come \u2014\n\nBut when the News be ripe \u2014   \nPresents it \u2014 in the Act \u2014   \nForestalling Preparation \u2014   \nEscape \u2014 or Substitute \u2014\n\nIndifference to Him \u2014   \nThe Dower \u2014 as the Doom \u2014   \nHis Office \u2014 but to execute  \nFate's \u2014 Telegram \u2014 to Him \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Love a Life can show Below**\n\nThe Love a Life can show Below  \nIs but a filament, I know,  \nOf that diviner thing  \nThat faints upon the face of Noon \u2014   \nAnd smites the Tinder in the Sun \u2014   \nAnd hinders Gabriel's Wing \u2014\n\n'Tis this \u2014 in Music \u2014 hints and sways \u2014   \nAnd far abroad on Summer days \u2014   \nDistils uncertain pain \u2014   \n'Tis this enamors in the East \u2014   \nAnd tints the Transit in the West  \nWith harrowing Iodine \u2014\n\n'Tis this \u2014 invites \u2014 appalls \u2014 endows \u2014   \nFlits \u2014 glimmers \u2014 proves \u2014 dissolves \u2014   \nReturns \u2014 suggests \u2014 convicts \u2014 enchants \u2014   \nThen \u2014 flings in Paradise \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Soul that hath a Guest**\n\nThe Soul that hath a Guest  \nDoth seldom go abroad \u2014   \nDiviner Crowd at Home \u2014   \nObliterate the need \u2014\n\nAnd Courtesy forbid  \nA Host's departure when  \nUpon Himself be visiting  \nThe Emperor of Men \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Essential Oils \u2014 are wrung \u2014**\n\nEssential Oils \u2014 are wrung \u2014   \nThe Attar from the Rose  \nBe not expressed by Suns \u2014 alone \u2014   \nIt is the gift of Screws \u2014\n\nThe General Rose \u2014 decay \u2014   \nBut this \u2014 in Lady's Drawer  \nMake Summer \u2014 When the Lady lie  \nIn Ceaseless Rosemary \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Least Bee that brew \u2014**\n\nLeast Bee that brew \u2014   \nA Honey's Weight  \nContent Her smallest fraction help  \nThe Amber Quantity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To be alive \u2014 is Power \u2014**\n\nTo be alive \u2014 is Power \u2014   \nExistence \u2014 in itself \u2014   \nWithout a further function \u2014   \nOmnipotence \u2014 Enough \u2014\n\nTo be alive \u2014 and Will!  \n'Tis able as a God \u2014   \nThe Maker \u2014 of Ourselves \u2014 be what \u2014   \nSuch being Finitude!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Wolfe demanded during dying**\n\nWolfe demanded during dying  \n\"Which obtain the Day\"?  \n\"General, the British\" \u2014 \"Easy\"  \nAnswered Wolfe \"to die\"\n\nMontcalm, his opposing Spirit  \nRendered with a smile  \n\"Sweet\" said he \"my own Surrender  \nLiberty's beguile\"\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Conscious am I in my Chamber,**\n\nConscious am I in my Chamber,  \nOf a shapeless friend \u2014   \nHe doth not attest by Posture \u2014   \nNor Confirm \u2014 by Word \u2014\n\nNeither Place \u2014 need I present Him \u2014   \nFitter Courtesy  \nHospitable intuition  \nOf His Company \u2014\n\nPresence \u2014 is His furthest license \u2014   \nNeither He to Me  \nNor Myself to Him \u2014 by Accent \u2014   \nForfeit Probity \u2014\n\nWeariness of Him, were quainter  \nThan Monotony  \nKnew a Particle \u2014 of Space's  \nVast Society\n\nNeither if He visit Other \u2014   \nDo He dwell \u2014 or Nay \u2014 know I \u2014   \nBut Instinct esteem Him  \nImmortality \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Each Life Converges to some Centre \u2014**\n\nEach Life Converges to some Centre \u2014   \nExpressed \u2014 or still \u2014   \nExists in every Human Nature  \nA Goal \u2014\n\nEmbodied scarcely to itself \u2014 it may be \u2014   \nToo fair  \nFor Credibility's presumption  \nTo mar \u2014\n\nAdored with caution \u2014 as a Brittle Heaven \u2014   \nTo reach  \nWere hopeless, as the Rainbow's Raiment  \nTo touch \u2014\n\nYet persevered toward \u2014 sure \u2014 for the Distance \u2014   \nHow high \u2014   \nUnto the Saint's slow diligence \u2014   \nThe Sky \u2014\n\nUngained \u2014 it may be \u2014 by a Life's low Venture \u2014   \nBut then \u2014   \nEternity enable the endeavoring  \nAgain.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Soil of Flint, if steady tilled \u2014**\n\nSoil of Flint, if steady tilled \u2014   \nWill refund by Hand \u2014   \nSeed of Palm, by Libyan Sun  \nFructified in Sand \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twould ease \u2014 a Butterfly \u2014**\n\n'Twould ease \u2014 a Butterfly \u2014   \nElate \u2014 a Bee \u2014   \nThou'rt neither \u2014   \nNeither \u2014 thy capacity \u2014\n\nBut, Blossom, were I,  \nI would rather be  \nThy moment  \nThan a Bee's Eternity \u2014\n\nContent of fading  \nIs enough for me \u2014   \nFade I unto Divinity \u2014\n\nAnd Dying \u2014 Lifetime \u2014   \nAmple as the Eye \u2014   \nHer least attention raise on me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Soul unto itself**\n\nThe Soul unto itself  \nIs an imperial friend \u2014   \nOr the most agonizing Spy \u2014   \nAn Enemy \u2014 could send \u2014\n\nSecure against its own \u2014   \nNo treason it can fear \u2014   \nItself \u2014 its Sovereign \u2014 of itself  \nThe Soul should stand in Awe \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Best Gains \u2014 must have the Losses' Test \u2014**\n\nBest Gains \u2014 must have the Losses' Test \u2014   \nTo constitute them \u2014 Gains \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not Revelation \u2014 'tis \u2014 that waits,**\n\nNot \"Revelation\" \u2014 'tis \u2014 that waits,  \nBut our unfurnished eyes \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**They say that Time assuages \u2014**\n\nThey say that \"Time assuages\" \u2014   \nTime never did assuage \u2014   \nAn actual suffering strengthens  \nAs Sinews do, with age \u2014\n\nTime is a Test of Trouble \u2014   \nBut not a Remedy \u2014   \nIf such it prove, it prove too  \nThere was no Malady \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I'll send the feather from my Hat!**\n\nI'll send the feather from my Hat!  \nWho knows \u2014 but at the sight of that  \nMy Sovereign will relent?  \nAs trinket \u2014 worn by faded Child \u2014   \nConfronting eyes long \u2014 comforted \u2014   \nBlisters the Adamant!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Speech \u2014 is a prank of Parliament \u2014**\n\n\"Speech\" \u2014 is a prank of Parliament \u2014   \n\"Tears\" \u2014 is a trick of the nerve \u2014   \nBut the Heart with the heaviest freight on \u2014   \nDoesn't \u2014 always \u2014 move \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Zeroes \u2014 taught us \u2014 Phosphorous \u2014**\n\nThe Zeroes \u2014 taught us \u2014 Phosphorous \u2014   \nWe learned to like the Fire  \nBy playing Glaciers \u2014 when a Boy \u2014   \nAnd Tinder \u2014 guessed \u2014 by power  \nOf Opposite \u2014 to balance Odd \u2014   \nIf White \u2014 a Red \u2014 must be!  \nParalysis \u2014 our Primer \u2014 dumb \u2014   \nUnto Vitality!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Victory comes late \u2014**\n\nVictory comes late \u2014   \nAnd is held low to freezing lips \u2014   \nToo rapt with frost  \nTo take it \u2014   \nHow sweet it would have tasted \u2014   \nJust a Drop \u2014   \nWas God so economical?  \nHis Table's spread too high for Us \u2014   \nUnless We dine on tiptoe \u2014   \nCrumbs \u2014 fit such little mouths \u2014   \nCherries \u2014 suit Robbins \u2014   \nThe Eagle's Golden Breakfast strangles \u2014 Them \u2014   \nGod keep His Oath to Sparrows \u2014   \nWho of little Love \u2014 know how to starve \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Would you like summer? Taste of ours.**\n\nWould you like summer? Taste of ours.  \nSpices? Buy here!  \nIll! We have berries, for the parching!  \nWeary! Furloughs of down!  \nPerplexed! Estates of violet trouble ne'er looked on!  \nCaptive! We bring reprieve of roses!  \nFainting! Flasks of air!  \nEven for Death, a fairy medicine.  \nBut, which is it, sir?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sun kept setting \u2014 setting \u2014 still**\n\nThe Sun kept setting \u2014 setting \u2014 still  \nNo Hue of Afternoon \u2014   \nUpon the Village I perceived  \nFrom House to House 'twas Noon \u2014\n\nThe Dusk kept dropping \u2014 dropping \u2014 still  \nNo Dew upon the Grass \u2014   \nBut only on my Forehead stopped \u2014   \nAnd wandered in my Face \u2014\n\nMy Feet kept drowsing \u2014 drowsing \u2014 still  \nMy fingers were awake \u2014   \nYet why so little sound \u2014 Myself  \nUnto my Seeming \u2014 make?\n\nHow well I knew the Light before \u2014   \nI could see it now \u2014   \n'Tis Dying \u2014 I am doing \u2014 but  \nI'm not afraid to know \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Shells from the Coast mistaking \u2014**\n\nShells from the Coast mistaking \u2014   \nI cherished them for All \u2014   \nHappening in After Ages  \nTo entertain a Pearl \u2014\n\nWherefore so late \u2014 I murmured \u2014   \nMy need of Thee \u2014 be done \u2014   \nTherefore \u2014 the Pearl responded \u2014   \nMy Period begin\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Heaven vests for Each**\n\nThe Heaven vests for Each  \nIn that small Deity  \nIt craved the grace to worship  \nSome bashful Summer's Day \u2014\n\nHalf shrinking from the Glory  \nIt importuned to see  \nTill these faint Tabernacles drop  \nIn full Eternity \u2014\n\nHow imminent the Venture \u2014   \nAs one should sue a Star \u2014   \nFor His mean sake to leave the Row  \nAnd entertain Despair \u2014\n\nA Clemency so common \u2014   \nWe almost cease to fear \u2014   \nEnabling the minutest \u2014   \nAnd furthest \u2014 to adore \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As if the Sea should part**\n\nAs if the Sea should part  \nAnd show a further Sea \u2014   \nAnd that \u2014 a further \u2014 and the Three  \nBut a presumption be \u2014\n\nOf Periods of Seas \u2014   \nUnvisited of Shores \u2014   \nThemselves the Verge of Seas to be \u2014   \nEternity \u2014 is Those \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Their Height in Heaven comforts not \u2014**\n\nTheir Height in Heaven comforts not \u2014   \nTheir Glory \u2014 nought to me \u2014   \n'Twas best imperfect \u2014 as it was \u2014   \nI'm finite \u2014 I can't see \u2014\n\nThe House of Supposition \u2014   \nThe Glimmering Frontier that  \nSkirts the Acres of Perhaps \u2014   \nTo Me \u2014 shows insecure \u2014\n\nThe Wealth I had \u2014 contented me \u2014   \nIf 'twas a meaner size \u2014   \nThen I had counted it until  \nIt pleased my narrow Eyes \u2014\n\nBetter than larger values \u2014   \nThat show however true \u2014   \nThis timid life of Evidence  \nKeeps pleading \u2014 \"I don't know.\"\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I could bring You Jewels \u2014 had I a mind to \u2014**\n\nI could bring You Jewels \u2014 had I a mind to \u2014   \nBut You have enough \u2014 of those \u2014   \nI could bring You Odors from St. Domingo \u2014   \nColors \u2014 from Vera Cruz \u2014\n\nBerries of the Bahamas \u2014 have I \u2014   \nBut this little Blaze  \nFlickering to itself \u2014 in the Meadow \u2014   \nSuits Me \u2014 more than those \u2014\n\nNever a Fellow matched this Topaz \u2014   \nAnd his Emerald Swing \u2014   \nDower itself \u2014 for Bobadilo \u2014   \nBetter \u2014 Could I bring?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Life \u2014 is what we make of it \u2014**\n\nLife \u2014 is what we make of it \u2014   \nDeath \u2014 we do not know \u2014   \nChrist's acquaintance with Him  \nJustify Him \u2014 though \u2014\n\nHe \u2014 would trust no stranger \u2014   \nOther \u2014 could betray \u2014   \nJust His own endorsement \u2014   \nThat \u2014 sufficeth Me \u2014\n\nAll the other Distance  \nHe hath traversed first \u2014   \nNo New Mile remaineth \u2014   \nFar as Paradise \u2014\n\nHis sure foot preceding \u2014   \nTender Pioneer \u2014   \nBase must be the Coward  \nDare not venture \u2014 now \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Judge is like the Owl \u2014**\n\nThe Judge is like the Owl \u2014   \nI've heard my Father tell \u2014   \nAnd Owls do build in Oaks \u2014   \nSo here's an Amber Sill \u2014\n\nThat slanted in my Path \u2014   \nWhen going to the Barn \u2014   \nAnd if it serve You for a House \u2014   \nItself is not in vain \u2014\n\nAbout the price \u2014 'tis small \u2014   \nI only ask a Tune  \nAt Midnight \u2014 Let the Owl select  \nHis favorite Refrain.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You've seen Balloons set \u2014 Haven't You?**\n\nYou've seen Balloons set \u2014 Haven't You?  \nSo stately they ascend \u2014   \nIt is as Swans \u2014 discarded You,  \nFor Duties Diamond \u2014\n\nTheir Liquid Feet go softly out  \nUpon a Sea of Blonde \u2014   \nThey spurn the Air, as t'were too mean  \nFor Creatures so renowned \u2014\n\nTheir Ribbons just beyond the eye \u2014   \nThey struggle \u2014 some \u2014 for Breath \u2014   \nAnd yet the Crowd applaud, below \u2014   \nThey would not encore \u2014 Death \u2014\n\nThe Gilded Creature strains \u2014 and spins \u2014   \nTrips frantic in a Tree \u2014   \nTears open her imperial Veins \u2014   \nAnd tumbles in the Sea \u2014\n\nThe Crowd \u2014 retire with an Oath \u2014   \nThe Dust in Streets \u2014 go down \u2014   \nAnd Clerks in Counting Rooms  \nObserve \u2014 \"'Twas only a Balloon\" \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Thought went up my mind today \u2014**\n\nA Thought went up my mind today \u2014   \nThat I have had before \u2014   \nBut did not finish \u2014 some way back \u2014   \nI could not fix the Year \u2014\n\nNor where it went \u2014 nor why it came  \nThe second time to me \u2014   \nNor definitely, what it was \u2014   \nHave I the Art to say \u2014\n\nBut somewhere \u2014 in my Soul \u2014 I know \u2014   \nI've met the Thing before \u2014   \nIt just reminded me \u2014 'twas all \u2014   \nAnd came my way no more \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A first Mute Coming \u2014**\n\nA first Mute Coming \u2014   \nIn the Stranger's House \u2014   \nA first fair Going \u2014   \nWhen the Bells rejoice \u2014\n\nA first Exchange \u2014 of  \nWhat hath mingled \u2014 been \u2014   \nFor Lot \u2014 exhibited to  \nFaith \u2014 alone \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Out of sight? What of that?**\n\nOut of sight? What of that?  \nSee the Bird \u2014 reach it!  \nCurve by Curve \u2014 Sweep by Sweep \u2014   \nRound the Steep Air \u2014   \nDanger! What is that to Her?  \nBetter 'tis to fail \u2014 there \u2014   \nThan debate \u2014 here \u2014\n\nBlue is Blue \u2014 the World through \u2014   \nAmber \u2014 Amber \u2014 Dew \u2014 Dew \u2014   \nSeek \u2014 Friend \u2014 and see \u2014   \nHeaven is shy of Earth \u2014 that's all \u2014   \nBashful Heaven \u2014 thy Lovers small \u2014   \nHide \u2014 too \u2014 from thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No matter \u2014 now \u2014 Sweet \u2014**\n\nNo matter \u2014 now \u2014 Sweet \u2014   \nBut when I'm Earl \u2014   \nWon't you wish you'd spoken  \nTo that dull Girl?\n\nTrivial a Word \u2014 just \u2014   \nTrivial \u2014 a Smile \u2014   \nBut won't you wish you'd spared one  \nWhen I'm Earl?\n\nI shan't need it \u2014 then \u2014   \nCrests \u2014 will do \u2014   \nEagles on my Buckles \u2014   \nOn my Belt \u2014 too \u2014\n\nErmine \u2014 my familiar Gown \u2014   \nSay \u2014 Sweet \u2014 then  \nWon't you wish you'd smiled \u2014 just \u2014   \nMe upon?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Suspense \u2014 is Hostiler than Death \u2014**\n\nSuspense \u2014 is Hostiler than Death \u2014   \nDeath \u2014 tho'soever Broad,  \nIs Just Death, and cannot increase \u2014   \nSuspense \u2014 does not conclude \u2014\n\nBut perishes \u2014 to live anew \u2014   \nBut just anew to die \u2014   \nAnnihilation \u2014 plated fresh  \nWith Immortality \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Life, and Death, and Giants \u2014**\n\nLife, and Death, and Giants \u2014   \nSuch as These \u2014 are still \u2014   \nMinor \u2014 Apparatus \u2014 Hopper of the Mill \u2014   \nBeetle at the Candle \u2014   \nOr a Fife's Fame \u2014   \nMaintain \u2014 by Accident that they proclaim \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Grace \u2014 Myself \u2014 might not obtain \u2014**\n\nThe Grace \u2014 Myself \u2014 might not obtain \u2014   \nConfer upon My flower \u2014   \nRefracted but a Countenance \u2014   \nFor I \u2014 inhabit Her \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I sometimes drop it, for a Quick \u2014**\n\nI sometimes drop it, for a Quick \u2014   \nThe Thought to be alive \u2014   \nAnonymous Delight to know \u2014   \nAnd Madder \u2014 to conceive \u2014\n\nConsoles a Woe so monstrous  \nThat did it tear all Day,  \nWithout an instant's Respite \u2014   \n'Twould look too far \u2014 to Die \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Publication \u2014 is the Auction**\n\nPublication \u2014 is the Auction  \nOf the Mind of Man \u2014   \nPoverty \u2014 be justifying  \nFor so foul a thing\n\nPossibly \u2014 but We \u2014 would rather  \nFrom Our Garret go  \nWhite \u2014 Unto the White Creator \u2014   \nThan invest \u2014 Our Snow \u2014\n\nThought belong to Him who gave it \u2014   \nThen \u2014 to Him Who bear  \nIts Corporeal illustration \u2014 Sell  \nThe Royal Air \u2014\n\nIn the Parcel \u2014 Be the Merchant  \nOf the Heavenly Grace \u2014   \nBut reduce no Human Spirit  \nTo Disgrace of Price \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sunrise runs for Both \u2014**\n\nThe Sunrise runs for Both \u2014   \nThe East \u2014 Her Purple Troth  \nKeeps with the Hill \u2014   \nThe Noon unwinds Her Blue  \nTill One Breadth cover Two \u2014   \nRemotest \u2014 still \u2014\n\nNor does the Night forget  \nA Lamp for Each \u2014 to set \u2014   \nWicks wide away \u2014   \nThe North \u2014 Her blazing Sign  \nErects in Iodine \u2014   \nTill Both \u2014 can see \u2014\n\nThe Midnight's Dusky Arms  \nClasp Hemispheres, and Homes  \nAnd so  \nUpon Her Bosom \u2014 One \u2014   \nAnd One upon Her Hem \u2014   \nBoth lie \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Strong Draughts of Their Refreshing Minds**\n\nStrong Draughts of Their Refreshing Minds  \nTo drink \u2014 enables Mine  \nThrough Desert or the Wilderness  \nAs bore it Sealed Wine \u2014\n\nTo go elastic \u2014 Or as One  \nThe Camel's trait \u2014 attained \u2014   \nHow powerful the Stimulus  \nOf an Hermetic Mind \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Because I could not stop for Death \u2014**\n\nBecause I could not stop for Death \u2014   \nHe kindly stopped for me \u2014   \nThe Carriage held but just Ourselves \u2014   \nAnd Immortality.\n\nWe slowly drove \u2014 He knew no haste,  \nAnd I had put away  \nMy labor and my leisure too,  \nFor His Civility \u2014\n\nWe passed the School, where Children strove  \nAt recess \u2014 in the ring \u2014   \nWe passed the Fields of Gazing Grain \u2014   \nWe passed the Setting Sun \u2014\n\nOr rather \u2014 He passed Us \u2014   \nThe Dews drew quivering and chill \u2014   \nFor only Gossamer, my Gown \u2014   \nMy Tippet \u2014 only Tulle \u2014\n\nWe paused before a House that seemed  \nA Swelling of the Ground \u2014   \nThe Roof was scarcely visible \u2014   \nThe Cornice \u2014 in the Ground \u2014\n\nSince then \u2014 'tis centuries \u2014 and yet  \nFeels shorter than the Day  \nI first surmised the Horses' Heads  \nWere toward Eternity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Fame of Myself, to justify,**\n\nFame of Myself, to justify,  \nAll other Plaudit be  \nSuperfluous \u2014 An Incense  \nBeyond Necessity \u2014\n\nFame of Myself to lack \u2014 Although  \nMy Name be else Supreme \u2014   \nThis were an Honor honorless \u2014   \nA futile Diadem \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Rest at Night**\n\nRest at Night  \nThe Sun from shining,  \nNature \u2014 and some Men \u2014   \nRest at Noon \u2014 some Men \u2014   \nWhile Nature  \nAnd the Sun \u2014 go on \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The World \u2014 feels Dusty**\n\nThe World \u2014 feels Dusty  \nWhen We stop to Die \u2014   \nWe want the Dew \u2014 then \u2014   \nHonors \u2014 taste dry \u2014\n\nFlags \u2014 vex a Dying face \u2014   \nBut the least Fan  \nStirred by a friend's Hand \u2014   \nCools \u2014 like the Rain \u2014\n\nMine be the Ministry  \nWhen they Thirst comes \u2014   \nAnd Hybla Balms \u2014   \nDews of Thessaly, to fetch \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Day undressed \u2014 Herself \u2014**\n\nThe Day undressed \u2014 Herself \u2014   \nHer Garter \u2014 was of Gold \u2014   \nHer Petticoat \u2014 of Purple plain \u2014   \nHer Dimities \u2014 as old\n\nExactly \u2014 as the World \u2014   \nAnd yet the newest Star \u2014   \nEnrolled upon the Hemisphere  \nBe wrinkled \u2014 much as Her \u2014\n\nToo near to God \u2014 to pray \u2014   \nToo near to Heaven \u2014 to fear \u2014   \nThe Lady of the Occident  \nRetired without a care \u2014\n\nHer Candle so expire  \nThe flickering be seen  \nOn Ball of Mast in Bosporus \u2014   \nAnd Dome \u2014 and Window Pane \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Beggar Lad \u2014 dies early \u2014**\n\nThe Beggar Lad \u2014 dies early \u2014   \nIt's Somewhat in the Cold \u2014   \nAnd Somewhat in the Trudging feet \u2014   \nAnd haply, in the World \u2014\n\nThe Cruel \u2014 smiling \u2014 bowing World \u2014   \nThat took its Cambric Way \u2014   \nNor heard the timid cry for \"Bread\" \u2014   \n\"Sweet Lady \u2014 Charity\" \u2014\n\nAmong Redeemed Children  \nIf Trudging feet may stand  \nThe Barefoot time forgotten \u2014 so \u2014   \nThe Sleet \u2014 the bitter Wind \u2014\n\nThe Childish Hands that teased for Pence  \nLifted adoring \u2014 them \u2014   \nTo Him whom never Ragged \u2014 Coat  \nDid supplicate in vain \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I meant to find Her when I came \u2014**\n\nI meant to find Her when I came \u2014   \nDeath \u2014 had the same design \u2014   \nBut the Success \u2014 was His \u2014 it seems \u2014   \nAnd the Surrender \u2014 Mine \u2014\n\nI meant to tell Her how I longed  \nFor just this single time \u2014   \nBut Death had told Her so the first \u2014   \nAnd she had past, with Him \u2014\n\nTo wander \u2014 now \u2014 is my Repose \u2014   \nTo rest \u2014 To rest would be  \nA privilege of Hurricane  \nTo Memory \u2014 and Me.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A South Wind \u2014 has a pathos**\n\nA South Wind \u2014 has a pathos  \nOf individual Voice \u2014   \nAs One detect on Landings  \nAn Emigrant's address.\n\nA Hint of Ports and Peoples \u2014   \nAnd much not understood \u2014   \nThe fairer \u2014 for the farness \u2014   \nAnd for the foreignhood.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No Prisoner be \u2014**\n\nNo Prisoner be \u2014   \nWhere Liberty \u2014   \nHimself \u2014 abide with Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Behind Me \u2014 dips Eternity \u2014**\n\nBehind Me \u2014 dips Eternity \u2014   \nBefore Me \u2014 Immortality \u2014   \nMyself \u2014 the Term between \u2014   \nDeath but the Drift of Eastern Gray,  \nDissolving into Dawn away,  \nBefore the West begin \u2014\n\n'Tis Kingdoms \u2014 afterward \u2014 they say \u2014   \nIn perfect \u2014 pauseless Monarchy \u2014   \nWhose Prince \u2014 is Son of None \u2014   \nHimself \u2014 His Dateless Dynasty \u2014   \nHimself \u2014 Himself diversify \u2014   \nIn Duplicate divine \u2014\n\n'Tis Miracle before Me \u2014 then \u2014   \n'Tis Miracle behind \u2014 between \u2014   \nA Crescent in the Sea \u2014   \nWith Midnight to the North of Her \u2014   \nAnd Midnight to the South of Her \u2014   \nAnd Maelstrom \u2014 in the Sky \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sweet Mountains \u2014 Ye tell Me no lie \u2014**\n\nSweet Mountains \u2014 Ye tell Me no lie \u2014   \nNever deny Me \u2014 Never fly \u2014   \nThose same unvarying Eyes  \nTurn on Me \u2014 when I fail \u2014 or feign,  \nOr take the Royal names in vain \u2014   \nTheir far \u2014 slow \u2014 Violet Gaze \u2014\n\nMy Strong Madonnas \u2014 Cherish still \u2014   \nThe Wayward Nun \u2014 beneath the Hill \u2014   \nWhose service \u2014 is to You \u2014   \nHer latest Worship \u2014 When the Day  \nFades from the Firmament away \u2014   \nTo lift Her Brows on You \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It tossed \u2014 and tossed \u2014**\n\nIt tossed \u2014 and tossed \u2014   \nA little Brig I knew \u2014 o'ertook by Blast \u2014   \nIt spun \u2014 and spun \u2014   \nAnd groped delirious, for Morn \u2014\n\nIt slipped \u2014 and slipped \u2014   \nAs One that drunken \u2014 stept \u2014   \nIts white foot tripped \u2014   \nThen dropped from sight \u2014\n\nAh, Brig \u2014 Good Night  \nTo Crew and You \u2014   \nThe Ocean's Heart too smooth \u2014 too Blue \u2014   \nTo break for You \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It's easy to invent a Life \u2014**\n\nIt's easy to invent a Life \u2014   \nGod does it \u2014 every Day \u2014   \nCreation \u2014 but the Gambol  \nOf His Authority \u2014\n\nIt's easy to efface it \u2014   \nThe thrifty Deity  \nCould scarce afford Eternity  \nTo Spontaneity \u2014\n\nThe Perished Patterns murmur \u2014   \nBut His Perturbless Plan  \nProceed \u2014 inserting Here \u2014 a Sun \u2014   \nThere \u2014 leaving out a Man \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Where Thou art \u2014 that \u2014 is Home \u2014**\n\nWhere Thou art \u2014 that \u2014 is Home \u2014   \nCashmere \u2014 or Calvary \u2014 the same \u2014   \nDegree \u2014 or Shame \u2014   \nI scarce esteem Location's Name \u2014   \nSo I may Come \u2014\n\nWhat Thou dost \u2014 is Delight \u2014   \nBondage as Play \u2014 be sweet \u2014   \nImprisonment \u2014 Content \u2014   \nAnd Sentence \u2014 Sacrament \u2014   \nJust We two \u2014 meet \u2014\n\nWhere Thou art not \u2014 is Woe \u2014   \nTho' Bands of Spices \u2014 row \u2014   \nWhat Thou dost not \u2014 Despair \u2014   \nTho' Gabriel \u2014 praise me \u2014 Sire \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We thirst at first \u2014 'tis Nature's Act \u2014**\n\nWe thirst at first \u2014 'tis Nature's Act \u2014   \nAnd later \u2014 when we die \u2014   \nA little Water supplicate \u2014   \nOf fingers going by \u2014\n\nIt intimates the finer want \u2014   \nWhose adequate supply  \nIs that Great Water in the West \u2014   \nTermed Immortality \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Precious to Me \u2014 She still shall be \u2014**\n\nPrecious to Me \u2014 She still shall be \u2014   \nThough She forget the name I bear \u2014   \nThe fashion of the Gown I wear \u2014   \nThe very Color of My Hair \u2014\n\nSo like the Meadows \u2014 now \u2014   \nI dared to show a Tress of Theirs  \nIf haply \u2014 She might not despise  \nA Buttercup's Array \u2014\n\nI know the Whole \u2014 obscures the Part \u2014   \nThe fraction \u2014 that appeased the Heart  \nTill Number's Empery \u2014   \nRemembered \u2014 as the Millner's flower\n\nWhen Summer's Everlasting Dower \u2014   \nConfronts the dazzled Bee.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Let Us play Yesterday \u2014**\n\nLet Us play Yesterday \u2014   \nI \u2014 the Girl at school \u2014   \nYou \u2014 and Eternity \u2014 the  \nUntold Tale \u2014\n\nEasing my famine  \nAt my Lexicon \u2014   \nLogarithm \u2014 had I \u2014 for Drink \u2014   \n'Twas a dry Wine \u2014\n\nSomewhat different \u2014 must be \u2014   \nDreams tint the Sleep \u2014   \nCunning Reds of Morning  \nMake the Blind \u2014 leap \u2014\n\nStill at the Egg-life \u2014   \nChafing the Shell \u2014   \nWhen you troubled the Ellipse \u2014   \nAnd the Bird fell \u2014\n\nManacles be dim \u2014 they say \u2014   \nTo the new Free \u2014   \nLiberty \u2014 Commoner \u2014   \nNever could \u2014 to me \u2014\n\n'Twas my last gratitude  \nWhen I slept \u2014 at night \u2014   \n'Twas the first Miracle  \nLet in \u2014 with Light \u2014\n\nCan the Lark resume the Shell \u2014   \nEasier \u2014 for the Sky \u2014   \nWouldn't Bonds hurt more  \nThan Yesterday?\n\nWouldn't Dungeons sorer frate  \nOn the Man \u2014 free \u2014   \nJust long enough to taste \u2014   \nThen \u2014 doomed new \u2014\n\nGod of the Manacle  \nAs of the Free \u2014   \nTake not my Liberty  \nAway from Me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Alter? When the Hills do**\n\nIII.\n\nALTER? When the hills do.  \nFalter? When the sun  \nQuestion if his glory  \nBe the perfect one.\n\nSurfeit? When the daffodil  \nDoth of the dew:  \nEven as herself, O friend!  \nI will of you!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Defrauded I a Butterfly \u2014**\n\nDefrauded I a Butterfly \u2014   \nThe lawful Heir \u2014 for Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I want \u2014 it pleaded \u2014 All its life \u2014**\n\n\"I want\" \u2014 it pleaded \u2014 All its life \u2014   \nI want \u2014 was chief it said  \nWhen Skill entreated it \u2014 the last \u2014   \nAnd when so newly dead \u2014\n\nI could not deem it late \u2014 to hear  \nThat single \u2014 steadfast sigh \u2014   \nThe lips had placed as with a \"Please\"  \nToward Eternity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She rose to His Requirement \u2014 dropt**\n\nShe rose to His Requirement \u2014 dropt  \nThe Playthings of Her Life  \nTo take the honorable Work  \nOf Woman, and of Wife \u2014\n\nIf ought She missed in Her new Day,  \nOf Amplitude, or Awe \u2014   \nOr first Prospective \u2014 Or the Gold  \nIn using, wear away,\n\nIt lay unmentioned \u2014 as the Sea  \nDevelop Pearl, and Weed,  \nBut only to Himself \u2014 be known  \nThe Fathoms they abide \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Spirit is the Conscious Ear.**\n\nThe Spirit is the Conscious Ear.  \nWe actually Hear  \nWhen We inspect \u2014 that's audible \u2014   \nThat is admitted \u2014 Here \u2014\n\nFor other Services \u2014 as Sound \u2014   \nThere hangs a smaller Ear  \nOutside the Castle \u2014 that Contain \u2014   \nThe other \u2014 only \u2014 Hear \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If He were living \u2014 dare I ask \u2014**\n\nIf He were living \u2014 dare I ask \u2014   \nAnd how if He be dead \u2014   \nAnd so around the Words I went \u2014   \nOf meeting them \u2014 afraid \u2014\n\nI hinted Changes \u2014 Lapse of Time \u2014   \nThe Surfaces of Years \u2014   \nI touched with Caution \u2014 lest they crack \u2014   \nAnd show me to my fears \u2014\n\nReverted to adjoining Lives \u2014   \nAdroitly turning out  \nWherever I suspected Graves \u2014   \n'Twas prudenter \u2014 I thought \u2014\n\nAnd He \u2014 I pushed \u2014 with sudden force \u2014   \nIn face of the Suspense \u2014   \n\"Was buried\" \u2014 \"Buried\"! \"He!\"  \nMy Life just holds the Trench \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Upon Concluded Lives**\n\nUpon Concluded Lives  \nThere's nothing cooler falls \u2014   \nThan Life's sweet Calculations \u2014   \nThe mixing Bells and Palls \u2014\n\nMake Lacerating Tune \u2014   \nTo Ears the Dying Side \u2014   \n'Tis Coronal \u2014 and Funeral \u2014   \nSaluting \u2014 in the Road \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Have any like Myself**\n\nHave any like Myself  \nInvestigating March,  \nNew Houses on the Hill descried \u2014   \nAnd possibly a Church \u2014\n\nThat were not, We are sure \u2014   \nAs lately as the Snow \u2014   \nAnd are Today \u2014 if We exist \u2014   \nThough how may this be so?\n\nHave any like Myself  \nConjectured Who may be  \nThe Occupants of the Adobes \u2014   \nSo easy to the Sky \u2014\n\n'Twould seem that God should be  \nThe nearest Neighbor to \u2014   \nAnd Heaven \u2014 a convenient Grace  \nFor Show, or Company \u2014\n\nHave any like Myself  \nPreserved the Charm secure  \nBy shunning carefully the Place  \nAll Seasons of the Year,\n\nExcepting March \u2014 'Tis then  \nMy Villages be seen \u2014   \nAnd possibly a Steeple \u2014   \nNot afterward \u2014 by Men \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Moon was but a Chin of Gold**\n\nThe Moon was but a Chin of Gold  \nA Night or two ago \u2014   \nAnd now she turns Her perfect Face  \nUpon the World below \u2014\n\nHer Forehead is of Amplest Blonde \u2014   \nHer Cheek \u2014 a Beryl hewn \u2014   \nHer Eye unto the Summer Dew  \nThe likest I have known \u2014\n\nHer Lips of Amber never part \u2014   \nBut what must be the smile  \nUpon Her Friend she could confer  \nWere such Her Silver Will \u2014\n\nAnd what a privilege to be  \nBut the remotest Star \u2014   \nFor Certainty She take Her Way  \nBeside Your Palace Door \u2014\n\nHer Bonnet is the Firmament \u2014   \nThe Universe \u2014 Her Shoe \u2014   \nThe Stars \u2014 the Trinkets at Her Belt \u2014   \nHer Dimities \u2014 of Blue \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You said that I was Great \u2014 one Day \u2014**\n\nYou said that I \"was Great\" \u2014 one Day \u2014   \nThen \"Great\" it be \u2014 if that please Thee \u2014   \nOr Small \u2014 or any size at all \u2014   \nNay \u2014 I'm the size suit Thee \u2014\n\nTall \u2014 like the Stag \u2014 would that?  \nOr lower \u2014 like the Wren \u2014   \nOr other heights of Other Ones  \nI've seen?\n\nTell which \u2014 it's dull to guess \u2014   \nAnd I must be Rhinoceros  \nOr Mouse \u2014   \nAt once \u2014 for Thee \u2014\n\nSo say \u2014 if Queen it be \u2014   \nOr Page \u2014 please Thee \u2014   \nI'm that \u2014 or nought \u2014   \nOr other thing \u2014 if other thing there be \u2014   \nWith just this Stipulus \u2014   \nI suit Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I many times thought Peace had come**\n\nI many times thought Peace had come  \nWhen Peace was far away \u2014   \nAs Wrecked Men \u2014 deem they sight the Land \u2014   \nAt Centre of the Sea \u2014\n\nAnd struggle slacker \u2014 but to prove  \nAs hopelessly as I \u2014   \nHow many the fictitious Shores \u2014   \nBefore the Harbor be \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You taught me Waiting with Myself \u2014**\n\nYou taught me Waiting with Myself \u2014   \nAppointment strictly kept \u2014   \nYou taught me fortitude of Fate \u2014   \nThis \u2014 also \u2014 I have learnt \u2014\n\nAn Altitude of Death, that could  \nNo bitterer debar  \nThan Life \u2014 had done \u2014 before it \u2014   \nYet \u2014 there is a Science more \u2014\n\nThe Heaven you know \u2014 to understand  \nThat you be not ashamed  \nOf Me \u2014 in Christ's bright Audience  \nUpon the further Hand \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Drama's Vitallest Expression is the Common Day**\n\nDrama's Vitallest Expression is the Common Day  \nThat arise and set about Us \u2014   \nOther Tragedy\n\nPerish in the Recitation \u2014   \nThis \u2014 the best enact  \nWhen the Audience is scattered  \nAnd the Boxes shut \u2014\n\n\"Hamlet\" to Himself were Hamlet \u2014   \nHad not Shakespeare wrote \u2014   \nThough the \"Romeo\" left no Record  \nOf his Juliet,\n\nIt were infinite enacted  \nIn the Human Heart \u2014   \nOnly Theatre recorded  \nOwner cannot shut \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Four Trees \u2014 upon a solitary Acre \u2014**\n\nFour Trees \u2014 upon a solitary Acre \u2014   \nWithout Design  \nOr Order, or Apparent Action \u2014   \nMaintain \u2014\n\nThe Sun \u2014 upon a Morning meets them \u2014   \nThe Wind \u2014   \nNo nearer Neighbor \u2014 have they \u2014   \nBut God \u2014\n\nThe Acre gives them \u2014 Place \u2014   \nThey \u2014 Him \u2014 Attention of Passer by \u2014   \nOf Shadow, or of Squirrel, haply \u2014   \nOr Boy \u2014\n\nWhat Deed is Theirs unto the General Nature \u2014   \nWhat Plan  \nThey severally \u2014 retard \u2014 or further \u2014   \nUnknown \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Birds reported from the South \u2014**\n\nThe Birds reported from the South \u2014   \nA News express to Me \u2014   \nA spicy Charge, My little Posts \u2014   \nBut I am deaf \u2014 Today \u2014\n\nThe Flowers \u2014 appealed \u2014 a timid Throng \u2014   \nI reinforced the Door \u2014   \nGo blossom for the Bees \u2014 I said \u2014   \nAnd trouble Me \u2014 no More \u2014\n\nThe Summer Grace, for Notice strove \u2014   \nRemote \u2014 Her best Array \u2014   \nThe Heart \u2014 to stimulate the Eye  \nRefused too utterly \u2014\n\nAt length, a Mourner, like Myself,  \nShe drew away austere \u2014   \nHer frosts to ponder \u2014 then it was  \nI recollected Her \u2014\n\nShe suffered Me, for I had mourned \u2014   \nI offered Her no word \u2014   \nMy Witness \u2014 was the Crape I bore \u2014   \nHer \u2014 Witness \u2014 was Her Dead \u2014\n\nThenceforward \u2014 We \u2014 together dwelt \u2014   \nI never questioned Her \u2014   \nOur Contract  \nA Wiser Sympathy\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Remorse \u2014 is Memory \u2014 awake \u2014**\n\nRemorse is memory awake,  \nHer companies astir,---  \nA presence of departed acts  \nAt window and at door.\n\nIt's past set down before the soul,  \nAnd lighted with a match,  \nPerusal to facilitate  \nOf its condensed despatch.\n\nRemorse is cureless,---the disease  \nNot even God can heal;  \nFor 't is his institution,---  \nThe complement of hell.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Renunciation \u2014 is a piercing Virtue \u2014**\n\nRenunciation \u2014 is a piercing Virtue \u2014   \nThe letting go  \nA Presence \u2014 for an Expectation \u2014   \nNot now \u2014   \nThe putting out of Eyes \u2014   \nJust Sunrise \u2014   \nLest Day \u2014   \nDay's Great Progenitor \u2014   \nOutvie  \nRenunciation \u2014 is the Choosing  \nAgainst itself \u2014   \nItself to justify  \nUnto itself \u2014   \nWhen larger function \u2014   \nMake that appear \u2014   \nSmaller \u2014 that Covered Vision \u2014 Here \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Never for Society**\n\nNever for Society  \nHe shall seek in vain \u2014   \nWho His own acquaintance  \nCultivate \u2014 Of Men  \nWiser Men may weary \u2014   \nBut the Man within\n\nNever knew Satiety \u2014   \nBetter entertain  \nThan could Border Ballad \u2014   \nOr Biscayan Hymn \u2014   \nNeither introduction  \nNeed You \u2014 unto Him \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It dropped so low \u2014 in my Regard \u2014**\n\nIt dropped so low \u2014 in my Regard \u2014   \nI heard it hit the Ground \u2014   \nAnd go to pieces on the Stones  \nAt bottom of my Mind \u2014\n\nYet blamed the Fate that flung it \u2014 less  \nThan I denounced Myself,  \nFor entertaining Plated Wares  \nUpon my Silver Shelf \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Autumn \u2014 overlooked my Knitting \u2014**\n\nAutumn \u2014 overlooked my Knitting \u2014   \nDyes \u2014 said He \u2014 have I \u2014   \nCould disparage a Flamingo \u2014   \nShow Me them \u2014 said I \u2014\n\nCochineal \u2014 I chose \u2014 for deeming  \nIt resemble Thee \u2014   \nAnd the little Border \u2014 Dusker \u2014   \nFor resembling Me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**All but Death, can be Adjusted \u2014**\n\nAll but Death, can be Adjusted \u2014   \nDynasties repaired \u2014   \nSystems \u2014 settled in their Sockets \u2014   \nCitadels \u2014 dissolved \u2014\n\nWastes of Lives \u2014 resown with Colors  \nBy Succeeding Springs \u2014   \nDeath \u2014 unto itself \u2014 Exception \u2014   \nIs exempt from Change \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Growth of Man \u2014 like Growth of Nature \u2014**\n\nGrowth of Man \u2014 like Growth of Nature \u2014   \nGravitates within \u2014   \nAtmosphere, and Sun endorse it \u2014   \nBit it stir \u2014 alone \u2014\n\nEach \u2014 its difficult Ideal  \nMust achieve \u2014 Itself \u2014   \nThrough the solitary prowess  \nOf a Silent Life \u2014\n\nEffort \u2014 is the sole condition \u2014   \nPatience of Itself \u2014   \nPatience of opposing forces \u2014   \nAnd intact Belief \u2014\n\nLooking on \u2014 is the Department  \nOf its Audience \u2014   \nBut Transaction \u2014 is assisted  \nBy no Countenance \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Worthiness is all my Doubt \u2014**\n\nMy Worthiness is all my Doubt \u2014   \nHis Merit \u2014 all my fear \u2014   \nContrasting which, my quality  \nDo lowlier \u2014 appear \u2014\n\nLest I should insufficient prove  \nFor His beloved Need \u2014   \nThe Chiefest Apprehension  \nUpon my thronging Mind \u2014\n\n'Tis true \u2014 that Deity to stoop  \nInherently incline \u2014   \nFor nothing higher than Itself  \nItself can rest upon \u2014\n\nSo I \u2014 the undivine abode  \nOf His Elect Content \u2014   \nConform my Soul \u2014 as 'twere a Church,  \nUnto Her Sacrament \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So the Eyes accost \u2014 and sunder**\n\nSo the Eyes accost \u2014 and sunder  \nIn an Audience \u2014   \nStamped \u2014 occasionally \u2014 forever \u2014   \nSo may Countenance\n\nEntertain \u2014 without addressing  \nCountenance of One  \nIn a Neighboring Horizon \u2014   \nGone \u2014 as soon as known \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Soul \u2014 accused me \u2014 And I quailed \u2014**\n\nMy Soul \u2014 accused me \u2014 And I quailed \u2014   \nAs Tongue of Diamond had reviled  \nAll else accused me \u2014 and I smiled \u2014   \nMy Soul \u2014 that Morning \u2014 was My friend \u2014\n\nHer favor \u2014 is the best Disdain  \nToward Artifice of Time \u2014 or Men \u2014   \nBut Her Disdain \u2014 'twere lighter bear  \nA finger of Enamelled Fire \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Life had stood \u2014 a Loaded Gun \u2014**\n\nMy Life had stood \u2014 a Loaded Gun \u2014   \nIn Corners \u2014 till a Day  \nThe Owner passed \u2014 identified \u2014   \nAnd carried Me away \u2014\n\nAnd now We roam in Sovereign Woods \u2014   \nAnd now We hunt the Doe \u2014   \nAnd every time I speak for Him \u2014   \nThe Mountains straight reply \u2014\n\nAnd do I smile, such cordial light  \nUpon the Valley glow \u2014   \nIt is as a Vesuvian face  \nHad let its pleasure through \u2014\n\nAnd when at Night \u2014 Our good Day done \u2014   \nI guard My Master's Head \u2014   \n'Tis better than the Eider-Duck's  \nDeep Pillow \u2014 to have shared \u2014\n\nTo foe of His \u2014 I'm deadly foe \u2014   \nNone stir the second time \u2014   \nOn whom I lay a Yellow Eye \u2014   \nOr an emphatic Thumb \u2014\n\nThough I than He \u2014 may longer live  \nHe longer must \u2014 than I \u2014   \nFor I have but the power to kill,  \nWithout \u2014 the power to die \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No Bobolink \u2014 reverse His Singing**\n\nNo Bobolink \u2014 reverse His Singing  \nWhen the only Tree  \nEver He minded occupying  \nBy the Farmer be \u2014\n\nClove to the Root \u2014   \nHis Spacious Future \u2014   \nBest Horizon \u2014 gone \u2014   \nWhose Music be His  \nOnly Anodyne \u2014   \nBrave Bobolink \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One Blessing had I than the rest**\n\nOne Blessing had I than the rest  \nSo larger to my Eyes  \nThat I stopped gauging \u2014 satisfied \u2014   \nFor this enchanted size \u2014\n\nIt was the limit of my Dream \u2014   \nThe focus of my Prayer \u2014   \nA perfect \u2014 paralyzing Bliss \u2014   \nContented as Despair \u2014\n\nI knew no more of Want \u2014 or Cold \u2014   \nPhantasms both become  \nFor this new Value in the Soul \u2014   \nSupremest Earthly Sum \u2014\n\nThe Heaven below the Heaven above \u2014   \nObscured with ruddier Blue \u2014   \nLife's Latitudes leant over \u2014 full \u2014   \nThe Judgment perished \u2014 too \u2014\n\nWhy Bliss so scantily disburse \u2014   \nWhy Paradise defer \u2014   \nWhy Floods be served to Us \u2014 in Bowls \u2014   \nI speculate no more \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Mountains \u2014 grow unnoticed \u2014**\n\nThe Mountains \u2014 grow unnoticed \u2014   \nTheir Purple figures rise  \nWithout attempt \u2014 Exhaustion \u2014   \nAssistance \u2014 or Applause \u2014\n\nIn Their Eternal Faces  \nThe Sun \u2014 with just delight  \nLooks long \u2014 and last \u2014 and golden \u2014   \nFor fellowship \u2014 at night \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**These \u2014 saw Visions \u2014**\n\nThese \u2014 saw Visions \u2014   \nLatch them softly \u2014   \nThese \u2014 held Dimples \u2014   \nSmooth them slow \u2014   \nThis \u2014 addressed departing accents \u2014   \nQuick \u2014 Sweet Mouth \u2014 to miss thee so \u2014\n\nThis \u2014 We stroked \u2014   \nUnnumbered Satin \u2014   \nThese \u2014 we held among our own \u2014   \nFingers of the Slim Aurora \u2014   \nNot so arrogant \u2014 this Noon \u2014\n\nThese \u2014 adjust \u2014 that ran to meet us \u2014   \nPearl \u2014 for Stocking \u2014 Pearl for Shoe \u2014   \nParadise \u2014 the only Palace  \nFit for Her reception \u2014 now \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He fought like those Who've nought to lose \u2014**\n\nHe fought like those Who've nought to lose \u2014   \nBestowed Himself to Balls  \nAs One who for a further Life  \nHad not a further Use \u2014\n\nInvited Death \u2014 with bold attempt \u2014   \nBut Death was Coy of Him  \nAs Other Men, were Coy of Death \u2014   \nTo Him \u2014 to live \u2014 was Doom \u2014\n\nHis Comrades, shifted like the Flakes  \nWhen Gusts reverse the Snow \u2014   \nBut He \u2014 was left alive Because  \nOf Greediness to die \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Most she touched me by her muteness \u2014**\n\nMost she touched me by her muteness \u2014   \nMost she won me by the way  \nShe presented her small figure \u2014   \nPlea itself \u2014 for Charity \u2014\n\nWere a Crumb my whole possession \u2014   \nWere there famine in the land \u2014   \nWere it my resource from starving \u2014   \nCould I such a plea withstand \u2014\n\nNot upon her knee to thank me  \nSank this Beggar from the Sky \u2014   \nBut the Crumb partook \u2014 departed \u2014   \nAnd returned On High \u2014\n\nI supposed \u2014 when sudden  \nSuch a Praise began  \n'Twas as Space sat singing  \nTo herself \u2014 and men \u2014\n\n'Twas the Winged Beggar \u2014   \nAfterward I learned  \nTo her Benefactor  \nMaking Gratitude\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**From Blank to Blank \u2014**\n\nFrom Blank to Blank \u2014   \nA Threadless Way  \nI pushed Mechanic feet \u2014   \nTo stop \u2014 or perish \u2014 or advance \u2014   \nAlike indifferent \u2014\n\nIf end I gained  \nIt ends beyond  \nIndefinite disclosed \u2014   \nI shut my eyes \u2014 and groped as well  \n'Twas lighter \u2014 to be Blind \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Whole of it came not at once \u2014**\n\nThe Whole of it came not at once \u2014   \n'Twas Murder by degrees \u2014   \nA Thrust \u2014 and then for Life a chance \u2014   \nThe Bliss to cauterize \u2014\n\nThe Cat reprieves the Mouse  \nShe eases from her teeth  \nJust long enough for Hope to tease \u2014   \nThen mashes it to death \u2014\n\n'Tis Life's award \u2014 to die \u2014   \nContenteder if once \u2014   \nThan dying half \u2014 then rallying  \nFor consciouser Eclipse \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He told a homely tale**\n\nHe told a homely tale  \nAnd spotted it with tears \u2014   \nUpon his infant face was set  \nThe Cicatrice of years \u2014\n\nAll crumpled was the cheek  \nNo other kiss had known  \nThan flake of snow, divided with  \nThe Redbreast of the Barn \u2014\n\nIf Mother \u2014 in the Grave \u2014   \nOr Father \u2014 on the Sea \u2014   \nOr Father in the Firmament \u2014   \nOr Brethren, had he \u2014\n\nIf Commonwealth below,  \nOr Commonwealth above  \nHave missed a Barefoot Citizen \u2014   \nI've ransomed it \u2014 alive \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Presentiment \u2014 is that long Shadow \u2014 on the Lawn \u2014**\n\nPresentiment \u2014 is that long Shadow \u2014 on the Lawn \u2014   \nIndicatives that Suns go down \u2014\n\nThe Notice to the startled Grass  \nThat Darkness \u2014 is about to pass \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You constituted Time \u2014**\n\nYou constituted Time \u2014   \nI deemed Eternity  \nA Revelation of Yourself \u2014   \n'Twas therefore Deity\n\nThe Absolute \u2014 removed  \nThe Relative away \u2014   \nThat I unto Himself adjust  \nMy slow idolatry \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Faith is larger than the Hills \u2014**\n\nMy Faith is larger than the Hills \u2014   \nSo when the Hills decay \u2014   \nMy Faith must take the Purple Wheel  \nTo show the Sun the way \u2014\n\n'Tis first He steps upon the Vane \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 upon the Hill \u2014   \nAnd then abroad the World He go  \nTo do His Golden Will \u2014\n\nAnd if His Yellow feet should miss \u2014   \nThe Bird would not arise \u2014   \nThe Flowers would slumber on their Stems \u2014   \nNo Bells have Paradise \u2014\n\nHow dare I, therefore, stint a faith  \nOn which so vast depends \u2014   \nLest Firmament should fail for me \u2014   \nThe Rivet in the Bands\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To offer brave assistance**\n\nTo offer brave assistance  \nTo Lives that stand alone \u2014   \nWhen One has failed to stop them \u2014   \nIs Human \u2014 but Divine\n\nTo lend an Ample Sinew  \nUnto a Nameless Man \u2014   \nWhose Homely Benediction  \nNo other \u2014 stopped to earn \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When I hoped, I recollect**\n\nWhen I hoped, I recollect  \nJust the place I stood \u2014   \nAt a Window facing West \u2014   \nRoughest Air \u2014 was good \u2014\n\nNot a Sleet could bite me \u2014   \nNot a frost could cool \u2014   \nHope it was that kept me warm \u2014   \nNot Merino shawl \u2014\n\nWhen I feared \u2014 I recollect  \nJust the Day it was \u2014   \nWorlds were lying out to Sun \u2014   \nYet how Nature froze \u2014\n\nIcicles upon my soul  \nPrickled Blue and Cool \u2014   \nBird went praising everywhere \u2014   \nOnly Me \u2014 was still \u2014\n\nAnd the Day that I despaired \u2014   \nThis \u2014 if I forget  \nNature will \u2014 that it be Night  \nAfter Sun has set \u2014   \nDarkness intersect her face \u2014   \nAnd put out her eye \u2014   \nNature hesitate \u2014 before  \nMemory and I \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One and One \u2014 are One \u2014**\n\nOne and One \u2014 are One \u2014   \nTwo \u2014 be finished using \u2014   \nWell enough for Schools \u2014   \nBut for Minor Choosing \u2014\n\nLife \u2014 just \u2014 or Death \u2014   \nOr the Everlasting \u2014   \nMore \u2014 would be too vast  \nFor the Soul's Comprising \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I lived on Dread \u2014**\n\nI lived on Dread \u2014   \nTo Those who know  \nThe Stimulus there is  \nIn Danger \u2014 Other impetus  \nIs numb \u2014 and Vitalless \u2014\n\nAs 'twere a Spur \u2014 upon the Soul \u2014   \nA Fear will urge it where  \nTo go without the Sceptre's aid  \nWere Challenging Despair.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**None can experience sting**\n\nNone can experience stint  \nWho Bounty \u2014 have not known \u2014   \nThe fact of Famine \u2014 could not be  \nExcept for Fact of Corn \u2014\n\nWant \u2014 is a meagre Art  \nAcquired by Reverse \u2014   \nThe Poverty that was not Wealth \u2014   \nCannot be Indigence.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The hallowing of Pain**\n\nThe hallowing of Pain  \nLike hallowing of Heaven,  \nObtains at a corporeal cost \u2014   \nThe Summit is not given\n\nTo Him who strives severe  \nAt middle of the Hill \u2014   \nBut He who has achieved the Top \u2014   \nAll \u2014 is the price of All \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Deprived of other Banquet,**\n\nDeprived of other Banquet,  \nI entertained Myself \u2014   \nAt first \u2014 a scant nutrition \u2014   \nAn insufficient Loaf \u2014\n\nBut grown by slender addings  \nTo so esteemed a size  \n'Tis sumptuous enough for me \u2014   \nAnd almost to suffice\n\nA Robin's famine able \u2014   \nRed Pilgrim, He and I \u2014   \nA Berry from our table  \nReserve \u2014 for charity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It is a lonesome Glee \u2014**\n\nIt is a lonesome Glee \u2014   \nYet sanctifies the Mind \u2014   \nWith fair association \u2014   \nAfar upon the Wind\n\nA Bird to overhear  \nDelight without a Cause \u2014   \nArrestless as invisible \u2014   \nA matter of the Skies.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If Blame be my side \u2014 forfeit Me \u2014**\n\nIf Blame be my side \u2014 forfeit Me \u2014   \nBut doom me not to forfeit Thee \u2014   \nTo forfeit Thee? The very name  \nIs sentence from Belief \u2014 and House \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Color of a Queen, is this \u2014**\n\nThe Color of a Queen, is this \u2014   \nThe Color of a Sun  \nAt setting \u2014 this and Amber \u2014   \nBeryl \u2014 and this, at Noon \u2014\n\nAnd when at night \u2014 Auroran widths  \nFling suddenly on men \u2014   \n'Tis this \u2014 and Witchcraft \u2014 nature keeps  \nA Rank \u2014 for Iodine \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Loneliness One dare not sound \u2014**\n\nThe Loneliness One dare not sound \u2014   \nAnd would as soon surmise  \nAs in its Grave go plumbing  \nTo ascertain the size \u2014\n\nThe Loneliness whose worst alarm  \nIs lest itself should see \u2014   \nAnd perish from before itself  \nFor just a scrutiny \u2014\n\nThe Horror not to be surveyed \u2014   \nBut skirted in the Dark \u2014   \nWith Consciousness suspended \u2014   \nAnd Being under Lock \u2014\n\nI fear me this \u2014 is Loneliness \u2014   \nThe Maker of the soul  \nIts Caverns and its Corridors  \nIlluminate \u2014 or seal \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This that would greet \u2014 an hour ago \u2014**\n\nThis that would greet \u2014 an hour ago \u2014   \nIs quaintest Distance \u2014 now \u2014   \nHad it a Guest from Paradise \u2014   \nNor glow, would it, nor bow \u2014\n\nHad it a notice from the Noon  \nNor beam would it nor warm \u2014   \nMatch me the Silver Reticence \u2014   \nMatch me the Solid Calm \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Service without Hope \u2014**\n\nThe Service without Hope \u2014   \nIs tenderest, I think \u2014   \nBecause 'tis unsustained  \nBy stint \u2014 Rewarded Work \u2014\n\nHas impetus of Gain \u2014   \nAnd impetus of Goal \u2014   \nThere is no Diligence like that  \nThat knows not an Until \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Truth \u2014 is stirless \u2014**\n\nThe Truth \u2014 is stirless \u2014   \nOther force \u2014 may be presumed to move \u2014   \nThis \u2014 then \u2014 is best for confidence \u2014   \nWhen oldest Cedars swerve \u2014\n\nAnd Oaks untwist their fists \u2014   \nAnd Mountains \u2014 feeble \u2014 lean \u2014   \nHow excellent a Body, that  \nStands without a Bone \u2014\n\nHow vigorous a Force  \nThat holds without a Prop \u2014   \nTruth stays Herself \u2014 and every man  \nThat trusts Her \u2014 boldly up \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To wait an Hour \u2014 is long \u2014**\n\nTo wait an Hour \u2014 is long \u2014   \nIf Love be just beyond \u2014   \nTo wait Eternity \u2014 is short \u2014   \nIf Love reward the end \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is an arid Pleasure \u2014**\n\nThere is an arid Pleasure \u2014   \nAs different from Joy \u2014   \nAs Frost is different from Dew \u2014   \nLike element \u2014 are they \u2014\n\nYet one \u2014 rejoices Flowers \u2014   \nAnd one \u2014 the Flowers abhor \u2014   \nThe finest Honey \u2014 curdled \u2014   \nIs worthless \u2014 to the Bee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Birds begun at Four o'clock \u2014**\n\nThe Birds begun at Four o'clock \u2014   \nTheir period for Dawn \u2014   \nA Music numerous as space \u2014   \nBut neighboring as Noon \u2014\n\nI could not count their Force \u2014   \nTheir Voices did expend  \nAs Brook by Brook bestows itself  \nTo multiply the Pond.\n\nTheir Witnesses were not \u2014   \nExcept occasional man \u2014   \nIn homely industry arrayed \u2014   \nTo overtake the Morn \u2014\n\nNor was it for applause \u2014   \nThat I could ascertain \u2014   \nBut independent Ecstasy  \nOf Deity and Men \u2014\n\nBy Six, the Flood had done \u2014   \nNo Tumult there had been  \nOf Dressing, or Departure \u2014   \nAnd yet the Band was gone \u2014\n\nThe Sun engrossed the East \u2014   \nThe Day controlled the World \u2014   \nThe Miracle that introduced  \nForgotten, as fulfilled.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Bereaved of all, I went abroad \u2014**\n\nBereaved of all, I went abroad \u2014   \nNo less bereaved was I  \nUpon a New Peninsula \u2014   \nThe Grave preceded me \u2014\n\nObtained my Lodgings, ere myself \u2014   \nAnd when I sought my Bed \u2014   \nThe Grave it was reposed upon  \nThe Pillow for my Head \u2014\n\nI waked to find it first awake \u2014   \nI rose \u2014 It followed me \u2014   \nI tried to drop it in the Crowd \u2014   \nTo lose it in the Sea \u2014\n\nIn Cups of artificial Drowse  \nTo steep its shape away \u2014   \nThe Grave \u2014 was finished \u2014 but the Spade  \nRemained in Memory \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**They have a little Odor \u2014 that to me**\n\nThey have a little Odor \u2014 that to me  \nIs metre \u2014 nay \u2014 'tis melody \u2014   \nAnd spiciest at fading \u2014 indicate \u2014   \nA Habit \u2014 of a Laureate \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Severer Service of myself**\n\nSeverer Service of myself  \nI \u2014 hastened to demand  \nTo fill the awful Vacuum  \nYour life had left behind \u2014\n\nI worried Nature with my Wheels  \nWhen Hers had ceased to run \u2014   \nWhen she had put away Her Work  \nMy own had just begun.\n\nI strove to weary Brain and Bone \u2014   \nTo harass to fatigue  \nThe glittering Retinue of nerves \u2014   \nVitality to clog\n\nTo some dull comfort Those obtain  \nWho put a Head away  \nThey knew the Hair to \u2014   \nAnd forget the color of the Day \u2014\n\nAffliction would not be appeased \u2014   \nThe Darkness braced as firm  \nAs all my stratagem had been  \nThe Midnight to confirm \u2014\n\nNo Drug for Consciousness \u2014 can be \u2014   \nAlternative to die  \nIs Nature's only Pharmacy  \nFor Being's Malady \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Such is the Force of Happiness \u2014**\n\nSuch is the Force of Happiness \u2014   \nThe Least \u2014 can lift a Ton  \nAssisted by its stimulus \u2014\n\nWho Misery \u2014 sustain \u2014   \nNo Sinew can afford \u2014   \nThe Cargo of Themselves \u2014   \nToo infinite for Consciousness'  \nSlow capabilities.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Joy to have merited the Pain \u2014**\n\nJoy to have merited the Pain \u2014   \nTo merit the Release \u2014   \nJoy to have perished every step \u2014   \nTo Compass Paradise \u2014\n\nPardon \u2014 to look upon thy face \u2014   \nWith these old fashioned Eyes \u2014   \nBetter than new \u2014 could be \u2014 for that \u2014   \nThough bought in Paradise \u2014\n\nBecause they looked on thee before \u2014   \nAnd thou hast looked on them \u2014   \nProve Me \u2014 My Hazel Witnesses  \nThe features are the same \u2014\n\nSo fleet thou wert, when present \u2014   \nSo infinite \u2014 when gone \u2014   \nAn Orient's Apparition \u2014   \nRemanded of the Morn \u2014\n\nThe Height I recollect \u2014   \n'Twas even with the Hills \u2014   \nThe Depth upon my Soul was notched \u2014   \nAs Floods \u2014 on Whites of Wheels \u2014\n\nTo Haunt \u2014 till Time have dropped  \nHis last Decade away,  \nAnd Haunting actualize \u2014 to last  \nAt least \u2014 Eternity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**On a Columnar Self \u2014**\n\nOn a Columnar Self \u2014   \nHow ample to rely  \nIn Tumult \u2014 or Extremity \u2014   \nHow good the Certainty\n\nThat Lever cannot pry \u2014   \nAnd Wedge cannot divide  \nConviction \u2014 That Granitic Base \u2014   \nThough None be on our Side \u2014\n\nSuffice Us \u2014 for a Crowd \u2014   \nOurself \u2014 and Rectitude \u2014   \nAnd that Assembly \u2014 not far off  \nFrom furthest Spirit \u2014 God \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Nature \u2014 the Gentlest Mother is,**\n\nNature \u2014 the Gentlest Mother is,  \nImpatient of no Child \u2014   \nThe feeblest \u2014 or the waywardest \u2014   \nHer Admonition mild \u2014\n\nIn Forest \u2014 and the Hill \u2014   \nBy Traveller \u2014 be heard \u2014   \nRestraining Rampant Squirrel \u2014   \nOr too impetuous Bird \u2014\n\nHow fair Her Conversation \u2014   \nA Summer Afternoon \u2014   \nHer Household \u2014 Her Assembly \u2014   \nAnd when the Sun go down \u2014\n\nHer Voice among the Aisles  \nIncite the timid prayer  \nOf the minutest Cricket \u2014   \nThe most unworthy Flower \u2014\n\nWhen all the Children sleep \u2014   \nShe turns as long away  \nAs will suffice to light Her lamps \u2014   \nThen bending from the Sky \u2014\n\nWith infinite Affection \u2014   \nAnd infiniter Care \u2014   \nHer Golden finger on Her lip \u2014   \nWills Silence \u2014 Everywhere \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**God gave a Loaf to every Bird \u2014**\n\nGod gave a Loaf to every Bird \u2014   \nBut just a Crumb \u2014 to Me \u2014   \nI dare not eat it \u2014 tho' I starve \u2014   \nMy poignant luxury \u2014\n\nTo own it \u2014 touch it \u2014   \nProve the feat \u2014 that made the Pellet mine \u2014   \nToo happy \u2014 for my Sparrow's chance \u2014   \nFor Ampler Coveting \u2014\n\nIt might be Famine \u2014 all around \u2014   \nI could not miss an Ear \u2014   \nSuch Plenty smiles upon my Board \u2014   \nMy Garner shows so fair \u2014\n\nI wonder how the Rich \u2014 may feel \u2014   \nAn Indiaman \u2014 An Earl \u2014   \nI deem that I \u2014 with but a Crumb \u2014   \nAm Sovereign of them all \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Through the strait pass of suffering \u2014**\n\nThrough the strait pass of suffering \u2014   \nThe Martyrs \u2014 even \u2014 trod.  \nTheir feet \u2014 upon Temptations \u2014   \nTheir faces \u2014 upon God \u2014\n\nA stately \u2014 shriven \u2014 Company \u2014   \nConvulsion \u2014 playing round \u2014   \nHarmless \u2014 as streaks of Meteor \u2014   \nUpon a Planet's Bond \u2014\n\nTheir faith \u2014 the everlasting troth \u2014   \nTheir Expectation \u2014 fair \u2014   \nThe Needle \u2014 to the North Degree \u2014   \nWades \u2014 so \u2014 thro' polar Air!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Grief is a Mouse \u2014**\n\nGrief is a Mouse \u2014   \nAnd chooses Wainscot in the Breast  \nFor His Shy House \u2014   \nAnd baffles quest \u2014\n\nGrief is a Thief \u2014 quick startled \u2014   \nPricks His Ear \u2014 report to hear  \nOf that Vast Dark \u2014   \nThat swept His Being \u2014 back \u2014\n\nGrief is a Juggler \u2014 boldest at the Play \u2014   \nLest if He flinch \u2014 the eye that way  \nPounce on His Bruises \u2014 One \u2014 say \u2014 or Three \u2014   \nGrief is a Gourmand \u2014 spare His luxury \u2014\n\nBest Grief is Tongueless \u2014 before He'll tell \u2014   \nBurn Him in the Public Square \u2014   \nHis Ashes \u2014 will  \nPossibly \u2014 if they refuse \u2014 How then know \u2014   \nSince a Rack couldn't coax a syllable \u2014 now.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Drop Fell on the Apple Tree \u2014**\n\nA Drop Fell on the Apple Tree \u2014   \nAnother \u2014 on the Roof \u2014   \nA Half a Dozen kissed the Eaves \u2014   \nAnd made the Gables laugh \u2014\n\nA few went out to help the Brook  \nThat went to help the Sea \u2014   \nMyself Conjectured were they Pearls \u2014   \nWhat Necklace could be \u2014\n\nThe Dust replaced, in Hoisted Roads \u2014   \nThe Birds jocoser sung \u2014   \nThe Sunshine threw his Hat away \u2014   \nThe Bushes \u2014 spangles flung \u2014\n\nThe Breezes brought dejected Lutes \u2014   \nAnd bathed them in the Glee \u2014   \nThen Orient showed a single Flag,  \nAnd signed the Fete away \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Her final Summer was it \u2014**\n\nHer final Summer was it \u2014   \nAnd yet We guessed it not \u2014   \nIf tenderer industriousness  \nPervaded Her, We thought\n\nA further force of life  \nDeveloped from within \u2014   \nWhen Death lit all the shortness up  \nIt made the hurry plain \u2014\n\nWe wondered at our blindness  \nWhen nothing was to see  \nBut Her Carrara Guide post \u2014   \nAt Our Stupidity \u2014\n\nWhen duller than our dullness  \nThe Busy Darling lay \u2014   \nSo busy was she \u2014 finishing \u2014   \nSo leisurely \u2014 were We \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Who Giants know, with lesser Men**\n\nWho Giants know, with lesser Men  \nAre incomplete, and shy \u2014   \nFor Greatness, that is ill at ease  \nIn minor Company \u2014\n\nA Smaller, could not be perturbed \u2014   \nThe Summer Gnat displays \u2014   \nUnconscious that his single Fleet  \nDo not comprise the skies \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**By my Window have I for Scenery**\n\nBy my Window have I for Scenery  \nJust a Sea \u2014 with a Stem \u2014   \nIf the Bird and the Farmer \u2014 deem it a \"Pine\" \u2014   \nThe Opinion will serve \u2014 for them \u2014\n\nIt has no Port, nor a \"Line\" \u2014 but the Jays \u2014   \nThat split their route to the Sky \u2014   \nOr a Squirrel, whose giddy Peninsula  \nMay be easier reached \u2014 this way \u2014\n\nFor Inlands \u2014 the Earth is the under side \u2014   \nAnd the upper side \u2014 is the Sun \u2014   \nAnd its Commerce \u2014 if Commerce it have \u2014   \nOf Spice \u2014 I infer from the Odors borne \u2014\n\nOf its Voice \u2014 to affirm \u2014 when the Wind is within \u2014   \nCan the Dumb \u2014 define the Divine?  \nThe Definition of Melody \u2014 is \u2014   \nThat Definition is none \u2014\n\nIt \u2014 suggests to our Faith \u2014   \nThey \u2014 suggest to our Sight \u2014   \nWhen the latter \u2014 is put away  \nI shall meet with Conviction I somewhere met  \nThat Immortality \u2014\n\nWas the Pine at my Window a \"Fellow  \nOf the Royal\" Infinity?  \nApprehensions \u2014 are God's introductions \u2014   \nTo be hallowed \u2014 accordingly \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She staked her Feathers \u2014 Gained an Arc \u2014**\n\nShe staked her Feathers \u2014 Gained an Arc \u2014   \nDebated \u2014 Rose again \u2014   \nThis time \u2014 beyond the estimate  \nOf Envy, or of Men \u2014\n\nAnd now, among Circumference \u2014   \nHer steady Boat be seen \u2014   \nAt home \u2014 among the Billows \u2014 As  \nThe Bough where she was born \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Despair's advantage is achieved**\n\nDespair's advantage is achieved  \nBy suffering \u2014 Despair \u2014   \nTo be assisted of Reverse  \nOne must Reverse have bore \u2014\n\nThe Worthiness of Suffering like  \nThe Worthiness of Death  \nIs ascertained by tasting \u2014\n\nAs can no other Mouth\n\nOf Savors \u2014 make us conscious \u2014   \nAs did ourselves partake \u2014   \nAffliction feels impalpable  \nUntil Ourselves are struck \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Two \u2014 were immortal twice \u2014**\n\nTwo \u2014 were immortal twice \u2014   \nThe privilege of few \u2014   \nEternity \u2014 obtained \u2014 in Time \u2014   \nReversed Divinity \u2014\n\nThat our ignoble Eyes  \nThe quality conceive  \nOf Paradise superlative \u2014   \nThrough their Comparative.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I play at Riches \u2014 to appease**\n\nI play at Riches \u2014 to appease  \nThe Clamoring for Gold \u2014   \nIt kept me from a Thief, I think,  \nFor often, overbold\n\nWith Want, and Opportunity \u2014   \nI could have done a Sin  \nAnd been Myself that easy Thing  \nAn independent Man \u2014\n\nBut often as my lot displays  \nToo hungry to be borne  \nI deem Myself what I would be \u2014   \nAnd novel Comforting\n\nMy Poverty and I derive \u2014   \nWe question if the Man \u2014   \nWho own \u2014 Esteem the Opulence \u2014   \nAs We \u2014 Who never Can \u2014\n\nShould ever these exploring Hands  \nChance Sovereign on a Mine \u2014   \nOr in the long \u2014 uneven term  \nTo win, become their turn \u2014\n\nHow fitter they will be \u2014 for Want \u2014   \nEnlightening so well \u2014   \nI know not which, Desire, or Grant \u2014   \nBe wholly beautiful \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Time feels so vast that were it not**\n\nTime feels so vast that were it not  \nFor an Eternity \u2014   \nI fear me this Circumference  \nEngross my Finity \u2014\n\nTo His exclusion, who prepare  \nBy Processes of Size  \nFor the Stupendous Vision  \nOf his diameters \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Who Court obtain within Himself**\n\nWho Court obtain within Himself  \nSees every Man a King \u2014   \nAnd Poverty of Monarchy  \nIs an interior thing \u2014\n\nNo Man depose  \nWhom Fate Ordain \u2014   \nAnd Who can add a Crown  \nTo Him who doth continual  \nConspire against His Own\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No Notice gave She, but a Change \u2014**\n\nNo Notice gave She, but a Change \u2014   \nNo Message, but a Sigh \u2014   \nFor Whom, the Time did not suffice  \nThat She should specify.\n\nShe was not warm, though Summer shone  \nNor scrupulous of cold  \nThough Rime by Rime, the steady Frost  \nUpon Her Bosom piled \u2014\n\nOf shrinking ways \u2014 she did not fright  \nThough all the Village looked \u2014   \nBut held Her gravity aloft \u2014   \nAnd met the gaze \u2014 direct \u2014\n\nAnd when adjusted like a Seed  \nIn careful fitted Ground  \nUnto the Everlasting Spring  \nAnd hindered but a Mound\n\nHer Warm return, if so she chose \u2014   \nAnd We \u2014 imploring drew \u2014   \nRemoved our invitation by  \nAs Some She never knew \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This Bauble was preferred of Bees \u2014**\n\nThis Bauble was preferred of Bees \u2014   \nBy Butterflies admired  \nAt Heavenly \u2014 Hopeless Distances \u2014   \nWas justified of Bird \u2014\n\nDid Noon \u2014 enamel \u2014 in Herself  \nWas Summer to a Score  \nWho only knew of Universe \u2014   \nIt had created Her.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Planted Life \u2014 diversified**\n\nA Planted Life \u2014 diversified  \nWith Gold and Silver Pain  \nTo prove the presence of the Ore  \nIn Particles \u2014 'tis when\n\nA Value struggle \u2014 it exist \u2014   \nA Power \u2014 will proclaim  \nAlthough Annihilation pile  \nWhole Chaoses on Him \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Expectation \u2014 is Contentment \u2014**\n\nExpectation \u2014 is Contentment \u2014   \nGain \u2014 Satiety \u2014   \nBut Satiety \u2014 Conviction  \nOf Necessity\n\nOf an Austere trait in Pleasure \u2014   \nGood, without alarm  \nIs a too established Fortune \u2014   \nDanger \u2014 deepens Sum \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So set its Sun in Thee**\n\nSo set its Sun in Thee  \nWhat Day be dark to me \u2014   \nWhat Distance \u2014 far \u2014   \nSo I the Ships may see  \nThat touch \u2014 how seldomly \u2014   \nThy Shore?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Unable are the Loved to die**\n\nUnable are the Loved to die  \nFor Love is Immortality,  \nNay, it is Deity \u2014\n\nUnable they that love \u2014 to die  \nFor Love reforms Vitality  \nInto Divinity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Her Grace is all she has \u2014**\n\nHer Grace is all she has \u2014   \nAnd that, so least displays \u2014   \nOne Art to recognize, must be,  \nAnother Art, to praise.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Veins of other Flowers**\n\nThe Veins of other Flowers  \nThe Scarlet Flowers are  \nTill Nature leisure has for Terms  \nAs \"Branch,\" and \"Jugular.\"\n\nWe pass, and she abides.  \nWe conjugate Her Skill  \nWhile She creates and federates  \nWithout a syllable.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Light exists in Spring**\n\nA Light exists in Spring  \nNot present on the Year  \nAt any other period \u2014   \nWhen March is scarcely here\n\nA Color stands abroad  \nOn Solitary Fields  \nThat Science cannot overtake  \nBut Human Nature feels.\n\nIt waits upon the Lawn,  \nIt shows the furthest Tree  \nUpon the furthest Slope you know  \nIt almost speaks to you.\n\nThen as Horizons step  \nOr Noons report away  \nWithout the Formula of sound  \nIt passes and we stay \u2014\n\nA quality of loss  \nAffecting our Content  \nAs Trade had suddenly encroached  \nUpon a Sacrament.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This quiet Dust was Gentleman and Ladies**\n\nThis quiet Dust was Gentleman and Ladies  \nAnd Lads and Girls \u2014   \nWas laughter and ability and Sighing  \nAnd Frocks and Curls.\n\nThis Passive Place a Summer's nimble mansion  \nWhere Bloom and Bees  \nExists an Oriental Circuit  \nThen cease, like these \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One Day is there of the Series**\n\nOne Day is there of the Series  \nTermed Thanksgiving Day.  \nCelebrated part at Table  \nPart in Memory.\n\nNeither Patriarch nor Pussy  \nI dissect the Play  \nSeems it to my Hooded thinking  \nReflex Holiday.\n\nHad there been no sharp Subtraction  \nFrom the early Sum \u2014   \nNot an Acre or a Caption  \nWhere was once a Room \u2014\n\nNot a Mention, whose small Pebble  \nWrinkled any Sea,  \nUnto Such, were such Assembly  \n'Twere Thanksgiving Day.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Luxury to apprehend**\n\nThe Luxury to apprehend  \nThe Luxury 'twould be  \nTo look at Thee a single time  \nAn Epicure of Me\n\nIn whatsoever Presence makes  \nTill for a further Food  \nI scarcely recollect to starve  \nSo first am I supplied \u2014\n\nThe Luxury to meditate  \nThe Luxury it was  \nTo banguet on thy Countenance  \nA Sumptuousness bestows\n\nOn plainer Days, whose Table far  \nAs Certainty can see  \nIs laden with a single Crumb  \nThe Consciousness of Thee.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Death blow is a Life blow to Some**\n\nA Death blow is a Life blow to Some  \nWho till they died, did not alive become \u2014   \nWho had they lived, had died but when  \nThey died, Vitality begun.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Given in Marriage unto Thee**\n\nGiven in Marriage unto Thee  \nOh thou Celestial Host \u2014   \nBride of the Father and the Son  \nBride of the Holy Ghost.\n\nOther Betrothal shall dissolve \u2014   \nWedlock of Will, decay \u2014   \nOnly the Keeper of this Ring  \nConquer Mortality \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I could not drink it, Sweet,**\n\nI could not drink it, Sweet,  \nTill You had tasted first,  \nThough cooler than the Water was  \nThe Thoughtfullness of Thirst.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**All I may, if small,**\n\nAll I may, if small,  \nDo it not display  \nLarger for the Totalness \u2014   \n'Tis Economy\n\nTo bestow a World  \nAnd withhold a Star \u2014   \nUtmost, is Munificence \u2014   \nLess, tho' larger, poor.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**All Circumstances are the Frame**\n\nAll Circumstances are the Frame  \nIn which His Face is set \u2014   \nAll Latitudes exist for His  \nSufficient Continent \u2014\n\nThe Light His Action, and the Dark  \nThe Leisure of His Will \u2014   \nIn Him Existence serve or set  \nA Force illegible.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Away from Home are some and I \u2014**\n\nAway from Home are some and I \u2014   \nAn Emigrant to be  \nIn a Metropolis of Homes  \nIs easy, possibly \u2014\n\nThe Habit of a Foreign Sky  \nWe \u2014 difficult \u2014 acquire  \nAs Children, who remain in Face  \nThe more their Feet retire.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This Consciousness that is aware**\n\nThis Consciousness that is aware  \nOf Neighbors and the Sun  \nWill be the one aware of Death  \nAnd that itself alone\n\nIs traversing the interval  \nExperience between  \nAnd most profound experiment  \nAppointed unto Men \u2014\n\nHow adequate unto itself  \nIts properties shall be  \nItself unto itself and none  \nShall make discovery \u2014\n\nAdventure most unto itself  \nThe Soul condemned to be \u2014   \nAttended by a single Hound  \nIts own identity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not that We did, shall be the test**\n\nNot that We did, shall be the test  \nWhen Act and Will are done  \nBut what Our Lord infers We would  \nHad We diviner been \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Wind begun to knead the Grass \u2014**\n\n**Version 1** :  \nThe Wind begun to knead the Grass \u2014   \nAs Women do a Dough \u2014   \nHe flung a Hand full at the Plain \u2014   \nA Hand full at the Sky \u2014   \nThe Leaves unhooked themselves from Trees \u2014   \nAnd started all abroad \u2014   \nThe Dust did scoop itself like Hands \u2014   \nAnd throw away the Road \u2014   \nThe Wagons \u2014 quickened on the Street \u2014   \nThe Thunders gossiped low \u2014   \nThe Lightning showed a Yellow Head \u2014   \nAnd then a livid Toe \u2014   \nThe Birds put up the Bars to Nests \u2014   \nThe Cattle flung to Barns \u2014   \nThen came one drop of Giant Rain \u2014   \nAnd then, as if the Hands  \nThat held the Dams \u2014 had parted hold \u2014   \nThe Waters Wrecked the Sky \u2014   \nBut overlooked my Father's House \u2014   \nJust Quartering a Tree \u2014\n\n**Version 2** :  \nThe Wind begun to rock the Grass  \nWith threatening Tunes and low \u2014   \nHe threw a Menace at the Earth \u2014   \nA Menace at the Sky.\n\nThe Leaves unhooked themselves from Trees \u2014   \nAnd started all abroad  \nThe Dust did scoop itself like Hands  \nAnd threw away the Road.\n\nThe Wagons quickened on the Streets  \nThe Thunder hurried slow \u2014   \nThe Lightning showed a Yellow Beak  \nAnd then a livid Claw.\n\nThe Birds put up the Bars to Nests \u2014   \nThe Cattle fled to Barns \u2014   \nThere came one drop of Giant Rain  \nAnd then as if the Hands\n\nThat held the Dams had parted hold  \nThe Waters Wrecked the Sky,  \nBut overlooked my Father's House \u2014   \nJust quartering a Tree \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**An Hour is a Sea**\n\nAn Hour is a Sea  \nBetween a few, and me \u2014   \nWith them would Harbor be \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Love reckons by itself \u2014 alone \u2014**\n\nLove reckons by itself \u2014 alone \u2014   \n\"As large as I\" \u2014 relate the Sun  \nTo One who never felt it blaze \u2014   \nItself is all the like it has \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Only News I know**\n\nThe Only News I know  \nIs Bulletins all Day  \nFrom Immortality.\n\nThe Only Shows I see \u2014   \nTomorrow and Today \u2014   \nPerchance Eternity \u2014\n\nThe Only One I meet  \nIs God \u2014 The Only Street \u2014   \nExistence \u2014 This traversed\n\nIf Other News there be \u2014   \nOr Admirable Show \u2014   \nI'll tell it You \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Robin is the One**\n\nThe Robin is the One  \nThat interrupt the Morn  \nWith hurried \u2014 few \u2014 express Reports  \nWhen March is scarcely on \u2014\n\nThe Robin is the One  \nThat overflow the Noon  \nWith her cherubic quantity \u2014   \nAn April but begun \u2014\n\nThe Robin is the One  \nThat speechless from her Nest  \nSubmit that Home \u2014 and Certainty  \nAnd Sanctity, are best\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Ample make this Bed \u2014**\n\nAmple make this Bed \u2014   \nMake this Bed with Awe \u2014   \nIn it wait till Judgment break  \nExcellent and Fair.\n\nBe its Mattress straight \u2014   \nBe its Pillow round \u2014   \nLet no Sunrise' yellow noise  \nInterrupt this Ground \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To this World she returned.**\n\nTo this World she returned.  \nBut with a tinge of that \u2014   \nA Compound manner,  \nAs a Sod  \nEspoused a Violet,  \nThat chiefer to the Skies  \nThan to himself, allied,  \nDwelt hesitating, half of Dust,  \nAnd half of Day, the Bride.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Dying! To be afraid of thee**\n\nDying! To be afraid of thee  \nOne must to thine Artillery  \nHave left exposed a Friend \u2014   \nThan thine old Arrow is a Shot  \nDelivered straighter to the Heart  \nThe leaving Love behind.\n\nNot for itself, the Dust is shy,  \nBut, enemy, Beloved be  \nThy Batteries divorce.  \nFight sternly in a Dying eye  \nTwo Armies, Love and Certainty  \nAnd Love and the Reverse.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Soto! Explore thyself!**\n\nSoto! Explore thyself!  \nTherein thyself shalt find  \nThe \"Undiscovered Continent\" \u2014   \nNo Settler had the Mind.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Perhaps you think me stooping**\n\nPerhaps you think me stooping  \nI'm not ashamed of that  \nChrist \u2014 stooped until He touched the Grave \u2014   \nDo those at Sacrament\n\nCommemorative Dishonor  \nOr love annealed of love  \nUntil it bend as low as Death  \nRedignified, above?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Before He comes we weigh the Time!**\n\nBefore He comes we weigh the Time!  \n'Tis Heavy and 'tis Light.  \nWhen He depart, an Emptiness  \nIs the prevailing Freight.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Nature and God \u2014 I neither knew**\n\nNature and God \u2014 I neither knew  \nYet Both so well knew me  \nThey startled, like Executors  \nOf My identity.\n\nYet Neither told \u2014 that I could learn \u2014   \nMy Secret as secure  \nAs Herschel's private interest  \nOr Mercury's affair \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Truth \u2014 is as old as God \u2014**\n\nTruth \u2014 is as old as God \u2014   \nHis Twin identity  \nAnd will endure as long as He  \nA Co-Eternity \u2014\n\nAnd perish on the Day  \nHimself is borne away  \nFrom Mansion of the Universe  \nA lifeless Deity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How well I knew Her not**\n\nHow well I knew Her not  \nWhom not to know has been  \nA Bounty in prospective, now  \nNext Door to mine the Pain.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Impossibility, like Wine**\n\nImpossibility, like Wine  \nExhilarates the Man  \nWho tastes it; Possibility  \nIs flavorless \u2014 Combine\n\nA Chance's faintest Tincture  \nAnd in the former Dram  \nEnchantment makes ingredient  \nAs certainly as Doom \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Always Mine!**\n\nAlways Mine!  \nNo more Vacation!  \nTerm of Light this Day begun!  \nFailless as the fair rotation  \nOf the Seasons and the Sun.\n\nOld the Grace, but new the Subjects \u2014   \nOld, indeed, the East,  \nYet upon His Purple Programme  \nEvery Dawn, is first.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I cannot buy it \u2014 'tis not sold \u2014**\n\nI cannot buy it \u2014 'tis not sold \u2014   \nThere is no other in the World \u2014   \nMine was the only one\n\nI was so happy I forgot  \nTo shut the Door And it went out  \nAnd I am all alone \u2014\n\nIf I could find it Anywhere  \nI would not mind the journey there  \nThough it took all my store\n\nBut just to look it in the Eye \u2014   \n\"Did'st thou?\" \"Thou did'st not mean,\" to say,  \nThen, turn my Face away.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Moth the hue of this**\n\nA Moth the hue of this  \nHaunts Candles in Brazil.  \nNature's Experience would make  \nOur Reddest Second pale.\n\nNature is fond, I sometimes think,  \nOf Trinkets, as a Girl.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt!**\n\nGood to hide, and hear 'em hunt!  \nBetter, to be found,  \nIf one care to, that is,  \nThe Fox fits the Hound \u2014\n\nGood to know, and not tell,  \nBest, to know and tell,  \nCan one find the rare Ear  \nNot too dull \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I made slow Riches but my Gain**\n\nI made slow Riches but my Gain  \nWas steady as the Sun  \nAnd every Night, it numbered more  \nThan the preceding One\n\nAll Days, I did not earn the same  \nBut my perceiveless Gain  \nInferred the less by Growing than  \nThe Sum that it had grown.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Spring is the Period**\n\nSpring is the Period  \nExpress from God.  \nAmong the other seasons  \nHimself abide,\n\nBut during March and April  \nNone stir abroad  \nWithout a cordial interview  \nWith God.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Be Mine the Doom \u2014**\n\nBe Mine the Doom \u2014   \nSufficient Fame \u2014   \nTo perish in Her Hand!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twice had Summer her fair Verdure**\n\nTwice had Summer her fair Verdure  \nProffered to the Plain \u2014   \nTwice a Winter's silver Fracture  \nOn the Rivers been \u2014\n\nTwo full Autumns for the Squirrel  \nBounteous prepared \u2014   \nNature, Had'st thou not a Berry  \nFor thy wandering Bird?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Finite \u2014 to fail, but infinite to Venture \u2014**\n\nFinite \u2014 to fail, but infinite to Venture \u2014   \nFor the one ship that struts the shore  \nMany's the gallant \u2014 overwhelmed Creature  \nNodding in Navies nevermore \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Just as He spoke it from his Hands**\n\nJust as He spoke it from his Hands  \nThis Edifice remain \u2014   \nA Turret more, a Turret less  \nDishonor his Design \u2014\n\nAccording as his skill prefer  \nIt perish, or endure \u2014   \nContent, soe'er, it ornament  \nHis absent character.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The good Will of a Flower**\n\nThe good Will of a Flower  \nThe Man who would possess  \nMust first present  \nCertificate  \nOf minted Holiness.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I sing to use the Waiting**\n\nI sing to use the Waiting  \nMy Bonnet but to tie  \nAnd shut the Door unto my House  \nNo more to do have I\n\nTill His best step approaching  \nWe journey to the Day  \nAnd tell each other how We sung  \nTo Keep the Dark away.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When the Astronomer stops seeking**\n\nWhen the Astronomer stops seeking  \nFor his Pleiad's Face \u2014   \nWhen the lone British Lady  \nForsakes the Arctic Race\n\nWhen to his Covenant Needle  \nThe Sailor doubting turns \u2014   \nIt will be amply early  \nTo ask what treason means.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Apology for Her**\n\nApology for Her  \nBe rendered by the Bee \u2014   \nHerself, without a Parliament  \nApology for Me.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When One has given up One's life**\n\nWhen One has given up One's life  \nThe parting with the rest  \nFeels easy, as when Day lets go  \nEntirely the West\n\nThe Peaks, that lingered last  \nRemain in Her regret  \nAs scarcely as the Iodine  \nUpon the Cataract.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Banish Air from Air \u2014**\n\nBanish Air from Air \u2014   \nDivide Light if you dare \u2014   \nThey'll meet  \nWhile Cubes in a Drop  \nOr Pellets of Shape  \nFit  \nFilms cannot annul  \nOdors return whole  \nForce Flame  \nAnd with a Blonde push  \nOver your impotence  \nFlits Steam.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To own the Art within the Soul**\n\nTo own the Art within the Soul  \nThe Soul to entertain  \nWith Silence as a Company  \nAnd Festival maintain\n\nIs an unfurnished Circumstance  \nPossession is to One  \nAs an Estate perpetual  \nOr a reduceless Mine.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is a finished feeling**\n\nThere is a finished feeling  \nExperienced at Graves \u2014   \nA leisure of the Future \u2014   \nA Wilderness of Size.\n\nBy Death's bold Exhibition  \nPreciser what we are  \nAnd the Eternal function  \nEnabled to infer.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Uncertain lease \u2014 develops lustre**\n\nUncertain lease \u2014 develops lustre  \nOn Time  \nUncertain Grasp, appreciation  \nOf Sum \u2014\n\nThe shorter Fate \u2014 is oftener the chiefest  \nBecause  \nInheritors upon a tenure  \nPrize \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life**\n\nThis Chasm, Sweet, opon my life  \nI mention it to you,  \nWhen Sunrise through a fissure drop  \nThe Day must follow too.\n\nIf we demur, its gaping sides  \nDisclose as 'twere a Tomb  \nOurself am lying straight wherein  \nThe Favorite of Doom.\n\nWhen it has just contained a Life  \nThen, Darling, it will close  \nAnd yet so bolder every Day  \nSo turbulent it grows\n\nI'm tempted half to stitch it up  \nWith a remaining Breath  \nI should not miss in yielding, though  \nTo Him, it would be Death \u2014\n\nAnd so I bear it big about  \nMy Burial \u2014 before  \nA Life quite ready to depart  \nCan harass me no more \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A doubt if it be Us**\n\nA doubt if it be Us  \nAssists the staggering Mind  \nIn an extremer Anguish  \nUntil it footing find.\n\nAn Unreality is lent,  \nA merciful Mirage  \nThat makes the living possible  \nWhile it suspends the lives.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Absence disembodies \u2014 so does Death**\n\nAbsence disembodies \u2014 so does Death  \nHiding individuals from the Earth  \nSuperposition helps, as well as love \u2014   \nTenderness decreases as we prove \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Split the Lark \u2014 and you'll find the Music \u2014**\n\nSplit the Lark \u2014 and you'll find the Music \u2014   \nBulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled \u2014   \nScantilly dealt to the Summer Morning  \nSaved for your Ear when Lutes be old.\n\nLoose the Flood \u2014 you shall find it patent \u2014   \nGush after Gush, reserved for you \u2014   \nScarlet Experiment! Sceptic Thomas!  \nNow, do you doubt that your Bird was true?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Light is sufficient to itself \u2014**\n\nLight is sufficient to itself \u2014   \nIf Others want to see  \nIt can be had on Window Panes  \nSome Hours in the Day.\n\nBut not for Compensation \u2014   \nIt holds as large a Glow  \nTo Squirrel in the Himmaleh  \nPrecisely, as to you.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That Distance was between Us**\n\nThat Distance was between Us  \nThat is not of Mile or Main \u2014   \nThe Will it is that situates \u2014   \nEquator \u2014 never can \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Robin for the Crumb**\n\nThe Robin for the Crumb  \nReturns no syllable  \nBut long records the Lady's name  \nIn Silver Chronicle.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He outstripped Time with but a Bout,**\n\nHe outstripped Time with but a Bout,  \nHe outstripped Stars and Sun  \nAnd then, unjaded, challenged God  \nIn presence of the Throne.\n\nAnd He and He in mighty List  \nUnto this present, run,  \nThe larger Glory for the less  \nA just sufficient Ring.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Fame is the tint that Scholars leave**\n\nFame is the tint that Scholars leave  \nUpon their Setting Names \u2014   \nThe Iris not of Occident  \nThat disappears as comes \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Escaping backward to perceive**\n\nEscaping backward to perceive  \nThe Sea upon our place \u2014   \nEscaping forward, to confront  \nHis glittering Embrace \u2014\n\nRetreating up, a Billow's height  \nRetreating blinded down  \nOur undermining feet to meet  \nInstructs to the Divine.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**They ask but our Delight \u2014**\n\nThey ask but our Delight \u2014   \nThe Darlings of the Soil  \nAnd grant us all their Countenance  \nFor a penurious smile.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Because the Bee may blameless hum**\n\nBecause the Bee may blameless hum  \nFor Thee a Bee do I become  \nList even unto Me.\n\nBecause the Flowers unafraid  \nMay lift a look on thine, a Maid  \nAlway a Flower would be.\n\nNor Robins, Robins need not hide  \nWhen Thou upon their Crypts intrude  \nSo Wings bestow on Me  \nOr Petals, or a Dower of Buzz  \nThat Bee to ride, or Flower of Furze  \nI that way worship Thee.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Finding is the first Act**\n\nFinding is the first Act  \nThe second, loss,  \nThird, Expedition for  \nThe \"Golden Fleece\"\n\nFourth, no Discovery \u2014   \nFifth, no Crew \u2014   \nFinally, no Golden Fleece \u2014   \nJason \u2014 sham \u2014 too.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sun and Moon must make their haste \u2014**\n\nThe Sun and Moon must make their haste \u2014   \nThe Stars express around  \nFor in the Zones of Paradise  \nThe Lord alone is burned \u2014\n\nHis Eye, it is the East and West \u2014   \nThe North and South when He  \nDo concentrate His Countenance  \nLike Glow Worms, flee away \u2014\n\nOh Poor and Far \u2014   \nOh Hindred Eye  \nThat hunted for the Day \u2014   \nThe Lord a Candle entertains  \nEntirely for Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As the Starved Maelstrom laps the Navies**\n\nAs the Starved Maelstrom laps the Navies  \nAs the Vulture teased  \nForces the Broods in lonely Valleys  \nAs the Tiger eased\n\nBy but a Crumb of Blood, fasts Scarlet  \nTill he meet a Man  \nDainty adorned with Veins and Tissues  \nAnd partakes \u2014 his Tongue\n\nCooled by the Morsel for a moment  \nGrows a fiercer thing  \nTill he esteem his Dates and Cocoa  \nA Nutrition mean\n\nI, of a finer Famine  \nDeem my Supper dry  \nFor but a Berry of Domingo  \nAnd a Torrid Eye \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Ribbons of the Year \u2014**\n\nRibbons of the Year \u2014   \nMultitude Brocade \u2014   \nWorn to Nature's Party once\n\nThen, as flung aside  \nAs a faded Bead  \nOr a Wrinkled Pearl  \nWho shall charge the Vanity  \nOf the Maker's Girl?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**They won't frown always \u2014 some sweet Day**\n\nThey won't frown always \u2014 some sweet Day  \nWhen I forget to tease \u2014   \nThey'll recollect how cold I looked  \nAnd how I just said \"Please.\"\n\nThen They will hasten to the Door  \nTo call the little Girl  \nWho cannot thank Them for the Ice  \nThat filled the lisping full.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I stepped from Plank to Plank**\n\nI stepped from Plank to Plank  \nA slow and cautious way  \nThe Stars about my Head I felt  \nAbout my Feet the Sea.\n\nI knew not but the next  \nWould be my final inch \u2014   \nThis gave me that precarious Gait  \nSome call Experience.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone**\n\nIt was a Grave, yet bore no Stone  \nEnclosed 'twas not of Rail  \nA Consciousness its Acre, and  \nIt held a Human Soul.\n\nEntombed by whom, for what offence  \nIf Home or Foreign born \u2014   \nHad I the curiosity  \n'Twere not appeased of men\n\nTill Resurrection, I must guess  \nDenied the small desire  \nA Rose upon its Ridge to sow  \nOr take away a Briar.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Each Scar I'll keep for Him**\n\nEach Scar I'll keep for Him  \nInstead I'll say of Gem  \nIn His long Absence worn  \nA Costlier one\n\nBut every Tear I bore  \nWere He to count them o'er  \nHis own would fall so more  \nI'll mis sum them.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sun is gay or stark**\n\nThe Sun is gay or stark  \nAccording to our Deed.  \nIf Merry, He is merrier \u2014   \nIf eager for the Dead\n\nOr an expended Day  \nHe helped to make too bright  \nHis mighty pleasure suits Us not  \nIt magnifies Our Freight\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Each Second is the last**\n\nEach Second is the last  \nPerhaps, recalls the Man  \nJust measuring unconsciousness  \nThe Sea and Spar between.\n\nTo fail within a Chance \u2014   \nHow terribler a thing  \nThan perish from the Chance's list  \nBefore the Perishing!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Bird must sing to earn the Crumb**\n\nThe Bird must sing to earn the Crumb  \nWhat merit have the Tune  \nNo Breakfast if it guaranty\n\nThe Rose content may bloom  \nTo gain renown of Lady's Drawer  \nBut if the Lady come  \nBut once a Century, the Rose  \nSuperfluous become \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I've none to tell me to but Thee**\n\nI've none to tell me to but Thee  \nSo when Thou failest, nobody.  \nIt was a little tie \u2014   \nIt just held Two, nor those it held  \nSince Somewhere thy sweet Face has spilled  \nBeyond my Boundary \u2014\n\nIf things were opposite \u2014 and Me  \nAnd Me it were \u2014 that ebbed from Thee  \nOn some unanswering Shore \u2014   \nWould'st Thou seek so \u2014 just say  \nThat I the Answer may pursue  \nUnto the lips it eddied through \u2014   \nSo \u2014 overtaking Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Shade upon the mind there passes**\n\nA Shade upon the mind there passes  \nAs when on Noon  \nA Cloud the mighty Sun encloses  \nRemembering\n\nThat some there be too numb to notice  \nOh God  \nWhy give if Thou must take away  \nThe Loved?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Poets light but Lamps \u2014**\n\nThe Poets light but Lamps \u2014   \nThemselves \u2014 go out \u2014   \nThe Wicks they stimulate \u2014   \nIf vital Light\n\nInhere as do the Suns \u2014   \nEach Age a Lens  \nDisseminating their  \nCircumference \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**An Everywhere of Silver**\n\nAn Everywhere of Silver  \nWith Ropes of Sand  \nTo keep it from effacing  \nThe Track called Land.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Our little Kinsmen \u2014 after Rain**\n\nOur little Kinsmen \u2014 after Rain  \nIn plenty may be seen,  \nA Pink and Pulpy multitude  \nThe tepid Ground upon.\n\nA needless life, it seemed to me  \nUntil a little Bird  \nAs to a Hospitality  \nAdvanced and breakfasted.\n\nAs I of He, so God of Me  \nI pondered, may have judged,  \nAnd left the little Angle Worm  \nWith Modesties enlarged.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**These tested Our Horizon \u2014**\n\nThese tested Our Horizon \u2014   \nThen disappeared  \nAs Birds before achieving  \nA Latitude.\n\nOur Retrospection of Them  \nA fixed Delight,  \nBut our Anticipation  \nA Dice \u2014 a Doubt \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We outgrow love, like other things**\n\nWe outgrow love, like other things  \nAnd put it in the Drawer \u2014   \nTill it an Antique fashion shows \u2014   \nLike Costumes Grandsires wore.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When I have seen the Sun emerge**\n\nWhen I have seen the Sun emerge  \nFrom His amazing House \u2014   \nAnd leave a Day at every Door  \nA Deed, in every place \u2014\n\nWithout the incident of Fame  \nOr accident of Noise \u2014   \nThe Earth has seemed to me a Drum,  \nPursued of little Boys\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Crisis is a Hair**\n\nCrisis is a Hair  \nToward which the forces creep  \nPast which forces retrograde  \nIf it come in sleep\n\nTo suspend the Breath  \nIs the most we can  \nIgnorant is it Life or Death  \nNicely balancing.\n\nLet an instant push  \nOr an Atom press  \nOr a Circle hesitate  \nIn Circumference\n\nIt \u2014 may jolt the Hand  \nThat adjusts the Hair  \nThat secures Eternity  \nFrom presenting \u2014 Here \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**From Us She wandered now a Year,**\n\nFrom Us She wandered now a Year,  \nHer tarrying, unknown,  \nIf Wilderness prevent her feet  \nOr that Ethereal Zone\n\nNo eye hath seen and lived  \nWe ignorant must be \u2014   \nWe only know what time of Year  \nWe took the Mystery.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To my quick ear the Leaves \u2014 conferred \u2014**\n\nTo my quick ear the Leaves \u2014 conferred \u2014   \nThe Bushes \u2014 they were Bells \u2014   \nI could not find a Privacy  \nFrom Nature's sentinels \u2014\n\nIn Cave if I presumed to hide  \nThe Walls \u2014 begun to tell \u2014   \nCreation seemed a mighty Crack \u2014   \nTo make me visible \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Who occupies this House?**\n\nWho occupies this House?  \nA Stranger I must judge  \nSince No one know His Circumstance \u2014   \n'Tis well the name and age\n\nAre writ upon the Door  \nOr I should fear to pause  \nWhere not so much as Honest Dog  \nApproach encourages.\n\nIt seems a curious Town \u2014   \nSome Houses very old,  \nSome \u2014 newly raised this Afternoon,  \nWere I compelled to build\n\nIt should not be among  \nInhabitants so still  \nBut where the Birds assemble  \nAnd Boys were possible.\n\nBefore Myself was born  \n'Twas settled, so they say,  \nA Territory for the Ghosts \u2014   \nAnd Squirrels, formerly.\n\nUntil a Pioneer, as  \nSettlers often do  \nLiking the quiet of the Place  \nAttracted more unto \u2014\n\nAnd from a Settlement  \nA Capital has grown  \nDistinguished for the gravity  \nOf every Citizen.\n\nThe Owner of this House  \nA Stranger He must be \u2014   \nEternity's Acquaintances  \nAre mostly so \u2014 to me.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Drab Habitation of Whom?**\n\nDrab Habitation of Whom?  \nTabernacle or Tomb \u2014   \nOr Dome of Worm \u2014   \nOr Porch of Gnome \u2014   \nOr some Elf's Catacomb?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Consciousness, her awful Mate**\n\nOf Consciousness, her awful Mate  \nThe Soul cannot be rid \u2014   \nAs easy the secreting her  \nBehind the Eyes of God.\n\nThe deepest hid is sighted first  \nAnd scant to Him the Crowd \u2014   \nWhat triple Lenses burn upon  \nThe Escapade from God \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Cloud withdrew from the Sky**\n\nA Cloud withdrew from the Sky  \nSuperior Glory be  \nBut that Cloud and its Auxiliaries  \nAre forever lost to me\n\nHad I but further scanned  \nHad I secured the Glow  \nIn an Hermetic Memory  \nIt had availed me now.\n\nNever to pass the Angel  \nWith a glance and a Bow  \nTill I am firm in Heaven  \nIs my intention now.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Silken Speech and Specious Shoe**\n\nOf Silken Speech and Specious Shoe  \nA Traitor is the Bee  \nHis service to the newest Grace  \nPresent continually\n\nHis Suit a chance  \nHis Troth a Term  \nProtracted as the Breeze  \nContinual Ban propoundeth He  \nContinual Divorce.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How fortunate the Grave \u2014**\n\nHow fortunate the Grave \u2014   \nAll Prizes to obtain \u2014   \nSuccessful certain, if at last,  \nFirst Suitor not in vain.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How happy I was if I could forget**\n\nHow happy I was if I could forget  \nTo remember how sad I am  \nWould be an easy adversity  \nBut the recollecting of Bloom\n\nKeeps making November difficult  \nTill I who was almost bold  \nLose my way like a little Child  \nAnd perish of the cold.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Herein a Blossom lies \u2014**\n\nHerein a Blossom lies \u2014   \nA Sepulchre, between \u2014   \nCross it, and overcome the Bee \u2014   \nRemain \u2014 'tis but a Rind.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What did They do since I saw Them?**\n\nWhat did They do since I saw Them?  \nWere They industrious?  \nSo many questions to put Them  \nHave I the eagerness\n\nThat could I snatch Their Faces  \nThat could Their lips reply  \nNot till the last was answered  \nShould They start for the Sky.\n\nNot if Their Party were waiting,  \nNot if to talk with Me  \nWere to Them now, Homesickness  \nAfter Eternity.\n\nNot if the Just suspect me  \nAnd offer a Reward  \nWould I restore my Booty  \nTo that Bold Person, God \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sweet, to have had them lost**\n\nSweet, to have had them lost  \nFor news that they be saved \u2014   \nThe nearer they departed Us  \nThe nearer they, restored,\n\nShall stand to Our Right Hand \u2014   \nMost precious and the Dead \u2014   \nNext precious  \nThose that rose to go \u2014   \nThen thought of Us, and stayed.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The first Day that I was a Life**\n\nThe first Day that I was a Life  \nI recollect it \u2014 How still \u2014   \nThat last Day that I was a Life  \nI recollect it \u2014 as well \u2014\n\n'Twas stiller \u2014 though the first  \nWas still \u2014   \n\"Twas empty \u2014 but the first  \nWas full \u2014\n\nThis \u2014 was my finallest Occasion \u2014   \nBut then  \nMy tenderer Experiment  \nToward Men \u2014\n\n\"Which choose I\"?  \nThat \u2014 I cannot say \u2014   \n\"Which choose They\"?  \nQuestion Memory!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I hide myself within my flower,**\n\nI hide myself within my flower,  \nThat fading from your Vase,  \nYou, unsuspecting, feel for me \u2014   \nAlmost a loneliness.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Had I not This, or This, I said,**\n\nHad I not This, or This, I said,  \nAppealing to Myself,  \nIn moment of prosperity \u2014   \nInadequate \u2014 were Life \u2014\n\n\"Thou hast not Me, nor Me\" \u2014 it said,  \nIn Moment of Reverse \u2014   \n\"And yet Thou art industrious \u2014   \nNo need \u2014 hadst Thou \u2014 of us\"?\n\nMy need \u2014 was all I had \u2014 I said \u2014   \nThe need did not reduce \u2014   \nBecause the food \u2014 exterminate \u2014   \nThe hunger \u2014 does not cease \u2014\n\nBut diligence \u2014 is sharper \u2014   \nProportioned to the Chance \u2014   \nTo feed upon the Retrograde \u2014   \nEnfeebles \u2014 the Advance \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Between My Country \u2014 and the Others \u2014**\n\nBetween My Country \u2014 and the Others \u2014   \nThere is a Sea \u2014   \nBut Flowers \u2014 negotiate between us \u2014   \nAs Ministry.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Admirations \u2014 and Contempts \u2014 of time \u2014**\n\nThe Admirations \u2014 and Contempts \u2014 of time \u2014   \nShow justest \u2014 through an Open Tomb \u2014   \nThe Dying \u2014 as it were a Height  \nReorganizes Estimate  \nAnd what We saw not  \nWe distinguish clear \u2014   \nAnd mostly \u2014 see not  \nWhat We saw before \u2014\n\n'Tis Compound Vision \u2014   \nLight \u2014 enabling Light \u2014   \nThe Finite \u2014 furnished  \nWith the Infinite \u2014   \nConvex \u2014 and Concave Witness \u2014   \nBack \u2014 toward Time \u2014   \nAnd forward \u2014   \nToward the God of Him \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Till Death \u2014 is narrow Loving \u2014**\n\nTill Death \u2014 is narrow Loving \u2014   \nThe scantest Heart extant  \nWill hold you till your privilege  \nOf Finiteness \u2014 be spent \u2014\n\nBut He whose loss procures you  \nSuch Destitution that  \nYour Life too abject for itself  \nThenceforward imitate \u2014\n\nUntil \u2014 Resemblance perfect \u2014   \nYourself, for His pursuit  \nDelight of Nature \u2014 abdicate \u2014   \nExhibit Love \u2014 somewhat \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis Sunrise \u2014 Little Maid \u2014 Hast Thou**\n\n'Tis Sunrise \u2014 Little Maid \u2014 Hast Thou  \nNo Station in the Day?  \n'Twas not thy wont, to hinder so \u2014   \nRetrieve thine industry \u2014\n\n'Tis Noon \u2014 My little Maid \u2014   \nAlas \u2014 and art thou sleeping yet?  \nThe Lily \u2014 waiting to be Wed \u2014   \nThe Bee \u2014 Hast thou forgot?\n\nMy little Maid \u2014 'Tis Night \u2014 Alas  \nThat Night should be to thee  \nInstead of Morning \u2014 Had'st thou broached  \nThy little Plan to Die \u2014   \nDissuade thee, if I could not, Sweet,  \nI might have aided \u2014 thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I make His Crescent fill or lack \u2014**\n\nI make His Crescent fill or lack \u2014   \nHis Nature is at Full  \nOr Quarter \u2014 as I signify \u2014   \nHis Tides \u2014 do I control \u2014\n\nHe holds superior in the Sky  \nOr gropes, at my Command  \nBehind inferior Clouds \u2014 or round  \nA Mist's slow Colonnade \u2014\n\nBut since We hold a Mutual Disc \u2014   \nAnd front a Mutual Day \u2014   \nWhich is the Despot, neither knows \u2014   \nNor Whose \u2014 the Tyranny \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Experience is the Angled Road**\n\nExperience is the Angled Road  \nPreferred against the Mind  \nBy \u2014 Paradox \u2014 the Mind itself \u2014   \nPresuming it to lead\n\nQuite Opposite \u2014 How Complicate  \nThe Discipline of Man \u2014   \nCompelling Him to Choose Himself  \nHis Preappointed Pain \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Too little way the House must lie**\n\nToo little way the House must lie  \nFrom every Human Heart  \nThat holds in undisputed Lease  \nA white inhabitant \u2014\n\nToo narrow is the Right between \u2014   \nToo imminent the chance \u2014   \nEach Consciousness must emigrate  \nAnd lose its neighbor once \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Peace is a fiction of our Faith \u2014**\n\nPeace is a fiction of our Faith \u2014   \nThe Bells a Winter Night  \nBearing the Neighbor out of Sound  \nThat never did alight.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**And this of all my Hopes**\n\nAnd this of all my Hopes  \nThis, is the silent end  \nBountiful colored, my Morning rose  \nEarly and sere, its end\n\nNever Bud from a Stem  \nStepped with so gay a Foot  \nNever a Worm so confident  \nBored at so brave a Root\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I cannot be ashamed**\n\nI cannot be ashamed  \nBecause I cannot see  \nThe love you offer \u2014   \nMagnitude  \nReverses Modesty\n\nAnd I cannot be proud  \nBecause a Height so high  \nInvolves Alpine  \nRequirements  \nAnd Services of Snow.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Faith \u2014 is the Pierless Bridge**\n\nFaith \u2014 is the Pierless Bridge  \nSupporting what We see  \nUnto the Scene that We do not \u2014   \nToo slender for the eye\n\nIt bears the Soul as bold  \nAs it were rocked in Steel  \nWith Arms of Steel at either side \u2014   \nIt joins \u2014 behind the Veil\n\nTo what, could We presume  \nThe Bridge would cease to be  \nTo Our far, vacillating Feet  \nA first Necessity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**His Feet are shod with Gauze \u2014**\n\nHis Feet are shod with Gauze \u2014   \nHis Helmet, is of Gold,  \nHis Breast, a Single Onyx  \nWith Chrysophrase, inlaid.\n\nHis Labor is a Chant \u2014   \nHis Idleness \u2014 a Tune \u2014   \nOh, for a Bee's experience  \nOf Clovers, and of Noon!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Love \u2014 is anterior to Life \u2014**\n\nLove \u2014 is anterior to Life \u2014   \nPosterior \u2014 to Death \u2014   \nInitial of Creation, and  \nThe Exponent of Breath \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Only a Shrine, but Mine \u2014**\n\nOnly a Shrine, but Mine \u2014   \nI made the Taper shine \u2014   \nMadonna dim, to whom all Feet may come,  \nRegard a Nun \u2014\n\nThou knowest every Woe \u2014   \nNeedless to tell thee \u2014 so \u2014   \nBut can'st thou do  \nThe Grace next to it \u2014 heal?  \nThat looks a harder skill to us \u2014   \nStill \u2014 just as easy, if it be thy Will  \nTo thee \u2014 Grant me \u2014   \nThou knowest, though, so Why tell thee?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If I can stop one Heart from breaking**\n\nIF I can stop one heart from breaking,  \nI shall not live in vain ;  \nIf I can ease one life the aching,  \nOr cool one pain,  \nOr help one fainting robin  \nUnto his nest again,  \nI shall not live in vain.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We can but follow to the Sun \u2014**\n\nWe can but follow to the Sun \u2014   \nAs oft as He go down  \nHe leave Ourselves a Sphere behind \u2014   \n'Tis mostly \u2014 following \u2014\n\nWe go no further with the Dust  \nThan to the Earthen Door \u2014   \nAnd then the Panels are reversed \u2014   \nAnd we behold \u2014 no more.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If it had no pencil**\n\nIf it had no pencil  \nWould it try mine \u2014   \nWorn \u2014 now \u2014 and dull \u2014 sweet,  \nWriting much to thee.  \nIf it had no word,  \nWould it make the Daisy,  \nMost as big as I was,  \nWhen it plucked me?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Those who have been in the Grave the longest \u2014**\n\nThose who have been in the Grave the longest \u2014   \nThose who begin Today \u2014   \nEqually perish from our Practise \u2014   \nDeath is the other way \u2014\n\nFoot of the Bold did least attempt it \u2014   \nIt \u2014 is the White Exploit \u2014   \nOnce to achieve, annuls the power  \nOnce to communicate \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How the Waters closed above Him**\n\nHow the Waters closed above Him  \nWe shall never know \u2014   \nHow He stretched His Anguish to us  \nThat \u2014 is covered too \u2014\n\nSpreads the Pond Her Base of Lilies  \nBold above the Boy  \nWhose unclaimed Hat and Jacket  \nSum the History \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Love \u2014 is that later Thing than Death \u2014**\n\nLove \u2014 is that later Thing than Death \u2014   \nMore previous \u2014 than Life \u2014   \nConfirms it at its entrance \u2014 And  \nUsurps it \u2014 of itself \u2014\n\nTastes Death \u2014 the first \u2014 to hand the sting  \nThe Second \u2014 to its friend \u2014   \nDisarms the little interval \u2014   \nDeposits Him with God \u2014\n\nThen hovers \u2014 an inferior Guard \u2014   \nLest this Beloved Charge  \nNeed \u2014 once in an Eternity \u2014   \nA smaller than the Large \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning \u2014**\n\nStruck, was I, not yet by Lightning \u2014   \nLightning \u2014 lets away  \nPower to perceive His Process  \nWith Vitality.\n\nMaimed \u2014 was I \u2014 yet not by Venture \u2014   \nStone of stolid Boy \u2014   \nNor a Sportsman's Peradventure \u2014   \nWho mine Enemy?\n\nRobbed \u2014 was I \u2014 intact to Bandit \u2014   \nAll my Mansion torn \u2014   \nSun \u2014 withdrawn to Recognition \u2014   \nFurthest shining \u2014 done \u2014\n\nYet was not the foe \u2014 of any \u2014   \nNot the smallest Bird  \nIn the nearest Orchard dwelling  \nBe of Me \u2014 afraid.\n\nMost \u2014 I love the Cause that slew Me.  \nOften as I die  \nIts beloved Recognition  \nHolds a Sun on Me \u2014\n\nBest \u2014 at Setting \u2014 as is Nature's \u2014   \nNeither witnessed Rise  \nTill the infinite Aurora  \nIn the other's eyes.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Patience \u2014 has a quiet Outer \u2014**\n\nPatience \u2014 has a quiet Outer \u2014   \nPatience \u2014 Look within \u2014   \nIs an Insect's futile forces  \nInfinites \u2014 between \u2014\n\n'Scaping one \u2014 against the other  \nFruitlesser to fling \u2014   \nPatience \u2014 is the Smile's exertion  \nThrough the quivering \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Absent Place \u2014 an April Day \u2014**\n\nAbsent Place \u2014 an April Day \u2014   \nDaffodils a-blow  \nHomesick curiosity  \nTo the Souls that snow \u2014\n\nDrift may block within it  \nDeeper than without \u2014   \nDaffodil delight but  \nHim it duplicate \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Heart has narrow Banks**\n\nThe Heart has narrow Banks  \nIt measures like the Sea  \nIn mighty \u2014 unremitting Bass  \nAnd Blue Monotony\n\nTill Hurricane bisect  \nAnd as itself discerns  \nIts insufficient Area  \nThe Heart convulsive learns\n\nThat Calm is but a Wall  \nOf unattempted Gauze  \nAn instant's Push demolishes  \nA Questioning \u2014 dissolves.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How far is it to Heaven?**\n\nHow far is it to Heaven?  \nAs far as Death this way \u2014   \nOf River or of Ridge beyond  \nWas no discovery.\n\nHow far is it to Hell?  \nAs far as Death this way \u2014   \nHow far left hand the Sepulchre  \nDefies Topography.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is a June when Corn is cut**\n\nThere is a June when Corn is cut  \nAnd Roses in the Seed \u2014   \nA Summer briefer than the first  \nBut tenderer indeed\n\nAs should a Face supposed the Grave's  \nEmerge a single Noon  \nIn the Vermilion that it wore  \nAffect us, and return \u2014\n\nTwo Seasons, it is said, exist \u2014   \nThe Summer of the Just,  \nAnd this of Ours, diversified  \nWith Prospect, and with Frost \u2014\n\nMay not our Second with its First  \nSo infinite compare  \nThat We but recollect the one  \nThe other to prefer?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Noon \u2014 is the Hinge of Day \u2014**\n\nNoon \u2014 is the Hinge of Day \u2014   \nEvening \u2014 the Tissue Door \u2014   \nMorning \u2014 the East compelling the sill  \nTill all the World is ajar \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My best Acquaintances are those**\n\nMy best Acquaintances are those  \nWith Whom I spoke no Word \u2014   \nThe Stars that stated come to Town  \nEsteemed Me never rude  \nAlthough to their Celestial Call  \nI failed to make reply \u2014   \nMy constant \u2014 reverential Face  \nSufficient Courtesy.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Two Travellers perishing in Snow**\n\nTwo Travellers perishing in Snow  \nThe Forests as they froze  \nTogether heard them strengthening  \nEach other with the words\n\nThat Heaven if Heaven \u2014 must contain  \nWhat Either left behind  \nAnd then the cheer too solemn grew  \nFor language, and the wind\n\nLong steps across the features took  \nThat Love had touched the Morn  \nWith reverential Hyacinth \u2014   \nThe taleless Days went on\n\nTill Mystery impatient drew  \nAnd those They left behind  \nLed absent, were procured of Heaven  \nAs Those first furnished, said \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That is solemn we have ended**\n\nThat is solemn we have ended  \nBe it but a Play  \nOr a Glee among the Garret  \nOr a Holiday\n\nOr a leaving Home, or later,  \nParting with a World  \nWe have understood for better  \nStill to be explained.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Death leaves Us homesick, who behind,**\n\nDeath leaves Us homesick, who behind,  \nExcept that it is gone  \nAre ignorant of its Concern  \nAs if it were not born.\n\nThrough all their former Places, we  \nLike Individuals go  \nWho something lost, the seeking for  \nIs all that's left them, now \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This Dust, and its Feature \u2014**\n\nThis Dust, and its Feature \u2014   \nAccredited \u2014 Today \u2014   \nWill in a second Future \u2014   \nCease to identify \u2014\n\nThis Mind, and its measure \u2014   \nA too minute Area  \nFor its enlarged inspection's  \nComparison \u2014 appear \u2014\n\nThis World, and its species  \nA too concluded show  \nFor its absorbed Attention's  \nRemotest scrutiny \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I felt a Cleaving in my Mind \u2014**\n\nI felt a Cleaving in my Mind \u2014   \nAs if my Brain had split \u2014   \nI tried to match it \u2014 Seam by Seam \u2014   \nBut could not make it fit.\n\nThe thought behind, I strove to join  \nUnto the thought before \u2014   \nBut Sequence ravelled out of Sound  \nLike Balls \u2014 upon a Floor.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Fairer through Fading \u2014 as the Day**\n\nFairer through Fading \u2014 as the Day  \nInto the Darkness dips away \u2014   \nHalf Her Complexion of the Sun \u2014   \nHindering \u2014 Haunting \u2014 Perishing \u2014\n\nRallies Her Glow, like a dying Friend \u2014   \nTeasing with glittering Amend \u2014   \nOnly to aggravate the Dark  \nThrough an expiring \u2014 perfect \u2014 look \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What I see not, I better see \u2014**\n\nWhat I see not, I better see \u2014   \nThrough Faith \u2014 my Hazel Eye  \nHas periods of shutting \u2014   \nBut, No lid has Memory \u2014\n\nFor frequent, all my sense obscured  \nI equally behold  \nAs someone held a light unto  \nThe Features so beloved \u2014 -\n\nAnd I arise \u2014 and in my Dream \u2014   \nDo Thee distinguished Grace \u2014   \nTill jealous Daylight interrupt \u2014   \nAnd mar thy perfectness \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**On that dear Frame the Years had worn**\n\nOn that dear Frame the Years had worn  \nYet precious as the House  \nIn which We first experienced Light  \nThe Witnessing, to Us \u2014\n\nPrecious! It was conceiveless fair  \nAs Hands the Grave had grimed  \nShould softly place within our own  \nDenying that they died.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Lady feeds Her little Bird**\n\nThe Lady feeds Her little Bird  \nAt rarer intervals \u2014   \nThe little Bird would not dissent  \nBut meekly recognize\n\nThe Gulf between the Hand and Her  \nAnd crumbless and afar  \nAnd fainting, on Her yellow Knee  \nFall softly, and adore \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Snow beneath whose chilly softness**\n\nSnow beneath whose chilly softness  \nSome that never lay  \nMake their first Repose this Winter  \nI admonish Thee\n\nBlanket Wealthier the Neighbor  \nWe so new bestow  \nThan thine acclimated Creature  \nWilt Thou, Austere Snow?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Coffin \u2014 is a small Domain,**\n\nA Coffin \u2014 is a small Domain,  \nYet able to contain  \nA Citizen of Paradise  \nIn it diminished Plane.\n\nA Grave \u2014 is a restricted Breadth \u2014   \nYet ampler than the Sun \u2014   \nAnd all the Seas He populates  \nAnd Lands He looks upon\n\nTo Him who on its small Repose  \nBestows a single Friend \u2014   \nCircumference without Relief \u2014   \nOr Estimate \u2014 or End \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I learned \u2014 at least \u2014 what Home could be \u2014**\n\nI learned \u2014 at least \u2014 what Home could be \u2014   \nHow ignorant I had been  \nOf pretty ways of Covenant \u2014   \nHow awkward at the Hymn\n\nRound our new Fireside \u2014 but for this \u2014   \nThis pattern \u2014 of the Way \u2014   \nWhose Memory drowns me, like the Dip  \nOf a Celestial Sea \u2014\n\nWhat Mornings in our Garden \u2014 guessed \u2014   \nWhat Bees \u2014 for us \u2014 to hum \u2014   \nWith only Birds to interrupt  \nThe Ripple of our Theme \u2014\n\nAnd Task for Both \u2014   \nWhen Play be done \u2014   \nYour Problem \u2014 of the Brain \u2014   \nAnd mine \u2014 some foolisher effect \u2014   \nA Ruffle \u2014 or a Tune \u2014\n\nThe Afternoons \u2014 Together spent \u2014   \nAnd Twilight \u2014 in the Lanes \u2014   \nSome ministry to poorer lives \u2014   \nSeen poorest \u2014 thro' our gains \u2014\n\nAnd then Return \u2014 and Night \u2014 and Home \u2014\n\nAnd then away to You to pass \u2014   \nA new \u2014 diviner \u2014 care \u2014   \nTill Sunrise take us back to Scene \u2014   \nTransmuted \u2014 Vivider \u2014\n\nThis seems a Home \u2014   \nAnd Home is not \u2014   \nBut what that Place could be \u2014   \nAfflicts me \u2014 as a Setting Sun \u2014   \nWhere Dawn \u2014 knows how to be \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This is a Blossom of the Brain \u2014**\n\nThis is a Blossom of the Brain \u2014   \nA small \u2014 italic Seed  \nLodged by Design or Happening  \nThe Spirit fructified \u2014\n\nShy as the Wind of his Chambers  \nSwift as a Freshet's Tongue  \nSo of the Flower of the Soul  \nIts process is unknown.\n\nWhen it is found, a few rejoice  \nThe Wise convey it Home  \nCarefully cherishing the spot  \nIf other Flower become.\n\nWhen it is lost, that Day shall be  \nThe Funeral of God,  \nUpon his Breast, a closing Soul  \nThe Flower of our Lord.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It is an honorable Thought**\n\nIt is an honorable Thought  \nAnd make One lift One's Hat  \nAs One met sudden Gentlefolk  \nUpon a daily Street\n\nThat We've immortal Place  \nThough Pyramids decay  \nAnd Kingdoms, like the Orchard  \nFlit Russetly away\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause?**\n\nOf Tolling Bell I ask the cause?  \n\"A Soul has gone to Heaven\"  \nI'm answered in a lonesome tone \u2014   \nIs Heaven then a Prison?\n\nThat Bells should ring till all should know  \nA Soul had gone to Heaven  \nWould seem to me the more the way  \nA Good News should be given.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas Crisis \u2014 All the length had passed \u2014**\n\n'Twas Crisis \u2014 All the length had passed \u2014   \nThat dull \u2014 benumbing time  \nThere is in Fever or Event \u2014   \nAnd now the Chance had come \u2014\n\nThe instant holding in its claw  \nThe privilege to live  \nOr warrant to report the Soul  \nThe other side the Grave.\n\nThe Muscles grappled as with leads  \nThat would not let the Will \u2014   \nThe Spirit shook the Adamant \u2014   \nBut could not make it feel.\n\nThe Second poised \u2014 debated \u2014 shot \u2014   \nAnother had begun \u2014   \nAnd simultaneously, a Soul  \nEscaped the House unseen \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Under the Light, yet under,**\n\nUnder the Light, yet under,  \nUnder the Grass and the Dirt,  \nUnder the Beetle's Cellar  \nUnder the Clover's Root,\n\nFurther than Arm could stretch  \nWere it Giant long,  \nFurther than Sunshine could  \nWere the Day Year long,\n\nOver the Light, yet over,  \nOver the Arc of the Bird \u2014   \nOver the Comet's chimney \u2014   \nOver the Cubit's Head,\n\nFurther than Guess can gallop  \nFurther than Riddle ride \u2014   \nOh for a Disc to the Distance  \nBetween Ourselves and the Dead!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sunset stopped on Cottages**\n\nThe Sunset stopped on Cottages  \nWhere Sunset hence must be  \nFor treason not of His, but Life's,  \nGone Westerly, Today \u2014\n\nThe Sunset stopped on Cottages  \nWhere Morning just begun \u2014   \nWhat difference, after all, Thou mak'st  \nThou supercilious Sun?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As Frost is best conceived**\n\nAs Frost is best conceived  \nBy force of its Result \u2014   \nAffliction is inferred  \nBy subsequent effect \u2014\n\nIf when the sun reveal,  \nThe Garden keep the Gash \u2014   \nIf as the Days resume  \nThe wilted countenance\n\nCannot correct the crease  \nOr counteract the stain \u2014   \nPresumption is Vitality  \nWas somewhere put in twain.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Man may make a Remark \u2014**\n\nA Man may make a Remark \u2014   \nIn itself \u2014 a quiet thing  \nThat may furnish the Fuse unto a Spark  \nIn dormant nature \u2014 lain \u2014\n\nLet us deport \u2014 with skill \u2014   \nLet us discourse \u2014 with care \u2014   \nPowder exists in Charcoal \u2014   \nBefore it exists in Fire.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Door just opened on a street \u2014**\n\nA Door just opened on a street \u2014   \nI \u2014 lost \u2014 was passing by \u2014   \nAn instant's Width of Warmth disclosed \u2014   \nAnd Wealth \u2014 and Company.\n\nThe Door as instant shut \u2014 And I \u2014   \nI \u2014 lost \u2014 was passing by \u2014   \nLost doubly \u2014 but by contrast \u2014 most \u2014   \nInforming \u2014 misery \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Chemical conviction**\n\nThe Chemical conviction  \nThat Nought be lost  \nEnable in Disaster  \nMy fractured Trust \u2014\n\nThe Faces of the Atoms  \nIf I shall see  \nHow more the Finished Creatures  \nDeparted me!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Hollows round His eager Eyes**\n\nThe Hollows round His eager Eyes  \nWere Pages where to read  \nPathetic Histories \u2014 although  \nHimself had not complained.  \nBiography to All who passed  \nOf Unobtrusive Pain  \nExcept for the italic Face  \nEndured, unhelped \u2014 unknown.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What shall I do when the Summer troubles \u2014**\n\nWhat shall I do when the Summer troubles \u2014   \nWhat, when the Rose is ripe \u2014   \nWhat when the Eggs fly off in Music  \nFrom the Maple Keep?\n\nWhat shall I do when the Skies a'chirrup  \nDrop a Tune on me \u2014   \nWhen the Bee hangs all Noon in the Buttercup  \nWhat will become of me?\n\nOh, when the Squirrel fills His Pockets  \nAnd the Berries stare  \nHow can I bear their jocund Faces  \nThou from Here, so far?\n\n'Twouldn't afflict a Robin \u2014   \nAll His Goods have Wings \u2014   \nI \u2014 do not fly, so wherefore  \nMy Perennial Things?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As One does Sickness over**\n\nAs One does Sickness over  \nIn convalescent Mind,  \nHis scrutiny of Chances  \nBy blessed Health obscured \u2014\n\nAs One rewalks a Precipice  \nAnd whittles at the Twig  \nThat held Him from Perdition  \nSown sidewise in the Crag\n\nA Custom of the Soul  \nFar after suffering  \nIdentity to question  \nFor evidence't has been \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We met as Sparks \u2014 Diverging Flints**\n\nWe met as Sparks \u2014 Diverging Flints  \nSent various \u2014 scattered ways \u2014   \nWe parted as the Central Flint  \nWere cloven with an Adze \u2014   \nSubsisting on the Light We bore  \nBefore We felt the Dark \u2014   \nA Flint unto this Day \u2014 perhaps \u2014   \nBut for that single Spark.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A loss of something ever felt I \u2014**\n\nA loss of something ever felt I \u2014   \nThe first that I could recollect  \nBereft I was \u2014 of what I knew not  \nToo young that any should suspect\n\nA Mourner walked among the children  \nI notwithstanding went about  \nAs one bemoaning a Dominion  \nItself the only Prince cast out \u2014\n\nElder, Today, a session wiser  \nAnd fainter, too, as Wiseness is \u2014   \nI find myself still softly searching  \nFor my Delinquent Palaces \u2014\n\nAnd a Suspicion, like a Finger  \nTouches my Forehead now and then  \nThat I am looking oppositely  \nFor the site of the Kingdom of Heaven \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As plan for Noon and plan for Night**\n\nAs plan for Noon and plan for Night  \nSo differ Life and Death  \nIn positive Prospective \u2014   \nThe Foot upon the Earth\n\nAt Distance, and Achievement, strains,  \nThe Foot upon the Grave  \nMakes effort at conclusion  \nAssisted faint of Love.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Wert Thou but ill \u2014 that I might show thee**\n\nWert Thou but ill \u2014 that I might show thee  \nHow long a Day I could endure  \nThough thine attention stop not on me  \nNor the least signal, Me assure \u2014\n\nWert Thou but Stranger in ungracious country \u2014   \nAnd Mine \u2014 the Door  \nThou paused at, for a passing bounty \u2014   \nNo More \u2014\n\nAccused \u2014 wert Thou \u2014 and Myself \u2014 Tribunal \u2014   \nConvicted \u2014 Sentenced \u2014 Ermine \u2014 not to Me  \nHalf the Condition, thy Reverse \u2014 to follow \u2014   \nJust to partake \u2014 the infamy \u2014\n\nThe Tenant of the Narrow Cottage, wert Thou \u2014   \nPermit to be  \nThe Housewife in thy low attendance  \nContenteth Me \u2014\n\nNo Service hast Thou, I would not achieve it \u2014   \nTo die \u2014 or live \u2014   \nThe first \u2014 Sweet, proved I, ere I saw thee \u2014   \nFor Life \u2014 be Love \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Midsummer, was it, when They died \u2014**\n\nMidsummer, was it, when They died \u2014   \nA full, and perfect time \u2014   \nThe Summer closed upon itself  \nIn Consummated Bloom \u2014\n\nThe Corn, her furthest kernel filled  \nBefore the coming Flail \u2014   \nWhen These \u2014 leaned unto Perfectness \u2014   \nThrough Haze of Burial \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A nearness to Tremendousness \u2014**\n\nA nearness to Tremendousness \u2014   \nAn Agony procures \u2014   \nAffliction ranges Boundlessness \u2014   \nVicinity to Laws\n\nContentment's quiet Suburb \u2014   \nAffliction cannot stay  \nIn Acres \u2014 Its Location  \nIs Illocality \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Unto Me? I do not know you \u2014**\n\n\"Unto Me?\" I do not know you \u2014   \nWhere may be your House?\n\n\"I am Jesus \u2014 Late of Judea \u2014   \nNow \u2014 of Paradise\" \u2014\n\nWagons \u2014 have you \u2014 to convey me?  \nThis is far from Thence \u2014\n\n\"Arms of Mine \u2014 sufficient Phaeton \u2014   \nTrust Omnipotence\" \u2014\n\nI am spotted \u2014 \"I am Pardon\" \u2014   \nI am small \u2014 \"The Least  \nIs esteemed in Heaven the Chiefest \u2014   \nOccupy my House\" \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Denial \u2014 is the only fact**\n\nDenial \u2014 is the only fact  \nPerceived by the Denied \u2014   \nWhose Will \u2014 a numb significance \u2014   \nThe Day the Heaven died \u2014\n\nAnd all the Earth strove common round \u2014   \nWithout Delight, or Beam \u2014   \nWhat Comfort was it Wisdom \u2014 was \u2014   \nThe spoiler of Our Home?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**All forgot for recollecting**\n\nAll forgot for recollecting  \nJust a paltry One \u2014   \nAll forsook, for just a Stranger's  \nNew Accompanying \u2014\n\nGrace of Wealth, and Grace of Station  \nLess accounted than  \nAn unknown Esteem possessing \u2014   \nEstimate \u2014 Who can \u2014\n\nHome effaced \u2014 Her faces dwindled \u2014   \nNature \u2014 altered small \u2014   \nSun \u2014 if shone \u2014 or Storm \u2014 if shattered \u2014   \nOverlooked I all \u2014\n\nDropped \u2014 my fate \u2014 a timid Pebble \u2014   \nIn thy bolder Sea \u2014   \nProve \u2014 me \u2014 Sweet \u2014 if I regret it \u2014   \nProve Myself \u2014 of Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Pain \u2014 expands the Time \u2014**\n\nPain \u2014 expands the Time \u2014   \nAges coil within  \nThe minute Circumference  \nOf a single Brain \u2014\n\nPain contracts \u2014 the Time \u2014   \nOccupied with Shot  \nGamuts of Eternities  \nAre as they were not \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Fitter to see Him, I may be**\n\nFitter to see Him, I may be  \nFor the long Hindrance \u2014 Grace \u2014 to Me \u2014   \nWith Summers, and with Winters, grow,  \nSome passing Year \u2014 A trait bestow\n\nTo make Me fairest of the Earth \u2014   \nThe Waiting \u2014 then \u2014 will seem so worth  \nI shall impute with half a pain  \nThe blame that I was chosen \u2014 then \u2014\n\nTime to anticipate His Gaze \u2014   \nIt's first \u2014 Delight \u2014 and then \u2014 Surprise \u2014   \nThe turning o'er and o'er my face  \nFor Evidence it be the Grace \u2014\n\nHe left behind One Day \u2014 So less  \nHe seek Conviction, That \u2014 be This \u2014\n\nI only must not grow so new  \nThat He'll mistake \u2014 and ask for me  \nOf me \u2014 when first unto the Door  \nI go \u2014 to Elsewhere go no more \u2014\n\nI only must not change so fair  \nHe'll sigh \u2014 \"The Other \u2014 She \u2014 is Where?\"  \nThe Love, tho', will array me right  \nI shall be perfect \u2014 in His sight \u2014\n\nIf He perceive the other Truth \u2014   \nUpon an Excellenter Youth \u2014\n\nHow sweet I shall not lack in Vain \u2014   \nBut gain \u2014 thro' loss \u2014 Through Grief \u2014 obtain \u2014   \nThe Beauty that reward Him best \u2014   \nThe Beauty of Demand \u2014 at Rest \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He who in Himself believes \u2014**\n\nHe who in Himself believes \u2014   \nFraud cannot presume \u2014   \nFaith is Constancy's Result \u2014   \nAnd assumes \u2014 from Home \u2014\n\nCannot perish, though it fail  \nEvery second time \u2014   \nBut defaced Vicariously \u2014   \nFor Some Other Shame \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Color \u2014 Caste \u2014 Denomination \u2014**\n\nColor \u2014 Caste \u2014 Denomination \u2014   \nThese \u2014 are Time's Affair \u2014   \nDeath's diviner Classifying  \nDoes not know they are \u2014\n\nAs in sleep \u2014 All Hue forgotten \u2014   \nTenets \u2014 put behind \u2014   \nDeath's large \u2014 Democratic fingers  \nRub away the Brand \u2014\n\nIf Circassian \u2014 He is careless \u2014   \nIf He put away  \nChrysalis of Blonde \u2014 or Umber \u2014   \nEqual Butterfly \u2014\n\nThey emerge from His Obscuring \u2014   \nWhat Death \u2014 knows so well \u2014   \nOur minuter intuitions \u2014   \nDeem unplausible \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Robbed by Death \u2014 but that was easy \u2014**\n\nRobbed by Death \u2014 but that was easy \u2014   \nTo the failing Eye  \nI could hold the latest Glowing \u2014   \nRobbed by Liberty\n\nFor Her Jugular Defences \u2014   \nThis, too, I endured \u2014   \nHint of Glory \u2014 it afforded \u2014   \nFor the Brave Beloved \u2014\n\nFraud of Distance \u2014 Fraud of Danger,  \nFraud of Death \u2014 to bear \u2014   \nIt is Bounty \u2014 to Suspense's  \nVague Calamity \u2014\n\nStalking our entire Possession  \nOn a Hair's result \u2014   \nThen \u2014 seesawing \u2014 coolly \u2014 on it \u2014   \nTrying if it split \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Unfulfilled to Observation \u2014**\n\nUnfulfilled to Observation \u2014   \nIncomplete \u2014 to Eye \u2014   \nBut to Faith \u2014 a Revolution  \nIn Locality \u2014\n\nUnto Us \u2014 the Suns extinguish \u2014   \nTo our Opposite \u2014   \nNew Horizons \u2014 they embellish \u2014   \nFronting Us \u2014 with Night.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas awkward, but it fitted me \u2014**\n\n'Twas awkward, but it fitted me \u2014   \nAn Ancient fashioned Heart \u2014   \nIts only lore \u2014 its Steadfastness \u2014   \nIn Change \u2014 unerudite \u2014\n\nIt only moved as do the Suns \u2014   \nFor merit of Return \u2014   \nOr Birds \u2014 confirmed perpetual  \nBy Alternating Zone \u2014\n\nI only have it not Tonight  \nIn its established place \u2014   \nFor technicality of Death \u2014   \nOmitted in the Lease \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Soul's distinct connection**\n\nThe Soul's distinct connection  \nWith immortality  \nIs best disclosed by Danger  \nOr quick Calamity \u2014\n\nAs Lightning on a Landscape  \nExhibits Sheets of Place \u2014   \nNot yet suspected \u2014 but for Flash \u2014   \nAnd Click \u2014 and Suddenness.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Mountain sat upon the Plain**\n\nThe Mountain sat upon the Plain  \nIn his tremendous Chair \u2014   \nHis observation omnifold,  \nHis inquest, everywhere \u2014\n\nThe Seasons played around his knees  \nLike Children round a sire \u2014   \nGrandfather of the Days is He  \nOf Dawn, the Ancestor \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Death is a Dialogue between**\n\nDEATH is a dialogue between  \nThe spirit and the dust.  \n\"Dissolve,\" says Death. The Spirit, \"Sir,  \nI have another trust.\"\n\nDeath doubts it, argues from the ground.  \nThe Spirit turns away,  \nJust laying off, for evidence,  \nAn overcoat of clay.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Besides this May**\n\nBesides this May  \nWe know  \nThere is Another \u2014   \nHow fair  \nOur Speculations of the Foreigner!\n\nSome know Him whom We knew \u2014   \nSweet Wonder \u2014   \nA Nature be  \nWhere Saints, and our plain going Neighbor  \nKeep May!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon \u2014**\n\nIt bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon \u2014   \nThe Flower \u2014 distinct and Red \u2014   \nI, passing, thought another Noon  \nAnother in its stead\n\nWill equal glow, and thought no More  \nBut came another Day  \nTo find the Species disappeared \u2014   \nThe Same Locality \u2014\n\nThe Sun in place \u2014 no other fraud  \nOn Nature's perfect Sum \u2014   \nHad I but lingered Yesterday \u2014   \nWas my retrieveless blame \u2014\n\nMuch Flowers of this and further Zones  \nHave perished in my Hands  \nFor seeking its Resemblance \u2014   \nBut unapproached it stands \u2014\n\nThe single Flower of the Earth  \nThat I, in passing by  \nUnconscious was \u2014 Great Nature's Face  \nPassed infinite by Me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This Merit hath the worst \u2014**\n\nThis Merit hath the worst \u2014   \nIt cannot be again \u2014   \nWhen Fate hath taunted last  \nAnd thrown Her furthest Stone \u2014\n\nThe Maimed may pause, and breathe,  \nAnd glance securely round \u2014   \nThe Deer attracts no further  \nThan it resists \u2014 the Hound \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Purple \u2014 is fashionable twice \u2014**\n\nPurple \u2014 is fashionable twice \u2014   \nThis season of the year,  \nAnd when a soul perceives itself  \nTo be an Emperor.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As Sleigh Bells seem in summer**\n\nAs Sleigh Bells seem in summer  \nOr Bees, at Christmas show \u2014   \nSo fairy \u2014 so fictitious  \nThe individuals do  \nRepealed from observation \u2014   \nA Party that we knew \u2014   \nMore distant in an instant  \nThan Dawn in Timbuctoo.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No Other can reduce**\n\nNo Other can reduce  \nOur mortal Consequence  \nLike the remembering it be nought  \nA Period from hence  \nBut Contemplation for  \nContemporaneous Nought  \nOur Single Competition  \nJehovah's Estimate.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Ideals are the Fairly Oil**\n\nIdeals are the Fairly Oil  \nWith which we help the Wheel  \nBut when the Vital Axle turns  \nThe Eye rejects the Oil.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis Anguish grander than Delight**\n\n'Tis Anguish grander than Delight  \n'Tis Resurrection Pain \u2014   \nThe meeting Bands of smitten Face  \nWe questioned to, again.\n\n'Tis Transport wild as thrills the Graves  \nWhen Cerements let go  \nAnd Creatures clad in Miracle  \nGo up by Two and Two.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Missing All \u2014 prevented Me**\n\nThe Missing All \u2014 prevented Me  \nFrom missing minor Things.  \nIf nothing larger than a World's  \nDeparture from a Hinge \u2014   \nOr Sun's extinction, be observed \u2014   \n'Twas not so large that I  \nCould lift my Forehead from my work  \nFor Curiosity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A narrow fellow in the grass**\n\n**Version 1** :  \nA narrow fellow in the grass  \nOccasionally rides;  \nYou may have met him \u2014 did you not  \nHis notice instant is,  \nThe grass divides as with a comb,  \nA spotted shaft is seen,  \nAnd then it closes at your feet,  \nAnd opens further on.\n\nHe likes a boggy acre  \nA floor too cool for corn,  \nYet when a boy and barefoot,  \nI more than once at noon  \nHave passed, I thought, a whip lash,  \nUnbraiding in the sun,  \nWhen stooping to secure it,  \nIt wrinkled and was gone.\n\nSeveral of nature's people  \nI know, and they know me;  \nI feel for them a transport  \nOf cordiality.  \nYet never met this fellow,  \nAttended or alone,  \nWithout a tighter breathing,  \nAnd zero at the bone.\n\n**Version 2** :  \nA narrow Fellow in the Grass  \nOccasionally rides \u2014   \nYou may have met Him \u2014 did you not  \nHis notice sudden is \u2014\n\nThe Grass divides as with a Comb \u2014   \nA spotted shaft is seen \u2014   \nAnd then it closes at your feet  \nAnd opens further on \u2014\n\nHe likes a Boggy Acre  \nA Floor too cool for Corn \u2014   \nYet when a Boy, and Barefoot \u2014   \nI more than once at Noon\n\nHave passed, I thought, a Whip lash  \nUnbraiding in the Sun  \nWhen stooping to secure it  \nIt wrinkled and was gone \u2014\n\nSeveral of Nature's People  \nI know, and they know me \u2014   \nI feel for them a transport  \nOf cordiality \u2014\n\nBut never met this Fellow,  \nAttended, or alone  \nWithout a tighter breathing  \nAnd Zero at the Bone \u2014\n\n**Version 3** :  \nA narrow Fellow in the Grass  \nOccasionally rides -  \nYou may have met Him? Did you not  \nHis notice instant is-\n\nThe Grass divides as with a Comb -  \nA spotted shaft is seen,  \nAnd then it closes at your Feet  \nAnd opens further on -\n\nHe likes a Boggy Acre -  \nA Floor too cool for Corn -  \nBut when a Boy and Barefoot  \nI more than once at Noon\n\nHave passed I thought a Whip Lash  \nUnbraiding in the Sun  \nWhen stooping to secure it  \nIt wrinkled And was gone -\n\nSeveral of Nature's People  \nI know, and they know me  \nI feel for them a transport  \nOf cordiality\n\nBut never met this Fellow,  \nAttended or alone  \nWithout a tighter Breathing  \nAnd Zero at the Bone.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Leaves like Women interchange**\n\nThe Leaves like Women interchange  \nExclusive Confidence \u2014   \nSomewhat of nods and somewhat  \nPortentous inference.\n\nThe Parties in both cases  \nEnjoining secrecy \u2014   \nInviolable compact  \nTo notoriety.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Definition of Beauty is**\n\nThe Definition of Beauty is  \nThat Definition is none \u2014   \nOf Heaven, easing Analysis,  \nSince Heaven and He are one.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Gratitude \u2014 is not the mention**\n\nGratitude \u2014 is not the mention  \nOf a Tenderness,  \nBut its still appreciation  \nOut of Plumb of Speech.\n\nWhen the Sea return no Answer  \nBy the Line and Lead  \nProves it there's no Sea, or rather  \nA remoter Bed?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not all die early, dying young \u2014**\n\nNot all die early, dying young \u2014   \nMaturity of Fate  \nIs consummated equally  \nIn Ages, or a Night \u2014\n\nA Hoary Boy, I've known to drop  \nWhole statured \u2014 by the side  \nOf Junior of Fourscore \u2014 'twas Act  \nNot Period \u2014 that died.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She sped as Petals of a Rose**\n\nShe sped as Petals of a Rose  \nOffended by the Wind \u2014   \nA frail Aristocrat of Time  \nIndemnity to find \u2014   \nLeaving on nature \u2014 a Default  \nAs Cricket or as Bee \u2014   \nBut Andes in the Bosoms where  \nShe had begun to lie \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Dust behind I strove to join**\n\nThe Dust behind I strove to join  \nUnto the Disk before \u2014   \nBut Sequence ravelled out of Sound  \nLike Balls upon a Floor \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We miss Her, not because We see \u2014**\n\nWe miss Her, not because We see \u2014   \nThe Absence of an Eye \u2014   \nExcept its Mind accompany  \nAbridge Society\n\nAs slightly as the Routes of Stars \u2014   \nOurselves \u2014 asleep below \u2014   \nWe know that their superior Eyes  \nInclude Us \u2014 as they go \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Partake as doth the Bee,**\n\nPartake as doth the Bee,  \nAbstemiously.  \nThe Rose is an Estate \u2014   \nIn Sicily.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This was in the White of the Year \u2014**\n\nThis was in the White of the Year \u2014   \nThat \u2014 was in the Green \u2014   \nDrifts were as difficult then to think  \nAs Daisies now to be seen \u2014\n\nLooking back is best that is left  \nOr if it be \u2014 before \u2014   \nRetrospection is Prospect's half,  \nSometimes, almost more.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We'll pass without the parting**\n\nWe'll pass without the parting  \nSo to spare  \nCertificate of Absence \u2014   \nDeeming where\n\nI left Her I could find Her  \nIf I tried \u2014   \nThis way, I keep from missing  \nThose that died.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Crumbling is not an instant's Act**\n\nCrumbling is not an instant's Act  \nA fundamental pause  \nDilapidation's processes  \nAre organized Decays.\n\n'Tis first a Cobweb on the Soul  \nA Cuticle of Dust  \nA Borer in the Axis  \nAn Elemental Rust \u2014\n\nRuin is formal \u2014 Devil's work  \nConsecutive and slow \u2014   \nFail in an instant, no man did  \nSlipping \u2014 is Crash's law.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Best Things dwell out of Sight**\n\nBest Things dwell out of Sight  \nThe Pearl \u2014 the Just \u2014 Our Thought.\n\nMost shun the Public Air  \nLegitimate, and Rare \u2014\n\nThe Capsule of the Wind  \nThe Capsule of the Mind\n\nExhibit here, as doth a Burr \u2014   \nGerm's Germ be where?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Superfluous were the Sun**\n\nSuperfluous were the Sun  \nWhen Excellence be dead  \nHe were superfluous every Day  \nFor every Day be said\n\nThat syllable whose Faith  \nJust saves it from Despair  \nAnd whose \"I'll meet You\" hesitates  \nIf Love inquire \"Where\"?\n\nUpon His dateless Fame  \nOur Periods may lie  \nAs Stars that drop anonymous  \nFrom an abundant sky.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Fingers of the Light**\n\nThe Fingers of the Light  \nTapped soft upon the Town  \nWith \"I am great and cannot wait  \nSo therefore let me in.\"\n\n\"You're soon,\" the Town replied,  \n\"My Faces are asleep \u2014   \nBut swear, and I will let you by,  \nYou will not wake them up.\"\n\nThe easy Guest complied  \nBut once within the Town  \nThe transport of His Countenance  \nAwakened Maid and Man\n\nThe Neighbor in the Pool  \nUpon His Hip elate  \nMade loud obeisance and the Gnat  \nHeld up His Cup for Light.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Stimulus, beyond the Grave**\n\nThe Stimulus, beyond the Grave  \nHis Countenance to see  \nSupports me like imperial Drams  \nAfforded Day by Day.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Aurora is the effort**\n\nAurora is the effort  \nOf the Celestial Face  \nUnconsciousness of Perfectness  \nTo simulate, to Us.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Dying at my music!**\n\nDying at my music!  \nBubble! Bubble!  \nHold me till the Octave's run!  \nQuick! Burst the Windows!  \nRitardando!  \nPhials left, and the Sun!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is no Silence in the Earth \u2014 so silent**\n\nThere is no Silence in the Earth \u2014 so silent  \nAs that endured  \nWhich uttered, would discourage Nature  \nAnd haunt the World.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Bind me \u2014 I still can sing \u2014**\n\nBind me \u2014 I still can sing \u2014   \nBanish \u2014 my mandolin  \nStrikes true within \u2014\n\nSlay \u2014 and my Soul shall rise  \nChanting to Paradise \u2014   \nStill thine.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The first We knew of Him was Death \u2014**\n\nThe first We knew of Him was Death \u2014   \nThe second \u2014 was \u2014 Renown \u2014   \nExcept the first had justified  \nThe second had not been.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Falsehood of Thee could I suppose**\n\nFalsehood of Thee could I suppose  \n'Twould undermine the Sill  \nTo which my Faith pinned Block by Block  \nHer Cedar Citadel.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How still the Bells in Steeples stand**\n\nHow still the Bells in Steeples stand  \nTill swollen with the Sky  \nThey leap upon their silver Feet  \nIn frantic Melody!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I was a Phoebe \u2014 nothing more \u2014**\n\nI was a Phoebe \u2014 nothing more \u2014   \nA Phoebe \u2014 nothing less \u2014   \nThe little note that others dropt  \nI fitted into place \u2014\n\nI dwelt too low that any seek \u2014   \nToo shy, that any blame \u2014   \nA Phoebe makes a little print  \nUpon the Floors of Fame \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Up Life's Hill with my my little Bundle**\n\nUp Life's Hill with my my little Bundle  \nIf I prove it steep \u2014   \nIf a Discouragement withhold me \u2014   \nIf my newest step\n\nOlder feel than the Hope that prompted \u2014   \nSpotless be from blame  \nHeart that proposed as Heart that accepted  \nHomelessness, for Home \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She rose as high as His Occasion**\n\nShe rose as high as His Occasion  \nThen sought the Dust \u2014   \nAnd lower lay in low Westminster  \nFor Her brief Crest \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Which is best? Heaven \u2014**\n\nWhich is best? Heaven \u2014   \nOr only Heaven to come  \nWith that old Codicil of Doubt?  \nI cannot help esteem\n\nThe \"Bird within the Hand\"  \nSuperior to the one  \nThe \"Bush\" may yield me  \nOr may not  \nToo late to choose again.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Too scanty 'twas to die for you,**\n\nToo scanty 'twas to die for you,  \nThe merest Greek could that.  \nThe living, Sweet, is costlier \u2014   \nI offer even that \u2014\n\nThe Dying, is a trifle, past,  \nBut living, this include  \nThe dying multifold \u2014 without  \nThe Respite to be dead.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Did We abolish Frost**\n\nDid We abolish Frost  \nThe Summer would not cease \u2014   \nIf Seasons perish or prevail  \nIs optional with Us \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Were it but Me that gained the Height \u2014**\n\nWere it but Me that gained the Height \u2014   \nWere it but They, that failed!  \nHow many things the Dying play  \nMight they but live, they would!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Hills in Purple syllables**\n\nThe Hills in Purple syllables  \nThe Day's Adventures tell  \nTo little Groups of Continents  \nJust going Home from School.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To die \u2014 without the Dying**\n\nTo die \u2014 without the Dying  \nAnd live \u2014 without the Life  \nThis is the hardest Miracle  \nPropounded to Belief.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Who saw no Sunrise cannot say**\n\nWho saw no Sunrise cannot say  \nThe Countenance 'twould be.  \nWho guess at seeing, guess at loss  \nOf the Ability.\n\nThe Emigrant of Light, it is  \nAfflicted for the Day.  \nThe Blindness that beheld and blest \u2014   \nAnd could not find its Eye.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Season's furthest Flower \u2014**\n\nMy Season's furthest Flower \u2014   \nI tenderer commend  \nBecause I found Her Kinsmanless,  \nA Grace without a Friend.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Trudging to Eden, looking backward,**\n\nTrudging to Eden, looking backward,  \nI met Somebody's little Boy  \nAsked him his name \u2014 He lisped me \"Trotwood\" \u2014   \nLady, did He belong to thee?\n\nWould it comfort \u2014 to know I met him \u2014   \nAnd that He didn't look afraid?  \nI couldn't weep \u2014 for so many smiling  \nNew Acquaintance \u2014 this Baby made \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Far from Love the Heavenly Father**\n\nFar from Love the Heavenly Father  \nLeads the Chosen Child,  \nOftener through Realm of Briar  \nThan the Meadow mild.\n\nOftener by the Claw of Dragon  \nThan the Hand of Friend  \nGuides the Little One predestined  \nTo the Native Land.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I knew that I had gained**\n\nI knew that I had gained  \nAnd yet I knew not how  \nBy Diminution it was not  \nBut Discipline unto\n\nA Rigor unrelieved  \nExcept by the Content  \nAnother bear its Duplicate  \nIn other Continent.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It rises \u2014 passes \u2014 on our South**\n\nIt rises \u2014 passes \u2014 on our South  \nInscribes a simple Noon \u2014   \nCajoles a Moment with the Spires  \nAnd infinite is gone \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So large my Will**\n\nSo large my Will  \nThe little that I may  \nEmbarrasses  \nLike gentle infamy \u2014\n\nAffront to Him  \nFor whom the Whole were small  \nAffront to me  \nWho know His Meed of all.\n\nEarth at the best  \nIs but a scanty Toy \u2014   \nBought, carried Home  \nTo Immortality.\n\nIt looks so small  \nWe chiefly wonder then  \nAt our Conceit  \nIn purchasing.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Products of my Farm are these**\n\nThe Products of my Farm are these  \nSufficient for my Own  \nAnd here and there a Benefit  \nUnto a Neighbor's Bin.\n\nWith Us, 'tis Harvest all the Year  \nFor when the Frosts begin  \nWe just reverse the Zodiac  \nAnd fetch the Acres in.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Dying need but little, Dear,**\n\nThe Dying need but little, Dear,  \nA Glass of Water's all,  \nA Flower's unobtrusive Face  \nTo punctuate the Wall,\n\nA Fan, perhaps, a Friend's Regret  \nAnd Certainty that one  \nNo color in the Rainbow  \nPerceive, when you are gone.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Heart upon a little Plate**\n\nMy Heart upon a little Plate  \nHer Palate to delight  \nA Berry or a Bun, would be,  \nMight it an Apricot!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas my one Glory \u2014**\n\n'Twas my one Glory \u2014   \nLet it be  \nRemembered  \nI was owned of Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Nor Mountain hinder Me**\n\nNor Mountain hinder Me  \nNor Sea \u2014   \nWho's Baltic \u2014   \nWho's Cordillera?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That Such have died enable Us**\n\nThat Such have died enable Us  \nThe tranquiller to die \u2014   \nThat Such have lived,  \nCertificate for Immortality.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Fate slew Him, but He did not drop \u2014**\n\nFate slew Him, but He did not drop \u2014   \nShe felled \u2014 He did not fall \u2014   \nImpaled Him on Her fiercest stakes \u2014   \nHe neutralized them all \u2014\n\nShe stung Him \u2014 sapped His firm Advance \u2014   \nBut when Her Worst was done  \nAnd He \u2014 unmoved regarded Her \u2014   \nAcknowledged Him a Man.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Who is the East?**\n\nWho is the East?  \nThe Yellow Man  \nWho may be Purple if He can  \nThat carries in the Sun.\n\nWho is the West?  \nThe Purple Man  \nWho may be Yellow if He can  \nThat lets Him out again.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Said Death to Passion**\n\nSaid Death to Passion  \n\"Give of thine an Acre unto me.\"  \nSaid Passion, through contracting Breaths  \n\"A Thousand Times Thee Nay.\"\n\nBore Death from Passion  \nAll His East  \nHe \u2014 sovereign as the Sun  \nResituated in the West  \nAnd the Debate was done.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**His Bill an Auger is**\n\nHis Bill an Auger is  \nHis Head, a Cap and Frill  \nHe laboreth at every Tree  \nA Worm, His utmost Goal.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Bee! I'm expecting you!**\n\nBee! I'm expecting you!  \nWas saying Yesterday  \nTo Somebody you know  \nThat you were due \u2014\n\nThe Frogs got Home last Week \u2014   \nAre settled, and at work \u2014   \nBirds, mostly back \u2014   \nThe Clover warm and thick \u2014\n\nYou'll get my Letter by  \nThe seventeenth; Reply  \nOr better, be with me \u2014   \nYours, Fly.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Satisfaction \u2014 is the Agent**\n\nSatisfaction \u2014 is the Agent  \nOf Satiety \u2014   \nWant \u2014 a quiet Commissary  \nFor Infinity.\n\nTo possess, is past the instant  \nWe achieve the Joy \u2014   \nImmortality contented  \nWere Anomaly.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Here, where the Daisies fit my Head**\n\nHere, where the Daisies fit my Head  \n'Tis easiest to lie  \nAnd every Grass that plays outside  \nIs sorry, some, for me.\n\nWhere I am not afraid to go  \nI may confide my Flower \u2014   \nWho was not Enemy of Me  \nWill gentle be, to Her.\n\nNor separate, Herself and Me  \nBy Distances become \u2014   \nA single Bloom we constitute  \nDeparted, or at Home \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Her little Parasol to lift**\n\nHer little Parasol to lift  \nAnd once to let it down  \nHer whole Responsibility \u2014   \nTo imitate be Mine.\n\nA Summer further I must wear,  \nContent if Nature's Drawer  \nPresent me from sepulchral Crease  \nAs blemishless, as Her.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I heard, as if I had no Ear**\n\nI heard, as if I had no Ear  \nUntil a Vital Word  \nCame all the way from Life to me  \nAnd then I knew I heard.\n\nI saw, as if my Eye were on  \nAnother, till a Thing  \nAnd now I know 'twas Light, because  \nIt fitted them, came in.\n\nI dwelt, as if Myself, were out,  \nMy Body but within  \nUntil a Might detected me  \nAnd set my kernel in.\n\nAnd Spirit turned unto the Dust  \n\"Old Friend, thou knowest me,\"  \nAnd Time went out to tell the News  \nAnd met Eternity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not so the infinite Relations \u2014 Below**\n\nNot so the infinite Relations \u2014 Below  \nDivision is Adhesion's forfeit \u2014 On High  \nAffliction but a Speculation \u2014 And Woe  \nA Fallacy, a Figment, We knew \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Somewhat, to hope for,**\n\nSomewhat, to hope for,  \nBe it ne'er so far  \nIs Capital against Despair \u2014\n\nSomewhat, to suffer,  \nBe it ne'er so keen \u2014   \nIf terminable, may be borne.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Spring comes on the World \u2014**\n\nSpring comes on the World \u2014   \nI sight the Aprils \u2014   \nHueless to me until thou come  \nAs, till the Bee  \nBlossoms stand negative,  \nTouched to Conditions  \nBy a Hum.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Lest this be Heaven indeed**\n\nLest this be Heaven indeed  \nAn Obstacle is given  \nThat always gauges a Degree  \nBetween Ourself and Heaven.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Sickness of this World it most occasions**\n\nA Sickness of this World it most occasions  \nWhen Best Men die.  \nA Wishfulness their far Condition  \nTo occupy.\n\nA Chief indifference, as Foreign  \nA World must be  \nThemselves forsake \u2014 contented,  \nFor Deity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Nature rarer uses Yellow**\n\nNature rarer uses Yellow  \nThan another Hue.  \nSaves she all of that for Sunsets  \nProdigal of Blue\n\nSpending Scarlet, like a Woman  \nYellow she affords  \nOnly scantly and selectly  \nLike a Lover's Words.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I've dropped my Brain \u2014 My Soul is numb \u2014**\n\nI've dropped my Brain \u2014 My Soul is numb \u2014   \nThe Veins that used to run  \nStop palsied \u2014 'tis Paralysis  \nDone perfecter on stone\n\nVitality is Carved and cool.  \nMy nerve in Marble lies \u2014   \nA Breathing Woman  \nYesterday \u2014 Endowed with Paradise.\n\nNot dumb \u2014 I had a sort that moved \u2014   \nA Sense that smote and stirred \u2014   \nInstincts for Dance \u2014 a caper part \u2014   \nAn Aptitude for Bird \u2014\n\nWho wrought Carrara in me  \nAnd chiselled all my tune  \nWere it a Witchcraft \u2014 were it Death \u2014   \nI've still a chance to strain\n\nTo Being, somewhere \u2014 Motion \u2014 Breath \u2014   \nThough Centuries beyond,  \nAnd every limit a Decade \u2014   \nI'll shiver, satisfied.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Opening and the Close**\n\nThe Opening and the Close  \nOf Being, are alike  \nOr differ, if they do,  \nAs Bloom upon a Stalk.\n\nThat from an equal Seed  \nUnto an equal Bud  \nGo parallel, perfected  \nIn that they have decayed.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Reportless Subjects, to the Quick**\n\nReportless Subjects, to the Quick  \nContinual addressed \u2014   \nBut foreign as the Dialect  \nOf Danes, unto the rest.\n\nReportless Measures, to the Ear  \nSusceptive \u2014 stimulus \u2014   \nBut like an Oriental Tale  \nTo others, fabulous \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Pain has but one Acquaintance**\n\nPain has but one Acquaintance  \nAnd that is Death \u2014   \nEach one unto the other  \nSociety enough.\n\nPain is the Junior Party  \nBy just a Second's right \u2014   \nDeath tenderly assists Him  \nAnd then absconds from Sight.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As willing lid o'er weary eye**\n\nAs willing lid o'er weary eye  \nThe Evening on the Day leans  \nTill of all our nature's House  \nRemains but Balcony\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I cannot meet the Spring unmoved \u2014**\n\nI cannot meet the Spring unmoved \u2014   \nI feel the old desire \u2014   \nA Hurry with a lingering, mixed,  \nA Warrant to be fair \u2014\n\nA Competition in my sense  \nWith something hid in Her \u2014   \nAnd as she vanishes, Remorse  \nI saw no more of Her.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I never saw a Moor \u2014**\n\nI NEVER saw a moor,  \nI never saw the sea ;  \nYet know I how the heather looks,  \nAnd what a wave must be.\n\nI never spoke with God,  \nNor visited in heaven ;  \nYet certain am I of the spot  \nAs if the chart were given.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It was a quiet way \u2014**\n\nIt was a quiet way \u2014   \nHe asked if I was his \u2014   \nI made no answer of the Tongue  \nBut answer of the Eyes \u2014   \nAnd then He bore me on  \nBefore this mortal noise  \nWith swiftness, as of Chariots  \nAnd distance, as of Wheels.  \nThis World did drop away  \nAs Acres from the feet  \nOf one that leaneth from Balloon  \nUpon an Ether street.  \nThe Gulf behind was not,  \nThe Continents were new \u2014   \nEternity it was before  \nEternity was due.  \nNo Seasons were to us \u2014   \nIt was not Night nor Morn \u2014   \nBut Sunrise stopped upon the place  \nAnd fastened it in Dawn.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not to discover weakness is**\n\nNot to discover weakness is  \nThe Artifice of strength \u2014   \nImpregnability inheres  \nAs much through Consciousness\n\nOf faith of others in itself  \nAs Pyramidal Nerve  \nBehind the most unconscious clock  \nWhat skilful Pointers move \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Soul should always stand ajar**\n\nThe Soul should always stand ajar  \nThat if the Heaven inquire  \nHe will not be obliged to wait  \nOr shy of troubling Her\n\nDepart, before the Host have slid  \nThe Bolt unto the Door \u2014   \nTo search for the accomplished Guest,  \nHer Visitor, no more \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is a Zone whose even Years**\n\nThere is a Zone whose even Years  \nNo Solstice interrupt \u2014   \nWhose Sun constructs perpetual Noon  \nWhose perfect Seasons wait \u2014\n\nWhose Summer set in Summer, till  \nThe Centuries of June  \nAnd Centuries of August cease  \nAnd Consciousness \u2014 is Noon.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I had a daily Bliss**\n\nI had a daily Bliss  \nI half indifferent viewed  \nTill sudden I perceived it stir \u2014   \nIt grew as I pursued\n\nTill when around a Height  \nIt wasted from my sight  \nIncreased beyond my utmost scope  \nI learned to estimate.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Bloom \u2014 is Result \u2014 to meet a Flower**\n\nBloom \u2014 is Result \u2014 to meet a Flower  \nAnd casually glance  \nWould scarcely cause one to suspect  \nThe minor Circumstance\n\nAssisting in the Bright Affair  \nSo intricately done  \nThen offered as a Butterfly  \nTo the Meridian \u2014\n\nTo pack the Bud \u2014 oppose the Worm \u2014   \nObtain its right of Dew \u2014   \nAdjust the Heat \u2014 elude the Wind \u2014   \nEscape the prowling Bee\n\nGreat Nature not to disappoint  \nAwaiting Her that Day \u2014   \nTo be a Flower, is profound  \nResponsibility \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sang from the Heart, Sire,**\n\nSang from the Heart, Sire,  \nDipped my Beak in it,  \nIf the Tune drip too much  \nHave a tint too Red\n\nPardon the Cochineal \u2014   \nSuffer the Vermillion \u2014   \nDeath is the Wealth  \nOf the Poorest Bird.\n\nBear with the Ballad \u2014   \nAwkward \u2014 faltering \u2014   \nDeath twists the strings \u2014   \n'Twasn't my blame \u2014\n\nPause in your Liturgies \u2014   \nWait your Chorals \u2014   \nWhile I repeat your  \nHallowed name \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Air has no Residence, no Neighbor,**\n\nAir has no Residence, no Neighbor,  \nNo Ear, no Door,  \nNo Apprehension of Another  \nOh, Happy Air!\n\nEthereal Guest at e'en an Outcast's Pillow \u2014   \nEssential Host, in Life's faint, wailing Inn,  \nLater than Light thy Consciousness accost me  \nTill it depart, persuading Mine \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Three Weeks passed since I had seen Her \u2014**\n\nThree Weeks passed since I had seen Her \u2014   \nSome Disease had vext  \n'Twas with Text and Village Singing  \nI beheld Her next\n\nAnd a Company \u2014 our pleasure  \nTo discourse alone \u2014   \nGracious now to me as any \u2014   \nGracious unto none \u2014\n\nBorne without dissent of Either  \nTo the Parish night \u2014   \nOf the Separated Parties  \nWhich be out of sight?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He scanned it \u2014 staggered \u2014**\n\nHe scanned it \u2014 staggered \u2014   \nDropped the Loop  \nTo Past or Period \u2014   \nCaught helpless at a sense as if  \nHis Mind were going blind \u2014\n\nGroped up, to see if God was there \u2014   \nGroped backward at Himself  \nCaressed a Trigger absently  \nAnd wandered out of Life.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Ashes denote that Fire was \u2014**\n\nAshes denote that Fire was \u2014   \nRevere the Grayest Pile  \nFor the Departed Creature's sake  \nThat hovered there awhile \u2014\n\nFire exists the first in light  \nAnd then consolidates  \nOnly the Chemist can disclose  \nInto what Carbonates.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To help our Bleaker Parts**\n\nTo help our Bleaker Parts  \nSalubrious Hours are given  \nWhich if they do not fit for Earth  \nDrill silently for Heaven \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Let down the Bars, Oh Death \u2014**\n\nLet down the Bars, Oh Death \u2014   \nThe tired Flocks come in  \nWhose bleating ceases to repeat  \nWhose wandering is done \u2014\n\nThine is the stillest night  \nThine the securest Fold  \nToo near Thou art for seeking Thee  \nToo tender, to be told.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Fame's Boys and Girls, who never die**\n\nFame's Boys and Girls, who never die  \nAnd are too seldom born \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Except the smaller size**\n\nExcept the smaller size  \nNo lives are round \u2014   \nThese \u2014 hurry to a sphere  \nAnd show and end \u2014   \nThe larger \u2014 slower grow  \nAnd later hang \u2014   \nThe Summers of Hesperides  \nAre long.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Further in Summer than the Birds**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nFurther in Summer than the Birds -  \nPathetic from the Grass -  \nA Minor Nation celebrates  \nIt's unobtrusive Mass -\n\nNo Ordinance be seen -  \nSo gradual the Grace  \nA pensive Custom it becomes  \nEnlarging Loneliness -\n\n'Tis Audiblest, at Dusk -  \nWhen Day's attempt is done -  \nAnd Nature nothing waits to do  \nBut terminate in Tune -\n\nNor difference it knows  \nOf Cadence, or of Pause -  \nBut simultaneous as Same -  \nThe Service emphacize -\n\nNor know I when it cease -  \nAt Candles, it is here -  \nWhen Sunrise is - that it is not -  \nThan this, I know no more -\n\nThe Earth has many keys -  \nWhere Melody is not  \nIs the Unknown Peninsula -  \nBeauty - is Nature's Fact -\n\nBut Witness for Her Land -  \nAnd Witness for Her Sea -  \nThe Cricket is Her utmost  \nOf Elegy, to Me -\n\n**Version 2**\n\nFurther in Summer than the Birds  \nPathetic from the Grass  \nA minor Nation celebrates  \nIt's unobtrusive Mass\n\nNo Ordinance be seen  \nSo gradual the Grace  \nA pensive Custom it becomes  \nEnlarging Loneliness.\n\nAntiquer felt at Noon  \nWhen August is burning low  \nArise this spectral Canticle  \nRepose to typify\n\nRemit as yet no Grace  \nNo Furrow on the Glow  \nYet a Druidic - Difference  \nEnhances Nature now\n\n**Version 3**\n\nFurther in Summer than the Birds  \nPathetic from the Grass  \nA minor Nation celebrates  \nIt's unobtrusive Mass.\n\nNo Ordinance be seen  \nSo gradual the Grace  \nA pensive Custom it becomes  \nEnlarging Loneliness.\n\nAntiquest felt at Noon  \nWhen August is burning low  \nArise this spectral Canticle  \nRepose to typify\n\nRemit as yet no Grace  \nNo Furrow on the Glow  \nYet a Druidic Difference  \nEnhances Nature now\n\n**Version 4**\n\nFurther in Summer than the Birds -  \nPathetic from the Grass  \nA minor Nation celebrates  \nIt's unobtrusive Mass -  \nNo Ordinance be seen -  \nSo gradual the Grace  \nA gentle Custom it becomes -  \nEnlarging Loneliness -\n\nAntiquest felt at Noon  \nWhen August is burning low  \nArise this spectral Canticle  \nRepose to typify -  \nRemit as yet no Grace -  \nNo furrow on the Glow -  \nBut a Druidic Difference  \nEnhances Nature now -\n\n**Version 5**\n\nFurther in Summer than the Birds -  \nPathetic from the Grass -  \nA minor Nation celebrates  \nIt's unobtrusive Mass.\n\nNo Ordinance be seen -  \nSo gradual the Grace  \nA gentle Custom it becomes -  \nEnlarging Loneliness -\n\nAntiquest felt at Noon -  \nWhen August is burning low  \nArise this spectral Canticle  \nRepose to typify -\n\nRemit as yet no Grace -  \nNo furrow on the Glow  \nBut a Druidic Difference  \nEnhances Nature now -\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Paradise is of the option.**\n\nParadise is of the option.  \nWhosoever will  \nOwn in Eden notwithstanding  \nAdam and Repeal.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To undertake is to achieve**\n\nTo undertake is to achieve  \nBe Undertaking blent  \nWith fortitude of obstacle  \nAnd toward encouragement\n\nThat fine Suspicion, Natures must  \nPermitted to revere  \nDeparted Standards and the few  \nCriterion Sources here\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Perception of an object costs**\n\nPerception of an object costs  \nPrecise the Object's loss \u2014   \nPerception in itself a Gain  \nReplying to its Price \u2014\n\nThe Object Absolute \u2014 is nought \u2014   \nPerception sets it fair  \nAnd then upbraids a Perfectness  \nThat situates so far \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Title divine \u2014 is mine!**\n\nTitle divine \u2014 is mine!  \nThe Wife \u2014 without the Sign!  \nAcute Degree \u2014 conferred on me \u2014   \nEmpress of Calvary!  \nRoyal \u2014 all but the Crown!  \nBetrothed \u2014 without the swoon  \nGod sends us Women \u2014   \nWhen you \u2014 hold \u2014 Garnet to Garnet \u2014   \nGold \u2014 to Gold \u2014   \nBorn \u2014 Bridalled \u2014 Shrouded \u2014   \nIn a Day \u2014   \nTri Victory  \n\"My Husband\" \u2014 women say \u2014   \nStroking the Melody \u2014   \nIs this \u2014 the way?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Experiment to me**\n\nExperiment to me  \nIs every one I meet  \nIf it contain a Kernel?  \nThe Figure of a Nut\n\nPresents upon a Tree  \nEqually plausibly,  \nBut Meat within, is requisite  \nTo Squirrels, and to Me.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Count not that far that can be had,**\n\nCount not that far that can be had,  \nThough sunset lie between \u2014   \nNor that adjacent, that beside,  \nIs further than the sun.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sky is low \u2014 the Clouds are mean.**\n\nThe Sky is low \u2014 the Clouds are mean.  \nA Travelling Flake of Snow  \nAcross a Barn or through a Rut  \nDebates if it will go \u2014\n\nA Narrow Wind complains all Day  \nHow some one treated him  \nNature, like Us is sometimes caught  \nWithout her Diadem.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Just Once! Oh least Request!**\n\nJust Once! Oh least Request!  \nCould Adamant refuse  \nSo small a Grace  \nSo scanty put,  \nSuch agonizing terms?  \nWould not a God of Flint  \nBe conscious of a sigh  \nAs down His Heaven dropt remote  \n\"Just Once\" Sweet Deity?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**These are the Signs to Nature's Inns \u2014**\n\nThese are the Signs to Nature's Inns \u2014   \nHer invitation broad  \nTo Whosoever famishing  \nTo taste her mystic Bread \u2014\n\nThese are the rites of Nature's House \u2014   \nThe Hospitality  \nThat opens with an equal width  \nTo Beggar and to Bee\n\nFor Sureties of her staunch Estate  \nHer undecaying Cheer  \nThe Purple in the East is set  \nAnd in the North, the Star \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Bustle in a House**\n\nTHE bustle in a house  \nThe morning after death  \nIs solemnest of industries  \nEnacted upon earth, \u2014\n\nThe sweeping up the heart,  \nAnd putting love away  \nWe shall not want to use again  \nUntil eternity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sun went down \u2014 no Man looked on \u2014**\n\nThe Sun went down \u2014 no Man looked on \u2014   \nThe Earth and I, alone,  \nWere present at the Majesty \u2014   \nHe triumphed, and went on \u2014\n\nThe Sun went up \u2014 no Man looked on \u2014   \nThe Earth and I and One  \nA nameless Bird \u2014 a Stranger  \nWere Witness for the Crown \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When they come back \u2014 if Blossoms do \u2014**\n\nWhen they come back \u2014 if Blossoms do \u2014   \nI always feel a doubt  \nIf Blossoms can be born again  \nWhen once the Art is out \u2014\n\nWhen they begin, if Robins may,  \nI always had a fear  \nI did not tell, it was their last Experiment  \nLast Year,\n\nWhen it is May, if May return,  \nHad nobody a pang  \nLest in a Face so beautiful  \nHe might not look again?\n\nIf I am there \u2014 One does not know  \nWhat Party \u2014 One may be  \nTomorrow, but if I am there  \nI take back all I say \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Superiority to Fate**\n\nSuperiority to Fate  \nIs difficult to gain  \n'Tis not conferred of Any  \nBut possible to earn\n\nA pittance at a time  \nUntil to Her surprise  \nThe Soul with strict economy  \nSubsist till Paradise.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Revolution is the Pod**\n\nRevolution is the Pod  \nSystems rattle from  \nWhen the Winds of Will are stirred  \nExcellent is Bloom\n\nBut except its Russet Base  \nEvery Summer be  \nThe Entomber of itself,  \nSo of Liberty \u2014\n\nLeft inactive on the Stalk  \nAll its Purple fled  \nRevolution shakes it for  \nTest if it be dead.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We learn it in Retreating**\n\nWe learn it in Retreating  \nHow vast an one  \nWas recently among us \u2014   \nA Perished Sun\n\nEndear in the departure  \nHow doubly more  \nThan all the Golden presence  \nIt was \u2014 before \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**At Half past Three, a single Bird**\n\nAt Half past Three, a single Bird  \nUnto a silent Sky  \nPropounded but a single term  \nOf cautious melody.\n\nAt Half past Four, Experiment  \nHad subjugated test  \nAnd lo, Her silver Principle  \nSupplanted all the rest.\n\nAt Half past Seven, Element  \nNor Implement, be seen \u2014   \nAnd Place was where the Presence was  \nCircumference between.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If Nature smiles \u2014 the Mother must**\n\nIf Nature smiles \u2014 the Mother must  \nI'm sure, at many a whim  \nOf Her eccentric Family \u2014   \nIs She so much to blame?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What Twigs We held by \u2014**\n\nWhat Twigs We held by \u2014   \nOh the View  \nWhen Life's swift River striven through  \nWe pause before a further plunge  \nTo take Momentum \u2014   \nAs the Fringe\n\nUpon a former Garment shows  \nThe Garment cast,  \nOur Props disclose  \nSo scant, so eminently small  \nOf Might to help, so pitiful  \nTo sink, if We had labored, fond  \nThe diligence were not more blind\n\nHow scant, by everlasting Light  \nThe Discs that satisfied Our Sight \u2014   \nHow dimmer than a Saturn's Bar  \nThe Things esteemed, for Things that are!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We miss a Kinsman more**\n\nWe miss a Kinsman more  \nWhen warranted to see  \nThan when withheld of Oceans  \nFrom possibility\n\nA Furlong than a League  \nInflicts a pricklier pain,  \nTill We, who smiled at Pyrenees \u2014   \nOf Parishes, complain.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Ended, ere it begun \u2014**\n\nEnded, ere it begun \u2014   \nThe Title was scarcely told  \nWhen the Preface perished from Consciousness  \nThe Story, unrevealed \u2014\n\nHad it been mine, to print!  \nHad it been yours, to read!  \nThat it was not Our privilege  \nThe interdict of God \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Myself can read the Telegrams**\n\nMyself can read the Telegrams  \nA Letter chief to me  \nThe Stock's advance and Retrograde  \nAnd what the Markets say\n\nThe Weather \u2014 how the Rains  \nIn Counties have begun.  \n'Tis News as null as nothing,  \nBut sweeter so \u2014 than none.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I am afraid to own a Body \u2014**\n\nI am afraid to own a Body \u2014   \nI am afraid to own a Soul \u2014   \nProfound \u2014 precarious Property \u2014   \nPossession, not optional \u2014\n\nDouble Estate \u2014 entailed at pleasure  \nUpon an unsuspecting Heir \u2014   \nDuke in a moment of Deathlessness  \nAnd God, for a Frontier.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Well upon the Brook**\n\nThe Well upon the Brook  \nWere foolish to depend \u2014   \nLet Brooks \u2014 renew of Brooks \u2014   \nBut Wells \u2014 of failless Ground!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It was not Saint \u2014 it was too large \u2014**\n\nIt was not Saint \u2014 it was too large \u2014   \nNor Snow \u2014 it was too small \u2014   \nIt only held itself aloof  \nLike something spiritual \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Because 'twas Riches I could own,**\n\nBecause 'twas Riches I could own,  \nMyself had earned it \u2014 Me,  \nI knew the Dollars by their names \u2014   \nIt feels like Poverty\n\nAn Earldom out of sight to hold,  \nAn Income in the Air,  \nPossession \u2014 has a sweeter chink  \nUnto a Miser's Ear \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Themself are all I have \u2014**\n\nThemself are all I have \u2014   \nMyself a freckled \u2014 be \u2014   \nI thought you'd choose a Velvet Cheek  \nOr one of Ivory \u2014   \nWould you \u2014 instead of Me?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To Whom the Mornings stand for Nights,**\n\nTo Whom the Mornings stand for Nights,  \nWhat must the Midnights \u2014 be!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**These Strangers, in a foreign World,**\n\nThese Strangers, in a foreign World,  \nProtection asked of me \u2014   \nBefriend them, lest Yourself in Heaven  \nBe found a Refugee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Dew \u2014 is the Freshet in the Grass \u2014**\n\nDew \u2014 is the Freshet in the Grass \u2014   \n'Tis many a tiny Mill  \nTurns unperceived beneath our feet  \nAnd Artisan lies still \u2014\n\nWe spy the Forests and the Hills  \nThe Tents to Nature's Show  \nMistake the Outside for the in  \nAnd mention what we saw.\n\nCould Commentators on the Sign  \nOf Nature's Caravan  \nObtain \"Admission\" as a Child  \nSome Wednesday Afternoon.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of the Heart that goes in, and closes the Door**\n\nOf the Heart that goes in, and closes the Door  \nShall the Playfellow Heart complain  \nThough the Ring is unwhole, and the Company broke  \nCan never be fitted again?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Cocoon tightens \u2014 Colors tease \u2014**\n\n_See also From the Chrysalis_\n\nMy Cocoon tightens \u2014 Colors tease \u2014   \nI'm feeling for the Air \u2014   \nA dim capacity for Wings  \nDemeans the Dress I wear \u2014\n\nA power of Butterfly must be \u2014   \nThe Aptitude to fly  \nMeadows of Majesty implies  \nAnd easy Sweeps of Sky \u2014\n\nSo I must baffle at the Hint  \nAnd cipher at the Sign  \nAnd make much blunder, if at last  \nI take the clue divine \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The last Night that She lived**\n\nTHE last night that she lived,  \nIt was a common night,  \nExcept the dying; this to us  \nMade nature different.\n\nWe noticed smallest things, \u2014   \nThings overlooked before,  \nBy this great light upon our minds  \nItalicized, as 't were.\n\nThat others could exist  \nWhile she must finish quite,  \nA jealousy for her arose  \nSo nearly infinite.\n\nWe waited while she passed;  \nIt was a narrow time,  \nToo jostled were our souls to speak,  \nAt length the notice came.\n\nShe mentioned, and forgot;  \nThen lightly as a reed  \nBent to the water, shivered scarce,  \nConsented, and was dead.\n\nAnd we, we placed the hair,  \nAnd drew the head erect;  \nAnd then an awful leisure was,  \nOur faith to regulate.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Between the form of Life and Life**\n\nBetween the form of Life and Life  \nThe difference is as big  \nAs Liquor at the Lip between  \nAnd Liquor in the Jug  \nThe latter \u2014 excellent to keep \u2014   \nBut for ecstatic need  \nThe corkless is superior \u2014   \nI know for I have tried\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**His Bill is clasped \u2014 his Eye forsook \u2014**\n\nHis Bill is clasped \u2014 his Eye forsook \u2014   \nHis Feathers wilted low \u2014   \nThe Claws that clung, like lifeless Gloves  \nIndifferent hanging now \u2014   \nThe Joy that in his happy Throat  \nWas waiting to be poured  \nGored through and through with Death, to be  \nAssassin of a Bird  \nResembles to my outraged mind  \nThe firing in Heaven,  \nOn Angels \u2014 squandering for you  \nTheir Miracles of Tune \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The spry Arms of the Wind**\n\nThe spry Arms of the Wind  \nIf I could crawl between  \nI have an errand imminent  \nTo an adjoining Zone \u2014\n\nI should not care to stop  \nMy Process is not long  \nThe Wind could wait without the Gate  \nOr stroll the Town among.\n\nTo ascertain the House  \nAnd is the soul at Home  \nAnd hold the Wick of mine to it  \nTo light, and then return \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Crickets sang**\n\nThe Crickets sang  \nAnd set the Sun  \nAnd Workmen finished one by one  \nTheir Seam the Day upon.\n\nThe low Grass loaded with the Dew  \nThe Twilight stood, as Strangers do  \nWith Hat in Hand, polite and new  \nTo stay as if, or go.\n\nA Vastness, as a Neighbor, came,  \nA Wisdom, without Face, or Name,  \nA Peace, as Hemispheres at Home  \nAnd so the Night became.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Like Men and Women Shadows walk**\n\nLike Men and Women Shadows walk  \nUpon the Hills Today \u2014   \nWith here and there a mighty Bow  \nOr trailing Courtesy  \nTo Neighbors doubtless of their own  \nNot quickened to perceive  \nMinuter landscape as Ourselves  \nAnd Boroughs where we live \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We do not know the time we lose \u2014**\n\nWe do not know the time we lose \u2014   \nThe awful moment is  \nAnd takes its fundamental place  \nAmong the certainties \u2014\n\nA firm appearance still inflates  \nThe card \u2014 the chance \u2014 the friend \u2014   \nThe spectre of solidities  \nWhose substances are sand \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Bird did prance \u2014 the Bee did play \u2014**\n\nThe Bird did prance \u2014 the Bee did play \u2014   \nThe Sun ran miles away  \nSo blind with joy he could not choose  \nBetween his Holiday\n\nThe morn was up \u2014 the meadows out  \nThe Fences all but ran,  \nRepublic of Delight, I thought  \nWhere each is Citizen \u2014\n\nFrom Heavy laden Lands to thee  \nWere seas to cross to come  \nA Caspian were crowded \u2014   \nToo near thou art for Fame \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Diamond on the Hand**\n\nA Diamond on the Hand  \nTo Custom Common grown  \nSubsides from its significance  \nThe Gem were best unknown \u2014   \nWithin a Seller's Shrine  \nHow many sight and sigh  \nAnd cannot, but are mad for fear  \nThat any other buy.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I fit for them \u2014**\n\nI fit for them \u2014   \nI seek the Dark  \nTill I am thorough fit.  \nThe labor is a sober one  \nWith this sufficient sweet  \nThat abstinence of mine produce  \nA purer food for them, if I succeed,  \nIf not I had  \nThe transport of the Aim \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**None who saw it ever told it**\n\nNone who saw it ever told it  \n'Tis as hid as Death  \nHad for that specific treasure  \nA departing breath \u2014   \nSurfaces may be invested  \nDid the Diamond grow  \nGeneral as the Dandelion  \nWould you serve it so?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Some Wretched creature, savior take**\n\nSome Wretched creature, savior take  \nWho would exult to die  \nAnd leave for thy sweet mercy's sake  \nAnother Hour to me\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That this should feel the need of Death**\n\nThat this should feel the need of Death  \nThe same as those that lived  \nIs such a Feat of Irony  \nAs never was \u2014 achieved \u2014\n\nNot satisfied to ape the Great  \nIn his simplicity  \nThe small must die, as well as He \u2014   \nOh the Audacity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is strength in proving that it can be borne**\n\nThere is strength in proving that it can be borne  \nAlthough it tear \u2014   \nWhat are the sinews of such cordage for  \nExcept to bear  \nThe ship might be of satin had it not to fight \u2014   \nTo walk on seas requires cedar Feet\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The largest Fire ever known**\n\nThe largest Fire ever known  \nOccurs each Afternoon \u2014   \nDiscovered is without surprise  \nProceeds without concern \u2014   \nConsumes and no report to men  \nAn Occidental Town,  \nRebuilt another morning  \nTo be again burned down.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The murmuring of Bees, has ceased**\n\nThe murmuring of Bees, has ceased  \nBut murmuring of some  \nPosterior, prophetic,  \nHas simultaneous come.  \nThe lower metres of the Year  \nWhen Nature's laugh is done  \nThe Revelations of the Book  \nWhose Genesis was June.  \nAppropriate Creatures to her change  \nThe Typic Mother sends  \nAs Accent fades to interval  \nWith separating Friends  \nTill what we speculate, has been  \nAnd thoughts we will not show  \nMore intimate with us become  \nThan Persons, that we know.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is another Loneliness**\n\nThere is another Loneliness  \nThat many die without \u2014   \nNot want of friend occasions it  \nOr circumstances of Lot\n\nBut nature, sometimes, sometimes thought  \nAnd whoso it befall  \nIs richer than could be revealed  \nBy mortal numeral \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Mine there is no Man would own**\n\nA Mine there is no Man would own  \nBut must it be conferred,  \nDemeaning by exclusive wealth  \nA Universe beside \u2014\n\nPotosi never to be spent  \nBut hoarded in the mind  \nWhat Misers wring their hands tonight  \nFor Indies in the Ground!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Exhilaration is the Breeze**\n\nExhilaration is the Breeze  \nThat lifts us from the Ground  \nAnd leaves us in another place  \nWhose statement is not found \u2014\n\nReturns us not, but after time  \nWe soberly descend  \nA little newer for the term  \nUpon Enchanted Ground \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Paradise is that old mansion**\n\nParadise is that old mansion  \nMany owned before \u2014   \nOccupied by each an instant  \nThen reversed the Door \u2014   \nBliss is frugal of her Leases  \nAdam taught her Thrift  \nBankrupt once through his excesses \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This slow Day moved along \u2014**\n\nThis slow Day moved along \u2014   \nI heard its axles go  \nAs if they could not hoist themselves  \nThey hated motion so \u2014\n\nI told my soul to come \u2014   \nIt was no use to wait \u2014   \nWe went and played and came again  \nAnd it was out of sight \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Time does go on \u2014**\n\nTime does go on \u2014   \nI tell it gay to those who suffer now \u2014   \nThey shall survive \u2014   \nThere is a sun \u2014   \nThey don't believe it now \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis my first night beneath the Sun**\n\n'Tis my first night beneath the Sun  \nIf I should spend it here \u2014   \nAbove him is too low a height  \nFor his Barometer  \nWho Airs of expectation breathes  \nAnd takes the Wind at prime \u2014   \nBut Distance his Delights confides  \nTo those who visit him \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A great Hope fell**\n\nA great Hope fell  \nYou heard no noise  \nThe Ruin was within  \nOh cunning wreck that told no tale  \nAnd let no Witness in\n\nThe mind was built for mighty Freight  \nFor dread occasion planned  \nHow often foundering at Sea  \nOstensibly, on Land\n\nA not admitting of the wound  \nUntil it grew so wide  \nThat all my Life had entered it  \nAnd there were troughs beside\n\nA closing of the simple lid  \nThat opened to the sun  \nUntil the tender Carpenter  \nPerpetual nail it down \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Had we known the Ton she bore**\n\nHad we known the Ton she bore  \nWe had helped the terror  \nBut she straighter walked for Freight  \nSo be hers the error \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Oh Sumptuous moment**\n\nOh Sumptuous moment  \nSlower go  \nThat I may gloat on thee \u2014   \n'Twill never be the same to starve  \nNow I abundance see \u2014\n\nWhich was to famish, then or now \u2014   \nThe difference of Day  \nAsk him unto the Gallows led \u2014   \nWith morning in the sky \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Shall I take thee, the Poet said**\n\nShall I take thee, the Poet said  \nTo the propounded word?  \nBe stationed with the Candidates  \nTill I have finer tried \u2014\n\nThe Poet searched Philology  \nAnd when about to ring  \nFor the suspended Candidate  \nThere came unsummoned in \u2014\n\nThat portion of the Vision  \nThe Word applied to fill  \nNot unto nomination  \nThe Cherubim reveal \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Soft as the massacre of Suns**\n\nSoft as the massacre of Suns  \nBy Evening's Sabres slain\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**These are the Nights that Beetles love \u2014**\n\nThese are the Nights that Beetles love \u2014   \nFrom Eminence remote  \nDrives ponderous perpendicular  \nHis figure intimate  \nThe terror of the Children  \nThe merriment of men  \nDepositing his Thunder  \nHe hoists abroad again \u2014   \nA Bomb upon the Ceiling  \nIs an improving thing \u2014   \nIt keeps the nerves progressive  \nConjecture flourishing \u2014   \nToo dear the Summer evening  \nWithout discreet alarm \u2014   \nSupplied by Entomology  \nWith its remaining charm \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tell all the Truth but tell it slant \u2014**\n\nTell all the Truth but tell it slant \u2014   \nSuccess in Circuit lies  \nToo bright for our infirm Delight  \nThe Truth's superb surprise\n\nAs Lightning to the Children eased  \nWith explanation kind  \nThe Truth must dazzle gradually  \nOr every man be blind \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That odd old man is dead a year \u2014**\n\nThat odd old man is dead a year \u2014   \nWe miss his stated Hat.  \n'Twas such an evening bright and stiff  \nHis faded lamp went out.\n\nWho miss his antiquated Wick \u2014   \nAre any hoar for him?  \nWaits any indurated mate  \nHis wrinkled coming Home?\n\nOh Life, begun in fluent Blood  \nAnd consummated dull!  \nAchievement contemplating thee \u2014   \nFeels transitive and cool.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Merchant of the Picturesque**\n\nThe Merchant of the Picturesque  \nA Counter has and sales  \nBut is within or negative  \nPrecisely as the calls \u2014   \nTo Children he is small in price  \nAnd large in courtesy \u2014   \nIt suits him better than a check  \nTheir artless currency \u2014   \nOf Counterfeits he is so shy  \nDo one advance so near  \nAs to behold his ample flight \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The smouldering embers blush \u2014**\n\nThe smouldering embers blush \u2014   \nOh Hearts within the Coal  \nHast thou survived so many years?  \nThe smouldering embers smile \u2014   \nSoft stirs the news of Light  \nThe stolid seconds glow  \nOne requisite has Fire that lasts  \nPrometheus never knew \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Snow that never drifts \u2014**\n\nThe Snow that never drifts \u2014   \nThe transient, fragrant snow  \nThat comes a single time a Year  \nIs softly driving now \u2014\n\nSo thorough in the Tree  \nAt night beneath the star  \nThat it was February's Foot  \nExperience would swear \u2014\n\nLike Winter as a Face  \nWe stern and former knew  \nRepaired of all but Loneliness  \nBy Nature's Alibi \u2014\n\nWere every storm so spice  \nThe Value could not be \u2014   \nWe buy with contrast \u2014 Pang is good  \nAs near as memory \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Wind took up the Northern Things**\n\nThe Wind took up the Northern Things  \nAnd piled them in the south \u2014   \nThen gave the East unto the West  \nAnd opening his mouth\n\nThe four Divisions of the Earth  \nDid make as to devour  \nWhile everything to corners slunk  \nBehind the awful power \u2014\n\nThe Wind \u2014 unto his Chambers went  \nAnd nature ventured out \u2014   \nHer subjects scattered into place  \nHer systems ranged about\n\nAgain the smoke from Dwellings rose  \nThe Day abroad was heard \u2014   \nHow intimate, a Tempest past  \nThe Transport of the Bird \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Too cold is this**\n\nToo cold is this  \nTo warm with Sun \u2014   \nToo stiff to bended be,  \nTo joint this Agate were a work \u2014   \nOutstaring Masonry \u2014\n\nHow went the Agile Kernel out  \nContusion of the Husk  \nNor Rip, nor wrinkle indicate  \nBut just an Asterisk.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Frost of Death was on the Pane \u2014**\n\nThe Frost of Death was on the Pane \u2014   \n\"Secure your Flower\" said he.  \nLike Sailors fighting with a Leak  \nWe fought Mortality.\n\nOur passive Flower we held to Sea \u2014   \nTo Mountain \u2014 To the Sun \u2014   \nYet even on his Scarlet shelf  \nTo crawl the Frost begun \u2014\n\nWe pried him back  \nOurselves we wedged  \nHimself and her between,  \nYet easy as the narrow Snake  \nHe forked his way along\n\nTill all her helpless beauty bent  \nAnd then our wrath begun \u2014   \nWe hunted him to his Ravine  \nWe chased him to his Den \u2014\n\nWe hated Death and hated Life  \nAnd nowhere was to go \u2014   \nThan Sea and continent there is  \nA larger \u2014 it is Woe \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The duties of the Wind are few,**\n\nThe duties of the Wind are few,  \nTo cast the ships, at Sea,  \nEstablish March, the Floods escort,  \nAnd usher Liberty.\n\nThe pleasures of the Wind are broad,  \nTo dwell Extent among,  \nRemain, or wander,  \nSpeculate, or Forests entertain.\n\nThe kinsmen of the Wind are Peaks  \nAzof \u2014 the Equinox,  \nAlso with Bird and Asteroid  \nA bowing intercourse.\n\nThe limitations of the Wind  \nDo he exist, or die,  \nToo wise he seems for Wakelessness,  \nHowever, know not i.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Spider sewed at Night**\n\nA Spider sewed at Night  \nWithout a Light  \nUpon an Arc of White.\n\nIf Ruff it was of Dame  \nOr Shroud of Gnome  \nHimself himself inform.\n\nOf Immortality  \nHis Strategy  \nWas Physiognomy.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Her sovereign People**\n\nHer sovereign People  \nNature knows as well  \nAnd is as fond of signifying  \nAs if fallible \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Day grew small, surrounded tight**\n\nThe Day grew small, surrounded tight  \nBy early, stooping Night \u2014   \nThe Afternoon in Evening deep  \nIts Yellow shortness dropt \u2014   \nThe Winds went out their martial ways  \nThe Leaves obtained excuse \u2014   \nNovember hung his Granite Hat  \nUpon a nail of Plush \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Face we choose to miss \u2014**\n\nThe Face we choose to miss \u2014   \nBe it but for a Day  \nAs absent as a Hundred Years,  \nWhen it has rode away.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Props assist the House**\n\nThe Props assist the House  \nUntil the House is built  \nAnd then the Props withdraw  \nAnd adequate, erect,  \nThe House support itself  \nAnd cease to recollect  \nThe Auger and the Carpenter \u2014   \nJust such a retrospect  \nHath the perfected Life \u2014   \nA past of Plank and Nail  \nAnd slowness \u2014 then the Scaffolds drop  \nAffirming it a Soul.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Work of Her that went,**\n\nThe Work of Her that went,  \nThe Toil of Fellows done \u2014   \nIn Ovens green our Mother bakes,  \nBy Fires of the Sun.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Ourselves we do inter with sweet derision.**\n\nOurselves we do inter with sweet derision.  \nThe channel of the dust who once achieves  \nInvalidates the balm of that religion  \nThat doubts as fervently as it believes.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**In thy long Paradise of Light**\n\nIn thy long Paradise of Light  \nNo moment will there be  \nWhen I shall long for Earthly Play  \nAnd mortal Company \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When Etna basks and purrs**\n\nWhen Etna basks and purrs  \nNaples is more afraid  \nThan when she show her Garnet Tooth \u2014   \nSecurity is loud \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**After a hundred years**\n\nAfter a hundred years  \nNobody knows the Place  \nAgony that enacted there  \nMotionless as Peace\n\nWeeds triumphant ranged  \nStrangers strolled and spelled  \nAt the lone Orthography  \nOf the Elder Dead\n\nWinds of Summer Fields  \nRecollect the way \u2014   \nInstinct picking up the Key  \nDropped by memory \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**After the Sun comes out**\n\nAfter the Sun comes out  \nHow it alters the World \u2014   \nWaggons like messengers hurry about  \nYesterday is old \u2014\n\nAll men meet as if  \nEach foreclosed a news \u2014   \nFresh as a Cargo from Batize  \nNature's qualities \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I noticed People disappeared**\n\nI noticed People disappeared  \nWhen but a little child \u2014   \nSupposed they visited remote  \nOr settled Regions wild \u2014   \nBut did because they died  \nA Fact withheld the little child \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How many schemes may die**\n\nHow many schemes may die  \nIn one short Afternoon  \nEntirely unknown  \nTo those they most concern \u2014   \nThe man that was not lost  \nBecause by accident  \nHe varied by a Ribbon's width  \nFrom his accustomed route \u2014   \nThe Love that would not try  \nBecause beside the Door  \nIt must be competitions  \nSome unsuspecting Horse was tied  \nSurveying his Despair\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Soul, take thy risk.**\n\nSoul, take thy risk.  \nWith Death to be  \nWere better than be not  \nWith thee\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tell as a Marksman \u2014 were forgotten**\n\nTell as a Marksman \u2014 were forgotten  \nTell \u2014 this Day endures  \nRuddy as that coeval Apple  \nThe Tradition bears \u2014\n\nFresh as Mankind that humble story  \nThough a statelier Tale  \nGrown in the Repetition hoary  \nScarcely would prevail \u2014\n\nTell had a son \u2014 The ones that knew it  \nNeed not linger here \u2014   \nThose who did not to Human Nature  \nWill subscribe a Tear \u2014\n\nTell would not bare his Head  \nIn Presence  \nOf the Ducal Hat \u2014   \nThreatened for that with Death \u2014 by Gessler \u2014   \nTyranny bethought\n\nMake of his only Boy a Target  \nThat surpasses Death \u2014   \nStolid to Love's supreme entreaty  \nNot forsook of Faith \u2014\n\nMercy of the Almighty begging \u2014   \nTell his Arrow sent \u2014   \nGod it is said replies in Person  \nWhen the cry is meant \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Through what transports of Patience**\n\nThrough what transports of Patience  \nI reached the stolid Bliss  \nTo breathe my Blank without thee  \nAttest me this and this \u2014   \nBy that bleak exultation  \nI won as near as this  \nThy privilege of dying  \nAbbreviate me this \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A full fed Rose on meals of Tint**\n\nA full fed Rose on meals of Tint  \nA Dinner for a Bee  \nIn process of the Noon became -  \nEach bright Mortality  \nThe Forfeit is of Creature fair  \nItself, adored before  \nSubmitting for our unknown sake  \nTo be esteemed no more \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Distance \u2014 is not the Realm of Fox**\n\nDistance \u2014 is not the Realm of Fox  \nNor by Relay of Bird  \nAbated \u2014 Distance is  \nUntil thyself, Beloved.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Lest any doubt that we are glad that they were born Today**\n\nLest any doubt that we are glad that they were born Today  \nWhose having lived is held by us in noble Holiday  \nWithout the date, like Consciousness or Immortality \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Some Days retired from the rest**\n\nSome Days retired from the rest  \nIn soft distinction lie  \nThe Day that a Companion came  \nOr was obliged to die\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Best Witchcraft is Geometry**\n\nBest Witchcraft is Geometry  \nTo the magician's mind \u2014   \nHis ordinary acts are feats  \nTo thinking of mankind.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Great Streets of silence led away**\n\nGreat Streets of silence led away  \nTo Neighborhoods of Pause \u2014   \nHere was no Notice \u2014 no Dissent  \nNo Universe \u2014 no laws \u2014\n\nBy Clocks, 'twas Morning, and for Night  \nThe Bells at Distance called \u2014   \nBut Epoch had no basis here  \nFor Period exhaled.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He is alive, this morning \u2014**\n\nHe is alive, this morning \u2014   \nHe is alive \u2014 and awake \u2014   \nBirds are resuming for Him \u2014   \nBlossoms \u2014 dress for His Sake.  \nBees \u2014 to their Loaves of Honey  \nAdd an Amber Crumb  \nHim \u2014 to regale \u2014 Me \u2014 Only \u2014   \nMotion, and am dumb.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Trust adjust her Peradventure \u2014**\n\nTrust adjust her \"Peradventure\" \u2014   \nPhantoms entered \"and not you.\"\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Life we have is very great.**\n\nThe Life we have is very great.  \nThe Life that we shall see  \nSurpasses it, we know, because  \nIt is Infinity.  \nBut when all Space has been beheld  \nAnd all Dominion shown  \nThe smallest Human Heart's extent  \nReduces it to none.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**God made no act without a cause,**\n\nGod made no act without a cause,  \nNor heart without an aim,  \nOur inference is premature,  \nOur premises to blame.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Were it to be the last**\n\nWere it to be the last  \nHow infinite would be  \nWhat we did not suspect was marked \u2014   \nOur final interview.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Contained in this short Life**\n\nContained in this short Life  \nAre magical extents  \nThe soul returning soft at night  \nTo steal securer thence\n\nAs Children strictest kept  \nTurn soonest to the sea  \nWhose nameless Fathoms slink away  \nBeside infinity\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Paul and Silas it is said**\n\nOf Paul and Silas it is said  \nThere were in Prison laid  \nBut when they went to take them out  \nThey were not there instead.\n\nSecurity the same insures  \nTo our assaulted Minds \u2014   \nThe staple must be optional  \nThat an Immortal binds.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Alone and in a Circumstance**\n\nAlone and in a Circumstance  \nReluctant to be told  \nA spider on my reticence  \nAssiduously crawled\n\nAnd so much more at Home than I  \nImmediately grew  \nI felt myself a visitor  \nAnd hurriedly withdrew\n\nRevisiting my late abode  \nWith articles of claim  \nI found it quietly assumed  \nAs a Gymnasium  \nWhere Tax asleep and Title off  \nThe inmates of the Air  \nPerpetual presumption took  \nAs each were special Heir \u2014   \nIf any strike me on the street  \nI can return the Blow \u2014   \nIf any take my property  \nAccording to the Law  \nThe Statute is my Learned friend  \nBut what redress can be  \nFor an offense nor here nor there  \nSo not in Equity \u2014   \nThat Larceny of time and mind  \nThat marrow of the Day  \nBy spider, or forbid it Lord  \nThat I should specify.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As old as Woe \u2014**\n\nAs old as Woe \u2014   \nHow old is that?  \nSome eighteen thousand years \u2014   \nAs old as Bliss  \nHow old is that  \nThey are of equal years\n\nTogether chiefest they ard found  \nBut seldom side by side  \nFrom neither of them tho' he try  \nCan Human nature hide\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Lest they should come \u2014 is all my fear**\n\nLest they should come \u2014 is all my fear  \nWhen sweet incarcerated here\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Nature affects to be sedate**\n\nNature affects to be sedate  \nUpon occasion, grand  \nBut let our observation shut  \nHer practices extend\n\nTo Necromancy and the Trades  \nRemote to understand  \nBehold our spacious Citizen  \nUnto a Juggler turned \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**On the World you colored**\n\nOn the World you colored  \nMorning painted rose \u2014   \nIdle his Vermillion  \nAimlessly crept the Glows  \nOver Realms of Orchards  \nI the Day before  \nConquered with the Robin \u2014   \nMisery, how fair  \nTill your wrinkled Finger  \nShored the sun away  \nMidnight's awful Pattern  \nIn the Goods of Day \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Clouds their Backs together laid**\n\nThe Clouds their Backs together laid  \nThe North begun to push  \nThe Forests galloped till they fell  \nThe Lightning played like mice\n\nThe Thunder crumbled like a stuff  \nHow good to be in Tombs  \nWhere Nature's Temper cannot reach  \nNor vengance ever comes\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Lightning is a yellow Fork**\n\nThe Lightning is a yellow Fork  \nFrom Tables in the sky  \nBy inadvertent fingers dropt  \nThe awful Cutlery\n\nOf mansions never quite disclosed  \nAnd never quite concealed  \nThe Apparatus of the Dark  \nTo ignorance revealed.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There's the Battle of Burgoyne \u2014**\n\nThere's the Battle of Burgoyne \u2014   \nOver, every Day,  \nBy the Time that Man and Beast  \nPut their work away  \n\"Sunset\" sounds majestic \u2014   \nBut that solemn War  \nCould you comprehend it  \nYou would chastened stare \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We like a Hairbreadth 'scape**\n\nWe like a Hairbreadth 'scape  \nIt tingles in the Mind  \nFar after Act or Accident  \nLike paragraphs of Wind\n\nIf we had ventured less  \nThe Breeze were not so fine  \nThat reaches to our utmost Hair  \nIts Tentacles divine.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We never know how high we are**\n\nWe never know how high we are  \nTill we are asked to rise  \nAnd then if we are true to plan  \nOur statures touch the skies \u2014\n\nThe Heroism we recite  \nWould be a normal thing  \nDid not ourselves the Cubits warp  \nFor fear to be a King \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A prompt \u2014 executive Bird is the Jay \u2014**\n\nA prompt \u2014 executive Bird is the Jay \u2014   \nBold as a Bailiff's Hymn \u2014   \nBrittle and Brief in quality \u2014   \nWarrant in every line \u2014\n\nSitting a Bough like a Brigadier  \nConfident and straight \u2014   \nMuch is the mien of him in March  \nAs a Magistrate \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My God \u2014 He sees thee \u2014**\n\nMy God \u2014 He sees thee \u2014   \nShine thy best \u2014   \nFling up thy Balls of Gold  \nTill every Cubit play with thee  \nAnd every Crescent hold \u2014   \nElate the Acre at his feet \u2014   \nUpon his Atom swim \u2014   \nOh Sun \u2014 but just a Second's right  \nIn thy long Race with him!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of so divine a Loss**\n\nOf so divine a Loss  \nWe enter but the Gain,  \nIndemnity for Loneliness  \nThat such a Bliss has been.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Remember me implored the Thief!**\n\n\"Remember me\" implored the Thief!  \nOh Hospitality!  \nMy Guest \"Today in Paradise\"  \nI give thee guaranty.\n\nThat Courtesy will fair remain  \nWhen the Delight is Dust  \nWith which we cite this mightiest case  \nOf compensated Trust.\n\nOf all we are allowed to hope  \nBut Affidavit stands  \nThat this was due where most we fear  \nBe unexpected Friends.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When I hoped I feared \u2014**\n\nWhen I hoped I feared \u2014   \nSince I hoped I dared  \nEverywhere alone  \nAs a Church remain \u2014   \nSpectre cannot harm \u2014   \nSerpent cannot charm \u2014   \nHe deposes Doom  \nWho hath suffered him \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Remembrance has a Rear and Front \u2014**\n\nRemembrance has a Rear and Front \u2014   \n'Tis something like a House \u2014   \nIt has a Garret also  \nFor Refuse and the Mouse.\n\nBesides the deepest Cellar  \nThat ever Mason laid \u2014   \nLook to it by its Fathoms  \nOurselves be not pursued \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Step lightly on this narrow spot \u2014**\n\nStep lightly on this narrow spot \u2014   \nThe broadest Land that grows  \nIs not so ample as the Breast  \nThese Emerald Seams enclose.\n\nStep lofty, for this name be told  \nAs far as Cannon dwell  \nOr Flag subsist or Fame export  \nHer deathless Syllable.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Days that we can spare**\n\nThe Days that we can spare  \nAre those a Function die  \nOr Friend or Nature \u2014 stranded then  \nIn our Economy\n\nOur Estimates a Scheme \u2014   \nOur Ultimates a Sham \u2014   \nWe let go all of Time without  \nArithmetic of him \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A little Dog that wags his tail**\n\nA little Dog that wags his tail  \nAnd knows no other joy  \nOf such a little Dog am I  \nReminded by a Boy\n\nWho gambols all the living Day  \nWithout an earthly cause  \nBecause he is a little Boy  \nI honestly suppose \u2014\n\nThe Cat that in the Corner dwells  \nHer martial Day forgot  \nThe Mouse but a Tradition now  \nOf her desireless Lot\n\nAnother class remind me  \nWho neither please nor play  \nBut not to make a \"bit of noise\"  \nBeseech each little Boy \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Too few the mornings be,**\n\nToo few the mornings be,  \nToo scant the nights.  \nNo lodging can be had  \nFor the delights  \nThat come to earth to stay,  \nBut no apartment find  \nAnd ride away.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Oh Shadow on the Grass,**\n\nOh Shadow on the Grass,  \nArt thou a Step or not?  \nGo make thee fair my Candidate  \nMy nominated Heart \u2014   \nOh Shadow on the Grass  \nWhile I delay to guess  \nSome other thou wilt consecrate \u2014   \nOh Unelected Face \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas fighting for his Life he was \u2014**\n\n'Twas fighting for his Life he was \u2014   \nThat sort accomplish well \u2014   \nThe Ordnance of Vitality  \nIs frugal of its Ball.\n\nIt aims once \u2014 kills once \u2014 conquers once \u2014   \nThere is no second War  \nIn that Campaign inscrutable  \nOf the Interior.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Voice that stands for Floods to me**\n\nThe Voice that stands for Floods to me  \nIs sterile borne to some \u2014   \nThe Face that makes the Morning mean  \nGlows impotent on them \u2014\n\nWhat difference in Substance lies  \nThat what is Sum to me  \nBy other Financiers be deemed  \nExclusive Property!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sun and Fog contested**\n\nThe Sun and Fog contested  \nThe Government of Day \u2014   \nThe Sun took down his Yellow Whip  \nAnd drove the Fog away \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The pungent atom in the Air**\n\nThe pungent atom in the Air  \nAdmits of no debate \u2014   \nAll that is named of Summer Days  \nRelinquished our Estate \u2014\n\nFor what Department of Delight  \nAs positive are we  \nAs Limit of Dominion  \nOr Dams \u2014 of Ecstasy \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**An honest Tear**\n\nAn honest Tear  \nIs durabler than Bronze \u2014   \nThis Cenotaph  \nMay each that dies \u2014\n\nReared by itself \u2014   \nNo Deputy suffice \u2014   \nGratitude bears  \nWhen Obelisk decays\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**All men for Honor hardest work**\n\nAll men for Honor hardest work  \nBut are not known to earn \u2014   \nPaid after they have ceased to work  \nIn Infamy or Urn \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Somehow myself survived the Night**\n\nSomehow myself survived the Night  \nAnd entered with the Day \u2014   \nThat it be saved the Saved suffice  \nWithout the Formula.\n\nHenceforth I take my living place  \nAs one commuted led \u2014   \nA Candidate for Morning Chance  \nBut dated with the Dead.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What we see we know somewhat**\n\nWhat we see we know somewhat  \nBe it but a little \u2014   \nWhat we don't surmise we do  \nThough it shows so fickle\n\nI shall vote for Lands with Locks  \nGranted I can pick 'em \u2014   \nTransport's doubtful Dividend  \nPatented by Adam.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To make Routine a Stimulus**\n\nTo make Routine a Stimulus  \nRemember it can cease \u2014   \nCapacity to Terminate  \nIs a Specific Grace \u2014   \nOf Retrospect the Arrow  \nThat power to repair  \nDeparted with the Torment  \nBecome, alas, more fair \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I should not dare to be so sad**\n\nI should not dare to be so sad  \nSo many Years again \u2014   \nA Load is first impossible  \nWhen we have put it down \u2014\n\nThe Superhuman then withdraws  \nAnd we who never saw  \nThe Giant at the other side  \nBegin to perish now.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A soft Sea washed around the House**\n\nA soft Sea washed around the House  \nA Sea of Summer Air  \nAnd rose and fell the magic Planks  \nThat sailed without a care \u2014   \nFor Captain was the Butterfly  \nFor Helmsman was the Bee  \nAnd an entire universe  \nFor the delighted crew.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Are Friends Delight or Pain?**\n\nAre Friends Delight or Pain?  \nCould Bounty but remain  \nRiches were good \u2014\n\nBut if they only stay  \nAmpler to fly away  \nRiches are sad.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Because my Brook is fluent**\n\nBecause my Brook is fluent  \nI know 'tis dry \u2014   \nBecause my Brook is silent  \nIt is the Sea \u2014\n\nAnd startled at its rising  \nI try to flee  \nTo where the Strong assure me  \nIs \"no more Sea\" \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So I pull my Stockings off**\n\nSo I pull my Stockings off  \nWading in the Water  \nFor the Disobedience' Sake  \nBoy that lived for \"or'ter\"\n\nWent to Heaven perhaps at Death  \nAnd perhaps he didn't  \nMoses wasn't fairly used \u2014   \nAnanias wasn't \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Frost was never seen \u2014**\n\nThe Frost was never seen \u2014   \nIf met, too rapid passed,  \nOr in too unsubstantial Team \u2014   \nThe Flowers notice first\n\nA Stranger hovering round  \nA Symptom of alarm  \nIn Villages remotely set  \nBut search effaces him\n\nTill some retrieveless Night  \nOur Vigilance at waste  \nThe Garden gets the only shot  \nThat never could be traced.\n\nUnproved is much we know \u2014   \nUnknown the worst we fear \u2014   \nOf Strangers is the Earth the Inn  \nOf Secrets is the Air \u2014\n\nTo analyze perhaps  \nA Philip would prefer  \nBut Labor vaster than myself  \nI find it to infer.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Past is such a curious Creature**\n\nThe Past is such a curious Creature  \nTo look her in the Face  \nA Transport may receipt us  \nOr a Disgrace \u2014\n\nUnarmed if any meet her  \nI charge him fly  \nHer faded Ammunition  \nMight yet reply.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Whatever it is \u2014 she has tried it \u2014**\n\nWhatever it is \u2014 she has tried it \u2014   \nAwful Father of Love \u2014   \nIs not Ours the chastising \u2014   \nDo not chastise the Dove \u2014\n\nNot for Ourselves, petition \u2014   \nNothing is left to pray \u2014   \nWhen a subject is finished \u2014   \nWords are handed away \u2014\n\nOnly lest she be lonely  \nIn thy beautiful House  \nGive her for her Transgression  \nLicense to think of us \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Immortal is an ample word**\n\nImmortal is an ample word  \nWhen what we need is by  \nBut when it leaves us for a time  \n'Tis a necessity.\n\nOf Heaven above the firmest proof  \nWe fundamental know  \nExcept for its marauding Hand  \nIt had been Heaven below.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Show is not the Show**\n\nThe Show is not the Show  \nBut they that go \u2014   \nMenagerie to me  \nMy Neighbor be \u2014   \nFair Play \u2014   \nBoth went to see \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He preached upon Breadth till it argued him narrow \u2014**\n\nHe preached upon \"Breadth\" till it argued him narrow \u2014   \nThe Broad are too broad to define  \nAnd of \"Truth\" until it proclaimed him a Liar \u2014   \nThe Truth never flaunted a Sign \u2014\n\nSimplicity fled from his counterfeit presence  \nAs Gold the Pyrites would shun \u2014   \nWhat confusion would cover the innocent Jesus  \nTo meet so enabled a Man!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Our own possessions \u2014 though our own \u2014**\n\nOur own possessions \u2014 though our own \u2014   \n'Tis well to hoard anew \u2014   \nRemembering the Dimensions  \nOf Possibility.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To disappear enhances \u2014**\n\nTo disappear enhances \u2014   \nThe Man that runs away  \nIs tinctured for an instant  \nWith Immortality\n\nBut yesterday a Vagrant \u2014   \nToday in Memory lain  \nWith superstitious value  \nWe tamper with \"Again\"\n\nBut \"Never\" far as Honor  \nWithdraws the Worthless thing  \nAnd impotent to cherish  \nWe hasten to adorn \u2014\n\nOf Death the sternest function  \nThat just as we discern  \nThe Excellence defies us \u2014   \nSecurest gathered then\n\nThe Fruit perverse to plucking,  \nBut leaning to the Sight  \nWith the ecstatic limit  \nOf unobtained Delight \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sea said Come to the Brook \u2014**\n\nThe Sea said \"Come\" to the Brook \u2014   \nThe Brook said \"Let me grow\" \u2014   \nThe Sea said \"Then you will be a Sea \u2014   \nI want a Brook \u2014 Come now\"!\n\nThe Sea said \"Go\" to the Sea.  \nThe Sea said \"I am he  \nYou cherished\" \u2014 \"Learned Waters \u2014   \nWisdom is stale to Me\" \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Sparrow took a Slice of Twig**\n\nA Sparrow took a Slice of Twig  \nAnd thought it very nice  \nI think, because his empty Plate  \nWas handed Nature twice \u2014\n\nInvigorated, waded  \nIn all the deepest Sky  \nUntil his little Figure  \nWas forfeited away \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A word is dead**\n\nA word is dead  \nWhen it is said,  \nSome say.\n\nI say it just  \nBegins to live  \nThat day.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We like March.**\n\nWe like March.  \nHis Shoes are Purple \u2014   \nHe is new and high \u2014   \nMakes he Mud for Dog and Peddler.  \nMakes he Forests dry.  \nKnows the Adder Tongue his coming  \nAnd presents her Spot \u2014   \nStands the Sun so close and mighty  \nThat our Minds are hot.\n\nNews is he of all the others \u2014   \nBold it were to die  \nWith the Blue Birds exercising  \nOn his British Sky.\n\n\u2014 -\n\nWe like March \u2014 his shoes are Purple.  \nHe is new and high \u2014   \nMakes he Mud for Dog and Peddler \u2014   \nMakes he Forests Dry \u2014   \nKnows the Adder's Tongue his coming  \nAnd begets her spot \u2014   \nStands the Sun so close and mighty \u2014   \nThat our Minds are hot.  \nNews is he of all the others \u2014   \nBold it were to die  \nWith the Blue Birds buccaneering  \nOn his British sky \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We introduce ourselves**\n\nWe introduce ourselves  \nTo Planets and to Flowers  \nBut with ourselves  \nHave etiquettes  \nEmbarrassments  \nAnd awes\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I bet with every Wind that blew**\n\nI bet with every Wind that blew  \nTill Nature in chagrin  \nEmployed a Fact to visit me  \nAnd scuttle my Balloon \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Deed knocks first at Thought**\n\nA Deed knocks first at Thought  \nAnd then \u2014 it knocks at Will \u2014   \nThat is the manufacturing spot  \nAnd Will at Home and well\n\nIt then goes out an Act  \nOr is entombed so still  \nThat only to the ear of God  \nIts Doom is audible \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Fortitude incarnate**\n\nFortitude incarnate  \nHere is laid away  \nIn the swift Partitions  \nOf the awful Sea \u2014\n\nBabble of the Happy  \nCavil of the Bold  \nHoary the Fruition  \nBut the Sea is old\n\nEdifice of Ocean  \nThy tumultuous Rooms  \nSuit me at a venture  \nBetter than the Tombs\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Let my first Knowing be of thee**\n\nLet my first Knowing be of thee  \nWith morning's warming Light \u2014   \nAnd my first Fearing, lest Unknowns  \nEngulf thee in the night \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Now I knew I lost her \u2014**\n\nNow I knew I lost her \u2014   \nNot that she was gone \u2014   \nBut Remoteness travelled  \nOn her Face and Tongue.\n\nAlien, though adjoining  \nAs a Foreign Race \u2014   \nTraversed she though pausing  \nLatitudeless Place.\n\nElements Unaltered \u2014   \nUniverse the same  \nBut Love's transmigration \u2014   \nSomehow this had come \u2014\n\nHenceforth to remember  \nNature took the Day  \nI had paid so much for \u2014   \nHis is Penury  \nNot who toils for Freedom  \nOr for Family  \nBut the Restitution  \nOf Idolatry.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Nature I shall have enough**\n\nOf Nature I shall have enough  \nWhen I have entered these  \nEntitled to a Bumble bee's  \nFamiliarities.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Some we see no more, Tenements of Wonder**\n\nSome we see no more, Tenements of Wonder  \nOccupy to us though perhaps to them  \nSimpler are the Days than the Supposition  \nLeave us to presume\n\nThat oblique Belief which we call Conjecture  \nGrapples with a Theme stubborn as Sublime  \nAble as the Dust to equip its feature  \nAdequate as Drums  \nTo enlist the Tomb.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Riddle we can guess**\n\nThe Riddle we can guess  \nWe speedily despise \u2014   \nNot anything is stale so long  \nAs Yesterday's surprise \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Who goes to dine must take his Feast**\n\nWho goes to dine must take his Feast  \nOr find the Banquet mean \u2014   \nThe Table is not laid without  \nTill it is laid within.\n\nFor Pattern is the Mind bestowed  \nThat imitating her  \nOur most ignoble Services  \nExhibit worthier.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Like Trains of Cars on Tracks of Plush**\n\nLike Trains of Cars on Tracks of Plush  \nI hear the level Bee \u2014   \nA Jar across the Flowers goes  \nTheir Velvet Masonry \u2014\n\nWithstands until the sweet Assault  \nTheir Chivalry consumes \u2014   \nWhile He, victorious tilts away  \nTo vanquish other Blooms.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Its Hour with itself**\n\nIts Hour with itself  \nThe Spirit never shows.  \nWhat Terror would enthrall the Street  \nCould Countenance disclose\n\nThe Subterranean Freight  \nThe Cellars of the Soul \u2014   \nThank God the loudest Place he made  \nIs license to be still.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Popular Heart is a Cannon first \u2014**\n\nThe Popular Heart is a Cannon first \u2014   \nSubsequent a Drum \u2014   \nBells for an Auxiliary  \nAnd an Afterward of Rum \u2014\n\nNot a Tomorrow to know its name  \nNor a Past to stare \u2014   \nDitches for Realms and a Trip to Jail  \nFor a Souvenir \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Triumph lasted till the Drums**\n\nMy Triumph lasted till the Drums  \nHad left the Dead alone  \nAnd then I dropped my Victory  \nAnd chastened stole along  \nTo where the finished Faces  \nConclusion turned on me  \nAnd then I hated Glory  \nAnd wished myself were They.\n\nWhat is to be is best descried  \nWhen it has also been \u2014   \nCould Prospect taste of Retrospect  \nThe tyrannies of Men  \nWere Tenderer \u2014 diviner  \nThe Transitive toward.  \nA Bayonet's contrition  \nIs nothing to the Dead.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So much of Heaven has gone from Earth**\n\nSo much of Heaven has gone from Earth  \nThat there must be a Heaven  \nIf only to enclose the Saints  \nTo Affidavit given.\n\nThe Missionary to the Mole  \nMust prove there is a Sky  \nLocation doubtless he would plead  \nBut what excuse have I?\n\nToo much of Proof affronts Belief  \nThe Turtle will not try  \nUnless you leave him \u2014 then return  \nAnd he has hauled away.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Because He loves Her**\n\nBecause He loves Her  \nWe will pry and see if she is fair  \nWhat difference is on her Face  \nFrom Features others wear.\n\nIt will not harm her magic pace  \nThat we so far behind \u2014   \nHer Distances propitiate  \nAs Forests touch the Wind\n\nNot hoping for his notice vast  \nBut nearer to adore  \n'Tis Glory's far sufficiency  \nThat makes our trying poor.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It came at last but prompter Death**\n\nIt came at last but prompter Death  \nHad occupied the House \u2014   \nHis pallid Furniture arranged  \nAnd his metallic Peace \u2014\n\nOh faithful Frost that kept the Date  \nHad Love as punctual been  \nDelight had aggrandized the Gate  \nAnd blocked the coming in.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Somewhere upon the general Earth**\n\nSomewhere upon the general Earth  \nItself exist Today \u2014   \nThe Magic passive but extant  \nThat consecrated me \u2014\n\nIndifferent Seasons doubtless play  \nWhere I for right to be \u2014   \nWould pay each Atom that I am  \nBut Immortality \u2014\n\nReserving that but just to prove  \nAnother Date of Thee \u2014   \nOh God of Width, do not for us  \nCurtail Eternity!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Clover's simple Fame**\n\nThe Clover's simple Fame  \nRemembered of the Cow \u2014   \nIs better than enameled Realms  \nOf notability.  \nRenown perceives itself  \nAnd that degrades the Flower \u2014   \nThe Daisy that has looked behind  \nHas compromised its power \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Had I not seen the Sun**\n\nHad I not seen the Sun  \nI could have borne the shade  \nBut Light a newer Wilderness  \nMy Wilderness has made \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If my Bark sink**\n\nIf my Bark sink  \n'Tis to another sea \u2014   \nMortality's Ground Floor  \nIs Immortality \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Like Rain it sounded till it curved**\n\nLike Rain it sounded till it curved  \nAnd then I new 'twas Wind \u2014   \nIt walked as wet as any Wave  \nBut swept as dry as sand \u2014   \nWhen it had pushed itself away  \nTo some remotest Plain  \nA coming as of Hosts was heard  \nIt filled the Wells, it pleased the Pools  \nIt warbled in the Road \u2014   \nIt pulled the spigot from the Hills  \nAnd let the Floods abroad \u2014   \nIt loosened acres, lifted seas  \nThe sites of Centres stirred  \nThen like Elijah rode away  \nUpon a Wheel of Cloud.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Like Time's insidious wrinkle**\n\nLike Time's insidious wrinkle  \nOn a beloved Face  \nWe clutch the Grace the tighter  \nThough we resent the crease\n\nThe Frost himself so comely  \nDishevels every prime  \nAsserting from his Prism  \nThat none can punish him\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Heart ran so to thee**\n\nMy Heart ran so to thee  \nIt would not wait for me  \nAnd I affronted grew  \nAnd drew away\n\nFor whatsoe'er my pace  \nHe first achieve they Face  \nHow general a Grace  \nAllotted two \u2014\n\nNot in malignity  \nMentioned I this to thee \u2014   \nHad he obliquity  \nSoonest to share  \nBut for the Greed of him \u2014   \nBoasting my Premium \u2014   \nBasking in Bethleem  \nEre I be there \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Power is a familiar growth \u2014**\n\nPower is a familiar growth \u2014   \nNot foreign \u2014 not to be \u2014   \nBeside us like a bland Abyss  \nIn every company \u2014   \nEscape it \u2014 there is but a chance \u2014   \nWhen consciousness and clay  \nLean forward for a final glance \u2014   \nDisprove that and you may \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Risk is the Hair that holds the Tun**\n\nRisk is the Hair that holds the Tun  \nSeductive in the Air \u2014   \nThat Tun is hollow \u2014 but the Tun \u2014   \nWith Hundred Weights \u2014 to spare \u2014\n\nToo ponderous to suspect the snare  \nEspies that fickle chair  \nAnd seats itself to be let go  \nBy that perfidious Hair \u2014\n\nThe \"foolish Tun\" the Critics say \u2014   \nWhile that delusive Hair  \nPersuasive as Perdition,  \nDecoys its Traveller.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Beggar at the Door for Fame**\n\nThe Beggar at the Door for Fame  \nWere easily supplied  \nBut Bread is that Diviner thing  \nDisclosed to be denied\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Lilac is an ancient shrub**\n\nThe Lilac is an ancient shrub  \nBut ancienter than that  \nThe Firmamental Lilac  \nUpon the Hill tonight \u2014   \nThe Sun subsiding on his Course  \nBequeaths this final Plant  \nTo Contemplation \u2014 not to Touch \u2014   \nThe Flower of Occident.  \nOf one Corolla is the West \u2014   \nThe Calyx is the Earth \u2014   \nThe Capsules burnished Seeds the Stars  \nThe Scientist of Faith  \nHis research has but just begun \u2014   \nAbove his synthesis  \nThe Flora unimpeachable  \nTo Time's Analysis \u2014   \n\"Eye hath not seen\" may possibly  \nBe current with the Blind  \nBut let not Revelation  \nBy theses be detained \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To flee from memory**\n\nTo flee from memory  \nHad we the Wings  \nMany would fly  \nInured to slower things  \nBirds with surprise  \nWould scan the cowering Van  \nOf men escaping  \nFrom the mind of man\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Safe Despair it is that raves \u2014**\n\nSafe Despair it is that raves \u2014   \nAgony is frugal.  \nPuts itself severe away  \nFor its own perusal.\n\nGarrisoned no Soul can be  \nIn the Front of Trouble \u2014   \nLove is one, not aggregate \u2014   \nNor is Dying double \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Butterfly's Assumption Gown**\n\nTHE butterfly's assumption-gown,  \nIn chrysoprase apartments hung,  \nThis afternoon put on.\n\nHow condescending to descend,  \nAnd be of buttercups the friend  \nIn a New England town !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Suburbs of a Secret**\n\nThe Suburbs of a Secret  \nA Strategist should keep,  \nBetter than on a Dream intrude  \nTo scrutinize the Sleep.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Butterfly in honored Dust**\n\nThe Butterfly in honored Dust  \nAssuredly will lie  \nBut none will pass the Catacomb  \nSo chastened as the Fly \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To pile like Thunder to its close**\n\nTo pile like Thunder to its close  \nThen crumble grand away  \nWhile Everything created hid  \nThis \u2014 would be Poetry \u2014\n\nOr Love \u2014 the two coeval come \u2014   \nWe both and neither prove \u2014   \nExperience either and consume \u2014   \nFor None see God and live \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The incidents of love**\n\nThe incidents of love  \nAre more than its Events \u2014   \nInvestment's best Expositor  \nIs the minute Per Cents \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Stars are old, that stood for me \u2014**\n\nThe Stars are old, that stood for me \u2014   \nThe West a little worn \u2014   \nYet newer glows the only Gold  \nI ever cared to earn \u2014\n\nPresuming on that lone result  \nHer infinite disdain  \nBut vanquished her with my defeat  \n'Twas Victory was slain.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**White as an Indian Pipe**\n\nWhite as an Indian Pipe  \nRed as a Cardinal Flower  \nFabulous as a Moon at Noon  \nFebruary Hour \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Silence is all we dread.**\n\nSilence is all we dread.  \nThere's Ransom in a Voice \u2014   \nBut Silence is Infinity.  \nHimself have not a face.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Like Brooms of Steel**\n\nLike Brooms of Steel  \nThe Snow and Wind  \nHad swept the Winter Street \u2014   \nThe House was hooked  \nThe Sun sent out  \nFaint Deputies of Heat \u2014   \nWhere rode the Bird  \nThe Silence tied  \nHis ample \u2014 plodding Steed  \nThe Apple in the Cellar snug  \nWas all the one that played.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Had this one Day not been.**\n\nHad this one Day not been.  \nOr could it cease to be  \nHow smitten, how superfluous,  \nWere every other Day!\n\nLest Love should value less  \nWhat Loss would value more  \nHad it the stricken privilege,  \nIt cherishes before.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Elijah's Wagon knew no thill**\n\nElijah's Wagon knew no thill  \nWas innocent of Wheel  \nElijah's horses as unique  \nAs was his vehicle \u2014\n\nElijah's journey to portray  \nExpire with him the skill  \nWho justified Elijah  \nIn feats inscrutable \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Longing is like the Seed**\n\nLonging is like the Seed  \nThat wrestles in the Ground,  \nBelieving if it intercede  \nIt shall at length be found.\n\nThe Hour, and the Clime \u2014   \nEach Circumstance unknown,  \nWhat Constancy must be achieved  \nBefore it see the Sun!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not any higher stands the Grave**\n\nNot any higher stands the Grave  \nFor Heroes than for Men \u2014   \nNot any nearer for the Child  \nThan numb Three Score and Ten \u2014\n\nThis latest Leisure equal lulls  \nThe Beggar and his Queen  \nPropitiate this Democrat  \nA Summer's Afternoon \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Dominion lasts until obtained \u2014**\n\nDominion lasts until obtained \u2014   \nPossession just as long \u2014   \nBut these \u2014 endowing as they flit  \nEternally belong.\n\nHow everlasting are the Lips  \nKnown only to the Dew \u2014   \nThese are the Brides of permanence  \nSupplanting me and you.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Who were the Father and the Son**\n\nWho were \"the Father and the Son\"  \nWe pondered when a child,  \nAnd what had they to do with us  \nAnd when portentous told\n\nWith inference appalling  \nBy Childhood fortified  \nWe thought, at least they are no worse  \nThan they have been described.\n\nWho are \"the Father and the Son\"  \nDid we demand Today  \n\"The Father and the Son\" himself  \nWould doubtless specify \u2014\n\nBut had they the felicity  \nWhen we desired to know.  \nWe better Friends had been, perhaps,  \nThan time ensue to be \u2014\n\nWe start \u2014 to learn that we believe  \nBut once \u2014 entirely \u2014   \nBelief, it does not fit so well  \nWhen altered frequently \u2014\n\nWe blush, that Heaven if we achieve \u2014   \nEvent ineffable \u2014   \nWe shall have shunned until ashamed  \nTo own the Miracle \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Wind that rose**\n\nA Wind that rose  \nThough not a Leaf  \nIn any Forest stirred  \nBut with itself did cold engage  \nBeyond the Realm of Bird \u2014   \nA Wind that woke a lone Delight  \nLike Separation's Swell  \nRestored in Arctic Confidence  \nTo the Invisible \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Because that you are going**\n\nBecause that you are going  \nAnd never coming back  \nAnd I, however absolute,  \nMay overlook your Track \u2014\n\nBecause that Death is final,  \nHowever first it be,  \nThis instant be suspended  \nAbove Mortality \u2014\n\nSignificance that each has lived  \nThe other to detect  \nDiscovery not God himself  \nCould now annihilate\n\nEternity, Presumption  \nThe instant I perceive  \nThat you, who were Existence  \nYourself forgot to live \u2014\n\nThe \"Life that is\" will then have been  \nA thing I never knew \u2014   \nAs Paradise fictitious  \nUntil the Realm of you \u2014\n\nThe \"Life that is to be,\" to me,  \nA Residence too plain  \nUnless in my Redeemer's Face  \nI recognize your own \u2014\n\nOf Immortality who doubts  \nHe may exchange with me  \nCurtailed by your obscuring Face  \nOf everything but He \u2014\n\nOf Heaven and Hell I also yield  \nThe Right to reprehend  \nTo whoso would commute this Face  \nFor his less priceless Friend.\n\nIf \"God is Love\" as he admits  \nWe think that me must be  \nBecause he is a \"jealous God\"  \nHe tells us certainly\n\nIf \"All is possible with\" him  \nAs he besides concedes  \nHe will refund us finally  \nOur confiscated Gods \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Word dropped careless on a Page**\n\nA Word dropped careless on a Page  \nMay stimulate an eye  \nWhen folded in perpetual seam  \nThe Wrinkled Maker lie\n\nInfection in the sentence breeds  \nWe may inhale Despair  \nAt distances of Centuries  \nFrom the Malaria \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I cannot see my soul but know 'tis there**\n\nI cannot see my soul but know 'tis there  \nNor ever saw his house nor furniture,  \nWho has invited me with him to dwell;  \nBut a confiding guest consult as well,  \nWhat raiment honor him the most,  \nThat I be adequately dressed,  \nFor he insures to none  \nLest men specified adorn  \nProcuring him perpetual drest  \nBy dating it a sudden feast.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is no Frigate like a Book**\n\nThere is no Frigate like a Book  \nTo take us Lands away  \nNor any Coursers like a Page  \nOf prancing Poetry \u2014   \nThis Traverse may the poorest take  \nWithout opress of Toll \u2014   \nHow frugal is the Chariot  \nThat bears the Human soul\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This is the place they hoped before,**\n\nThis is the place they hoped before,  \nWhere I am hoping now.  \nThe seed of disappointment grew  \nWithin a capsule gay,  \nToo distant to arrest the feet  \nThat walk this plank of balm \u2014   \nBefore them lies escapeless sea \u2014   \nThe way is closed they came.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The most triumphant Bird I ever knew or met**\n\nThe most triumphant Bird I ever knew or met  \nEmbarked upon a twig today  \nAnd till Dominion set  \nI famish to behold so eminent a sight  \nAnd sang for nothing scrutable  \nBut intimate Delight.  \nRetired, and resumed his transitive Estate \u2014   \nTo what delicious Accident  \nDoes finest Glory fit!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When Memory is full**\n\nWhen Memory is full  \nPut on the perfect Lid \u2014   \nThis Morning's finest syllable  \nPresumptuous Evening said \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I saw that the Flake was on it**\n\nI saw that the Flake was on it  \nBut plotted with Time to dispute \u2014   \n\"Unchanged\" I urged with a candor  \nThat cost me my honest Heart \u2014\n\nBut \"you\" \u2014 she returned with valor  \nSagacious of my mistake  \n\"Have altered \u2014 Accept the pillage  \nFor the progress' sake\" \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Confirming All who analyze**\n\nConfirming All who analyze  \nIn the Opinion fair  \nThat Eloquence is when the Heart  \nHas not a Voice to spare \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I worked for chaff and earning Wheat**\n\nI worked for chaff and earning Wheat  \nWas haughty and betrayed.  \nWhat right had Fields to arbitrate  \nIn matters ratified?\n\nI tasted Wheat and hated Chaff  \nAnd thanked the ample friend \u2014   \nWisdom is more becoming viewed  \nAt distance than at hand.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Is Heaven a Physician?**\n\nIs Heaven a Physician?  \nThey say that He can heal \u2014   \nBut Medicine Posthumous  \nIs unavailable \u2014   \nIs Heaven an Exchequer?  \nThey speak of what we owe \u2014   \nBut that negotiation  \nI'm not a Party to \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**September's Baccalaureate**\n\nSeptember's Baccalaureate  \nA combination is  \nOf Crickets \u2014 Crows \u2014 and Retrospects  \nAnd a dissembling Breeze\n\nThat hints without assuming \u2014   \nAn Innuendo sear  \nThat makes the Heart put up its Fun  \nAnd turn Philosopher.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So proud she was to die**\n\nSo proud she was to die  \nIt made us all ashamed  \nThat what we cherished, so unknown  \nTo her desire seemed \u2014   \nSo satisfied to go  \nWhere none of us should be  \nImmediately \u2014 that Anguish stooped  \nAlmost to Jealousy \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That sacred Closet when you sweep \u2014**\n\nThat sacred Closet when you sweep \u2014   \nEntitled \"Memory\" \u2014   \nSelect a reverential Broom \u2014   \nAnd do it silently.\n\n'Twill be a Labor of surprise \u2014   \nBesides Identity  \nOf other Interlocutors  \nA probability \u2014\n\nAugust the Dust of that Domain \u2014   \nUnchallenged \u2014 let it lie \u2014   \nYou cannot supersede itself  \nBut it can silence you \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Bone that has no Marrow,**\n\nThe Bone that has no Marrow,  \nWhat Ultimate for that?  \nIt is not fit for Table  \nFor Beggar or for Cat.\n\nA Bone has obligations \u2014   \nA Being has the same \u2014   \nA Marrowless Assembly  \nIs culpabler than shame.\n\nBut how shall finished Creatures  \nA function fresh obtain?  \nOld Nicodemus' Phantom  \nConfronting us again!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Spider as an Artist**\n\nThe Spider as an Artist  \nHas never been employed \u2014   \nThough his surpassing Merit  \nIs freely certified\n\nBy every Broom and Bridget  \nThroughout a Christian Land \u2014   \nNeglected Son of Genius  \nI take thee by the Hand \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas later when the summer went**\n\n'T WAS later when the summer went  \nThan when the cricket came,  \nAnd yet we knew that gentle clock  \nMeant nought but going home.\n\n'T was sooner when the cricket went  \nThan when the winter came,  \nYet that pathetic pendulum  \nKeeps esoteric time.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**While we were fearing it, it came \u2014**\n\nWhile we were fearing it, it came \u2014   \nBut came with less of fear  \nBecause that fearing it so long  \nHad almost made it fair \u2014\n\nThere is a Fitting \u2014 a Dismay \u2014   \nA Fitting \u2014 a Despair  \n'Tis harder knowing it is Due  \nThan knowing it is Here.\n\nThey Trying on the Utmost  \nThe Morning it is new  \nIs Terribler than wearing it  \nA whole existence through.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Mountains stood in Haze \u2014**\n\nThe Mountains stood in Haze \u2014   \nThe Valleys stopped below  \nAnd went or waited as they liked  \nThe River and the Sky.\n\nAt leisure was the Sun \u2014   \nHis interests of Fire  \nA little from remark withdrawn \u2014   \nThe Twilight spoke the Spire,\n\nSo soft upon the Scene  \nThe Act of evening fell  \nWe felt how neighborly a Thing  \nWas the Invisible.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Way to know the Bobolink**\n\nThe Way to know the Bobolink  \nFrom every other Bird  \nPrecisely as the Joy of him \u2014   \nObliged to be inferred.\n\nOf impudent Habiliment  \nAttired to defy,  \nImpertinence subordinate  \nAt times to Majesty.\n\nOf Sentiments seditious  \nAmenable to Law \u2014   \nAs Heresies of Transport  \nOr Puck's Apostacy.\n\nExtrinsic to Attention  \nToo intimate with Joy \u2014   \nHe compliments existence  \nUntil allured away\n\nBy Seasons or his Children \u2014   \nAdult and urgent grown \u2014   \nOr unforeseen aggrandizement  \nOr, happily, Renown \u2014\n\nBy Contrast certifying  \nThe Bird of Birds is gone \u2014   \nHow nullified the Meadow \u2014   \nHer Sorcerer withdrawn!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The harm of Years is on him \u2014**\n\nThe harm of Years is on him \u2014   \nThe infamy of Time \u2014   \nDepose him like a Fashion  \nAnd give Dominion room.\n\nForget his Morning Forces \u2014   \nThe Glory of Decay  \nIs a minuter Pageant  \nThan least Vitality.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A stagnant pleasure like a Pool**\n\nA stagnant pleasure like a Pool  \nThat lets its Rushes grow  \nUntil they heedless tumble in  \nAnd make the Water slow\n\nImpeding navigation bright  \nOf Shadows going down  \nYet even this shall rouse itself  \nWhen freshets come along.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Art thou the thing I wanted?**\n\nArt thou the thing I wanted?  \nBegone \u2014 my Tooth has grown \u2014   \nSupply the minor Palate  \nThat has not starved so long \u2014   \nI tell thee while I waited  \nThe mystery of Food  \nIncreased till I abjured it  \nAnd dine without Like God \u2014\n\n\u2014\n\nArt thou the thing I wanted?  \nBegone \u2014 my Tooth has grown \u2014   \nAffront a minor palate  \nThou could'st not goad so long \u2014\n\nI tell thee while I waited \u2014   \nThe mystery of Food  \nIncreased till I abjured it  \nSubsisting now like God \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Could Hope inspect her Basis**\n\nCould Hope inspect her Basis  \nHer Craft were done \u2014   \nHas a fictitious Charter  \nOr it has none \u2014\n\nBalked in the vastest instance  \nBut to renew \u2014   \nFelled by but one assassin \u2014   \nProsperity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Had we our senses**\n\nHad we our senses  \nBut perhaps 'tis well they're not at Home  \nSo intimate with Madness  \nHe's liable with them\n\nHad we the eyes without our Head \u2014   \nHow well that we are Blind \u2014   \nWe could not look upon the Earth \u2014   \nSo utterly unmoved \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I know Suspense \u2014 it steps so terse**\n\nI know Suspense \u2014 it steps so terse  \nAnd turns so weak away \u2014   \nBesides \u2014 Suspense is neighborly  \nWhen I am riding by \u2014\n\nIs always at the Window  \nThough lately I descry  \nAnd mention to my Horses  \nThe need is not of me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I thought that nature was enough**\n\nI thought that nature was enough  \nTill Human nature came  \nBut that the other did absorb  \nAs Parallax a Flame \u2014\n\nOf Human nature just aware  \nThere added the Divine  \nBrief struggle for capacity  \nThe power to contain\n\nIs always as the contents  \nBut give a Giant room  \nAnd you will lodge a Giant  \nAnd not a smaller man\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**In this short Life**\n\nIn this short Life  \nThat only lasts an hour  \nHow much \u2014 how little \u2014 is  \nWithin our power\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Lain in Nature \u2014 so suffice us**\n\nLain in Nature \u2014 so suffice us  \nThe enchantless Pod  \nWhen we advertise existence  \nFor the missing Seed \u2014\n\nMaddest Heart that God created  \nCannot move a sod  \nPasted by the simple summer  \nOn the Longed for Dead\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Left in immortal Youth**\n\nLeft in immortal Youth  \nOn that low Plain  \nThat hath nor Retrospection  \nNor Again \u2014   \nRansomed from years \u2014   \nSequestered from Decay  \nCanceled like Dawn  \nIn comprehensive Day \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The most pathetic thing I do**\n\nThe most pathetic thing I do  \nIs play I hear from you \u2014   \nI make believe until my Heart  \nAlmost believes it too  \nBut when I break it with the news  \nYou knew it was not true  \nI wish I had not broken it \u2014   \nGoliah \u2014 so would you \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Until the Desert knows**\n\nUntil the Desert knows  \nThat Water grows  \nHis Sands suffice  \nBut let him once suspect  \nThat Caspian Fact  \nSahara dies\n\nUtmost is relative \u2014   \nHave not or Have  \nAdjacent sums  \nEnough \u2014 the first Abode  \nOn the familiar Road  \nGalloped in Dreams \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Yesterday is History**\n\nYesterday is History,  \n'Tis so far away \u2014   \nYesterday is Poetry \u2014   \n'Tis Philosophy \u2014\n\nYesterday is mystery \u2014   \nWhere it is Today  \nWhile we shrewdly speculate  \nFlutter both away\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The things we thought that we should do**\n\nThe things we thought that we should do  \nWe other things have done  \nBut those peculiar industries  \nHave never been begun \u2014\n\nThe Lands we thought that we should seek  \nWhen large enough to run  \nBy Speculation ceded  \nTo Speculation's Son \u2014\n\nThe Heaven, in which we hoped to pause  \nWhen Discipline was done  \nUntenable to Logic  \nBut possibly the one \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Life to own \u2014**\n\nOf Life to own \u2014   \nFrom Life to draw \u2014   \nBut never tough the reservoir \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Two Lengths has every Day \u2014**\n\nTwo Lengths has every Day \u2014   \nIts absolute extent  \nAnd Area superior  \nBy Hope or Horror lent \u2014\n\nEternity will be  \nVelocity or Pause  \nAt Fundamental Signals  \nFrom Fundamental Laws.\n\nTo die is not to go \u2014   \nOn Doom's consummate Chart  \nNo Territory new is staked \u2014   \nRemain thou as thou art.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Death's Waylaying not the sharpest**\n\nDeath's Waylaying not the sharpest  \nOf the thefts of Time \u2014   \nThere Marauds a sorer Robber,  \nSilence \u2014 is his name \u2014   \nNo Assault, nor any Menace  \nDoth betoken him.  \nBut from Life's consummate Cluster \u2014   \nHe supplants the Balm.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself**\n\nGo slow, my soul, to feed thyself  \nUpon his rare approach \u2014   \nGo rapid, lest Competing Death  \nPrevail upon the Coach \u2014   \nGo timid, should his final eye  \nDetermine thee amiss \u2014   \nGo boldly \u2014 for thou paid'st his price  \nRedemption \u2014 for a Kiss \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants \u2014**\n\nThe Mushroom is the Elf of Plants \u2014   \nAt Evening, it is not \u2014   \nAt Morning, in a Truffled Hut  \nIt stop upon a Spot\n\nAs if it tarried always  \nAnd yet its whole Career  \nIs shorter than a Snake's Delay  \nAnd fleeter than a Tare \u2014\n\n'Tis Vegetation's Juggler \u2014   \nThe Germ of Alibi \u2014   \nDoth like a Bubble antedate  \nAnd like a Bubble, hie \u2014\n\nI feel as if the Grass was pleased  \nTo have it intermit \u2014   \nThis surreptitious scion  \nOf Summer's circumspect.\n\nHad Nature any supple Face  \nOr could she one contemn \u2014   \nHad Nature an Apostate \u2014   \nThat Mushroom \u2014 it is Him!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Delight's Despair at setting**\n\nDelight's Despair at setting  \nIs that Delight is less  \nThan the sufficing Longing  \nThat so impoverish.\n\nEnchantment's Perihelion  \nMistaken oft has been  \nFor the Authentic orbit  \nOf its Anterior Sun.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**From his slim Palace in the Dust**\n\nFrom his slim Palace in the Dust  \nHe relegates the Realm,  \nMore loyal for the exody  \nThat has befallen him.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I cannot want it more \u2014**\n\nI cannot want it more \u2014   \nI cannot want it less \u2014   \nMy Human Nature's fullest force  \nExpends itself on this.\n\nAnd yet it nothing is  \nTo him who easy owns \u2014   \nIs Worth itself or Distance  \nHe fathoms who obtains.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I think that the Root of the Wind is Water \u2014**\n\nI think that the Root of the Wind is Water \u2014   \nIt would not sound so deep  \nWere it a Firmamental Product \u2014   \nAirs no Oceans keep \u2014   \nMediterranean intonations \u2014   \nTo a Current's Ear \u2014   \nThere is a maritime conviction  \nIn the Atmosphere \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not One by Heaven defrauded stay \u2014**\n\nNot One by Heaven defrauded stay \u2014   \nAlthough he seem to steal  \nHe restitutes in some sweet way  \nSecreted in his will \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not with a Club, the Heart is broken**\n\nNot with a Club, the Heart is broken  \nNor with a Stone \u2014   \nA Whip so small you could not see it  \nI've known\n\nTo lash the Magic Creature  \nTill it fell,  \nYet that Whip's Name  \nToo noble then to tell.\n\nMagnanimous as Bird  \nBy Boy descried \u2014   \nSinging unto the Stone  \nOf which it died \u2014\n\nShame need not crouch  \nIn such an Earth as Ours \u2014   \nShame \u2014 stand erect \u2014   \nThe Universe is yours.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Recollect the Face of me**\n\nRecollect the Face of me  \nWhen in thy Felicity,  \nDue in Paradise today  \nGuest of mine assuredly \u2014\n\nOther Courtesies have been \u2014   \nOther Courtesy may be \u2014   \nWe commend ourselves to thee  \nParagon of Chivalry.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Surprise is like a thrilling \u2014 pungent \u2014**\n\nSurprise is like a thrilling \u2014 pungent \u2014   \nUpon a tasteless meat  \nAlone \u2014 too acrid \u2014 but combined  \nAn edible Delight.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That short \u2014 potential stir**\n\nThat short \u2014 potential stir  \nThat each can make but once \u2014   \nThat Bustle so illustrious  \n'Tis almost Consequence \u2014\n\nIs the eclat of Death \u2014   \nOh, thou unknown Renown  \nThat not a Beggar would accept  \nHad he the power to spurn \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Day she goes**\n\nThe Day she goes  \nOr Day she stays  \nAre equally supreme \u2014   \nExistence has a stated width  \nDeparted, or at Home \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Infinite a sudden Guest**\n\nThe Infinite a sudden Guest  \nHas been assumed to be \u2014   \nBut how can that stupendous come  \nWhich never went away?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Notice that is called the Spring**\n\nThe Notice that is called the Spring  \nIs but a month from here \u2014   \nPut up my Heart thy Hoary work  \nAnd take a Rosy Chair.\n\nNot any House the Flowers keep \u2014   \nThe Birds enamor Care \u2014   \nOur salary the longest Day  \nIs nothing but a Bier.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This dirty \u2014 little \u2014 Heart**\n\nThis dirty \u2014 little \u2014 Heart  \nIs freely mine.  \nI won it with a Bun \u2014   \nA Freckled shrine \u2014\n\nBut eligibly fair  \nTo him who sees  \nThe Visage of the Soul  \nAnd not the knees.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To break so vast a Heart**\n\nTo break so vast a Heart  \nRequired a Blow as vast \u2014   \nNo Zephyr felled this Cedar straight \u2014   \n'Twas undeserved Blast \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Warm in her Hand these accents lie**\n\nWarm in her Hand these accents lie  \nWhile faithful and afar  \nThe Grace so awkward for her sake  \nIts fond subjection wear \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When a Lover is a Beggar**\n\nWhen a Lover is a Beggar  \nAbject is his Knee \u2014   \nWhen a Lover is an Owner  \nDifferent is he \u2014\n\nWhat he begged is then the Beggar \u2014   \nOh disparity \u2014   \nBread of Heaven resents bestowal  \nLike an obloquy \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Which is the best \u2014 the Moon or the Crescent?**\n\nWhich is the best \u2014 the Moon or the Crescent?  \nNeither \u2014 said the Moon \u2014   \nThat is best which is not \u2014 Achieve it \u2014   \nYou efface the Sheen.\n\nNot of detention is Fruition \u2014   \nShudder to attain.  \nTransport's decomposition follows \u2014   \nHe is Prism born.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Winter is good \u2014 his Hoar Delights**\n\nWinter is good \u2014 his Hoar Delights  \nItalic flavor yield  \nTo Intellects inebriate  \nWith Summer, or the World \u2014\n\nGeneric as a Quarry  \nAnd hearty \u2014 as a Rose \u2014   \nInvited with Asperity  \nBut welcome when he goes.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Abraham to kill him \u2014**\n\nAbraham to kill him \u2014   \nWas distinctly told \u2014   \nIsaac was an Urchin \u2014   \nAbraham was old \u2014\n\nNot a hesitation \u2014   \nAbraham complied \u2014   \nFlattered by Obeisance  \nTyranny demurred \u2014\n\nIsaac \u2014 to his children  \nLived to tell the tale \u2014   \nMoral \u2014 with a Mastiff  \nManners may prevail.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Frigid and sweet Her parting Face \u2014**\n\nFrigid and sweet Her parting Face \u2014   \nFrigid and fleet my Feet \u2014   \nAlien and vain whatever Clime  \nAcrid whatever Fate.\n\nGiven to me without the Suit  \nRiches and Name and Realm \u2014   \nWho was She to withhold from me  \nPenury and Home?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How News must feel when travelling**\n\nHow News must feel when travelling  \nIf News have any Heart  \nAlighting at the Dwelling  \n'Twill enter like a Dart!\n\nWhat News must think when pondering  \nIf News have any Thought  \nConcerning the stupendousness  \nOf its perceiveless freight!\n\nWhat News will do when every Man  \nShall comprehend as one  \nAnd not in all the Universe  \nA thing to tell remain?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Dear March \u2014 Come in \u2014**\n\nDear March \u2014 Come in \u2014   \nHow glad I am \u2014   \nI hoped for you before \u2014\n\nPut down your Hat \u2014   \nYou must have walked \u2014   \nHow out of Breath you are \u2014   \nDear March, Come right up the stairs with me \u2014   \nI have so much to tell \u2014\n\nI got your Letter, and the Birds \u2014   \nThe Maples never knew that you were coming \u2014 till I called  \nI declare \u2014 how Red their Faces grew \u2014   \nBut March, forgive me \u2014 and  \nAll those Hills you left for me to Hue \u2014   \nThere was no Purple suitable \u2014   \nYou took it all with you \u2014\n\nWho knocks? That April.  \nLock the Door \u2014   \nI will not be pursued \u2014   \nHe stayed away a Year to call  \nWhen I am occupied \u2014   \nBut trifles look so trivial  \nAs soon as you have come\n\nThat Blame is just as dear as Praise  \nAnd Praise as mere as Blame \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Elizabeth told Essex**\n\nElizabeth told Essex  \nThat she could not forgive  \nThe clemency of Deity  \nHowever \u2014 might survive \u2014   \nThat secondary succor  \nWe trust that she partook  \nWhen suing \u2014 like her Essex  \nFor a reprieving Look \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Floss won't save you from an Abyss**\n\nFloss won't save you from an Abyss  \nBut a Rope will \u2014   \nNotwithstanding a Rope for a Souvenir  \nIs not beautiful \u2014\n\nBut I tell you every step is a Trough \u2014   \nAnd every stop a Well \u2014   \nNow will you have the Rope or the Floss?  \nPrices reasonable \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I never hear that one is dead**\n\nI never hear that one is dead  \nWithout the chance of Life  \nAfresh annihilating me  \nThat mightiest Belief,\n\nToo mighty for the Daily mind  \nThat tilling its abyss,  \nHad Madness, had it once or twice  \nThe yawning Consciousness,\n\nBeliefs are Bandaged, like the Tongue  \nWhen Terror were it told  \nIn any Tone commensurate  \nWould strike us instant Dead\n\nI do not know the man so bold  \nHe dare in lonely Place  \nThat awful stranger Consciousness  \nDeliberately face \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I send you a decrepit flower**\n\nI send you a decrepit flower  \nThat nature sent to me  \nAt parting \u2014 she was going south  \nAnd I designed to stay \u2014\n\nHer motive for the souvenir  \nIf sentiment for me  \nOr circumstances prudential  \nWithheld invincibly \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Knock with tremor \u2014**\n\nKnock with tremor \u2014   \nThese are Caesars \u2014   \nShould they be at Home  \nFlee as if you trod unthinking  \nOn the Foot of Doom \u2014\n\nThese receded to accostal  \nCenturies ago \u2014   \nShould they rend you with \"How are you\"  \nWhat have you to show?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Our little secrets slink away \u2014**\n\nOur little secrets slink away \u2014   \nBeside God's shall not tell \u2014   \nHe kept his word a Trillion years  \nAnd might we not as well \u2014   \nBut for the niggardly delight  \nTo make each other stare  \nIs there no sweet beneath the sun  \nWith this that may compare \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Symptom of the Gale \u2014**\n\nThe Symptom of the Gale \u2014   \nThe Second of Dismay \u2014   \nBetween its Rumor and its Face \u2014   \nIs almost Revelry \u2014\n\nThe Houses firmer root \u2014   \nThe Heavens cannot be found \u2014   \nThe Upper Surfaces of things  \nTake covert in the Ground \u2014\n\nThe Mem'ry of the Sun  \nNot Any can recall \u2014   \nAlthough by Nature's sterling Watch  \nSo scant an interval \u2014\n\nAnd when the Noise is caught  \nAnd Nature looks around \u2014   \n\"We dreamed it\"? She interrogates \u2014   \n\"Good Morning\" \u2014 We propound?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The vastest earthly Day**\n\nThe vastest earthly Day  \nIs shrunken small  \nBy one Defaulting Face  \nBehind a Pall \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Whether they have forgotten**\n\nWhether they have forgotten  \nOr are forgetting now  \nOr never remembered \u2014   \nSafer not to know \u2014\n\nMiseries of conjecture  \nAre a softer woe  \nThan a Fact of Iron  \nHardened with I know \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Without a smile \u2014 Without a Throe**\n\nWithout a smile \u2014 Without a Throe  \nA Summer's soft Assemblies go  \nTo their entrancing end  \nUnknown \u2014 for all the times we met \u2014   \nEstranged, however intimate \u2014   \nWhat a dissembling Friend \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Wonder \u2014 is not precisely Knowing**\n\nWonder \u2014 is not precisely Knowing  \nAnd not precisely Knowing not \u2014   \nA beautiful but bleak condition  \nHe has not lived who has not felt \u2014\n\nSuspense \u2014 is his maturer Sister \u2014   \nWhether Adult Delight is Pain  \nOr of itself a new misgiving \u2014   \nThis is the Gnat that mangles men \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Pink \u2014 small \u2014 and punctual \u2014**\n\nPink \u2014 small \u2014 and punctual \u2014   \nAromatic \u2014 low \u2014   \nCovert \u2014 in April \u2014   \nCandid \u2014 in May \u2014   \nDear to the Moss \u2014   \nKnown to the Knoll \u2014   \nNext to the Robin  \nIn every human Soul \u2014   \nBold little Beauty  \nBedecked with thee  \nNature forswears  \nAntiquity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A little Madness in the Spring**\n\nA little Madness in the Spring  \nIs wholesome even for the King,  \nBut God be with the Clown \u2014   \nWho ponders this tremendous scene \u2014   \nThis whole Experiment of Green \u2014   \nAs if it were his own!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How soft this Prison is**\n\nHow soft this Prison is  \nHow sweet these sullen bars  \nNo Despot but the King of Down  \nInvented this repose\n\nOf Fate if this is All  \nHas he no added Realm  \nA Dungeon but a Kinsman is  \nIncarceration \u2014 Home.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Let me not mar that perfect Dream**\n\nLet me not mar that perfect Dream  \nBy an Auroral stain  \nBut so adjust my daily Night  \nThat it will come again.\n\nNot when we know, the Power accosts \u2014   \nThe Garment of Surprise  \nWas all our timid Mother wore  \nAt Home \u2014 in Paradise.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Nature assigns the Sun \u2014**\n\nNature assigns the Sun \u2014   \nThat \u2014 is Astronomy \u2014   \nNature cannot enact a Friend \u2014   \nThat \u2014 is Astrology.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Upon a Lilac Sea**\n\nUpon a Lilac Sea  \nTo toss incessantly  \nHis Plush Alarm  \nWho fleeing from the Spring  \nThe Spring avenging fling  \nTo Dooms of Balm\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What tenements of clover**\n\nWhat tenements of clover  \nAre fitting for the bee,  \nWhat edifices azure  \nFor butterflies and me \u2014   \nWhat residences nimble  \nArise and evanesce  \nWithout a rhythmic rumor  \nOr an assaulting guess.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Bee his burnished Carriage**\n\nA Bee his burnished Carriage  \nDrove boldly to a Rose \u2014   \nCombinedly alighting \u2014   \nHimself \u2014 his Carriage was \u2014   \nThe Rose received his visit  \nWith frank tranquillity  \nWithholding not a Crescent  \nTo his Cupidity \u2014   \nTheir Moment consummated \u2014   \nRemained for him \u2014 to flee \u2014   \nRemained for her \u2014 of rapture  \nBut the humility.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Rat surrendered here**\n\nA Rat surrendered here  \nA brief career of Cheer  \nAnd Fraud and Fear.\n\nOf Ignominy's due  \nLet all addicted to  \nBeware.\n\nThe most obliging Trap  \nIts tendency to snap  \nCannot resist \u2014\n\nTemptation is the Friend  \nRepugnantly resigned  \nAt last.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Unto the Whole \u2014 how add?**\n\nUnto the Whole \u2014 how add?  \nHas \"All\" a further realm \u2014   \nOr Utmost an Ulterior?  \nOh, Subsidy of Balm!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Was not was all the Statement.**\n\n\"Was not\" was all the Statement.  \nThe Unpretension stuns \u2014   \nPerhaps \u2014 the Comprehension \u2014   \nThey wore no Lexicons \u2014\n\nBut lest our Speculation  \nIn inanition die  \nBecause \"God took him\" mention \u2014   \nThat was Philology \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A single Clover Plank**\n\nA single Clover Plank  \nWas all that saved a Bee  \nA Bee I personally knew  \nFrom sinking in the sky \u2014\n\n'Twixt Firmament above  \nAnd Firmament below  \nThe Billows of Circumference  \nWere sweeping him away \u2014\n\nThe idly swaying Plank  \nResponsible to nought  \nA sudden Freight of Wind assumed  \nAnd Bumble Bee was not \u2014\n\nThis harrowing event  \nTranspiring in the Grass  \nDid not so much as wring from him  \nA wandering \"Alas\" \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not any more to be lacked \u2014**\n\nNot any more to be lacked \u2014   \nNot any more to be known \u2014   \nDenizen of Significance  \nFor a span so worn \u2014\n\nEven Nature herself  \nHas forgot it is there \u2014   \nSedulous of her Multitudes  \nNotwithstanding Despair \u2014\n\nOf the Ones that pursued it  \nSuing it not to go  \nSome have solaced the longing  \nTo accompany \u2014\n\nSome \u2014 rescinded the Wrench \u2014   \nOthers \u2014 Shall I say  \nPlated the residue of Adz  \nWith Monotony.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**An antiquated Grace**\n\nAn antiquated Grace  \nBecomes that cherished Face  \nAs well as prime  \nEnjoining us to part  \nWe and our pouting Heart  \nGood friends with time\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As Summer into Autumn slips**\n\nAs Summer into Autumn slips  \nAnd yet we sooner say  \n\"The Summer\" than \"the Autumn,\" lest  \nWe turn the sun away,\n\nAnd almost count it an Affront  \nThe presence to concede  \nOf one however lovely, not  \nThe one that we have loved \u2014\n\nSo we evade the charge of Years  \nOn one attempting shy  \nThe Circumvention of the Shaft  \nOf Life's Declivity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Escape is such a thankful Word**\n\nEscape is such a thankful Word  \nI often in the Night  \nConsider it unto myself  \nNo spectacle in sight\n\nEscape \u2014 it is the Basket  \nIn which the Heart is caught  \nWhen down some awful Battlement  \nThe rest of Life is dropt \u2014\n\n'Tis not to sight the savior \u2014   \nIt is to be the saved \u2014   \nAnd that is why I lay my Head  \nUpon this trusty word \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Lift it \u2014 with the Feathers**\n\nLift it \u2014 with the Feathers  \nNot alone we fly \u2014   \nLaunch it \u2014 the aquatic  \nNot the only sea \u2014   \nAdvocate the Azure  \nTo the lower Eyes \u2014   \nHe has obligation  \nWho has Paradise \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I'd rather recollect a setting**\n\nI'd rather recollect a setting  \nThan own a rising sun  \nThough one is beautiful forgetting \u2014   \nAnd true the other one.\n\nBecause in going is a Drama  \nStaying cannot confer  \nTo die divinely once a Twilight \u2014   \nThan wane is easier \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Luck is not chance \u2014**\n\nLuck is not chance \u2014   \nIt's Toil \u2014   \nFortune's expensive smile  \nIs earned \u2014   \nThe Father of the Mine  \nIs that old-fashioned Coin  \nWe spurned \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You cannot take itself**\n\nYou cannot take itself  \nFrom any Human soul \u2014   \nThat indestructible estate  \nEnable him to dwell \u2014   \nImpregnable as Light  \nThat every man behold  \nBut take away as difficult  \nAs undiscovered Gold \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To his simplicity**\n\nTo his simplicity  \nTo die \u2014 was little Fate \u2014   \nIf Duty live \u2014 contented  \nBut her Confederate.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The last of Summer is Delight \u2014**\n\nThe last of Summer is Delight \u2014   \nDeterred by Retrospect.  \n'Tis Ecstasy's revealed Review \u2014   \nEnchantment's Syndicate.\n\nTo meet it \u2014 nameless as it is \u2014   \nWithout celestial Mail \u2014   \nAudacious as without a Knock  \nTo walk within the Veil.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Heart is the Capital of the Mind \u2014**\n\nThe Heart is the Capital of the Mind \u2014   \nThe Mind is a single State \u2014   \nThe Heart and the Mind together make  \nA single Continent \u2014\n\nOne \u2014 is the Population \u2014   \nNumerous enough \u2014   \nThis ecstatic Nation  \nSeek \u2014 it is Yourself.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Mind lives on the Heart**\n\nThe Mind lives on the Heart  \nLike any Parasite \u2014   \nIf that is full of Meat  \nThe Mind is fat.\n\nBut if the Heart omit  \nEmaciate the Wit \u2014   \nThe Aliment of it  \nSo absolute.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Rat is the concisest Tenant.**\n\nThe Rat is the concisest Tenant.  \nHe pays no Rent.  \nRepudiates the Obligation \u2014   \nOn Schemes intent\n\nBalking our Wit  \nTo sound or circumvent \u2014   \nHate cannot harm  \nA Foe so reticent \u2014   \nNeither Decree prohibit him \u2014   \nLawful as Equilibrium.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Faithful to the end Amended**\n\n\"Faithful to the end\" Amended  \nFrom the Heavenly Clause \u2014   \nConstancy with a Proviso  \nConstancy abhors \u2014\n\n\"Crowns of Life\" are servile Prizes  \nTo the stately Heart,  \nGiven for the Giving, solely,  \nNo Emolument.\n\n\u2014\n\n\"Faithful to the end\" Amended  \nFrom the Heavenly clause \u2014   \nLucrative indeed the offer  \nBut the Heart withdraws \u2014\n\n\"I will give\" the base Proviso \u2014   \nSpare Your \"Crown of Life\" \u2014   \nThose it fits, too fair to wear it \u2014   \nTry it on Yourself \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Treason of an accent**\n\nThe Treason of an accent  \nMight Ecstasy transfer \u2014   \nOf her effacing Fathom  \nIs no Recoverer \u2014\n\n\u2014\n\nThe Treason of an Accent  \nMight vilify the Joy \u2014   \nTo breathe \u2014 corrode the rapture  \nOf Sanctity to be \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The long sigh of the Frog**\n\nThe long sigh of the Frog  \nUpon a Summer's Day  \nEnacts intoxication  \nUpon the Revery \u2014   \nBut his receding Swell  \nSubstantiates a Peace  \nThat makes the Ear inordinate  \nFor corporal release \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I sued the News \u2014 yet feared \u2014 the News**\n\nI sued the News \u2014 yet feared \u2014 the News  \nThat such a Realm could be \u2014   \n\"The House not made with Hands\" it was \u2014   \nThrown open wide to me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Flake the Wind exasperate**\n\nThe Flake the Wind exasperate  \nMore eloquently lie  \nThan if escorted to its Down  \nBy Arm of Chivalry.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of their peculiar light**\n\nOf their peculiar light  \nI keep one ray  \nTo clarify the Sight  \nTo seek them by \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Summer laid her simple Hat**\n\nSummer laid her simple Hat  \nOn its boundless Shelf \u2014   \nUnobserved \u2014 a Ribbon slipt,  \nSnatch it for yourself.\n\nSummer laid her supple Glove  \nIn its sylvan Drawer \u2014   \nWheresoe'er, or was she \u2014   \nThe demand of Awe?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How know it from a Summer's Day?**\n\nHow know it from a Summer's Day?  \nIts Fervors are as firm \u2014   \nAnd nothing in the Countenance  \nBut scintillates the same \u2014   \nYet Birds examine it and flee \u2014   \nAnd Vans without a name  \nInspect the Admonition  \nAnd sunder as they came \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Take all away \u2014**\n\nTake all away \u2014   \nThe only thing worth larceny  \nIs left \u2014 the Immortality \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Brother of Ingots \u2014 Ah Peru \u2014**\n\nBrother of Ingots \u2014 Ah Peru \u2014   \nEmpty the Hearts that purchased you \u2014\n\n\u2014\n\nSister of Ophir \u2014   \nAh, Peru \u2014   \nSubtle the Sum  \nThat purchase you \u2014\n\n\u2014\n\nBrother of Ophir  \nBright Adieu,  \nHonor, the shortest route  \nTo you.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tomorrow \u2014 whose location**\n\n\"Tomorrow\" \u2014 whose location  \nThe Wise deceives  \nThough its hallucination  \nIs last that leaves \u2014   \nTomorrow \u2014 thou Retriever  \nOf every tare \u2014   \nOf Alibi art thou  \nOr ownest where?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Love's stricken why**\n\nLove's stricken \"why\"  \nIs all that love can speak \u2014   \nBuilt of but just a syllable  \nThe hugest hearts that break.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Trusty as the stars**\n\nTrusty as the stars  \nWho quit their shining working  \nPrompt as when I lit them  \nIn Genesis' new house,  \nDurable as dawn  \nWhose antiquated blossom  \nMakes a world's suspense  \nPerish and rejoice.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Gathered into the Earth,**\n\nGathered into the Earth,  \nAnd out of story \u2014   \nGathered so that strange Fame \u2014   \nThat lonesome Glory  \nThat hath no omen here \u2014 but Awe \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How fits his Umber Coat**\n\nHow fits his Umber Coat  \nThe Tailor of the Nut?  \nCombined without a seam  \nLike Raiment of a Dream \u2014\n\nWho spun the Auburn Cloth?  \nComputed how the girth?  \nThe Chestnut aged grows  \nIn those primeval Clothes \u2014\n\nWe know that we are wise \u2014   \nAccomplished in Surprise \u2014   \nYet by this Countryman \u2014   \nThis nature \u2014 how undone!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sun is one \u2014 and on the Tare**\n\nThe Sun is one \u2014 and on the Tare  \nHe doth as punctual call  \nAs on the conscientious Flower  \nAnd estimates them all \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The worthlessness of Earthly things**\n\nThe worthlessness of Earthly things  \nThe Ditty is that Nature Sings \u2014   \nAnd then \u2014 enforces their delight  \nTill Synods are inordinate \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Saucer holds a Cup**\n\nA Saucer holds a Cup  \nIn sordid human Life  \nBut in a Squirrel's estimate  \nA Saucer hold a Loaf.\n\nA Table of a Tree  \nDemands the little King  \nAnd every Breeze that run along  \nHis Dining Room do swing.\n\nHis Cutlery \u2014 he keeps  \nWithin his Russer Lips \u2014   \nTo see it flashing when he dines  \nDo Birmingham eclipse \u2014\n\nConvicted \u2014 could we be  \nOf our Minutiae  \nThe smallest Citizen that flies  \nIs heartier than we \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Death warrants are supposed to be**\n\nDeath warrants are supposed to be  \nAn enginery of equity  \nA merciful mistake  \nA pencil in an Idol's Hand  \nA Devotee has oft consigned  \nTo Crucifix or Block\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Dreams are the subtle Dower**\n\nDreams are the subtle Dower  \nThat make us rich an Hour \u2014   \nThen fling us poor  \nOut of the purple Door  \nInto the Precinct raw  \nPossessed before \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Forbidden Fruit a flavor has**\n\nForbidden Fruit a flavor has  \nThat lawful Orchards mocks \u2014   \nHow luscious lies within the Pod  \nThe Pea that Duty locks \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**His Heart was darker than the starless night**\n\nHis Heart was darker than the starless night  \nFor that there is a morn  \nBut in this black Receptacle  \nCan be no Bode of Dawn\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**His Mansion in the Pool**\n\nHis Mansion in the Pool  \nThe Frog forsakes \u2014   \nHe rises on a Log  \nAnd statements makes \u2014   \nHis Auditors two Worlds  \nDeducting me \u2014   \nThe Orator of April  \nIs hoarse Today \u2014   \nHis Mittens at his Feet  \nNo Hand hath he \u2014   \nHis eloquence a Bubble  \nAs Fame should be \u2014   \nApplaud him to discover  \nTo your chagrin  \nDemosthenes has vanished  \nIn Waters Green \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How much the present moment means**\n\nHow much the present moment means  \nTo those who've nothing more \u2014   \nThe Fop \u2014 the Carp \u2014 the Atheist \u2014   \nStake an entire store  \nUpon a Moment's shallow Rim  \nWhile their commuted Feet  \nThe Torrents of Eternity  \nDo all but inundate \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I suppose the time will come**\n\nI suppose the time will come  \nAid it in the coming  \nWhen the Bird will crowd the Tree  \nAnd the Bee be booming.\n\nI suppose the time will come  \nHinder it a little  \nWhen the Corn in Silk will dress  \nAnd in Chintz the Apple\n\nI believe the Day will be  \nWhen the Jay will giggle  \nAt his new white House the Earth  \nThat, too, halt a little \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**In many and reportless places**\n\nIn many and reportless places  \nWe feel a Joy \u2014   \nReportless, also, but sincere as Nature  \nOr Deity \u2014\n\nIt comes, without a consternation \u2014   \nDissolves \u2014 the same \u2014   \nBut leaves a sumptuous Destitution \u2014   \nWithout a Name \u2014\n\nProfane it by a search \u2014 we cannot  \nIt has no home \u2014   \nNor we who having once inhaled it \u2014   \nThereafter roam.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Long Years apart \u2014 can make no**\n\nLong Years apart \u2014 can make no  \nBreach a second cannot fill \u2014   \nThe absence of the Witch does not  \nInvalidate the spell \u2014\n\nThe embers of a Thousand Years  \nUncovered by the Hand  \nThat fondled them when they were Fire  \nWill stir and understand \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Praise it \u2014 'tis dead \u2014**\n\nPraise it \u2014 'tis dead \u2014   \nIt cannot glow \u2014   \nWarm this inclement Ear  \nWith the encomium it earned  \nSince it was gathered here \u2014   \nInvest this alabaster Zest  \nIn the Delights of Dust \u2014   \nRemitted \u2014 since it flitted it  \nIn recusance august.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Secrets is a daily word**\n\n\"Secrets\" is a daily word  \nYet does not exist \u2014   \nMuffled \u2014 it remits surmise \u2014   \nMurmured \u2014 it has ceased \u2014   \nDungeoned in the Human Breast  \nDoubtless secrets lie \u2014   \nBut that Grate inviolate \u2014   \nGoes nor comes away  \nNothing with a Tongue or Ear \u2014   \nSecrets stapled there  \nWill emerge but once \u2014 and dumb \u2014   \nTo the Sepulchre \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Summer \u2014 we all have seen \u2014**\n\nSummer \u2014 we all have seen \u2014   \nA few of us \u2014 believed \u2014   \nA few \u2014 the more aspiring  \nUnquestionably loved \u2014\n\nBut Summer does not care \u2014   \nShe goes her spacious way  \nAs eligible as the moon  \nTo our Temerity \u2014\n\nThe Doom to be adored \u2014   \nThe Affluence conferred \u2014   \nUnknown as to an Ecstasy  \nThe Embryo endowed \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Butterfly's Numidian Gown**\n\nThe Butterfly's Numidian Gown  \nWith spots of Burnish roasted on  \nIs proof against the Sun  \nYet prone to shut its spotted Fan  \nAnd panting on a Clover lean  \nAs if it were undone \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Those cattle smaller than a Bee**\n\nThose cattle smaller than a Bee  \nThat herd upon the eye \u2014   \nWhose tillage is the passing Crumb \u2014   \nThose Cattle are the Fly \u2014   \nOf Barns for Winter \u2014 blameless \u2014   \nExtemporaneous stalls  \nThey found to our objection \u2014   \nOn eligible walls \u2014   \nReserving the presumption  \nTo suddenly descend  \nAnd gallop on the Furniture \u2014   \nOr odiouser offend \u2014   \nOf their peculiar calling  \nUnqualified to judge  \nTo Nature we remand them  \nTo justify or scourge \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Touch lightly Nature's sweet Guitar**\n\nTouch lightly Nature's sweet Guitar  \nUnless thou know'st the Tune  \nOr every Bird will point at thee  \nBecause a Bard too soon \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**These held their Wick above the West \u2014**\n\nThese held their Wick above the West \u2014   \nTill when the Red declined \u2014   \nOr how the Amber aided it \u2014   \nDefied to be defined \u2014\n\nThen waned without disparagement  \nIn a dissembling Hue  \nThat would not let the Eye decide  \nDid it abide or no \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**They might not need me \u2014 yet they might \u2014**\n\nThey might not need me but; they might.  \nI'll let my Head be just in sight;  \nA smile as small as mine might be  \nPrecisely their necessity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Hope is a strange invention \u2014**\n\nHope is a strange invention \u2014   \nA Patent of the Heart \u2014   \nIn unremitting action  \nYet never wearing out \u2014\n\nOf this electric Adjunct  \nNot anything is known  \nBut its unique momentum  \nEmbellish all we own \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Lay this Laurel on the One**\n\nLay this Laurel on the One  \nToo intrinsic for Renown \u2014   \nLaurel \u2014 veil your deathless tree \u2014   \nHim you chasten, that is He!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Whose Pink career may have a close**\n\nWhose Pink career may have a close  \nPortentous as our own, who knows?  \nTo imitate these Neighbors fleet  \nIn awe and innocence, were meet.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**After all Birds have been investigated and laid aside \u2014**\n\nAfter all Birds have been investigated and laid aside \u2014   \nNature imparts the little Blue-Bird \u2014 assured  \nHer conscientious Voice will soar unmoved  \nAbove ostensible Vicissitude.\n\nFirst at the March \u2014 competing with the Wind \u2014   \nHer panting note exalts us \u2014 like a friend \u2014   \nLast to adhere when Summer cleaves away \u2014   \nElegy of Integrity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She laid her docile Crescent down**\n\nShe laid her docile Crescent down  \nAnd this confiding Stone  \nStill states to Dates that have forgot  \nThe News that she is gone \u2014\n\nSo constant to its stolid trust,  \nThe Shaft that never knew \u2014   \nIt shames the Constancy that fled  \nBefore its emblem flew \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It sounded as if the Streets were running**\n\nIt sounded as if the Streets were running  \nAnd then \u2014 the Streets stood still \u2014   \nEclipse \u2014 was all we could see at the Window  \nAnd Awe \u2014 was all we could feel.\n\nBy and by \u2014 the boldest stole out of his Covert  \nTo see if Time was there \u2014   \nNature was in an Opal Apron,  \nMixing fresher Air.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I have no Life but this \u2014**\n\nI have no Life but this \u2014   \nTo lead it here \u2014   \nNor any Death \u2014 but lest  \nDispelled from there \u2014\n\nNor tie to Earths to come \u2014   \nNor Action new \u2014   \nExcept through this extent \u2014   \nThe Realm of you \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Perhaps they do not go so far**\n\nPerhaps they do not go so far  \nAs we who stay, suppose \u2014   \nPerhaps come closer, for the lapse  \nOf their corporeal clothes \u2014\n\nIt may be know so certainly  \nHow short we have to fear  \nThat comprehension antedates  \nAnd estimates us there \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**What mystery pervades a well!**\n\nWhat mystery pervades a well!  \nThat water lives so far \u2014   \nA neighbor from another world  \nResiding in a jar\n\nWhose limit none have ever seen,  \nBut just his lid of glass \u2014   \nLike looking every time you please  \nIn an abyss's face!\n\nThe grass does not appear afraid,  \nI often wonder he  \nCan stand so close and look so bold  \nAt what is awe to me.\n\nRelated somehow they may be,  \nThe sedge stands next the sea \u2014   \nWhere he is floorless  \nAnd does no timidity betray\n\nBut nature is a stranger yet;  \nThe ones that cite her most  \nHave never passed her haunted house,  \nNor simplified her ghost.\n\nTo pity those that know her not  \nIs helped by the regret  \nThat those who know her, know her less  \nThe nearer her they get.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To own a Susan of my own**\n\nTo own a Susan of my own  \nIs of itself a Bliss \u2014   \nWhatever Realm I forfeit, Lord,  \nContinue me in this!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To the stanch Dust**\n\nTo the stanch Dust  \nWe safe commit thee \u2014   \nTongue if it hath,  \nInviolate to thee \u2014   \nSilence \u2014 denote \u2014   \nAnd Sanctity \u2014 enforce thee \u2014   \nPassenger \u2014 of Infinity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Maker \u2014 let me be**\n\nMy Maker \u2014 let me be  \nEnamored most of thee \u2014   \nBut nearer this  \nI more should miss \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**March is the Month of Expectation.**\n\nMarch is the Month of Expectation.  \nThe things we do not know \u2014   \nThe Persons of prognostication  \nAre coming now \u2014   \nWe try to show becoming firmness \u2014   \nBut pompous Joy  \nBetrays us, as his first Betrothal  \nBetrays a Boy.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Bees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles \u2014**\n\nBees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles \u2014   \nBuccaneers of Buzz.  \nRide abroad in ostentation  \nAnd subsist on Fuzz.\n\nFuzz ordained \u2014 not Fuzz contingent \u2014   \nMarrows of the Hill.  \nJugs \u2014 a Universe's fracture  \nCould not jar or spill.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No Passenger was known to flee \u2014**\n\nNo Passenger was known to flee \u2014   \nThat lodged a night in memory \u2014   \nThat wily \u2014 subterranean Inn  \nContrives that none go out again \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Field of Stubble, lying sere**\n\nA Field of Stubble, lying sere  \nBeneath the second Sun \u2014   \nIts Toils to Brindled People thrust \u2014   \nIts Triumphs \u2014 to the Bin \u2014   \nAccosted by a timid Bird  \nIrresolute of Alms \u2014   \nIs often seen \u2014 but seldom felt,  \nOn our New England Farms \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Fact that Earth is Heaven \u2014**\n\nThe Fact that Earth is Heaven \u2014   \nWhether Heaven is Heaven or not  \nIf not an Affidavit  \nOf that specific Spot  \nNot only must confirm us  \nThat it is not for us  \nBut that it would affront us  \nTo dwell in such a place \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Could mortal lip divine**\n\nCould mortal lip divine  \nThe undeveloped Freight  \nOf a delivered syllable  \n'Twould crumble with the weight.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I shall not murmur if at last**\n\nI shall not murmur if at last  \nThe ones I loved below  \nPermission have to understand  \nFor what I shunned them so \u2014   \nDivulging it would rest my Heart  \nBut it would ravage theirs \u2014   \nWhy, Katie, Treason has a Voice \u2014   \nBut mine \u2014 dispels \u2014 in Tears.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Paradise' existence**\n\nOf Paradise' existence  \nAll we know  \nIs the uncertain certainty \u2014   \nBut its vicinity infer,  \nBy its Bisecting  \nMessenger \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Shame is the shawl of Pink**\n\nShame is the shawl of Pink  \nIn which we wrap the Soul  \nTo keep it from infesting Eyes \u2014   \nThe elemental Veil  \nWhich helpless Nature drops  \nWhen pushed upon a scene  \nRepugnant to her probity \u2014   \nShame is the tint divine.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sweet Skepticism of the Heart \u2014**\n\nSweet Skepticism of the Heart \u2014   \nThat knows \u2014 and does not know \u2014   \nAnd tosses like a Fleet of Balm \u2014   \nAffronted by the snow \u2014   \nInvites and then retards the Truth  \nLest Certainty be sere  \nCompared with the delicious throe  \nOf transport thrilled with Fear \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Unworthy of her Breast**\n\nUnworthy of her Breast  \nThough by that scathing test  \nWhat Soul survive?  \nBy her exacting light  \nHow counterfeit the white  \nWe chiefly have!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A wild Blue sky abreast of Winds**\n\nA wild Blue sky abreast of Winds  \nThat threatened it \u2014 did run  \nAnd crouched behind his Yellow Door  \nWas the defiant sun \u2014   \nSome conflict with those upper friends  \nSo genial in the main  \nThat we deplore peculiarly  \nTheir arrogant campaign \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Crisis is sweet and yet the Heart**\n\nCrisis is sweet and yet the Heart  \nUpon the hither side  \nHas Dowers of Prospective  \nTo Denizens denied\n\nInquire of the closing Rose  \nWhich rapture she preferred  \nAnd she will point you sighing  \nTo her rescinded Bud.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How Human Nature dotes**\n\nHow Human Nature dotes  \nOn what it can't detect.  \nThe moment that a Plot is plumbed  \nProspective is extinct \u2014\n\nProspective is the friend  \nReserved for us to know  \nWhen Constancy is clarified  \nOf Curiosity \u2014\n\nOf subjects that resist  \nRedoubtablest is this  \nWhere go we \u2014   \nGo we anywhere  \nCreation after this?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How lonesome the Wind must feel Nights \u2014**\n\nHow lonesome the Wind must feel Nights \u2014   \nWhen people have put out the Lights  \nAnd everything that has an Inn  \nCloses the shutter and goes in \u2014\n\nHow pompous the Wind must feel Noons  \nStepping to incorporeal Tunes  \nCorrecting errors of the sky  \nAnd clarifying scenery\n\nHow mighty the Wind must feel Morns  \nEncamping on a thousand dawns  \nEspousing each and spurning all  \nThen soaring to his Temple Tall \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It was a quiet seeming Day \u2014**\n\nIt was a quiet seeming Day \u2014   \nThere was no harm in earth or sky \u2014   \nTill with the closing sun  \nThere strayed an accidental Red  \nA Strolling Hue, one would have said  \nTo westward of the Town \u2014\n\nBut when the Earth began to jar  \nAnd Houses vanished with a roar  \nAnd Human Nature hid  \nWe comprehended by the Awe  \nAs those that Dissolution saw  \nThe Poppy in the Cloud\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One Joy of so much anguish**\n\nOne Joy of so much anguish  \nSweet nature has for me  \nI shun it as I do Despair  \nOr dear iniquity \u2014   \nWhy Birds, a Summer morning  \nBefore the Quick of Day  \nShould stab my ravished spirit  \nWith Dirks of Melody  \nIs part of an inquiry  \nThat will receive reply  \nWhen Flesh and Spirit sunder  \nIn Death's Immediately \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Such are the inlets of the mind \u2014**\n\nSuch are the inlets of the mind \u2014   \nHis outlets \u2014 would you see  \nAscend with me the eminence  \nOf immortality \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Summer has two Beginnings \u2014**\n\nSummer has two Beginnings \u2014   \nBeginning once in June \u2014   \nBeginning in October  \nAffectingly again \u2014\n\nWithout, perhaps, the Riot  \nBut graphicker for Grace \u2014   \nAs finer is a going  \nThan a remaining Face \u2014\n\nDeparting then \u2014 forever \u2014   \nForever \u2014 until May \u2014   \nForever is deciduous  \nExcept to those who die \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The fairest Home I ever knew**\n\nThe fairest Home I ever knew  \nWas founded in an Hour  \nBy Parties also that I knew  \nA spider and a Flower \u2014   \nA manse of mechlin and of Floes \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Gentian has a parched Corolla \u2014**\n\nThe Gentian has a parched Corolla \u2014   \nLike azure dried  \n'Tis Nature's buoyant juices  \nBeatified \u2014   \nWithout a vaunt or sheen  \nAs casual as Rain  \nAnd as benign \u2014\n\nWhen most is part \u2014 it comes \u2014   \nNor isolate it seems  \nIts Bond its Friend \u2014   \nTo fill its Fringed career  \nAnd aid an aged Year  \nAbundant end \u2014\n\nIts lot \u2014 were it forgot \u2014   \nThis Truth endear \u2014   \nFidelity is gain  \nCreation is o'er \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The inundation of the Spring**\n\nThe inundation of the Spring  \nEnlarges every soul \u2014   \nIt sweeps the tenement away  \nBut leaves the Water whole \u2014\n\nIn which the soul at first estranged \u2014   \nSeeks faintly for its shore  \nBut acclimated \u2014 pines no more  \nFor that Peninsula \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The pretty Rain from those sweet Eaves**\n\nThe pretty Rain from those sweet Eaves  \nHer unintending Eyes \u2014   \nTook her own Heart, including ours,  \nBy innocent Surprise \u2014\n\nThe wrestle in her simple Throat  \nTo hold the feeling down  \nThat vanquished her \u2014 defeated Feat \u2014   \nWas Fervor's sudden Crown \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To earn it by disdaining it**\n\nTo earn it by disdaining it  \nIs Fame's consummate Fee \u2014   \nHe loves what spurns him \u2014   \nLook behind \u2014 He is pursuing thee.\n\nSo let us gather \u2014 every Day \u2014   \nThe Aggregate of  \nLife's Bouquet  \nBe Honor and not shame \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Water makes many Beds**\n\nWater makes many Beds  \nFor those averse to sleep \u2014   \nIts awful chamber open stands \u2014   \nIts Curtains blandly sweep \u2014   \nAbhorrent is the Rest  \nIn undulating Rooms  \nWhose Amplitude no end invades \u2014   \nWhose Axis never comes.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We shun because we prize her Face**\n\nWe shun because we prize her Face  \nLest sight's ineffable disgrace  \nOur Adoration stain\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Who never wanted \u2014 maddest Joy**\n\nWho never wanted \u2014 maddest Joy  \nRemains to him unknown \u2014   \nThe Banquet of Abstemiousness  \nDefaces that of Wine \u2014\n\nWithin its reach, though yet ungrasped  \nDesire's perfect Goal \u2014   \nNo nearer \u2014 lest the Actual \u2014   \nShould disentrall thy soul \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**With Pinions of Disdain**\n\nWith Pinions of Disdain  \nThe soul can farther fly  \nThan any feather specified  \nin Ornithology \u2014   \nIt wafts this sordid Flesh  \nBeyond its dull \u2014 control  \nAnd during its electric gale \u2014   \nThe body is a soul \u2014   \ninstructing by the same \u2014   \nHow little work it be \u2014   \nTo put off filaments like this  \nfor immortality\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Spurn the temerity \u2014**\n\nSpurn the temerity \u2014   \nRashness of Calvary \u2014   \nGay were Gethsemane  \nKnew we of Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How brittle are the Piers**\n\nHow brittle are the Piers  \nOn which our Faith doth tread \u2014   \nNo Bridge below doth totter so \u2014   \nYet none hath such a Crowd.\n\nIt is as old as God \u2014   \nIndeed \u2014 'twas built by him \u2014   \nHe sent his Son to test the Plank,  \nAnd he pronounced it firm.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Go not too near a House of Rose \u2014**\n\nGo not too near a House of Rose \u2014   \nThe depredation of a Breeze \u2014   \nOr inundation of a Dew  \nAlarms its walls away \u2014\n\nNor try to tie the Butterfly,  \nNor climb the Bars of Ecstasy,  \nIn insecurity to lie  \nIs Joy's insuring quality.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not that he goes \u2014 we love him more**\n\nNot that he goes \u2014 we love him more  \nWho led us while he stayed.  \nBeyond earth's trafficking frontier,  \nFor what he moved, he made.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Than Heaven more remote,**\n\nThan Heaven more remote,  \nFor Heaven is the root,  \nBut these the flitted seed.  \nMore flown indeed  \nThan ones that never were,  \nOr those that hide, and are.\n\nWhat madness, by their side,  \nA vision to provide  \nOf future days  \nThey cannot praise.\n\nMy soul, to find them, come,  \nThey cannot call, they're dumb,  \nNor prove, nor woo,  \nBut that they have abode  \nIs absolute as God,  \nAnd instant, too.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Dew sufficed itself \u2014**\n\nA Dew sufficed itself \u2014   \nAnd satisfied a Leaf  \nAnd felt \"how vast a destiny\" \u2014   \n\"How trivial is Life!\"\n\nThe Sun went out to work \u2014   \nThe Day went out to play  \nAnd not again that Dew be seen  \nBy Physiognomy\n\nWhether by Day Abducted  \nOr emptied by the Sun  \nInto the Sea in passing  \nEternally unknown\n\nAttested to this Day  \nThat awful Tragedy  \nBy Transport's instability  \nAnd Doom's celerity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Behold this little Bane \u2014**\n\nBehold this little Bane \u2014   \nThe Boon of all alive \u2014   \nAs common as it is unknown  \nThe name of it is Love \u2014\n\nTo lack of it is Woe \u2014   \nTo own of it is Wound \u2014   \nNot elsewhere \u2014 if in Paradise  \nIts Tantamount be found \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How ruthless are the gentle \u2014**\n\nHow ruthless are the gentle \u2014   \nHow cruel are the kind \u2014   \nGod broke his contract to his Lamb  \nTo qualify the Wind \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The healed Heart shows its shallow scar**\n\nThe healed Heart shows its shallow scar  \nWith confidential moan \u2014   \nNot mended by Mortality  \nAre Fabrics truly torn \u2014   \nTo go its convalescent way  \nSo shameless is to see  \nMore genuine were Perfidy  \nThan such Fidelity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**These Fevered Days \u2014 to take them to the Forest**\n\nThese Fevered Days \u2014 to take them to the Forest  \nWhere Waters cool around the mosses crawl \u2014   \nAnd shade is all that devastates the stillness  \nSeems it sometimes this would be all \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To mend each tattered Faith**\n\nTo mend each tattered Faith  \nThere is a needle fair  \nThough no appearance indicate \u2014   \n'Tis threaded in the Air \u2014\n\nAnd though it do not wear  \nAs if it never Tore  \n'Tis very comfortable indeed  \nAnd spacious as before \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A chilly Peace infests the Grass**\n\nA chilly Peace infests the Grass  \nThe Sun respectful lies \u2014   \nNot any Trance of industry  \nThese shadows scrutinize \u2014\n\nWhose Allies go no more astray  \nFor service or for Glee \u2014   \nBut all mankind deliver here  \nFrom whatsoever sea \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A little Snow was here and there**\n\nA little Snow was here and there  \nDisseminated in her Hair \u2014   \nSince she and I had met and played  \nDecade had gathered to Decade \u2014\n\nBut Time had added not obtained  \nImpregnable the Rose  \nFor summer too indelible  \nToo obdurate for Snows \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Death is the supple Suitor**\n\nDeath is the supple Suitor  \nThat wins at last \u2014   \nIt is a stealthy Wooing  \nConducted first  \nBy pallid innuendoes  \nAnd dim approach  \nBut brave at last with Bugles  \nAnd a bisected Coach  \nIt bears away in triumph  \nTo Troth unknown  \nAnd Kindred as responsive  \nAs Porcelain.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**His Mind like Fabrics of the East**\n\nHis Mind like Fabrics of the East  \nDisplayed to the despair  \nOf everyone but here and there  \nAn humble Purchaser \u2014   \nFor though his price was not of Gold \u2014   \nMore arduous there is \u2014   \nThat one should comprehend the worth  \nWas all the price there was \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How good his Lava Bed,**\n\nHow good his Lava Bed,  \nTo this laborious Boy \u2014   \nWho must be up to call the World  \nAnd dress the sleepy Day \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How soft a Caterpillar steps \u2014**\n\nHow soft a Caterpillar steps \u2014   \nI find one on my Hand  \nFrom such a velvet world it comes  \nSuch plushes at command  \nIts soundless travels just arrest  \nMy slow \u2014 terrestrial eye  \nIntent upon its own career  \nWhat use has it for me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I thought the Train would never come \u2014**\n\nI thought the Train would never come \u2014   \nHow slow the whistle sang \u2014   \nI don't believe a peevish Bird  \nSo whimpered for the Spring \u2014   \nI taught my Heart a hundred times  \nPrecisely what to say \u2014   \nProvoking Lover, when you came  \nIts Treatise flew away  \nTo hide my strategy too late  \nTo wiser be too soon \u2014   \nFor miseries so halcyon  \nThe happiness atone \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Road was lit with Moon and star \u2014**\n\nThe Road was lit with Moon and star \u2014   \nThe Trees were bright and still \u2014   \nDescried I \u2014 by the distant Light  \nA Traveller on a Hill \u2014   \nTo magic Perpendiculars  \nAscending, though Terrene \u2014   \nUnknown his shimmering ultimate \u2014   \nBut he indorsed the sheen \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Whoever disenchants**\n\nWhoever disenchants  \nA single Human soul  \nBy failure of irreverence  \nIs guilty of the whole.\n\nAs guileless as a Bird  \nAs graphic as a star  \nTill the suggestion sinister  \nThings are not what they are \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Your thoughts don't have words every day**\n\nYour thoughts don't have words every day  \nThey come a single time  \nLike signal esoteric sips  \nOf the communion Wine  \nWhich while you taste so native seems  \nSo easy so to be  \nYou cannot comprehend its price  \nNor its infrequency\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Counterfeit \u2014 a Plated Person \u2014**\n\nA Counterfeit \u2014 a Plated Person \u2014   \nI would not be \u2014   \nWhatever strata of Iniquity  \nMy Nature underlie \u2014   \nTruth is good Health \u2014 and Safety, and the Sky.  \nHow meagre, what an Exile \u2014 is a Lie,  \nAnd Vocal \u2014 when we die \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Those not live yet**\n\nThose not live yet  \nWho doubt to live again \u2014   \n\"Again\" is of a twice  \nBut this \u2014 is one \u2014   \nThe Ship beneath the Draw  \nAground \u2014 is he?  \nDeath \u2014 so \u2014 the Hyphen of the Sea \u2014   \nDeep is the Schedule  \nOf the Disk to be \u2014   \nCostumeless Consciousness \u2014   \nThat is he \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Opinion is a flitting thing,**\n\nOpinion is a flitting thing,  \nBut Truth, outlasts the Sun \u2014   \nIf then we cannot own them both \u2014   \nPossess the oldest one \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So gay a Flower**\n\nSo gay a Flower  \nBereaves the Mind  \nAs if it were a Woe \u2014   \nIs Beauty an Affliction \u2014 then?  \nTradition ought to know \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It stole along so stealthy**\n\nIt stole along so stealthy  \nSuspicion it was done  \nWas dim as to the wealthy  \nBeginning not to own \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Time's wily Chargers will not wait**\n\nTime's wily Chargers will not wait  \nAt any Gate but Woe's \u2014   \nBut there \u2014 so gloat to hesitate  \nThey will not stir for blows \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Belshazzar had a Letter \u2014**\n\nBELSHAZZAR had a letter, \u2014   \nHe never had but one ;  \nBelshazzar's correspondent  \nConcluded and begun  \nIn that immortal copy  \nThe conscience of us all  \nCan read without its glasses  \nOn revelation's wall.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**His Cheek is his Biographer \u2014**\n\nHis Cheek is his Biographer \u2014   \nAs long as he can blush  \nPerdition is Opprobrium \u2014   \nPast that, he sins in peace \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Heavenly Father \u2014 take to thee**\n\n\"Heavenly Father\" \u2014 take to thee  \nThe supreme iniquity  \nFashioned by thy candid Hand  \nIn a moment contraband \u2014   \nThough to trust us \u2014 seems to us  \nMore respectful \u2014 \"We are Dust\" \u2014   \nWe apologize to thee  \nFor thine own Duplicity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We knew not that we were to live \u2014**\n\nWe knew not that we were to live \u2014   \nNor when \u2014 we are to die \u2014   \nOur ignorance \u2014 our cuirass is \u2014   \nWe wear Mortality  \nAs lightly as an Option Gown  \nTill asked to take it off \u2014   \nBy his intrusion, God is known \u2014   \nIt is the same with Life \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Route of Evanescence**\n\nA Route of Evanescence  \nWith a revolving Wheel \u2014   \nA Resonance of Emerald \u2014   \nA Rush of Cochineal \u2014   \nAnd every Blossom on the Bush  \nAdjusts its tumbled Head \u2014   \nThe mail from Tunis, probably,  \nAn easy Morning's Ride \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One thing of it we borrow**\n\nOne thing of it we borrow  \nAnd promise to return \u2014   \nThe Booty and the Sorrow  \nIts Sweetness to have known \u2014   \nOne thing of it we covet \u2014   \nThe power to forget \u2014   \nThe Anguish of the Avarice  \nDefrays the Dross of it \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Before you thought of Spring**\n\nBefore you thought of Spring  \nExcept as a Surmise  \nYou see \u2014 God bless his suddenness \u2014   \nA Fellow in the Skies  \nOf independent Hues  \nA little weather worn  \nInspiriting habiliments  \nOf Indigo and Brown \u2014   \nWith specimens of Song  \nAs if for you to choose \u2014   \nDiscretion in the interval  \nWith gay delays he goes  \nTo some superior Tree  \nWithout a single Leaf  \nAnd shouts for joy to Nobody  \nBut his seraphic self \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One of the ones that Midas touched**\n\nOne of the ones that Midas touched  \nWho failed to touch us all  \nWas that confiding Prodigal  \nThe reeling Oriole \u2014\n\nSo drunk he disavows it  \nWith badinage divine \u2014   \nSo dazzling we mistake him  \nFor an alighting Mine \u2014\n\nA Pleader \u2014 a Dissembler \u2014   \nAn Epicure \u2014 a Thief \u2014   \nBetimes an Oratorio \u2014   \nAn Ecstasy in chief \u2014\n\nThe Jesuit of Orchards  \nHe cheats as he enchants  \nOf an entire Attar  \nFor his decamping wants \u2014\n\nThe splendor of a Burmah  \nThe Meteor of Birds,  \nDeparting like a Pageant  \nOf Ballads and of Bards \u2014\n\nI never thought that Jason sought  \nFor any Golden Fleece  \nBut then I am a rural man  \nWith thoughts that make for Peace \u2014\n\nBut if there were a Jason,  \nTradition bear with me  \nBehold his lost Aggrandizement  \nUpon the Apple Tree \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A little overflowing word**\n\nA little overflowing word  \nThat any, hearing, had inferred  \nFor Ardor or for Tears,  \nThough Generations pass away,  \nTraditions ripen and decay,  \nAs eloquent appears \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A winged spark doth soar about \u2014**\n\nA winged spark doth soar about \u2014   \nI never met it near  \nFor Lightning it is oft mistook  \nWhen nights are hot and sere \u2014\n\nIts twinkling Travels it pursues  \nAbove the Haunts of men \u2014   \nA speck of Rapture \u2014 first perceived  \nBy feeling it is gone \u2014   \nRekindled by some action quaint\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If wrecked upon the Shoal of Thought**\n\nIf wrecked upon the Shoal of Thought  \nHow is it with the Sea?  \nThe only Vessel that is shunned  \nIs safe \u2014 Simplicity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sweets of Pillage, can be known**\n\nThe Sweets of Pillage, can be known  \nTo no one but the Thief \u2014   \nCompassion for Integrity  \nIs his divinest Grief \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Their Barricade against the Sky**\n\nTheir Barricade against the Sky  \nThe martial Trees withdraw  \nAnd with a Flag at every turn  \nTheir Armies are no more.\n\nWhat Russet Halts in Nature's March  \nThey indicate or cause  \nAn inference of Mexico  \nEffaces the Surmise \u2014\n\nRecurrent to the After Mind  \nThat Massacre of Air \u2014   \nThe Wound that was not Wound nor Scar  \nBut Holidays of War\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To see the Summer Sky**\n\nTo see the Summer Sky  \nIs Poetry, though never in a Book it lie \u2014   \nTrue Poems flee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We talked with each other about each other**\n\nWe talked with each other about each other  \nThough neither of us spoke \u2014   \nWe were listening to the seconds' Races  \nAnd the Hoofs of the Clock \u2014   \nPausing in Front of our Palsied Faces  \nTime compassion took \u2014   \nArks of Reprieve he offered to us \u2014   \nArarats \u2014 we took \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Estranged from Beauty \u2014 none can be \u2014**\n\nEstranged from Beauty \u2014 none can be \u2014   \nFor Beauty is Infinity \u2014   \nAnd power to be finite ceased  \nBefore Identity was leased.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Fame is the one that does not stay \u2014**\n\nFame is the one that does not stay \u2014   \nIts occupant must die  \nOr out of sight of estimate  \nAscend incessantly \u2014   \nOr be that most insolvent thing  \nA Lightning in the Germ \u2014   \nElectrical the embryo  \nBut we demand the Flame\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**His voice decrepit was with Joy \u2014**\n\nHis voice decrepit was with Joy \u2014   \nHer words did totter so  \nHow old the News of Love must be  \nTo make Lips elderly  \nThat purled a moment since with Glee \u2014   \nIs it Delight or Woe \u2014   \nOr Terror \u2014 that do decorate  \nThis livid interview \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How destitute is he**\n\nHow destitute is he  \nWhose Gold is firm  \nWho finds it every time  \nThe small stale Sum \u2014   \nWhen Love with but a Pence  \nWill so display  \nAs is a disrespect  \nTo India.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Look back on Time, with kindly eyes \u2014**\n\nLOOK back on time with kindly eyes,  \nHe doubtless did his best ;  \nHow softly sinks his trembling sun  \nIn human nature's west !\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Devil \u2014 had he fidelity**\n\nThe Devil \u2014 had he fidelity  \nWould be the best friend \u2014   \nBecause he has ability \u2014   \nBut Devils cannot mend \u2014   \nPerfidy is the virtue  \nThat would but he resign  \nThe Devil \u2014 without question  \nWere thoroughly divine\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The fascinating chill that music leaves**\n\nThe fascinating chill that music leaves  \nIs Earth's corroboration  \nOf Ecstasy's impediment \u2014   \n'Tis Rapture's germination  \nIn timid and tumultuous soil  \nA fine \u2014 estranging creature \u2014   \nTo something upper wooing us  \nBut not to our Creator \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The way Hope builds his House**\n\nThe way Hope builds his House  \nIt is not with a sill \u2014   \nNor Rafter \u2014 has that Edifice  \nBut only Pinnacle \u2014\n\nAbode in as supreme  \nThis superficies  \nAs if it were of Ledges smit  \nOr mortised with the Laws \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis whiter than an Indian Pipe \u2014**\n\n'Tis whiter than an Indian Pipe \u2014   \n'Tis dimmer than a Lace \u2014   \nNo stature has it, like a Fog  \nWhen you approach the place \u2014   \nNor any voice imply it here  \nOr intimate it there  \nA spirit \u2014 how doth it accost \u2014   \nWhat function hath the Air?  \nThis limitless Hyperbole  \nEach one of us shall be \u2014   \n'Tis Drama \u2014 if Hypothesis  \nIt be not Tragedy \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Robin is a Gabriel**\n\nThe Robin is a Gabriel  \nIn humble circumstances \u2014   \nHis Dress denotes him socially,  \nOf Transport's Working Classes \u2014   \nHe has the punctuality  \nOf the New England Farmer \u2014   \nThe same oblique integrity,  \nA Vista vastly warmer \u2014\n\nA small but sturdy Residence  \nA self denying Household,  \nThe Guests of Perspicacity  \nAre all that cross his Threshold \u2014   \nAs covert as a Fugitive,  \nCajoling Consternation  \nBy Ditties to the Enemy  \nAnd Sylvan Punctuation \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We shall find the Cube of the Rainbow.**\n\nWe shall find the Cube of the Rainbow.  \nOf that, there is no doubt.  \nBut the Arc of a Lover's conjecture  \nEludes the finding out.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Love is done when Love's begun,**\n\nLove is done when Love's begun,  \nSages say,  \nBut have Sages known?  \nTruth adjourn your Boon  \nWithout Day.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Her spirit rose to such a height**\n\nHer spirit rose to such a height  \nHer countenance it did inflate  \nLike one that fed on awe.  \nMore prudent to assault the dawn  \nThan merit the ethereal scorn  \nThat effervesced from her.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Savior must have been**\n\nThe Savior must have been  \nA docile Gentleman \u2014   \nTo come so far so cold a Day  \nFor little Fellowmen \u2014\n\nThe Road to Bethlehem  \nSince He and I were Boys  \nWas leveled, but for that 'twould be  \nA rugged billion Miles \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Birthday of but a single pang**\n\nBirthday of but a single pang  \nThat there are less to come \u2014   \nAfflictive is the Adjective  \nBut affluent the doom \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Dimple in the Tomb**\n\nA Dimple in the Tomb  \nMakes that ferocious Room  \nA Home \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Face in evanescence lain**\n\nThe Face in evanescence lain  \nIs more distinct than ours \u2014   \nAnd ours surrendered for its sake  \nAs Capsules are for Flower's \u2014   \nOr is it the confiding sheen  \nDissenting to enamor us  \nOf Detriment divine?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Road to Paradise is plain,**\n\nThe Road to Paradise is plain,  \nAnd holds scarce one.  \nNot that it is not firm  \nBut we presume  \nA Dimpled Road  \nIs more preferred.  \nThe Belles of Paradise are few \u2014   \nNot me \u2014 nor you \u2014   \nBut unsuspected things \u2014   \nMines have no Wings.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**And with what body do they come? \u2014**\n\n\"And with what body do they come?\" \u2014   \nThen they do come \u2014 Rejoice!  \nWhat Door \u2014 What Hour \u2014 Run \u2014 run \u2014 My Soul!  \nIlluminate the House!\n\n\"Body!\" Then real \u2014 a Face and Eyes \u2014   \nTo know that it is them!  \nPaul knew the Man that knew the News \u2014   \nHe passed through Bethlehem \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Could that sweet Darkness where they dwell**\n\nCould that sweet Darkness where they dwell  \nBe once disclosed to us  \nThe clamor for their loveliness  \nWould burst the Loneliness \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The competitions of the sky**\n\nThe competitions of the sky  \nCorrodeless ply.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Thrill came slowly like a Boom for**\n\nThe Thrill came slowly like a Boom for  \nCenturies delayed  \nIts fitness growing like the Flood  \nIn sumptuous solitude \u2014   \nThe desolations only missed  \nWhile Rapture changed its Dress  \nAnd stood amazed before the Change  \nIn ravished Holiness \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**All that I do**\n\nAll that I do  \nIs in review  \nTo his enamored mind  \nI know his eye  \nWhere e'er I ply  \nIs pushing close behind  \nNot any Port  \nNor any flight  \nBut he doth there preside  \nWhat omnipresence lies in wait  \nFor her to be a Bride\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Facts by our side are never sudden**\n\nFacts by our side are never sudden  \nUntil they look around  \nAnd then they scare us like a spectre  \nProtruding from the Ground \u2014\n\nThe height of our portentous Neighbor  \nWe never know \u2014   \nTill summoned to his recognition  \nBy an Adieu \u2014\n\nAdieu for whence  \nThe sage cannot conjecture  \nThe bravest die  \nAs ignorant of their resumption  \nAs you or I \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Glass was the Street \u2014 in tinsel Peril**\n\nGlass was the Street \u2014 in tinsel Peril  \nTree and Traveller stood \u2014   \nFilled was the Air with merry venture  \nHearty with Boys the Road \u2014\n\nShot the lithe Sleds like shod vibrations  \nEmphasized and gone  \nIt is the Past's supreme italic  \nMakes this Present mean \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How firm Eternity must look**\n\nHow firm Eternity must look  \nTo crumbling men like me  \nThe only Adamant Estate  \nIn all Identity \u2014\n\nHow mighty to the insecure  \nThy Physiognomy  \nTo whom not any Face cohere \u2014   \nUnless concealed in thee\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It came his turn to beg \u2014**\n\nIt came his turn to beg \u2014   \nThe begging for the life  \nIs different from another Alms  \n'Tis Penury in Chief \u2014\n\nI scanned his narrow realm  \nI gave him leave to live  \nLest Gratitude revive the snake  \nThough smuggled his reprieve\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Its little Ether Hood**\n\nIts little Ether Hood  \nDoth sit upon its Head \u2014   \nThe millinery supple  \nOf the sagacious God \u2014\n\nTill when it slip away  \nA nothing at a time \u2014   \nAnd Dandelion's Drama  \nExpires in a stem.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I saw the wind within her**\n\nI saw the wind within her  \nI knew it blew for me \u2014   \nBut she must buy my shelter  \nI asked Humility\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**More than the Grave is closed to me \u2014**\n\nMore than the Grave is closed to me \u2014   \nThe Grave and that Eternity  \nTo which the Grave adheres \u2014   \nI cling to nowhere till I fall \u2014   \nThe Crash of nothing, yet of all \u2014   \nHow similar appears \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of whom so dear**\n\nOf whom so dear  \nThe name to hear  \nIllumines with a Glow  \nAs intimate \u2014 as fugitive  \nAs Sunset on the snow \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**She could not live upon the Past**\n\nShe could not live upon the Past  \nThe Present did not know her  \nAnd so she sought this sweet at last  \nAnd nature gently owned her  \nThe mother that has not a knell  \nfor either Duke or Robin\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Summer is shorter than any one \u2014**\n\nSummer is shorter than any one \u2014   \nLife is shorter than Summer \u2014   \nSeventy Years is spent as quick  \nAs an only Dollar \u2014\n\nSorrow \u2014 now \u2014 is polite \u2014 and stays \u2014   \nSee how well we spurn him \u2014   \nEqually to abhor Delight \u2014   \nEqually retain him \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Pile of Years is not so high**\n\nThe Pile of Years is not so high  \nAs when you came before  \nBut it is rising every Day  \nFrom recollection's Floor  \nAnd while by standing on my Heart  \nI still can reach the top  \nEfface the mountain with your face  \nAnd catch me ere I drop\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**You cannot make Remembrance grow**\n\nYou cannot make Remembrance grow  \nWhen it has lost its Root \u2014   \nThe tightening the Soil around  \nAnd setting it upright  \nDeceives perhaps the Universe  \nBut not retrieves the Plant \u2014   \nReal Memory, like Cedar Feet  \nIs shod with Adamant \u2014   \nNor can you cut Remembrance down  \nWhen it shall once have grown \u2014   \nIts Iron Buds will sprout anew  \nHowever overthrown \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Mine Enemy is growing old \u2014**\n\nMine Enemy is growing old \u2014   \nI have at last Revenge \u2014   \nThe Palate of the Hate departs \u2014   \nIf any would avenge\n\nLet him be quick \u2014 the Viand flits \u2014   \nIt is a faded Meat \u2014   \nAnger as soon as fed is dead \u2014   \n'Tis starving makes it fat \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How happy is the little Stone**\n\nHow happy is the little Stone  \nThat rambles in the Road alone,  \nAnd doesn't care about Careers  \nAnd Exigencies never fears \u2014   \nWhose Coat of elemental Brown  \nA passing Universe put on,  \nAnd independent as the Sun  \nAssociates or glows alone,  \nFulfilling absolute Decree  \nIn casual simplicity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My country need not change her gown,**\n\nMy country need not change her gown,  \nHer triple suit as sweet  \nAs when 'twas cut at Lexington,  \nAnd first pronounced \"a fit.\"\n\nGreat Britain disapproves, \"the stars\";  \nDisparagement discreet, \u2014   \nThere's something in their attitude  \nThat taunts her bayonet.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**All things swept sole away**\n\nAll things swept sole away  \nThis \u2014 is immensity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Go travelling with us!**\n\n\"Go travelling with us!\"  \nHer travels daily be  \nBy routes of ecstasy  \nTo Evening's Sea \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**An Antiquated Tree**\n\nAn Antiquated Tree  \nIs cherished of the Crow  \nBecause that Junior Foliage is disrespectful now  \nTo venerable Birds  \nWhose Corporation Coat  \nWould decorate Oblivion's  \nRemotest Consulate.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Things that never can come back, are several \u2014**\n\nThe Things that never can come back, are several \u2014   \nChildhood \u2014 some forms of Hope \u2014 the Dead \u2014   \nThough Joys \u2014 like Men \u2014 may sometimes make a Journey \u2014   \nAnd still abide \u2014   \nWe do not mourn for Traveler, or Sailor,  \nTheir Routes are fair \u2014   \nBut think enlarged of all that they will tell us  \nReturning here \u2014   \n\"Here!\" There are typic \"Heres\" \u2014   \nForetold Locations \u2014   \nThe Spirit does not stand \u2014   \nHimself \u2014 at whatsoever Fathom  \nHis Native Land \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No Autumn's intercepting Chill**\n\nNo Autumn's intercepting Chill  \nAppalls this Tropic Breast \u2014   \nBut African Exuberance  \nAnd Asiatic rest.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How much of Source escapes with thee \u2014**\n\nHow much of Source escapes with thee \u2014   \nHow chief thy sessions be \u2014   \nFor thou hast borne a universe  \nEntirely away.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not seeing, still we know \u2014**\n\nNot seeing, still we know \u2014   \nNot knowing, guess \u2014   \nNot guessing, smile and hide  \nAnd half caress \u2014\n\nAnd quake \u2014 and turn away,  \nSeraphic fear \u2014   \nIs Eden's innuendo  \n\"If you dare\"?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Dandelion's pallid tube**\n\nThe Dandelion's pallid tube  \nAstonishes the Grass,  \nAnd Winter instantly becomes  \nAn infinite Alas \u2014\n\nThe tube uplifts a signal Bud  \nAnd then a shouting Flower, \u2014   \nThe Proclamation of the Suns  \nThat sepulture is o'er.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The stem of a departed Flower**\n\nThe stem of a departed Flower  \nHas still a silent rank.  \nThe Bearer from an Emerald Court  \nOf a Despatch of Pink.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Butterfly upon the Sky,**\n\nThe Butterfly upon the Sky,  \nThat doesn't know its Name  \nAnd hasn't any tax to pay  \nAnd hasn't any Home  \nIs just as high as you and I,  \nAnd higher, I believe,  \nSo soar away and never sigh  \nAnd that's the way to grieve \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**His little Hearse like Figure**\n\nHis little Hearse like Figure  \nUnto itself a Dirge  \nTo a delusive Lilac  \nThe vanity divulge  \nOf Industry and Morals  \nAnd every righteous thing  \nFor the divine Perdition  \nOf Idleness and Spring \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We never know we go when we are going \u2014**\n\nWe never know we go when we are going \u2014   \nWe jest and shut the Door \u2014   \nFate \u2014 following \u2014 behind us bolts it \u2014   \nAnd we accost no more \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A faded Boy \u2014 in sallow Clothes**\n\nA faded Boy \u2014 in sallow Clothes  \nWho drove a lonesome Cow  \nTo pastures of Oblivion \u2014   \nA statesman's Embryo \u2014\n\nThe Boys that whistled are extinct \u2014   \nThe Cows that fed and thanked  \nRemanded to a Ballad's Barn  \nOr Clover's Retrospect \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He lived the Life of Ambush**\n\nHe lived the Life of Ambush  \nAnd went the way of Dusk  \nAnd now against his subtle name  \nThere stands an Asterisk  \nAs confident of him as we \u2014   \nImpregnable we are \u2014   \nThe whole of Immortality intrenched  \nWithin a star \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**His oriental heresies**\n\nHis oriental heresies  \nExhilarate the Bee,  \nAnd filling all the Earth and Air  \nWith gay apostasy\n\nFatigued at last, a Clover plain  \nAllures his jaded eye  \nThat lowly Breast where Butterflies  \nHave felt it meet to die \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Oh give it Motion \u2014 deck it sweet**\n\nOh give it Motion \u2014 deck it sweet  \nWith Artery and Vein \u2014   \nUpon its fastened Lips lay words \u2014   \nAffiance it again  \nTo that Pink stranger we call Dust \u2014   \nAcquainted more with that  \nThan with this horizontal one  \nThat will not lift its Hat \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Moon upon her fluent Route**\n\nThe Moon upon her fluent Route  \nDefiant of a Road \u2014   \nThe Star's Etruscan Argument  \nSubstantiate a God \u2014\n\nIf Aims impel these Astral Ones  \nThe ones allowed to know  \nKnow that which makes them as forgot  \nAs Dawn forgets them \u2014 now \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis Seasons since the Dimpled War**\n\n'Tis Seasons since the Dimpled War  \nIn which we each were Conqueror  \nAnd each of us were slain  \nAnd Centuries 'twill be and more  \nAnother Massacre before  \nSo modest and so vain \u2014   \nWithout a Formula we fought  \nEach was to each the Pink Redoubt \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Pang is more conspicuous in Spring**\n\nA Pang is more conspicuous in Spring  \nIn contrast with the things that sing  \nNot Birds entirely \u2014 but Minds \u2014   \nMinute Effulgencies and Winds \u2014   \nWhen what they sung for is undone  \nWho cares about a Blue Bird's Tune \u2014   \nWhy, Resurrection had to wait  \nTill they had moved a Stone \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Above Oblivion's Tide there is a Pier**\n\nAbove Oblivion's Tide there is a Pier  \nAnd an effaceless \"Few\" are lifted there \u2014   \nNay \u2014 lift themselves \u2014 Fame has no Arms \u2014   \nAnd but one smile \u2014 that meagres Balms \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**From all the Jails the Boys and Girls**\n\nFrom all the Jails the Boys and Girls  \nEcstatically leap \u2014   \nBeloved only Afternoon  \nThat Prison doesn't keep\n\nThey storm the Earth and stun the Air,  \nA Mob of solid Bliss \u2014   \nAlas \u2014 that Frowns should lie in wait  \nFor such a Foe as this \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**On that specific Pillow**\n\nOn that specific Pillow  \nOur projects flit away \u2014   \nThe Night's tremendous Morrow  \nAnd whether sleep will stay  \nOr usher us \u2014 a stranger \u2014   \nTo situations new  \nThe effort to comprise it  \nIs all the soul can do.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Society for me my misery**\n\nSociety for me my misery  \nSince Gift of Thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Life that tied too tight escapes**\n\nThe Life that tied too tight escapes  \nWill ever after run  \nWith a prudential look behind  \nAnd spectres of the Rein \u2014   \nThe Horse that scents the living Grass  \nAnd sees the Pastures smile  \nWill be retaken with a shot  \nIf he is caught at all \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There comes a warning like a spy**\n\nThere comes a warning like a spy  \nA shorter breath of Day  \nA stealing that is not a stealth  \nAnd Summers are away \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Candor \u2014 my tepid friend \u2014**\n\nCandor \u2014 my tepid friend \u2014   \nCome not to play with me \u2014   \nThe Myrrhs, and Mochas, of the Mind  \nAre its iniquity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Follow wise Orion**\n\nFollow wise Orion  \nTill you waste your Eye \u2014   \nDazzlingly decamping  \nHe is just as high \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Now I lay thee down to Sleep \u2014**\n\nNow I lay thee down to Sleep \u2014   \nI pray the Lord thy Dust to keep \u2014   \nAnd if thou live before thou wake \u2014   \nI pray the Lord thy Soul to make \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As imperceptibly as Grief**\n\nAs imperceptibly as Grief  \nThe Summer lapsed away \u2014   \nToo imperceptible at last  \nTo seem like Perfidy \u2014   \nA Quietness distilled  \nAs Twilight long begun,  \nOr Nature spending with herself  \nSequestered Afternoon \u2014   \nThe Dusk drew earlier in \u2014   \nThe Morning foreign shone \u2014   \nA courteous, yet harrowing Grace,  \nAs Guest, that would be gone \u2014   \nAnd thus, without a Wing  \nOr service of a Keel  \nOur Summer made her light escape  \nInto the Beautiful.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No matter where the Saints abide,**\n\nNo matter where the Saints abide,  \nThey make their Circuit fair  \nBehold how great a Firmament  \nAccompanies a Star.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Come show thy Durham Breast**\n\nCome show thy Durham Breast  \nTo her who loves thee best,  \nDelicious Robin \u2014   \nAnd if it be not me  \nAt least within my Tree  \nDo the avowing \u2014   \nThy Nuptial so minute  \nPerhaps is more astute  \nThan vaster suing \u2014   \nFor so to soar away  \nIs our propensity  \nThe Day ensuing \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Obtaining but our own Extent**\n\nObtaining but our own Extent  \nIn whatsoever Realm \u2014   \n'Twas Christ's own personal Expanse  \nThat bore him from the Tomb \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Who has not found the Heaven \u2014 below \u2014**\n\nWho has not found the Heaven \u2014 below \u2014   \nWill fail of it above \u2014   \nFor Angels rent the House next ours,  \nWherever we remove \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Bible is an antique Volume \u2014**\n\nThe Bible is an antique Volume \u2014   \nWritten by faded men  \nAt the suggestion of Holy Spectres \u2014   \nSubjects \u2014 Bethlehem \u2014   \nEden \u2014 the ancient Homestead \u2014   \nSatan \u2014 the Brigadier \u2014   \nJudas \u2014 the Great Defaulter \u2014   \nDavid \u2014 the Troubador \u2014   \nSin \u2014 a distinguished Precipice  \nOthers must resist \u2014   \nBoys that \"believe\" are very lonesome \u2014   \nOther Boys are \"lost\" \u2014   \nHad but the Tale a warbling Teller \u2014   \nAll the Boys would come \u2014   \nOrpheus' Sermon captivated \u2014   \nIt did not condemn \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sweet Pirate of the heart,**\n\nSweet Pirate of the heart,  \nNot Pirate of the Sea,  \nWhat wrecketh thee?  \nSome spice's Mutiny \u2014   \nSome Attar's perfidy?  \nConfide in me.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Hope is a subtle Glutton \u2014**\n\nHope is a subtle Glutton \u2014   \nHe feeds upon the Fair \u2014   \nAnd yet \u2014 inspected closely  \nWhat Abstinence is there \u2014\n\nHis is the Halcyon Table \u2014   \nThat never seats but One \u2014   \nAnd whatsoever is consumed  \nThe same amount remain \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Meeting by Accident,**\n\nMeeting by Accident,  \nWe hovered by design \u2014   \nAs often as a Century  \nAn error so divine  \nIs ratified by Destiny,  \nBut Destiny is old  \nAnd economical of Bliss  \nAs Midas is of Gold \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My Wars are laid away in Books \u2014**\n\nMy Wars are laid away in Books \u2014   \nI have one Battle more \u2014   \nA Foe whom I have never seen  \nBut oft has scanned me o'er \u2014   \nAnd hesitated me between  \nAnd others at my side,  \nBut chose the best \u2014 Neglecting me \u2014 till  \nAll the rest, have died \u2014   \nHow sweet if I am not forgot  \nBy Chums that passed away \u2014   \nSince Playmates at threescore and ten  \nAre such a scarcity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The pattern of the sun**\n\nThe pattern of the sun  \nCan fit but him alone  \nFor sheen must have a Disk  \nTo be a sun \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Those \u2014 dying then,**\n\nThose \u2014 dying then,  \nKnew where they went \u2014   \nThey went to God's Right Hand \u2014   \nThat Hand is amputated now  \nAnd God cannot be found \u2014\n\nThe abdication of Belief  \nMakes the Behavior small \u2014   \nBetter an ignis fatuus  \nThan no illume at all \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Within thy Grave!**\n\nWithin thy Grave!  \nOh no, but on some other flight \u2014   \nThou only camest to mankind  \nTo rend it with Good night \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Bliss is the plaything of the child \u2014**\n\nBliss is the plaything of the child \u2014   \nThe secret of the man  \nThe sacred stealth of Boy and Girl  \nRebuke it if we can\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Go tell it \u2014 What a Message \u2014**\n\n\"Go tell it\" \u2014 What a Message \u2014   \nTo whom \u2014 is specified \u2014   \nNot murmur \u2014 not endearment \u2014   \nBut simply \u2014 we \u2014 obeyed \u2014   \nObeyed \u2014 a Lure \u2014 a Longing?  \nOh Nature \u2014 none of this \u2014   \nTo Law \u2014 said sweet Thermopylae  \nI give my dying Kiss \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I groped for him before I knew**\n\nI groped for him before I knew  \nWith solemn nameless need  \nAll other bounty sudden chaff  \nFor this foreshadowed Food  \nWhich others taste and spurn and sneer \u2014   \nThough I within suppose  \nThat consecrated it could be  \nThe only Food that grows\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Image of Light, Adieu \u2014**\n\nImage of Light, Adieu \u2014   \nThanks for the interview \u2014   \nSo long \u2014 so short \u2014   \nPreceptor of the whole \u2014   \nCoeval Cardinal \u2014   \nImpart \u2014 Depart \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Lives he in any other world**\n\nLives he in any other world  \nMy faith cannot reply  \nBefore it was imperative  \n'Twas all distinct to me \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Death I try to think like this \u2014**\n\nOf Death I try to think like this \u2014   \nThe Well in which they lay us  \nIs but the Likeness of the Brook  \nThat menaced not to slay us,  \nBut to invite by that Dismay  \nWhich is the Zest of sweetness  \nTo the same Flower Hesperian,  \nDecoying but to greet us \u2014\n\nI do remember when a Child  \nWith bolder Playmates straying  \nTo where a Brook that seemed a Sea  \nWithheld us by its roaring  \nFrom just the Purple Flower beyond  \nUntil constrained to clutch it  \nIf Doom itself were the result,  \nThe boldest leaped, and clutched it \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tried always and Condemned by thee**\n\nTried always and Condemned by thee  \nPermit me this reprieve  \nThat dying I may earn the look  \nFor which I cease to live \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To be forgot by thee**\n\nTo be forgot by thee  \nSurpasses Memory  \nOf other minds  \nThe Heart cannot forget  \nUnless it contemplate  \nWhat it declines  \nI was regarded then  \nRaised from oblivion  \nA single time  \nTo be remembered what \u2014   \nWorthy to be forgot  \nIs my renown\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No Brigadier throughout the Year**\n\nNo Brigadier throughout the Year  \nSo civic as the Jay \u2014   \nA Neighbor and a Warrior too  \nWith shrill felicity  \nPursuing Winds that censure us  \nA February Day,  \nThe Brother of the Universe  \nWas never blown away \u2014   \nThe Snow and he are intimate \u2014   \nI've often seem them play  \nWhen Heaven looked upon us all  \nWith such severity  \nI felt apology were due  \nTo an insulted sky  \nWhose pompous frown was Nutriment  \nTo their Temerity \u2014   \nThe Pillow of this daring Head  \nIs pungent Evergreens \u2014   \nHis Larder \u2014 terse and Militant \u2014   \nUnknown \u2014 refreshing things \u2014   \nHis Character \u2014 a Tonic \u2014   \nHis future \u2014 a Dispute \u2014   \nUnfair an Immortality  \nThat leaves this Neighbor out \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Her Losses make our Gains ashamed \u2014**\n\nHer Losses make our Gains ashamed \u2014   \nShe bore Life's empty Pack  \nAs gallantly as if the East  \nWere swinging at her Back.  \nLife's empty Pack is heaviest,  \nAs every Porter knows \u2014   \nIn vain to punish Honey \u2014   \nIt only sweeter grows.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**By homely gift and hindered Words**\n\nBy homely gift and hindered Words  \nThe human heart is told  \nOf Nothing \u2014   \n\"Nothing\" is the force  \nThat renovates the World \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Pass to they Rendezvous of Light,**\n\nPass to thy Rendezvous of Light,  \nPangless except for us \u2014   \nWho slowly for the Mystery  \nWhich thou hast leaped across!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Some Arrows slay but whom they strike \u2014**\n\nSome Arrows slay but whom they strike \u2014   \nBut this slew all but him \u2014   \nWho so appareled his Escape \u2014   \nToo trackless for a Tomb \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Climbing to reach the costly Hearts**\n\nClimbing to reach the costly Hearts  \nTo which he gave the worth,  \nHe broke them, fearing punishment  \nHe ran away from Earth \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Heart has many Doors \u2014**\n\nThe Heart has many Doors \u2014   \nI can but knock \u2014   \nFor any sweet \"Come in\"  \nImpelled to hark \u2014   \nNot saddened by repulse,  \nRepast to me  \nThat somewhere, there exists,  \nSupremacy \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To see her is a Picture \u2014**\n\nTo see her is a Picture \u2014   \nTo hear her is a Tune \u2014   \nTo know her an Intemperance  \nAs innocent as June \u2014   \nTo know her not \u2014 Affliction \u2014   \nTo own her for a Friend  \nA warmth as near as if the Sun  \nWere shining in your Hand.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Clock strikes one that just struck two \u2014**\n\nThe Clock strikes one that just struck two \u2014   \nSome schism in the Sum \u2014   \nA Vagabond for Genesis  \nHas wrecked the Pendulum \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Forever honored by the Tree**\n\nForever honored by the Tree  \nWhose Apple Winterworn  \nEnticed to Breakfast from the Sky  \nTwo Gabriels Yestermorn.\n\nThey registered in Nature's Book  \nAs Robins \u2014 Sire and Son \u2014   \nBut Angels have that modest way  \nTo screen them from Renown.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How slow the Wind \u2014**\n\nHow slow the Wind \u2014   \nhow slow the sea \u2014   \nhow late their Feathers be!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We wear our sober Dresses when we die,**\n\nWe wear our sober Dresses when we die,  \nBut Summer, frilled as for a Holiday  \nAdjourns her sigh \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To the bright east she flies,**\n\nTo the bright east she flies,  \nBrothers of Paradise  \nRemit her home,  \nWithout a change of wings,  \nOr Love's convenient things,  \nEnticed to come.\n\nFashioning what she is,  \nFathoming what she was,  \nWe deem we dream \u2014   \nAnd that dissolves the days  \nThrough which existence strays  \nHomeless at home.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No ladder needs the bird but skies**\n\nNo ladder needs the bird but skies  \nTo situate its wings,  \nNor any leader's grim baton  \nArraigns it as it sings.  \nThe implements of bliss are few \u2014   \nAs Jesus says of Him,  \n\"Come unto me\" the moiety  \nThat wafts the cherubim.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings \u2014**\n\nThe Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings \u2014   \nLike fallow Article \u2014   \nAnd not a song pervade his Lips \u2014   \nOr none perceptible.\n\nHis small Umbrella quaintly halved  \nDescribing in the Air  \nAn Arc alike inscrutable  \nElate Philosopher.\n\nDeputed from what Firmament \u2014   \nOf what Astute Abode \u2014   \nEmpowered with what Malignity  \nAuspiciously withheld \u2014\n\nTo his adroit Creator  \nAcribe no less the praise \u2014   \nBeneficent, believe me,  \nHis Eccentricities \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Spirit lasts \u2014 but in what mode \u2014**\n\nThe Spirit lasts \u2014 but in what mode \u2014   \nBelow, the Body speaks,  \nBut as the Spirit furnishes \u2014   \nApart, it never talks \u2014   \nThe Music in the Violin  \nDoes not emerge alone  \nBut Arm in Arm with Touch, yet Touch  \nAlone \u2014 is not a Tune \u2014   \nThe Spirit lurks within the Flesh  \nLike Tides within the Sea  \nThat make the Water live, estranged  \nWhat would the Either be?  \nDoes that know \u2014 now \u2014 or does it cease \u2014   \nThat which to this is done,  \nResuming at a mutual date  \nWith every future one?  \nInstinct pursues the Adamant,  \nExacting this Reply \u2014   \nAdversity if it may be, or  \nWild Prosperity,  \nThe Rumor's Gate was shut so tight  \nBefore my Mind was sown,  \nNot even a Prognostic's Push  \nCould make a Dent thereon \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Morning is due to all \u2014**\n\nMorning is due to all \u2014   \nTo some \u2014 the Night \u2014   \nTo an imperial few \u2014   \nThe Auroral light.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Blossoms will run away,**\n\nBlossoms will run away,  \nCakes reign but a Day,  \nBut Memory like Melody  \nIs pink Eternally.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**It would not know if it were spurned,**\n\nIt would not know if it were spurned,  \nThis gallant little flower \u2014   \nHow therefore safe to be a flower  \nIf one would tamper there.\n\nTo enter, it would not aspire \u2014   \nBut may it not despair  \nThat it is not a Cavalier,  \nTo dare and perish there?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We shun it ere it comes,**\n\nWe shun it ere it comes,  \nAfraid of Joy,  \nThen sue it to delay  \nAnd lest it fly,  \nBeguile it more and more \u2014   \nMay not this be  \nOld Suitor Heaven,  \nLike our dismay at thee?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The farthest Thunder that I heard**\n\nThe farthest Thunder that I heard  \nWas nearer than the Sky  \nAnd rumbles still, though torrid Noons  \nHave lain their missiles by \u2014   \nThe Lightning that preceded it  \nStruck no one but myself \u2014   \nBut I would not exchange the Bolt  \nFor all the rest of Life \u2014   \nIndebtedness to Oxygen  \nThe Happy may repay,  \nBut not the obligation  \nTo Electricity \u2014   \nIt founds the Homes and decks the Days  \nAnd every clamor bright  \nIs but the gleam concomitant  \nOf that waylaying Light \u2014   \nThe Thought is quiet as a Flake \u2014   \nA Crash without a Sound,  \nHow Life's reverberation  \nIts Explanation found \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Where Roses would not dare to go,**\n\nWhere Roses would not dare to go,  \nWhat Heart would risk the way \u2014   \nAnd so I send my Crimson Scouts  \nTo sound the Enemy \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Witchcraft was hung, in History,**\n\nWitchcraft was hung, in History,  \nBut History and I  \nFind all the Witchcraft that we need  \nAround us, every Day \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Expanse cannot be lost \u2014**\n\nExpanse cannot be lost \u2014   \nNot Joy, but a Decree  \nIs Deity \u2014   \nHis Scene, Infinity \u2014   \nWhose rumor's Gate was shut so tight  \nBefore my Beam was sown,  \nNot even a Prognostic's push  \nCould make a Dent thereon \u2014\n\nThe World that thou hast opened  \nShuts for thee,  \nBut not alone,  \nWe all have followed thee \u2014   \nEscape more slowly  \nTo thy Tracts of Sheen \u2014   \nThe Tent is listening,  \nBut the Troops are gone!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Bird her punctual music brings**\n\nThe Bird her punctual music brings  \nAnd lays it in its place \u2014   \nIts place is in the Human Heart  \nAnd in the Heavenly Grace \u2014   \nWhat respite from her thrilling toil  \nDid Beauty ever take \u2014   \nBut Work might be electric Rest  \nTo those that Magic make \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To her derided Home**\n\nTo her derided Home  \nA Weed of Summer came \u2014   \nShe did not know her station low  \nNor Ignominy's Name \u2014   \nBestowed a summer long  \nUpon a frameless flower \u2014   \nThen swept as lightly from disdain  \nAs Lady from her Bower \u2014\n\nOf Bliss the Codes are few \u2014   \nAs Jesus cites of Him \u2014   \n\"Come unto me\" the moiety  \nThat wafts the Seraphim \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He ate and drank the precious Words \u2014**\n\nHe ate and drank the precious Words \u2014   \nHis Spirit grew robust \u2014   \nHe knew no more that he was poor,  \nNor that his frame was Dust \u2014\n\nHe danced along the dingy Days  \nAnd this Bequest of Wings  \nWas but a Book \u2014 What Liberty  \nA loosened spirit brings \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This Me \u2014 that walks and works \u2014 must die,**\n\nThis Me \u2014 that walks and works \u2014 must die,  \nSome fair or stormy Day,  \nAdversity if it may be  \nOr wild prosperity  \nThe Rumor's Gate was shut so tight  \nBefore my mind was born  \nNot even a Prognostic's push  \nCan make a Dent thereon \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Cosmopolities without a plea**\n\nCosmopolities without a plea  \nAlight in every Land  \nThe compliments of Paradise  \nFrom those within my Hand\n\nTheir dappled Journey to themselves  \nA compensation fair  \nKnock and it shall be opened  \nIs their Theology\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not at Home to Callers**\n\nNot at Home to Callers  \nSays the Naked Tree \u2014   \nBonnet due in April \u2014   \nWishing you Good Day \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Bobolink is gone \u2014**\n\nThe Bobolink is gone \u2014   \nThe Rowdy of the Meadow \u2014   \nAnd no one swaggers now but me \u2014   \nThe Presbyterian Birds  \nCan now resume the Meeting  \nHe boldly interrupted that overflowing Day  \nWhen supplicating mercy  \nIn a portentous way  \nHe swung upon the Decalogue  \nAnd shouted let us pray \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Lassitudes of Contemplation**\n\nThe Lassitudes of Contemplation  \nBeget a force  \nThey are the spirit's still vacation  \nThat him refresh \u2014   \nThe Dreams consolidate in action \u2014   \nWhat mettle fair\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There came a Wind like a Bugle \u2014**\n\nThere came a Wind like a Bugle \u2014   \nIt quivered through the Grass  \nAnd a Green Chill upon the Heat  \nSo ominous did pass  \nWe barred the Windows and the Doors  \nAs from an Emerald Ghost \u2014   \nThe Doom's electric Moccasin  \nThat very instant passed \u2014   \nOn a strange Mob of panting Trees  \nAnd Fences fled away  \nAnd Rivers where the Houses ran  \nThose looked that lived \u2014 that Day \u2014   \nThe Bell within the steeple wild  \nThe flying tidings told \u2014   \nHow much can come  \nAnd much can go,  \nAnd yet abide the World!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Immured in Heaven!**\n\nImmured in Heaven!  \nWhat a Cell!  \nLet every Bondage be,  \nThou sweetest of the Universe,  \nLike that which ravished thee!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Declaiming Waters none may dread \u2014**\n\nDeclaiming Waters none may dread \u2014   \nBut Waters that are still  \nAre so for that most fatal cause  \nIn Nature \u2014 they are full \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Few, yet enough,**\n\nFew, yet enough,  \nEnough is One \u2014   \nTo that ethereal throng  \nHave not each one of us the right  \nTo stealthily belong?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis not the swaying frame we miss,**\n\n'Tis not the swaying frame we miss,  \nIt is the steadfast Heart,  \nThat had it beat a thousand years,  \nWith Love alone had bent,  \nIts fervor the electric Oar,  \nThat bore it through the Tomb,  \nOurselves, denied the privilege,  \nConsolelessly presume \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Who is it seeks my Pillow Nights \u2014**\n\nWho is it seeks my Pillow Nights \u2014   \nWith plain inspecting face \u2014   \n\"Did you\" or \"Did you not,\" to ask \u2014   \n'Tis \"Conscience\" \u2014 Childhood's Nurse \u2014\n\nWith Martial Hand she strokes the Hair  \nUpon my wincing Head \u2014   \n\"All\" Rogues \"shall have their part in\" what \u2014   \nThe Phosphorous of God \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Though the great Waters sleep,**\n\nThough the great Waters sleep,  \nThat they are still the Deep,  \nWe cannot doubt \u2014   \nNo vacillating God  \nIgnited this Abode  \nTo put it out \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Upon his Saddle sprung a Bird**\n\nUpon his Saddle sprung a Bird  \nAnd crossed a thousand Trees  \nBefore a Fence without a Fare  \nHis Fantasy did please  \nAnd then he lifted up his Throat  \nAnd squandered such a Note  \nA Universe that overheard  \nIs stricken by it yet \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of God we ask one favor,**\n\nOf God we ask one favor,  \nThat we may be forgiven \u2014   \nFor what, he is presumed to know \u2014   \nThe Crime, from us, is hidden \u2014   \nImmured the whole of Life  \nWithin a magic Prison  \nWe reprimand the Happiness  \nThat too competes with Heaven.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Pursuing you in your transitions,**\n\nPursuing you in your transitions,  \nIn other Motes \u2014   \nOf other Myths  \nYour requisition be.  \nThe Prism never held the Hues,  \nIt only heard them play \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The going from a world we know**\n\nThe going from a world we know  \nTo one a wonder still  \nIs like the child's adversity  \nWhose vista is a hill,  \nBehind the hill is sorcery  \nAnd everything unknown,  \nBut will the secret compensate  \nFor climbing it alone?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**We send the Wave to find the Wave \u2014**\n\nWe send the Wave to find the Wave \u2014   \nAn Errand so divine,  \nThe Messenger enamored too,  \nForgetting to return,  \nWe make the wise distinction still,  \nSoever made in vain,  \nThe sagest time to dam the sea is when the sea is gone \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Each that we lose takes part of us;**\n\nEach that we lose takes part of us;  \nA crescent still abides,  \nWhich like the moon, some turbid night,  \nIs summoned by the tides.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Quite empty, quite at rest,**\n\nQuite empty, quite at rest,  \nThe Robin locks her Nest, and tries her Wings.  \nShe does not know a Route  \nBut puts her Craft about  \nFor rumored Springs \u2014   \nShe does not ask for Noon \u2014   \nShe does not ask for Boon,  \nCrumbless and homeless, of but one request \u2014   \nThe Birds she lost \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Within that little Hive**\n\nWithin that little Hive  \nSuch Hints of Honey lay  \nAs made Reality a Dream  \nAnd Dreams, Reality \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The ecstasy to guess**\n\nThe ecstasy to guess  \nWere a receipted bliss  \nIf grace could talk.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sunset that screens, reveals \u2014**\n\nSunset that screens, reveals \u2014   \nEnhancing what we see  \nBy menaces of Amethyst  \nAnd Moats of Mystery.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Morning that comes but once,**\n\nMorning that comes but once,  \nConsiders coming twice \u2014   \nTwo Dawns upon a single Morn,  \nMake Life a sudden price.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Their dappled importunity**\n\nTheir dappled importunity  \nDisparage or dismiss \u2014   \nThe Obloquies of Etiquette  \nAre obsolete to Bliss \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Auctioneer of Parting**\n\nThe Auctioneer of Parting  \nHis \"Going, going, gone\"  \nShouts even from the Crucifix,  \nAnd brings his Hammer down \u2014   \nHe only sells the Wilderness,  \nThe prices of Despair  \nRange from a single human Heart  \nTo Two \u2014 not any more \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not Sickness stains the Brave,**\n\nNot Sickness stains the Brave,  \nNor any Dart,  \nNor Doubt of Scene to come,  \nBut an adjourning Heart \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Parting with Thee reluctantly,**\n\nParting with Thee reluctantly,  \nThat we have never met,  \nA Heart sometimes a Foreigner,  \nRemembers it forgot \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Oh what a Grace is this,**\n\nOh what a Grace is this,  \nWhat Majesties of Peace,  \nThat having breathed  \nThe fine \u2014 ensuing Right  \nWithout Diminuet Proceed!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Who abdicated Ambush**\n\nWho abdicated Ambush  \nAnd went the way of Dusk,  \nAnd now against his subtle Name  \nThere stands an Asterisk  \nAs confident of him as we \u2014   \nImpregnable we are \u2014   \nThe whole of Immortality  \nSecreted in a Star.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To try to speak, and miss the way**\n\nTo try to speak, and miss the way  \nAnd ask it of the Tears,  \nIs Gratitude's sweet poverty,  \nThe Tatters that he wears \u2014\n\nA better Coat if he possessed  \nWould help him to conceal,  \nNot subjugate, the Mutineer  \nWhose title is \"the Soul.\"\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There are two Mays**\n\nThere are two Mays  \nAnd then a Must  \nAnd after that a Shall.  \nHow infinite the compromise  \nThat indicates I will!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not knowing when the Dawn will come,**\n\nNot knowing when the Dawn will come,  \nI open every Door,  \nOr has it Feathers, like a Bird,  \nOr Billows, like a Shore \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Circumference thou Bride of Awe**\n\nCircumference thou Bride of Awe  \nPossessing thou shalt be  \nPossessed by every hallowed Knight  \nThat dares to covet thee\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Flower will not trouble her, it has so small a Foot,**\n\nA Flower will not trouble her, it has so small a Foot,  \nAnd yet if you compare the Lasts,  \nHers is the smallest Boot \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Sloop of Amber slips away**\n\nA Sloop of Amber slips away  \nUpon an Ether Sea,  \nAnd wrecks in Peace a Purple Tar,  \nThe Son of Ecstasy \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A World made penniless by that departure**\n\nA World made penniless by that departure  \nOf minor fabrics begs  \nBut sustenance is of the spirit  \nThe Gods but Dregs\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Apparently with no surprise**\n\nApparently with no surprise  \nTo any happy Flower  \nThe Frost beheads it at its play \u2014   \nIn accidental power \u2014   \nThe blonde Assassin passes on \u2014   \nThe Sun proceeds unmoved  \nTo measure off another Day  \nFor an Approving God.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Back from the cordial Grave I drag thee**\n\nBack from the cordial Grave I drag thee  \nHe shall not take thy Hand  \nNor put his spacious arm around thee  \nThat none can understand\n\nA Universe that overheard  \nIs stricken by it yet \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No Life can pompless pass away \u2014**\n\nNo Life can pompless pass away \u2014   \nThe lowliest career  \nTo the same Pageant wends its way  \nAs that exalted here \u2014\n\nHow cordial is the mystery!  \nThe hospitable Pall  \nA \"this way\" beckons spaciously \u2014   \nA Miracle for all!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The pedigree of Honey**\n\nTHE pedigree of honey  \nDoes not concern the bee ;  \nA clover, any time, to him  \nIs aristocracy.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Drunkard cannot meet a Cork**\n\nA Drunkard cannot meet a Cork  \nWithout a Revery \u2014   \nAnd so encountering a Fly  \nThis January Day  \nJamaicas of Remembrance stir  \nThat send me reeling in \u2014   \nThe moderate drinker of Delight  \nDoes not deserve the spring \u2014   \nOf juleps, part are the Jug  \nAnd more are in the joy \u2014   \nYour connoisseur in Liquours  \nConsults the Bumble Bee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Arrows enamored of his Heart \u2014**\n\nArrows enamored of his Heart \u2014   \nForgot to rankle there  \nAnd Venoms he mistook for Balms  \ndisdained to rankle there \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As from the earth the light Balloon**\n\nAs from the earth the light Balloon  \nAsks nothing but release \u2014   \nAscension that for which it was,  \nIts soaring Residence.  \nThe spirit looks upon the Dust  \nThat fastened it so long  \nWith indignation,  \nAs a Bird  \nDefrauded of its song.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Oh Future! thou secreted peace**\n\nOh Future! thou secreted peace  \nOr subterranean woe \u2014   \nIs there no wandering route of grace  \nThat leads away from thee \u2014   \nNo circuit sage of all the course  \nDescried by cunning Men  \nTo balk thee of thy sacred Prey \u2014   \nAdvancing to thy Den \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**So give me back to Death \u2014**\n\nSo give me back to Death \u2014   \nThe Death I never feared  \nExcept that it deprived of thee \u2014   \nAnd now, by Life deprived,  \nIn my own Grave I breathe  \nAnd estimate its size \u2014   \nIts size is all that Hell can guess \u2014   \nAnd all that Heaven was \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Still own thee \u2014 still thou art**\n\nStill own thee \u2014 still thou art  \nWhat surgeons call alive \u2014   \nThough slipping \u2014 slipping I perceive  \nTo thy reportless Grave \u2014\n\nWhich question shall I clutch \u2014   \nWhat answer wrest from thee  \nBefore thou dost exude away  \nIn the recallless sea?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Talk not to me of Summer Trees**\n\nTalk not to me of Summer Trees  \nThe foliage of the mind  \nA Tabernacle is for Birds  \nOf no corporeal kind  \nAnd winds do go that way at noon  \nTo their Ethereal Homes  \nWhose Bugles call the least of us  \nTo undepicted Realms\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Jay his Castanet has struck**\n\nThe Jay his Castanet has struck  \nPut on your muff for Winter  \nThe Tippet that ignores his voice  \nIs impudent to nature\n\nOf Swarthy Days he is the close  \nHis Lotus is a chestnut  \nThe Cricket drops a sable line  \nNo more from yours at present\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sun in reigning to the West**\n\nThe Sun in reigning to the West  \nMakes not as much of sound  \nAs Cart of man in road below  \nAdroitly turning round  \nThat Whiffletree of Amethyst\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Is it too late to touch you, Dear?**\n\nIs it too late to touch you, Dear?  \nWe this moment knew \u2014   \nLove Marine and Love terrene \u2014   \nLove celestial too \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Go thy great way!**\n\nGo thy great way!  \nThe Stars thou meetst  \nAre even as Thyself \u2014   \nFor what are Stars but Asterisks  \nTo point a human Life?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Letter is a joy of Earth \u2014**\n\nA Letter is a joy of Earth \u2014   \nIt is denied the Gods \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Take all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy,**\n\nTake all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy,  \nAnd I am richer then than all my Fellow Men \u2014   \nIll it becometh me to dwell so wealthily  \nWhen at my very Door are those possessing more,  \nIn abject poverty \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Betrothed to Righteousness might be**\n\nBetrothed to Righteousness might be  \nAn Ecstasy discreet  \nBut Nature relishes the Pinks  \nWhich she was taught to eat \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Red Sea, indeed! Talk not to me**\n\n\"Red Sea,\" indeed! Talk not to me  \nOf purple Pharaoh \u2014   \nI have a Navy in the West  \nWould pierce his Columns thro' \u2014   \nGuileless, yet of such Glory fine  \nThat all along the Line  \nIs it, or is it not, divine \u2014   \nThe Eye inquires with a sigh  \nThat Earth sh'd be so big \u2014   \nWhat Exultation in the Woe \u2014   \nWhat Wine in the fatigue!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Extol thee \u2014 could I? Then I will**\n\nExtol thee \u2014 could I? Then I will  \nBy saying nothing new \u2014   \nBut just the truest truth  \nThat thou art heavenly.\n\nPerceiving thee is evidence  \nThat we are of the sky  \nPartaking thee a guaranty  \nOf immortality\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Some one prepared this mighty show**\n\nSome one prepared this mighty show  \nTo which without a Ticket go  \nThe nations and the Days \u2014\n\nDisplayed before the simplest Door  \nThat all may witness it and more,  \nThe pomp of summer Days.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Ditch is dear to the Drunken man**\n\nThe Ditch is dear to the Drunken man  \nFor is it not his Bed \u2014   \nHis Advocate \u2014 his Edifice?  \nHow safe his fallen Head  \nIn her disheveled Sanctity \u2014   \nAbove him is the sky \u2014   \nOblivion bending over him  \nAnd Honor leagues away.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Why should we hurry \u2014 why indeed?**\n\nWhy should we hurry \u2014 why indeed?  \nWhen every way we fly  \nWe are molested equally  \nBy immortality.  \nNo respite from the inference  \nThat this which is begun,  \nThough where its labors lie  \nA bland uncertainty  \nBesets the sight  \nThis mighty night \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Glory not a Beam is left**\n\nOf Glory not a Beam is left  \nBut her Eternal House \u2014   \nThe Asterisk is for the Dead,  \nThe Living, for the Stars \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The immortality she gave**\n\nThe immortality she gave  \nWe borrowed at her Grave \u2014   \nFor just one Plaudit famishing,  \nThe Might of Human love \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Cap of Lead across the sky**\n\nA Cap of Lead across the sky  \nWas tight and surly drawn  \nWe could not find the mighty Face  \nThe Figure was withdrawn \u2014\n\nA Chill came up as from a shaft  \nOur noon became a well  \nA Thunder storm combines the charms  \nOf Winter and of Hell.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A lane of Yellow led the eye**\n\nA lane of Yellow led the eye  \nUnto a Purple Wood  \nWhose soft inhabitants to be  \nSurpasses solitude  \nIf Bird the silence contradict  \nOr flower presume to show  \nIn that low summer of the West  \nImpossible to know \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Word made Flesh is seldom**\n\nA Word made Flesh is seldom  \nAnd tremblingly partook  \nNor then perhaps reported  \nBut have I not mistook  \nEach one of us has tasted  \nWith ecstasies of stealth  \nThe very food debated  \nTo our specific strength \u2014\n\nA Word that breathes distinctly  \nHas not the power to die  \nCohesive as the Spirit  \nIt may expire if He \u2014   \n\"Made Flesh and dwelt among us\"  \nCould condescension be  \nLike this consent of Language  \nThis loved Philology.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Advance is Life's condition**\n\nAdvance is Life's condition  \nThe Grave but a Relay  \nSupposed to be a terminus  \nThat makes it hated so \u2014\n\nThe Tunnel is not lighted  \nExistence with a wall  \nIs better we consider  \nThan not exist at all \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As we pass Houses musing slow**\n\nAs we pass Houses musing slow  \nIf they be occupied  \nSo minds pass minds  \nIf they be occupied\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Beauty crowds me till I die**\n\nBeauty crowds me till I die  \nBeauty mercy have on me  \nBut if I expire today  \nLet it be in sight of thee \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Conferring with myself**\n\nConferring with myself  \nMy stranger disappeared  \nThough first upon a berry fat  \nMiraculously fared  \nHow paltry looked my cares  \nMy practise how absurd  \nSuperfluous my whole career  \nBeside this travelling Bird\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Down Time's quaint stream**\n\nDown Time's quaint stream  \nWithout an oar  \nWe are enforced to sail  \nOur Port a secret  \nOur Perchance a Gale  \nWhat Skipper would  \nIncur the Risk  \nWhat Buccaneer would ride  \nWithout a surety from the Wind  \nOr schedule of the Tide \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Eden is that old-fashioned House**\n\nEden is that old-fashioned House  \nWe dwell in every day  \nWithout suspecting our abode  \nUntil we drive away.\n\nHow fair on looking back, the Day  \nWe sauntered from the Door \u2014   \nUnconscious our returning,  \nBut discover it no more.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Endanger it, and the Demand**\n\nEndanger it, and the Demand  \nOf tickets for a sigh  \nAmazes the Humility  \nOf Credibility \u2014\n\nRecover it to Nature  \nAnd that dejected Fleet  \nFind Consternation's Carnival  \nDivested of its Meat.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Fame is a fickle food**\n\nFame is a fickle food  \nUpon a shifting plate  \nWhose table once a  \nGuest but not  \nThe second time is set.\n\nWhose crumbs the crows inspect  \nAnd with ironic caw  \nFlap past it to the  \nFarmer's Corn \u2014   \nMen eat of it and die.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Glory is that bright tragic thing**\n\nGlory is that bright tragic thing  \nThat for an instant  \nMeans Dominion \u2014   \nWarms some poor name  \nThat never felt the Sun,  \nGently replacing  \nIn oblivion \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Guest am I to have**\n\nGuest am I to have  \nLight my northern room  \nWhy to cordiality so averse to come  \nOther friends adjourn  \nOther bonds decay  \nWhy avoid so narrowly  \nMy fidelity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He went by sleep that drowsy route**\n\nHe went by sleep that drowsy route  \nTo the surmising Inn \u2014   \nAt day break to begin his race  \nOr ever to remain \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**His mind of man, a secret makes**\n\nHis mind of man, a secret makes  \nI meet him with a start  \nHe carries a circumference  \nIn which I have no part \u2014\n\nOr even if I deem I do  \nHe otherwise may know  \nImpregnable to inquest  \nHowever neighborly \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I did not reach Thee**\n\nI did not reach Thee  \nBut my feet slip nearer every day  \nThree Rivers and a Hill to cross  \nOne Desert and a Sea  \nI shall not count the journey one  \nWhen I am telling thee.\n\nTwo deserts, but the Year is cold  \nSo that will help the sand  \nOne desert crossed \u2014   \nThe second one  \nWill feel as cool as land  \nSahara is too little price  \nTo pay for thy Right hand.\n\nThe Sea comes last \u2014 Step merry, feet,  \nSo short we have to go \u2014   \nTo play together we are prone,  \nBut we must labor now,  \nThe last shall be the lightest load  \nThat we have had to draw.\n\nThe Sun goes crooked \u2014   \nThat is Night  \nBefore he makes the bend.  \nWe must have passed the Middle Sea \u2014   \nAlmost we wish the End  \nWere further off \u2014   \nToo great it seems  \nSo near the Whole to stand.\n\nWe step like Plush,  \nWe stand like snow,  \nThe waters murmur new.  \nThree rivers and the Hill are passed \u2014   \nTwo deserts and the sea!  \nNow Death usurps my Premium  \nAnd gets the look at Thee.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I know of people in the Grave**\n\nI know of people in the Grave  \nWho would be very glad  \nTo know the news I know tonight  \nIf they the chance had had.\n\n'Tis this expands the least event  \nAnd swells the scantest deed \u2014   \nMy right to walk upon the Earth  \nIf they this moment had.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I see thee clearer for the Grave**\n\nI see thee clearer for the Grave  \nThat took thy face between  \nNo Mirror could illumine thee  \nLike that impassive stone \u2014\n\nI know thee better for the Act  \nThat made thee first unknown  \nThe stature of the empty nest  \nAttests the Bird that's gone.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I watcher her face to see which way**\n\nI watched her face to see which way  \nShe took the awful news \u2014   \nWhether she died before she heard  \nOr in protracted bruise  \nRemained a few slow years with us \u2014   \nEach heavier than the last \u2014   \nA further afternoon to fail,  \nAs Flower at fall of Frost.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If I could tell how glad I was**\n\nIf I could tell how glad I was  \nI should not be so glad \u2014   \nBut when I cannot make the Force,  \nNor mould it into Word,  \nI know it is a sign  \nThat new Dilemna be  \nFrom mathematics further off  \nThan for Eternity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**In snow thou comest \u2014**\n\nIn snow thou comest \u2014   \nThou shalt go with the resuming ground,  \nThe sweet derision of the crow,  \nAnd Glee's advancing sound.\n\nIn fear thou comest \u2014   \nThou shalt go at such a gait of joy  \nThat man anew embark to live  \nUpon the depth of thee.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**In Winter in my Room**\n\nIn Winter in my Room  \nI came upon a Worm \u2014   \nPink, lank and warm \u2014   \nBut as he was a worm  \nAnd worms presume  \nNot quite with him at home \u2014   \nSecured him by a string  \nTo something neighboring  \nAnd went along.\n\nA Trifle afterward  \nA thing occurred  \nI'd not believe it if I heard  \nBut state with creeping blood \u2014   \nA snake with mottles rare  \nSurveyed my chamber floor  \nIn feature as the worm before  \nBut ringed with power \u2014\n\nThe very string with which  \nI tied him \u2014 too  \nWhen he was mean and new  \nThat string was there \u2014\n\nI shrank \u2014 \"How fair you are\"!  \nPropitiation's claw \u2014   \n\"Afraid,\" he hissed  \n\"Of me\"?  \n\"No cordiality\" \u2014   \nHe fathomed me \u2014   \nThen to a Rhythm Slim  \nSecreted in his Form  \nAs Patterns swim  \nProjected him.\n\nThat time I flew  \nBoth eyes his way  \nLest he pursue  \nNor ever ceased to run  \nTill in a distant Town  \nTowns on from mine  \nI set me down  \nThis was a dream.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Judgment is justest**\n\nJudgment is justest  \nWhen the Judged,  \nHis action laid away,  \nDivested is of every Disk  \nBut his sincerity.\n\nHonor is then the safest hue  \nIn a posthumous Sun \u2014   \nNot any color will endure  \nThat scrutiny can burn.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Lightly stepped a yellow star**\n\nLightly stepped a yellow star  \nTo its lofty place \u2014   \nLoosed the Moon her silver hat  \nFrom her lustral Face \u2014   \nAll of Evening softly lit  \nAs an Astral Hall \u2014   \nFather, I observed to Heaven,  \nYou are punctual.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Nature can do no more**\n\nNature can do no more  \nShe has fulfilled her Dyes  \nWhatever Flower fail to come  \nOf other Summer days  \nHer crescent reimburse  \nIf other Summers be  \nNature's imposing negative  \nNulls opportunity \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Not any sunny tone**\n\nNot any sunny tone  \nFrom any fervent zone  \nFind entrance there \u2014   \nBetter a grave of Balm  \nToward human nature's home \u2014   \nAnd Robins near \u2014   \nThan a stupendous Tomb  \nProclaiming to the Gloom  \nHow dead we are \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of this is Day composed**\n\nOf this is Day composed  \nA morning and a noon  \nA Revelry unspeakable  \nAnd then a gay unknown  \nWhose Pomps allure and spurn  \nAnd dower and deprive  \nAnd penury for Glory  \nRemedilessly leave.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Of Yellow was the outer Sky**\n\nOf Yellow was the outer Sky  \nIn Yellower Yellow hewn  \nTill Saffron in Vermilion slid  \nWhose seam could not be shewn.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**On my volcano grows the Grass**\n\nOn my volcano grows the Grass  \nA meditative spot \u2014   \nAn acre for a Bird to choose  \nWould be the General thought \u2014\n\nHow red the Fire rocks below  \nHow insecure the sod  \nDid I disclose  \nWould populate with awe my solitude.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Peril as a Possesssion**\n\nPeril as a Possesssion  \n'Tis Good to hear  \nDanger disintegrates Satiety  \nThere's Basis there \u2014   \nBegets an awe  \nThat searches Human Nature's creases  \nAs clean as Fire.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Rather arid delight**\n\nRather arid delight  \nIf Contentment accrue  \nMake an abstemious Ecstasy  \nNot so good as joy \u2014\n\nBut Rapture's Expense  \nMust not be incurred  \nWith a tomorrow knocking  \nAnd the Rent unpaid \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sometimes with the Heart**\n\nSometimes with the Heart  \nSeldom with the Soul  \nScarcer once with the Might  \nFew \u2014 love at all.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Speech is one symptom of Affection**\n\nSpeech is one symptom of Affection  \nAnd Silence one \u2014   \nThe perfectest communication  \nIs heard of none \u2014\n\nExists and its indorsement  \nIs had within \u2014   \nBehold, said the Apostle,  \nYet had not seen!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Summer begins to have the look**\n\nSummer begins to have the look  \nPeruser of enchanting Book  \nReluctantly but sure perceives  \nA gain upon the backward leaves \u2014\n\nAutumn begins to be inferred  \nBy millinery of the cloud  \nOr deeper color in the shawl  \nThat wraps the everlasting hill.\n\nThe eye begins its avarice  \nA meditation chastens speech  \nSome Dyer of a distant tree  \nResumes his gaudy industry.\n\nConclusion is the course of All  \nAt most to be perennial  \nAnd then elude stability  \nRecalls to immortality.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That she forgot me was the least**\n\nThat she forgot me was the least  \nI felt it second pain  \nThat I was worthy to forget  \nWas most I thought upon.\n\nFaithful was all that I could boast  \nBut Constancy became  \nTo her, by her innominate,  \nA something like a shame.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Blunder is in estimate.**\n\nThe Blunder is in estimate.  \nEternity is there  \nWe say, as of a Station \u2014   \nMeanwhile he is so near\n\nHe joins me in my Ramble \u2014   \nDivides abode with me \u2014   \nNo Friend have I that so persists  \nAs this Eternity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The butterfly obtains**\n\nThe butterfly obtains  \nBut little sympathy  \nThough favorably mentioned  \nIn Entomology \u2014\n\nBecause he travels freely  \nAnd wears a proper coat  \nThe circumspect are certain  \nThat he is dissolute \u2014\n\nHad he the homely scutcheon  \nOf modest Industry  \n'Twere fitter certifying  \nFor Immortality \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The event was directly behind Him**\n\nThe event was directly behind Him  \nYet He did not guess  \nFitted itself to Himself like a Robe  \nRelished His ignorance.  \nMotioned itself to drill  \nLoaded and Levelled  \nAnd let His Flesh  \nCenturies from His soul.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The gleam of an heroic Act**\n\nThe gleam of an heroic Act  \nSuch strange illumination  \nThe Possible's slow fuse is lit  \nBy the Imagination.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Hills erect their Purple Heads**\n\nThe Hills erect their Purple Heads  \nThe Rivers lean to see  \nYet Man has not of all the Throng  \nA Curiosity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The look of thee, what is it like**\n\nThe look of thee, what is it like  \nHast thou a hand or Foot  \nOr Mansion of Identity  \nAnd what is thy Pursuit?\n\nThy fellows are they realms or Themes  \nHast thou Delight or Fear  \nOr Longing \u2014 and is that for us  \nOr values more severe?\n\nLet change transfuse all other Traits  \nEnact all other Blame  \nBut deign this least certificate \u2014   \nThat thou shalt be the same.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The ones that disappeared are back**\n\nThe ones that disappeared are back  \nThe Phoebe and the Crow  \nPrecisely as in March is heard  \nThe curtness of the Jay \u2014   \nBe this an Autumn or a Spring  \nMy wisdom loses way  \nOne side of me the nuts are ripe  \nThe other side is May.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The overtakelessness of those**\n\nThe overtakelessness of those  \nWho have accomplished Death  \nMajestic is to me beyond  \nThe majesties of Earth.\n\nThe soul her \"Not at Home\"  \nInscribes upon the flesh \u2014   \nAnd takes her fair aerial gait  \nBeyond the hope of touch.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The right to perish might be thought**\n\nThe right to perish might be thought  \nAn undisputed right \u2014   \nAttempt it, and the Universe  \nUpon the opposite  \nWill concentrate its officers \u2014   \nYou cannot even die  \nBut nature and mankind must pause  \nTo pay you scrutiny.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Sun retired to a cloud**\n\nThe Sun retired to a cloud  \nA Woman's shawl as big \u2014   \nAnd then he sulked in mercury  \nUpon a scarlet log \u2014   \nThe drops on Nature's forehead stood  \nHome flew the loaded bees \u2014   \nThe South unrolled a purple fan  \nAnd handed to the trees.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The wind drew off**\n\nThe wind drew off  \nLike hungry dogs  \nDefeated of a bone \u2014   \nThrough fissures in  \nVolcanic cloud  \nThe yellow lightning shone \u2014   \nThe trees held up  \nTheir mangled limbs  \nLike animals in pain \u2014   \nWhen Nature falls upon herself  \nBeware an Austrian.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There is a solitude of space**\n\nThere is a solitude of space  \nA solitude of sea  \nA solitude of death, but these  \nSociety shall be  \nCompared with that profounder site  \nThat polar privacy  \nA soul admitted to itself \u2014   \nFinite infinity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**These are the days that Reindeer love**\n\nThese are the days that Reindeer love  \nAnd pranks the Northern star \u2014   \nThis is the Sun's objective,  \nAnd Finland of the Year.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**They talk as slow as Legends grow**\n\nThey talk as slow as Legends grow  \nNo mushroom is their mind  \nBut foliage of sterility  \nToo stolid for the wind \u2014\n\nThey laugh as wise as Plots of Wit  \nPredestined to unfold  \nThe point with bland prevision  \nPortentously untold.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Tis easier to pity those when dead**\n\n'Tis easier to pity those when dead  \nThat which pity previous  \nWould have saved \u2014   \nA Tragedy enacted  \nSecures Applause  \nThat Tragedy enacting  \nToo seldom does.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To do a magnanimous thing**\n\nTo do a magnanimous thing  \nAnd take oneself by surprise  \nIf oneself is not in the habit of him  \nIs precisely the finest of Joys \u2014\n\nNot to do a magnanimous thing  \nNotwithstanding it never be known  \nNotwithstanding it cost us existence once  \nIs Rapture herself spurn \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To tell the Beauty would decrease**\n\nTo tell the Beauty would decrease  \nTo state the Spell demean \u2014   \nThere is a syllable-less Sea  \nOf which it is the sign \u2014   \nMy will endeavors for its word  \nAnd fails, but entertains  \nA Rapture as of Legacies \u2014   \nOf introspective Mines \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To their apartment deep**\n\nTo their apartment deep  \nNo ribaldry may creep  \nUntumbled this abode  \nBy any man but God \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Today or this noon**\n\nToday or this noon  \nShe dwelt so close  \nI almost touched her \u2014   \nTonight she lies  \nPast neighborhood  \nAnd bough and steeple,  \nNow past surmise.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas comfort in her Dying Room**\n\n'Twas comfort in her Dying Room  \nTo hear the living Clock \u2014   \nA short relief to have the wind  \nWalk boldly up and knock \u2014   \nDiversion from the Dying Theme  \nTo hear the children play \u2014   \nBut wrong the more  \nThat these could live  \nAnd this of ours must die.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Unto a broken heart**\n\nUnto a broken heart  \nNo other one may go  \nWithout the high prerogative  \nItself hath suffered too.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Volcanoes be in Sicily**\n\nVolcanoes be in Sicily  \nAnd South America  \nI judge from my Geography \u2014   \nVolcanos nearer here  \nA Lava step at any time  \nAm I inclined to climb \u2014   \nA Crater I may contemplate  \nVesuvius at Home.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**When we have ceased to care**\n\nWhen we have ceased to care  \nThe Gift is given  \nFor which we gave the Earth  \nAnd mortgaged Heaven  \nBut so declined in worth  \n'Tis ignominy now  \nTo look upon \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Winter under cultivation**\n\nWinter under cultivation  \nIs as arable as Spring.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Witchcraft has not a Pedigree**\n\nWitchcraft has not a Pedigree  \n'Tis early as our Breath  \nAnd mourners meet it going out  \nThe moment of our death \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**With sweetness unabated**\n\nWith sweetness unabated  \nInformed the hour had come  \nWith no remiss of triumph  \nThe autumn started home\n\nHer home to be with Nature  \nAs competition done  \nBy influential kinsmen  \nInvited to return \u2014\n\nIn supplements of Purple  \nAn adequate repast  \nIn heavenly reviewing  \nHer residue be past \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A curious Cloud surprised the Sky,**\n\nA curious Cloud surprised the Sky,  \n'Twas like a sheet with Horns;  \nThe sheet was Blue \u2014   \nThe Antlers Gray \u2014   \nIt almost touched the lawns.\n\nSo low it leaned \u2014 then statelier drew \u2014   \nAnd trailed like robes away,  \nA Queen adown a satin aisle  \nHad not the majesty.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A face devoid of love or grace,**\n\nA face devoid of love or grace,  \nA hateful, hard, successful face,  \nA face with which a stone  \nWould feel as thoroughly at ease  \nAs were they old acquaintances \u2014   \nFirst time together thrown.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A Pit \u2014 but Heaven over it \u2014**\n\nA Pit \u2014 but Heaven over it \u2014   \nAnd Heaven beside, and Heaven abroad,  \nAnd yet a Pit \u2014   \nWith Heaven over it.\n\nTo stir would be to slip \u2014   \nTo look would be to drop \u2014   \nTo dream \u2014 to sap the Prop  \nThat holds my chances up.  \nAh! Pit! With Heaven over it!\n\nThe depth is all my thought \u2014   \nI dare not ask my feet \u2014   \n'Twould start us where we sit  \nSo straight you'd scarce suspect  \nIt was a Pit \u2014 with fathoms under it \u2014   \nIts Circuit just the same.  \nSeed \u2014 summer \u2014 tomb \u2014   \nWhose Doom to whom?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**As subtle as tomorrow**\n\nAs subtle as tomorrow  \nThat never came,  \nA warrant, a conviction,  \nYet but a name.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**By a departing light**\n\nBy a departing light  \nWe see acuter, quite,  \nThan by a wick that stays.  \nThere's something in the flight  \nThat clarifies the sight  \nAnd decks the rays.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Consulting summer's clock,**\n\nConsulting summer's clock,  \nBut half the hours remain.  \nI ascertain it with a shock \u2014   \nI shall not look again.  \nThe second half of joy  \nIs shorter than the first.  \nThe truth I do not dare to know  \nI muffle with a jest.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Death is like the insect**\n\nDeath is like the insect  \nMenacing the tree,  \nCompetent to kill it,  \nBut decoyed may be.\n\nBait it with the balsam,  \nSeek it with the saw,  \nBaffle, if it cost you  \nEverything you are.\n\nThen, if it have burrowed  \nOut of reach of skill \u2014   \nWring the tree and leave it,  \n'Tis the vermin's will.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Did life's penurious length**\n\nDid life's penurious length  \nItalicize its sweetness,  \nThe men that daily live  \nWould stand so deep in joy  \nThat it would clog the cogs  \nOf that revolving reason  \nWhose esoteric belt  \nProtects our sanity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Drowning is not so pitiful**\n\nDrowning is not so pitiful  \nAs the attempt to rise  \nThree times, 'tis said, a sinking man  \nComes up to face the skies,  \nAnd then declines forever  \nTo that abhorred abode,  \nWhere hope and he part company \u2014   \nFor he is grasped of God.  \nThe Maker's cordial visage,  \nHowever good to see,  \nIs shunned, we must admit it,  \nLike an adversity.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**God is indeed a jealous God \u2014**\n\nGod is indeed a jealous God \u2014   \nHe cannot bear to see  \nThat we had rather not with Him  \nBut with each other play.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Had I known that the first was the last**\n\nHad I known that the first was the last  \nI should have kept it longer.  \nHad I known that the last was the first  \nI should have drunk it stronger.  \nCup, it was your fault,  \nLip was not the liar.  \nNo, lip, it was yours,  \nBliss was most to blame.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**He was my host \u2014 he was my guest,**\n\nHe was my host \u2014 he was my guest,  \nI never to this day  \nIf I invited him could tell,  \nOr he invited me.\n\nSo infinite our intercourse  \nSo intimate, indeed,  \nAnalysis as capsule seemed  \nTo keeper of the seed.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Her face was in a bed of hair,**\n\nHer face was in a bed of hair,  \nLike flowers in a plot \u2014   \nHer hand was whiter than the sperm  \nThat feeds the sacred light.  \nHer tongue more tender than the tune  \nThat totters in the leaves \u2014   \nWho hears may be incredulous,  \nWho witnesses, believes.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**High from the earth I heard a bird,**\n\nHigh from the earth I heard a bird,  \nHe trod upon the trees  \nAs he esteemed them trifles,  \nAnd then he spied a breeze,  \nAnd situated softly  \nUpon a pile of wind  \nWhich in a perturbation  \nNature had left behind.  \nA joyous going fellow  \nI gathered from his talk  \nWhich both of benediction  \nAnd badinage partook.  \nWithout apparent burden  \nI subsequently learned  \nHe was the faithful father  \nOf a dependent brood.  \nAnd this untoward transport  \nHis remedy for care.  \nA contrast to our respites.  \nHow different we are!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How dare the robins sing,**\n\nHow dare the robins sing,  \nWhen men and women hear  \nWho since they went to their account  \nHave settled with the year! \u2014   \nPaid all that life had earned  \nIn one consummate bill,  \nAnd now, what life or death can do  \nIs immaterial.  \nInsulting is the sun  \nTo him whose mortal light  \nBeguiled of immortality  \nBequeaths him to the night.  \nExtinct be every hum  \nIn deference to him  \nWhose garden wrestles with the dew,  \nAt daybreak overcome!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I took one Draught of Life \u2014**\n\nI took one Draught of Life \u2014   \nI'll tell you what I paid \u2014   \nPrecisely an existence \u2014   \nThe market price, they said.\n\nThey weighed me, Dust by Dust \u2014   \nThey balanced Film with Film,  \nThen handed me my Being's worth \u2014   \nA single Dram of Heaven!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If all the griefs I am to have**\n\nIf all the griefs I am to have  \nWould only come today,  \nI am so happy I believe  \nThey'd laugh and run away.\n\nIf all the joys I am to have  \nWould only come today,  \nThey could not be so big as this  \nThat happens to me now.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**If ever the lid gets off my head**\n\nIf ever the lid gets off my head  \nAnd lets the brain away  \nThe fellow will go where he belonged \u2014   \nWithout a hint from me,\n\nAnd the world \u2014 if the world be looking on \u2014   \nWill see how far from home  \nIt is possible for sense to live  \nThe soul there \u2014 all the time.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Is Immortality a bane**\n\nIs Immortality a bane  \nThat men are so oppressed?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**I've got an arrow here.**\n\nI've got an arrow here.  \nLoving the hand that sent it  \nI the dart revere.\n\nFell, they will say, in \"skirmish\"!  \nVanquished, my soul will know  \nBy but a simple arrow  \nSped by an archer's bow.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Lethe in my flower,**\n\n\"Lethe\" in my flower,  \nOf which they who drink  \nIn the fadeless orchards  \nHear the bobolink!\n\nMerely flake or petal  \nAs the Eye beholds  \nJupiter! my father!  \nI perceive the rose!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Love can do all but raise the Dead**\n\nLove can do all but raise the Dead  \nI doubt if even that  \nFrom such a giant were withheld  \nWere flesh equivalent\n\nBut love is tired and must sleep,  \nAnd hungry and must graze  \nAnd so abets the shining Fleet  \nTill it is out of gaze.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**My life closed twice before its close \u2014**\n\nMy life closed twice before its close \u2014   \nIt yet remains to see  \nIf Immortality unveil  \nA third event to me\n\nSo huge, so hopeless to conceive  \nAs these that twice befell.  \nParting is all we know of heaven,  \nAnd all we need of hell.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**No man saw awe, nor to his house**\n\nNo man saw awe, nor to his house  \nAdmitted he a man  \nThough by his awful residence  \nHas human nature been.\n\nNot deeming of his dread abode  \nTill laboring to flee  \nA grasp on comprehension laid  \nDetained vitality.\n\nReturning is a different route  \nThe Spirit could not show  \nFor breathing is the only work  \nTo be enacted now.\n\n\"Am not consumed,\" old Moses wrote,  \n\"Yet saw him face to face\" \u2014   \nThat very physiognomy  \nI am convinced was this.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Oh, honey of an hour,**\n\nOh, honey of an hour,  \nI never knew thy power,  \nProhibit me  \nTill my minutest dower,  \nMy unfrequented flower,  \nDeserving be.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**One crown that no one seeks**\n\nOne crown that no one seeks  \nAnd yet the highest head  \nIts isolation coveted  \nIts stigma deified\n\nWhile Pontius Pilate lives  \nIn whatsoever hell  \nThat coronation pierces him  \nHe recollects it well.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it,**\n\nProud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it,  \nProud of the pain I did not feel till thee,\n\nProud of my night, since thou with moons dost slake it,  \nNot to partake thy passion, my humility.\n\nThou can'st not boast, like Jesus, drunken without companion  \nWas the strong cup of anguish brewed for the Nazarene\n\nThou can'st not pierce tradition with the peerless puncture,  \nSee! I usurped thy crucifix to honor mine!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Rearrange a Wife's affection!**\n\nRearrange a \"Wife's\" affection!  \nWhen they dislocate my Brain!  \nAmputate my freckled Bosom!  \nMake me bearded like a man!\n\nBlush, my spirit, in thy Fastness \u2014   \nBlush, my unacknowledged clay \u2014   \nSeven years of troth have taught thee  \nMore than Wifehood every may!\n\nLove that never leaped its socket \u2014   \nTrust entrenched in narrow pain \u2014   \nConstancy thro' fire \u2014 awarded \u2014   \nAnguish \u2014 bare of anodyne!\n\nBurden \u2014 borne so far triumphant \u2014   \nNone suspect me of the crown,  \nFor I wear the \"Thorns\" till Sunset \u2014   \nThen \u2014 my Diadem put on.\n\nBig my Secret but it's bandaged \u2014   \nIt will never get away  \nTill the Day its Weary Keeper  \nLeads it through the Grave to thee.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Softened by Time's consummate plush,**\n\nSoftened by Time's consummate plush,  \nHow sleek the woe appears  \nThat threatened childhood's citadel  \nAnd undermined the years.\n\nBisected now, by bleaker griefs,  \nWe envy the despair  \nThat devastated childhood's realm,  \nSo easy to repair.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Some say goodnight \u2014 at night \u2014**\n\nSome say goodnight \u2014 at night \u2014   \nI say goodnight by day \u2014   \nGood-bye \u2014 the Going utter me \u2014   \nGoodnight, I still reply \u2014\n\nFor parting, that is night,  \nAnd presence, simply dawn \u2014   \nItself, the purple on the height  \nDenominated morn.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sweet is the swamp with its secrets,**\n\nSweet is the swamp with its secrets,  \nUntil we meet a snake;  \n'Tis then we sigh for houses,  \nAnd our departure take\n\nAt that enthralling gallop  \nThat only childhood knows.  \nA snake is summer's treason,  \nAnd guile is where it goes.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That it will never come again**\n\nThat it will never come again  \nIs what makes life so sweet.  \nBelieving what we don't believe  \nDoes not exhilarate.\n\nThat if it be, it be at best  \nAn ablative estate \u2014   \nThis instigates an appetite  \nPrecisely opposite.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The distance that the dead have gone**\n\nThe distance that the dead have gone  \nDoes not at first appear \u2014   \nTheir coming back seems possible  \nFor many an ardent year.\n\nAnd then, that we have followed them,  \nWe more than half suspect,  \nSo intimate have we become  \nWith their dear retrospect.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The grave my little cottage is,**\n\nThe grave my little cottage is,  \nWhere \"Keeping house\" for thee  \nI make my parlor orderly  \nAnd lay the marble tea.\n\nFor two divided, briefly,  \nA cycle, it may be,  \nTill everlasting life unite  \nIn strong society.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The joy that has no stem no core,**\n\nThe joy that has no stem no core,  \nNor seed that we can sow,  \nIs edible to longing.  \nBut ablative to show.\n\nBy fundamental palates  \nThose products are preferred  \nImpregnable to transit  \nAnd patented by pod.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The mob within the heart**\n\nThe mob within the heart  \nPolice cannot suppress  \nThe riot given at the first  \nIs authorized as peace\n\nUncertified of scene  \nOr signified of sound  \nBut growing like a hurricane  \nIn a congenial ground.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The most important population**\n\nThe most important population  \nUnnoticed dwell,  \nThey have a heaven each instant  \nNot any hell.\n\nTheir names, unless you know them,  \n'Twere useless tell.  \nOf bumble-bees and other nations  \nThe grass is full.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The parasol is the umbrella's daughter,**\n\nThe parasol is the umbrella's daughter,  \nAnd associates with a fan  \nWhile her father abuts the tempest  \nAnd abridges the rain.\n\nThe former assists a siren  \nIn her serene display;  \nBut her father is borne and honored,  \nAnd borrowed to this day.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The reticent volcano keeps**\n\nThe reticent volcano keeps  \nHis never slumbering plan \u2014   \nConfided are his projects pink  \nTo no precarious man.\n\nIf nature will not tell the tale  \nJehovah told to her  \nCan human nature not survive  \nWithout a listener?\n\nAdmonished by her buckled lips  \nLet every babbler be  \nThe only secret people keep  \nIs Immortality.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The waters chased him as he fled,**\n\nThe waters chased him as he fled,  \nNot daring look behind \u2014   \nA billow whispered in his Ear,  \n\"Come home with me, my friend \u2014   \nMy parlor is of shriven glass,  \nMy pantry has a fish  \nFor every palate in the Year\" \u2014   \nTo this revolting bliss  \nThe object floating at his side  \nMade no distinct reply.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The words the happy say**\n\nThe words the happy say  \nAre paltry melody  \nBut those the silent feel  \nAre beautiful \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**There comes an hour when begging stops,**\n\nThere comes an hour when begging stops,  \nWhen the long interceding lips  \nPerceive their prayer is vain.  \n\"Thou shalt not\" is a kinder sword  \nThan from a disappointing God  \n\"Disciple, call again.\"\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**This docile one inter**\n\nThis docile one inter  \nWhile we who dare to live  \nArraign the sunny brevity  \nThat sparkled to the Grave.\n\nOn her departing span  \nNo wilderness remain  \nAs dauntless in the House of Death  \nAs if it were her own \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Through those old Grounds of memory,**\n\nThrough those old Grounds of memory,  \nThe sauntering alone  \nIs a divine intemperance  \nA prudent man would shun.  \nOf liquors that are vended  \n'Tis easy to beware  \nBut statutes do not meddle  \nWith the internal bar.  \nPernicious as the sunset  \nPermitting to pursue  \nBut impotent to gather,  \nThe tranquil perfidy  \nAlloys our firmer moments  \nWith that severest gold  \nConvenient to the longing  \nBut otherwise withheld.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To lose thee \u2014 sweeter than to gain**\n\nTo lose thee \u2014 sweeter than to gain  \nAll other hearts I knew.  \n'Tis true the drought is destitute,  \nBut then, I had the dew!\n\nThe Caspian has its realms of sand,  \nIts other realm of sea.  \nWithout the sterile perquisite,  \nNo Caspian could be.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,**\n\nTo make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,  \nOne clover, and a bee,  \nAnd revery.  \nThe revery alone will do,  \nIf bees are few.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Twas here my summer paused**\n\n'Twas here my summer paused  \nWhat ripeness after then  \nTo other scene or other soul  \nMy sentence had begun.\n\nTo winter to remove  \nWith winter to abide  \nGo manacle your icicle  \nAgainst your Tropic Bride.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Upon the gallows hung a wretch,**\n\nUpon the gallows hung a wretch,  \nToo sullied for the hell  \nTo which the law entitled him.  \nAs nature's curtain fell  \nThe one who bore him tottered in , \u2014   \nFor this was woman's son.  \n\"'Twere all I had,\" she stricken gasped \u2014   \nOh, what a livid boon!\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Where every bird is bold to go**\n\nWhere every bird is bold to go  \nAnd bees abashless play,  \nThe foreigner before he knocks  \nMust thrust the tears away.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Which misses most,**\n\nWhich misses most,  \nThe hand that tends,  \nOr heart so gently borne,  \n'Tis twice as heavy as it was  \nBecause the hand is gone?\n\nWhich blesses most,  \nThe lip that can,  \nOr that that went to sleep\n\nWith \"if I could\" endeavoring  \nWithout the strength to shape?\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Elysium is as far as to**\n\nElysium is as far as to  \nThe very nearest Room  \nIf in that Room a Friend await  \nFelicity or Doom \u2014\n\nWhat fortitude the Soul contains,  \nThat it can so endure  \nThe accent of a coming Foot \u2014   \nThe opening of a Door \u2014\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**A train went through a burial gate,**\n\nA TRAIN went through a burial gate,  \nA bird broke forth and sang,  \nAnd trilled, and quivered, and shook his throat  \nTill all the churchyard rang ;\n\nAnd then adjusted his little notes,  \nAnd bowed and sang again.  \nDoubtless, he thought it meet of him  \nTo say good-by to men.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Were natural mortal lady**\n\nWere natural mortal lady  \nWho had so little time  \nTo pack her trunk and order  \nThe great exchange of clime \u2014\n\nHow rapid, how momentous \u2014   \nWhat exigencies were \u2014   \nBut nature will be ready  \nAnd have an hour to spare.\n\nTo make some trifle fairer  \nThat was too fair before \u2014   \nEnchanting by remaining,  \nAnd by departure more.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Fame is a bee.**\n\nFame is a bee.  \nIt has a song \u2014   \nIt has a sting \u2014   \nAh, too, it has a wing.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,**\n\nThe saddest noise, the sweetest noise,  \nThe maddest noise that grows, \u2014   \nThe birds, they make it in the spring,  \nAt night's delicious close.\n\nBetween the March and April line \u2014   \nThat magical frontier  \nBeyond which summer hesitates,  \nAlmost too heavenly near.\n\nIt makes us think of all the dead  \nThat sauntered with us here,  \nBy separation's sorcery  \nMade cruelly more dear.\n\nIt makes us think of what we had,  \nAnd what we now deplore.  \nWe almost wish those siren throats  \nWould go and sing no more.\n\nAn ear can break a human heart  \nAs quickly as a spear,  \nWe wish the ear had not a heart  \nSo dangerously near.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**That Love is all there is,**\n\nThat Love is all there is,  \nIs all we know of Love;  \nIt is enough, the freight should be  \nProportioned to the groove.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Those final Creatures, \u2014 who they are \u2014**\n\nThose final Creatures, - who they are -  \nThat faithful to the close  \nAdminister her ecstasy,  \nBut just the Summer knows.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Sweet hours have perished here;**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nSweet hours have perished here,  \nThis is a timid room -  \nWithin it's precincts hopes have played  \nNow fallow in the tomb.\n\n**Version 2**\n\nSweet hours have perished here,  \nThis is a timid room -  \nWithin it's precints hopes have played  \nNow shadows in the tomb.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Lad of Athens, faithful be**\n\n**Version 1**\n\nLad of Athens faithful be to thyself and mystery -  \nAll the rest is perjury -\n\n**Version 2**\n\nLad of Athens, faithful be  \nTo thyself,  \nAnd Mystery -  \nAll the rest is Perjury -\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The longest day that God appoints**\n\nThe little notes shall go as fast as steam can take them.  \nOur hearts already went. Would we could mail our faces for your dear encouragement.  \nRemember The longest day that God appoints  \nWill finish with the sun.  \nAnguish can travel to it's stake,  \nAnd then it must return.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Experiment escorts us last \u2014**\n\nExperiment escorts us last -  \nHis pungent company  \nWill not allow an Axiom  \nAn Opportunity -\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**How fleet \u2014 how indiscreet an one \u2014**\n\nMy little devices to live till Monday would woo your sad attention - Full of work and plots and little happinesses the Thought of you protracts them all and makes them sham and cold -  \nHow fleet - how indiscreet an one -  \nhow always wrong is Love -  \nThe joyful little Deity  \nWe are not scourged to serve -\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Let me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip,**\n\nLet me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip,  \nNor beg, with Domains in my Pocket -\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The Summer that we did not prize,**\n\nThe Summer that we did not prize,  \nHer treasures were so easy  \nInstructs us by departing now  \nAnd recognition lazy \u2014\n\nBestirs itself \u2014 puts on its Coat,  \nAnd scans with fatal promptness  \nFor Trains that moment out of sight,  \nUnconscious of his smartness.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**Too happy Time dissolves itself**\n\nToo happy Time dissolves itself  \nAnd leaves no remnant by -  \n'Tis Anguish not a Feather hath  \nOr too much weight to fly -\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**The earth has many keys,**\n\nThe earth has many keys,  \nWhere melody is not  \nIs the unknown peninsula.  \nBeauty is nature's fact.\n\nBut witness for her land,  \nAnd witness for her sea,  \nThe cricket is her utmost  \nOf elegy to me.\n\n_For the Index of the Complete Poems, click here_\n**_LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER_**\n\nAwake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,\n\nThere is another sky\n\nSic transit gloria mundi\n\nOn this wondrous sea\n\nI have a Bird in spring\n\nFrequently the woods are pink -\n\nThe feet of people walking home\n\nThere is a word\n\nThrough lane it lay \u2014 through bramble \u2014\n\nMy wheel is in the dark!\n\nI never told the buried gold\n\nThe morns are meeker than they were \u2014\n\nSleep is supposed to be\n\nOne Sister have I in our house,\n\nThe Guest is gold and crimson \u2014\n\nI would distil a cup,\n\nBaffled for just a day or two \u2014\n\nThe Gentian weaves her fringes \u2014\n\nA sepal, petal, and a thorn\n\nDistrustful of the Gentian \u2014\n\nWe lose \u2014 because we win \u2014\n\nAll these my banners be.\n\nI had a guinea golden \u2014\n\nThere is a morn by men unseen \u2014\n\nShe slept beneath a tree \u2014\n\nIt's all I have to bring today \u2014\n\nMorns like these \u2014 we parted \u2014\n\nSo has a Daisy vanished\n\nIf those I loved were lost\n\nAdrift! A little boat adrift!\n\nSummer for thee, grant I may be\n\nWhen Roses cease to bloom, Sir,\n\nIf recollecting were forgetting,\n\nGarland for Queens, may be \u2014\n\nNobody knows this little Rose \u2014\n\nSnow flakes.\n\nBefore the ice is in the pools \u2014\n\nBy such and such an offering\n\nIt did not surprise me \u2014\n\nWhen I count the seeds\n\nI robbed the Woods \u2014\n\nA Day! Help! Help! Another Day!\n\nCould live \u2014 did live \u2014\n\nIf she had been the Mistletoe\n\nThere's something quieter than sleep\n\nI keep my pledge.\n\nHeart! We will forget him!\n\nOnce more, my now bewildered Dove\n\nI never lost as much but twice,\n\nI haven't told my garden yet \u2014\n\nI often passed the village\n\nWhether my bark went down at sea \u2014\n\nTaken from men \u2014 this morning \u2014\n\nIf I should die,\n\nBy Chivalries as tiny,\n\nIf I should cease to bring a Rose\n\nTo venerate the simple days\n\nDelayed till she had ceased to know \u2014\n\nA little East of Jordan,\n\nLike her the Saints retire,\n\nPapa above!\n\nSown in dishonor!\n\nIf pain for peace prepares\n\nSome Rainbow \u2014 coming from the Fair!\n\nI can't tell you \u2014 but you feel it \u2014\n\nSo from the mould\n\nSuccess is counted sweetest\n\nAmbition cannot find him.\n\nLow at my problem bending,\n\nArcturus is his other name \u2014\n\nA throe upon the features \u2014\n\nGlowing is her Bonnet,\n\nWho never lost, are unprepared\n\nA Lady red \u2014 amid the Hill\n\nShe died at play,\n\nExultation is the going\n\nI never hear the word escape\n\nA poor \u2014 torn heart \u2014 a tattered heart \u2014\n\nGoing to Heaven!\n\nOur lives are Swiss \u2014\n\nWe should not mind so small a flower \u2014\n\nWhose cheek is this?\n\nHeart, not so heavy as mine\n\nHer breast is fit for pearls,\n\nThey have not chosen me, he said,\n\nSouth Winds jostle them \u2014\n\nA darting fear \u2014 a pomp \u2014 a tear \u2014\n\nAs by the dead we love to sit,\n\nSome things that fly there be \u2014\n\nWithin my reach!\n\nSo bashful when I spied her!\n\nMy friend must be a Bird \u2014\n\nWent up a year this evening!\n\nAngels, in the early morning\n\nMy nosegays are for Captives \u2014\n\nSexton! My Master's sleeping here.\n\nThe rainbow never tells me\n\nOne dignity delays for all \u2014\n\nNew feet within my garden go \u2014\n\nA science \u2014 so the Savants say,\n\nWill there really be a Morning?\n\nGreat Caesar! Condescend\n\nI have a King, who does not speak \u2014\n\nWhere I have lost, I softer tread \u2014\n\nTo hang our head \u2014 ostensibly \u2014\n\nThe Daisy follows soft the Sun \u2014\n\nTwas such a little \u2014 little boat\n\nSurgeons must be very careful\n\nBy a flower \u2014 By a letter \u2014\n\nArtists wrestled here!\n\nThe Bee is not afraid of me.\n\nWhere bells no more affright the morn \u2014\n\nOur share of night to bear \u2014\n\nGood night, because we must,\n\nWhat Inn is this\n\nI had some things that I called mine \u2014\n\nIn rags mysterious as these\n\nMy friend attacks my friend!\n\nTalk with prudence to a Beggar\n\nIf this is fading\n\nAs Watchers hang upon the East,\n\nA something in a summer's Day\n\nMany cross the Rhine\n\nIn lands I never saw \u2014 they say\n\nFor each ecstatic instant\n\nTo fight aloud, is very brave \u2014\n\nHouses \u2014 so the Wise Men tell me \u2014\n\nBring me the sunset in a cup,\n\nCocoon above! Cocoon below!\n\nThese are the days when Birds come back \u2014\n\nBesides the Autumn poets sing\n\nI bring an unaccustomed wine\n\nAs Children bid the Guest Good Night\n\nPerhaps you'd like to buy a flower,\n\nWater, is taught by thirst.\n\nHave you got a Brook in your little heart,\n\nFlowers \u2014 Well \u2014 if anybody\n\nPigmy seraphs \u2014 gone astray \u2014\n\nSoul, Wilt thou toss again?\n\nAn altered look about the hills \u2014\n\nSome, too fragile for winter winds\n\nWhose are the little beds, I asked\n\nFor every Bird a Nest \u2014\n\nShe bore it till the simple veins\n\nThis heart that broke so long \u2014\n\nOn such a night, or such a night,\n\nBless God, he went as soldiers,\n\nAll overgrown by cunning moss,\n\nShe went as quiet as the Dew\n\nShe died \u2014 this was the way she died.\n\nMute thy Coronation \u2014\n\nThe Sun kept stooping \u2014 stooping \u2014 low!\n\nDust is the only Secret \u2014\n\nExcept to Heaven, she is nought.\n\nThe Murmur of a Bee\n\nYou love me \u2014 you are sure \u2014\n\nMusicians wrestle everywhere \u2014\n\nDying! Dying in the night!\n\nA little bread \u2014 a crust \u2014 a crumb \u2014\n\nJust lost, when I was saved!\n\nA feather from the Whippoorwill\n\nMy River runs to thee \u2014\n\nTho' my destiny be Fustian \u2014\n\nMama never forgets her birds,\n\nA wounded Deer - leaps highest -\n\nI met a King this afternoon!\n\nTo learn the Transport by the Pain\n\nIf the foolish, call them flowers \u2014\n\nIn Ebon Box, when years have flown\n\nPortraits are to daily faces\n\nWait till the Majesty of Death\n\nTis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy!\n\nA fuzzy fellow, without feet,\n\nAt last, to be identified!\n\nI have never seen Volcanoes \u2014\n\nI'm the little Heart's Ease!\n\nAh, Necromancy Sweet!\n\nI cautious, scanned my little life \u2014\n\nIf I could bribe them by a Rose\n\nAs if some little Arctic flower\n\nI lost a World - the other day!\n\nIf I shouldn't be alive\n\nI've heard an Organ talk, sometimes\n\nA transport one cannot contain\n\nFaith is a fine invention\n\nWhat shall I do \u2014 it whimpers so \u2014\n\nHow many times these low feet staggered \u2014\n\nMake me a picture of the sun \u2014\n\nIt's such a little thing to weep \u2014\n\nHe was weak, and I was strong \u2014 then \u2014\n\nThe Skies can't keep their secret!\n\nPoor little Heart!\n\nI shall know why \u2014 when Time is over \u2014\n\nOn this long storm the Rainbow rose \u2014\n\nFor this \u2014 accepted Breath \u2014\n\nWe don't cry \u2014 Tim and I,\n\nMorning \u2014 is the place for Dew \u2014\n\nAn awful Tempest mashed the air \u2014\n\nI'm wife \u2014 I've finished that \u2014\n\nI stole them from a Bee \u2014\n\nTwo swimmers wrestled on the spar \u2014\n\nMy Eye is fuller than my vase \u2014\n\nHe forgot \u2014 and I \u2014 remembered \u2014\n\nA slash of Blue \u2014\n\nI should not dare to leave my friend,\n\nThe Flower must not blame the Bee \u2014\n\nTho' I get home how late \u2014 how late \u2014\n\nThe Rose did caper on her cheek \u2014\n\nWith thee, in the Desert \u2014\n\nThe thought beneath so slight a film \u2014\n\nCome slowly - Eden!\n\nLeast Rivers \u2014 docile to some sea.\n\nDid the Harebell loose her girdle\n\nI taste a liquor never brewed\n\nWhat is \u2014 Paradise \u2014\n\nSafe in their alabaster chambers\n\nSavior! I've no one else to tell \u2014\n\nIs it true, dear Sue?\n\nShe sweeps with many-colored Brooms \u2014\n\nCould I \u2014 then \u2014 shut the door \u2014\n\nIt can't be Summer!\n\nWhen Katie walks, this simple pair accompany her side,\n\nI Came to buy a smile \u2014 today \u2014\n\nI've nothing else \u2014 to bring, You know \u2014\n\nJesus! thy Crucifix\n\nShould you but fail at \u2014 Sea \u2014\n\nTeach Him \u2014 When He makes the names \u2014\n\nBlazing in Gold and quenching in Purple\n\nA Burdock \u2014 clawed my Gown \u2014\n\nWe \u2014 Bee and I \u2014 live by the quaffing \u2014\n\nGod permits industrious Angels \u2014\n\nThe Sun \u2014 just touched the Morning \u2014\n\nThe Lamp burns sure \u2014 within \u2014\n\nYou're right \u2014 the way is narrow \u2014\n\nThe Court is far away \u2014\n\nIf He dissolve \u2014 then \u2014 there is nothing \u2014 more \u2014\n\nI think just how my shape will rise \u2014\n\nKill your Balm \u2014 and its Odors bless you \u2014\n\nHeaven \u2014 is what I cannot reach!\n\nAh, Moon \u2014 and Star!\n\nI like a look of Agony,\n\nWhen we stand on the tops of Things \u2014\n\nI've known a Heaven, like a Tent \u2014\n\nIt is easy to work when the soul is at play \u2014\n\nI held a Jewel in my fingers \u2014\n\nForever at His side to walk \u2014\n\nWhat would I give to see his face?\n\nWhy \u2014 do they shut Me out of Heaven?\n\nWild Nights \u2014 Wild Nights!\n\nI shall keep singing!\n\nOver the fence \u2014\n\nI can wade Grief \u2014\n\nYou see I cannot see \u2014 your lifetime \u2014\n\nHope is the thing with feathers \u2014\n\nTo die \u2014 takes just a little while \u2014\n\nIf I'm lost \u2014 now\n\nDelight is as the flight \u2014\n\nThere's a certain Slant of light\n\nGood Night! Which put the Candle out?\n\nRead \u2014 Sweet \u2014 how others \u2014 strove \u2014\n\nPut up my lute!\n\nThe lonesome for they know not What \u2014\n\nA single Screw of Flesh\n\nA Weight with Needles on the pounds \u2014\n\nWhere Ships of Purple \u2014 gently toss \u2014\n\nThis \u2014 is the land \u2014 the Sunset washes \u2014\n\nDid we disobey Him?\n\nMe, change! Me, alter!\n\nBound \u2014 a trouble \u2014\n\nOne Life of so much Consequence!\n\nA solemn thing \u2014 it was \u2014 I said \u2014\n\nI breathed enough to take the Trick \u2014\n\nHe put the Belt around my life\n\nThe only Ghost I ever saw\n\nDoubt Me! My Dim Companion!\n\nMany a phrase has the English language \u2014\n\nWhat if I say I shall not wait!\n\nA shady friend \u2014 for Torrid days \u2014\n\nTie the Strings to my Life, My Lord,\n\nI felt a Funeral, in my Brain,\n\nTis so appalling \u2014 it exhilarates \u2014\n\nHow noteless Men, and Pleiads, stand,\n\nA Mien to move a Queen \u2014\n\nThe Drop, that wrestles in the Sea \u2014\n\nThe Robin's my Criterion for Tune \u2014\n\nThat after Horror \u2014 that 'twas us \u2014\n\nA Clock stopped \u2014\n\nI'm Nobody! Who are you?\n\nI know some lonely Houses off the Road\n\nOf Bronze \u2014 and Blaze \u2014\n\nHow the old Mountains drip with Sunset\n\nIf your Nerve, deny you \u2014\n\nI got so I could take his name \u2014\n\nThe Doomed \u2014 regard the Sunrise\n\nUnto like Story \u2014 Trouble has enticed me \u2014\n\nOne Year ago \u2014 jots what?\n\nIt's like the Light \u2014\n\nAlone, I cannot be \u2014\n\nYour Riches \u2014 taught me \u2014 Poverty\n\nMorning \u2014 means Milking \u2014 to the Farmer \u2014\n\nI reason, Earth is short \u2014\n\nLike Some Old fashioned Miracle\n\nThe Soul selects her own Society \u2014\n\nThe Day came slow \u2014 till Five o'clock \u2014\n\nThe difference between Despair\n\nThe Soul's Superior instants\n\nThe One who could repeat the Summer day \u2014\n\nI send Two Sunsets \u2014\n\nFor largest Woman's Hearth I knew \u2014\n\nGive little Anguish \u2014\n\nIt sifts from Leaden Sieves \u2014\n\nHer \u2014 last Poems \u2014\n\nI should have been too glad, I see \u2014\n\nNature \u2014 sometimes sears a Sapling \u2014\n\nHe fumbles at your Soul\n\nThe Wind didn't come from the Orchard \u2014 today \u2014\n\nJust so \u2014 Jesus \u2014 raps \u2014\n\nI'll tell you how the Sun rose \u2014\n\nThe nearest Dream recedes \u2014 unrealized \u2014\n\nWe play at Paste \u2014\n\nOf all the Sounds despatched abroad,\n\nThere came a Day at Summer's full,\n\nAs if I asked a common Alms,\n\nSome keep the Sabbath going to Church \u2014\n\nOf Tribulation, these are They,\n\nI cannot dance upon my Toes \u2014\n\nBefore I got my eye put out\n\nA Bird came down the Walk \u2014\n\nSo glad we are \u2014 a Stranger'd deem\n\nThe Juggler's Hat her Country is \u2014\n\nWhile Asters \u2014\n\nThere are two Ripenings \u2014 one \u2014 of sight \u2014\n\nThe Grass so little has to do \u2014\n\nAll the letters I can write\n\nTis not that Dying hurts us so \u2014\n\nThe face I carry with me \u2014 last \u2014\n\nI know a place where Summer strives\n\nI know that He exists.\n\nI tend my flowers for thee \u2014\n\nIs Bliss then, such Abyss,\n\nAfter great pain, a formal feeling comes \u2014\n\nIt will be Summer \u2014 eventually.\n\nMy Reward for Being, was This.\n\nTwas the old \u2014 road \u2014 through pain \u2014\n\nFunny \u2014 to be a Century \u2014\n\nNot probable \u2014 The barest Chance \u2014\n\nWhen Night is almost done \u2014\n\nI dreaded that first Robin, so,\n\nI had the Glory \u2014 that will do \u2014\n\nThey leave us with the Infinite.\n\nI felt my life with both my hands\n\nPerhaps I asked too large \u2014\n\nA happy lip \u2014 breaks sudden \u2014\n\nFrom Cocoon forth a Butterfly\n\nTis Opposites \u2014 entice \u2014\n\nThe Day that I was crowned\n\nGod is a distant \u2014 stately Lover \u2014\n\nIf any sink, assure that this, now standing \u2014\n\nI gained it so \u2014\n\nDeath sets a Thing significant\n\nWhat I can do \u2014 I will \u2014\n\nIt struck me \u2014 every Day \u2014\n\nI went to thank Her \u2014\n\nThe Morning after Woe \u2014\n\nDare you see a Soul at the White Heat?\n\nAlthough I put away his life \u2014\n\nOver and over, like a Tune \u2014\n\nHow sick \u2014 to wait \u2014 in any place \u2014 but thine \u2014\n\nShe lay as if at play\n\nHeaven is so far of the Mind\n\nA precious \u2014 mouldering pleasure \u2014 'tis \u2014\n\nI know lives, I could miss\n\nI'm saying every day\n\nI went to Heaven \u2014\n\nThe Angle of a Landscape \u2014\n\nOf Course \u2014 I prayed \u2014\n\nTo lose one's faith \u2014 surpass\n\nI saw no Way \u2014 The Heavens were stitched \u2014\n\nRehearsal to Ourselves\n\nThere is a flower that Bees prefer \u2014\n\nA Secret told \u2014\n\nFor Death \u2014 or rather\n\nExhilaration \u2014 is within \u2014\n\nNo Rack can torture me \u2014\n\nSmiling back from Coronation\n\nAnswer July \u2014\n\nThe sweetest Heresy received\n\nTake your Heaven further on \u2014\n\nThere's been a Death, in the Opposite House,\n\nIt's coming \u2014 the postponeless Creature \u2014\n\nA Visitor in Marl \u2014\n\nThrough the Dark Sod \u2014 as Education \u2014\n\nDid Our Best Moment last \u2014\n\nTwas Love \u2014 not me \u2014\n\nReverse cannot befall\n\nThere is a Languor of the Life\n\nWhen Diamonds are a Legend,\n\nI had not minded \u2014 Walls \u2014\n\nA House upon the Height \u2014\n\nA Tongue \u2014 to tell Him I am true!\n\nWhat Soft \u2014 Cherubic Creatures \u2014\n\nI pay \u2014 in Satin Cash \u2014\n\nThe Winters are so short \u2014\n\nHow many Flowers fail in Wood \u2014\n\nIt might be lonelier\n\nSome \u2014 Work for Immortality \u2014\n\nIf What we could \u2014 were what we would \u2014\n\nUnit, like Death, for Whom?\n\nThey dropped like Flakes \u2014\n\nThe first Day's Night had come \u2014\n\nThe Color of the Grave is Green \u2014\n\nI read my sentence \u2014 steadily \u2014\n\nI never felt at Home \u2014 Below \u2014 -\n\nTwas like a Maelstrom, with a notch,\n\nSunset at Night \u2014 is natural \u2014\n\nA Murmur in the Trees \u2014 to note \u2014\n\nIs it dead \u2014 Find it \u2014\n\nNot in this World to see his face \u2014\n\nWe grow accustomed to the Dark \u2014\n\nYou'll know it \u2014 as you know 'tis Noon \u2014\n\nA Charm invests a face\n\nMore Life \u2014 went out \u2014 when He went\n\nThe Months have ends \u2014 the Years \u2014 a knot \u2014\n\nRemoved from Accident of Loss\n\nGood Morning \u2014 Midnight \u2014\n\nIt don't sound so terrible \u2014 quite \u2014 as it did \u2014\n\nI'll clutch \u2014 and clutch \u2014\n\nTaking up the fair Ideal,\n\nThe Moon is distant from the Sea \u2014\n\nIt would never be Common \u2014 more \u2014 I said \u2014\n\nMe \u2014 come! My dazzled face\n\nDo People moulder equally,\n\nKnows how to forget!\n\nTo love thee Year by Year \u2014\n\nMuch Madness is divinest Sense \u2014\n\nThe Wind \u2014 tapped like a tired Man \u2014\n\nPrayer is the little implement\n\nForget! The lady with the Amulet\n\nUndue Significance a starving man attaches\n\nTis customary as we part\n\nThis is my letter to the World\n\nGod made a little Gentian \u2014\n\nI tie my Hat \u2014 I crease my Shawl \u2014\n\nIt feels a shame to be Alive \u2014\n\nTwas just this time, last year, I died.\n\nI showed her Heights she never saw \u2014\n\nCould \u2014 I do more \u2014 for Thee \u2014\n\nThis was a Poet \u2014 It is That\n\nI died for Beauty \u2014 but was scarce\n\nDreams \u2014 are well \u2014 but Waking's better,\n\nThe Outer \u2014 from the Inner\n\nThe Malay \u2014 took the Pearl \u2014\n\nLove \u2014 thou art high \u2014\n\nIt was given to me by the Gods \u2014\n\nTriumph \u2014 may be of several kinds \u2014\n\nSo well that I can live without \u2014\n\nSweet \u2014 safe \u2014 Houses \u2014\n\nLike eyes that looked on Wastes \u2014\n\nA Tooth upon Our Peace\n\nI know where Wells grow \u2014 Droughtless Wells \u2014\n\nA Wife \u2014 at daybreak I shall be \u2014\n\nWhy make it doubt \u2014 it hurts it so \u2014\n\nI live with Him \u2014 I see His face \u2014\n\nThe power to be true to You,\n\nI heard a Fly buzz \u2014 when I died \u2014\n\nTis little I \u2014 could care for Pearls \u2014\n\nWe do not play on Graves \u2014\n\nThe Manner of its Death\n\nThe Red \u2014 Blaze \u2014 is the Morning \u2014\n\nI am alive \u2014 I guess \u2014\n\nA Night \u2014 there lay the Days between \u2014\n\nExcept the Heaven had come so near \u2014\n\nI am ashamed \u2014 I hide \u2014\n\nThey put Us far apart \u2014\n\nDoom is the House without the Door \u2014\n\nI meant to have but modest needs \u2014\n\nNo Man can compass a Despair \u2014\n\nI had no time to Hate \u2014\n\nShe dealt her pretty words like Blades \u2014\n\nWhy do I love You, Sir?\n\nThe Himmaleh was known to stoop\n\nWe Cover Thee \u2014 Sweet Face \u2014\n\nA Solemn thing within the Soul\n\nMy Garden \u2014 like the Beach \u2014\n\nTo make One's Toilette \u2014 after Death\n\nI was the slightest in the House \u2014\n\nYou love the Lord \u2014 you cannot see \u2014\n\nMyself was formed \u2014 a Carpenter \u2014\n\nWe pray \u2014 to Heaven \u2014\n\nTo One denied the drink\n\nWhile it is alive\n\nCivilization \u2014 spurns \u2014 the Leopard!\n\nThe World \u2014 stands \u2014 solemner \u2014 to me \u2014\n\nGoing to Him! Happy letter!\n\nIt's thoughts \u2014 and just One Heart \u2014\n\nAs far from pity, as complaint \u2014\n\nHe strained my faith \u2014\n\nI envy Seas, whereon He rides \u2014\n\nThose fair \u2014 fictitious People \u2014\n\nWithin my Garden, rides a Bird\n\nThis World is not Conclusion.\n\nAt least \u2014 to pray \u2014 is left \u2014 is left \u2014\n\nBetter \u2014 than Music! For I \u2014 who heard it \u2014\n\nYou know that Portrait in the Moon \u2014\n\nI would not paint \u2014 a picture \u2014\n\nHe touched me, so I live to know\n\nShe sights a Bird \u2014 she chuckles \u2014\n\nI'm ceded \u2014 I've stopped being Theirs \u2014\n\nIf anybody's friend be dead\n\nIt was not Death, for I stood up,\n\nIf you were coming in the Fall,\n\nThe Soul has Bandaged moments \u2014\n\nLike Flowers, that heard the news of Dews,\n\nHer smile was shaped like other smiles \u2014\n\nNo Crowd that has occurred\n\nBeauty \u2014 be not caused \u2014 It Is \u2014\n\nHe parts Himself \u2014 like Leaves \u2014\n\nHer sweet Weight on my Heart a Night\n\nTwas warm \u2014 at first \u2014 like Us \u2014\n\nI started Early \u2014 Took my Dog \u2014\n\nEndow the Living \u2014 with the Tears \u2014\n\nHad I presumed to hope \u2014\n\nSweet \u2014 You forgot \u2014 but I remembered\n\nDeparted \u2014 to the Judgment \u2014\n\nI think the Hemlock likes to stand\n\nTo hear an Oriole sing\n\nTo put this World down, like a Bundle \u2014\n\nMine \u2014 by the Right of the White Election!\n\nI'm sorry for the Dead \u2014 Today \u2014\n\nYou cannot put a Fire out \u2014\n\nWe dream \u2014 it is good we are dreaming \u2014\n\nI tried to think a lonelier Thing\n\nTwo butterflies went out at Noon \u2014\n\nWe see \u2014 Comparatively \u2014\n\nShe's happy, with a new Content \u2014\n\nThe Heart asks Pleasure \u2014 first \u2014\n\nMe prove it now \u2014 Whoever doubt\n\nTis true \u2014 They shut me in the Cold \u2014\n\nThe Province of the Saved\n\nI took my Power in my Hand \u2014\n\nSome such Butterfly be seen\n\nI had no Cause to be awake \u2014\n\nI fear a Man of frugal Speech \u2014\n\nThe Martyr Poets \u2014 did not tell \u2014\n\nTis One by One \u2014 the Father counts \u2014\n\nTo fill a Gap\n\nI've seen a Dying Eye\n\nDeath is potential to that Man\n\nThat I did always love\n\nI cross till I am weary\n\nThere is a Shame of Nobleness \u2014\n\nAn ignorance a Sunset\n\nOne Crucifixion is recorded \u2014 only \u2014\n\nThe Black Berry \u2014 wears a Thorn in his side \u2014\n\nTrust in the Unexpected \u2014\n\nThe Brain, within its Groove\n\nShe hideth Her the last \u2014\n\nBut little Carmine hath her face \u2014\n\nIt knew no Medicine \u2014\n\nIt knew no lapse, nor Diminuation \u2014\n\nI measure every Grief I meet\n\nConjecturing a Climate\n\nI could not prove the Years had feet \u2014\n\nMy period had come for Prayer \u2014\n\nOne Anguish \u2014 in a Crowd \u2014\n\nA Dying Tiger \u2014 moaned for Drink \u2014\n\nHe gave away his Life \u2014\n\nWe learned the Whole of Love \u2014\n\nI reckon \u2014 when I count it all \u2014\n\nI could die \u2014 to know \u2014\n\nMust be a Woe \u2014\n\nDelight \u2014 becomes pictorial \u2014\n\nThe Test of Love \u2014 is Death \u2014\n\nMy first well Day \u2014 since many ill \u2014\n\nHeaven has different Signs \u2014 to me \u2014\n\nI prayed, at first, a little Girl,\n\nIf I may have it, when it's dead,\n\nThe Body grows without \u2014\n\nI had been hungry, all the Years \u2014\n\nI gave myself to Him \u2014\n\nI found the words to every thought\n\nInconceivably solemn!\n\nA Toad, can die of Light \u2014\n\nIt ceased to hurt me, though so slow\n\nI like to see it lap the Miles \u2014\n\nWe talked as Girls do \u2014\n\nEmpty my Heart, of Thee \u2014\n\nI cried at Pity \u2014 not at Pain \u2014\n\nThe Night was wide, and furnished scant\n\nDid you ever stand in a Cavern's Mouth \u2014\n\nTo interrupt His Yellow Plan\n\nWhat care the Dead, for Chanticleer \u2014\n\nI think I was enchanted\n\nThe Battle fought between the Soul\n\nLike Mighty Foot Lights \u2014 burned the Red\n\nWhen I was small, a Woman died \u2014\n\nIt always felt to me \u2014 a wrong\n\nThree times \u2014 we parted \u2014 Breath \u2014 and I \u2014\n\nThere is a pain \u2014 so utter \u2014\n\nIt troubled me as once I was \u2014\n\nA still \u2014 Volcano \u2014 Life \u2014\n\nOf Brussels \u2014 it was not \u2014\n\nHe found my Being \u2014 set it up \u2014\n\nUnto my Books \u2014 so good to turn \u2014\n\nThe Spider holds a Silver Ball\n\nThe Trees like Tassels \u2014 hit \u2014 and swung \u2014\n\nOf nearness to her sundered Things\n\nAfraid! Of whom am I afraid?\n\nI Years had been from Home\n\nYou'll find \u2014 it when you try to die \u2014\n\nI see thee better \u2014 in the Dark \u2014\n\nIt would have starved a Gnat \u2014\n\nThey shut me up in Prose \u2014\n\nIn falling Timbers buried \u2014\n\nOur journey had advanced \u2014\n\nI rose \u2014 because He sank \u2014\n\nDon't put up my Thread and Needle \u2014\n\nAt leisure is the Soul\n\nGlee \u2014 The great storm is over \u2014\n\nIt makes no difference abroad \u2014\n\nI asked no other thing \u2014\n\nTo know just how He suffered \u2014 would be dear \u2014\n\nIt was too late for Man \u2014\n\nForever \u2014 is composed of Nows \u2014\n\nTwas a long Parting \u2014 but the time\n\nOnly God \u2014 detect the Sorrow \u2014\n\nThe Tint I cannot take \u2014 is best \u2014\n\nThey called me to the Window, for\n\nI watched the Moon around the House\n\nThe Lightning playeth \u2014 all the while \u2014\n\nOurselves were wed one summer \u2014 dear \u2014\n\nThe Brain \u2014 is wider than the Sky \u2014\n\nWhen Bells stop ringing \u2014 Church \u2014 begins\n\nYou'll know Her \u2014 by Her Foot \u2014\n\nI think the longest Hour of all\n\nThe Way I read a Letter's \u2014 this \u2014\n\nThe Child's faith is new \u2014\n\nTo my small Hearth His fire came \u2014\n\nMy Portion is Defeat \u2014 today \u2014\n\nI cannot live with You \u2014\n\nSize circumscribes \u2014 it has no room\n\nMe from Myself \u2014 to banish \u2014\n\nI could suffice for Him, I knew \u2014\n\nYou left me \u2014 Sire \u2014 two Legacies \u2014\n\nBereavement in their death to feel\n\nI think to Live \u2014 may be a Bliss\n\nA little Road \u2014 not made of Man \u2014\n\nPromise This \u2014 When You be Dying \u2014\n\nHer Sweet turn to leave the Homestead\n\nPain \u2014 has an Element of Blank \u2014\n\nSo much Summer\n\nA Prison gets to be a friend \u2014\n\nOf Being is a Bird\n\nA long \u2014 long Sleep \u2014 A famous \u2014 Sleep \u2014\n\nWithout this \u2014 there is nought \u2014\n\nThe name \u2014 of it \u2014 is Autumn \u2014\n\nI dwell in Possibility \u2014\n\nWhole Gulfs \u2014 of Red, and Fleets \u2014 of Red \u2014\n\nThat first Day, when you praised Me, Sweet,\n\nTis good \u2014 the looking back on Grief \u2014\n\nCould I but ride indefinite\n\nEmbarrassment of one another\n\nAgain \u2014 his voice is at the door \u2014\n\nOf all the Souls that stand create \u2014\n\nDropped into the Ether Acre \u2014\n\nAh, Teneriffe!\n\nBloom upon the Mountain \u2014 stated \u2014\n\nNature is what we see \u2014\n\nNo Romance sold unto\n\nOne need not be a Chamber \u2014 to be Haunted \u2014\n\nShe dwelleth in the Ground \u2014\n\nThe Future \u2014 never spoke \u2014\n\nThe Love a Life can show Below\n\nThe Soul that hath a Guest\n\nEssential Oils \u2014 are wrung \u2014\n\nLeast Bee that brew \u2014\n\nTo be alive \u2014 is Power \u2014\n\nWolfe demanded during dying\n\nConscious am I in my Chamber,\n\nEach Life Converges to some Centre \u2014\n\nSoil of Flint, if steady tilled \u2014\n\nTwould ease \u2014 a Butterfly \u2014\n\nThe Soul unto itself\n\nBest Gains \u2014 must have the Losses' Test \u2014\n\nNot Revelation \u2014 'tis \u2014 that waits,\n\nThey say that Time assuages \u2014\n\nI'll send the feather from my Hat!\n\nSpeech \u2014 is a prank of Parliament \u2014\n\nThe Zeroes \u2014 taught us \u2014 Phosphorous \u2014\n\nVictory comes late \u2014\n\nWould you like summer? Taste of ours.\n\nThe Sun kept setting \u2014 setting \u2014 still\n\nShells from the Coast mistaking \u2014\n\nThe Heaven vests for Each\n\nAs if the Sea should part\n\nTheir Height in Heaven comforts not \u2014\n\nI could bring You Jewels \u2014 had I a mind to \u2014\n\nLife \u2014 is what we make of it \u2014\n\nThe Judge is like the Owl \u2014\n\nYou've seen Balloons set \u2014 Haven't You?\n\nA Thought went up my mind today \u2014\n\nA first Mute Coming \u2014\n\nOut of sight? What of that?\n\nNo matter \u2014 now \u2014 Sweet \u2014\n\nSuspense \u2014 is Hostiler than Death \u2014\n\nLife, and Death, and Giants \u2014\n\nThe Grace \u2014 Myself \u2014 might not obtain \u2014\n\nI sometimes drop it, for a Quick \u2014\n\nPublication \u2014 is the Auction\n\nThe Sunrise runs for Both \u2014\n\nStrong Draughts of Their Refreshing Minds\n\nBecause I could not stop for Death \u2014\n\nFame of Myself, to justify,\n\nRest at Night\n\nThe World \u2014 feels Dusty\n\nThe Day undressed \u2014 Herself \u2014\n\nThe Beggar Lad \u2014 dies early \u2014\n\nI meant to find Her when I came \u2014\n\nA South Wind \u2014 has a pathos\n\nNo Prisoner be \u2014\n\nBehind Me \u2014 dips Eternity \u2014\n\nSweet Mountains \u2014 Ye tell Me no lie \u2014\n\nIt tossed \u2014 and tossed \u2014\n\nIt's easy to invent a Life \u2014\n\nWhere Thou art \u2014 that \u2014 is Home \u2014\n\nWe thirst at first \u2014 'tis Nature's Act \u2014\n\nPrecious to Me \u2014 She still shall be \u2014\n\nLet Us play Yesterday \u2014\n\nAlter? When the Hills do\n\nDefrauded I a Butterfly \u2014\n\nI want \u2014 it pleaded \u2014 All its life \u2014\n\nShe rose to His Requirement \u2014 dropt\n\nThe Spirit is the Conscious Ear.\n\nIf He were living \u2014 dare I ask \u2014\n\nUpon Concluded Lives\n\nHave any like Myself\n\nThe Moon was but a Chin of Gold\n\nYou said that I was Great \u2014 one Day \u2014\n\nI many times thought Peace had come\n\nYou taught me Waiting with Myself \u2014\n\nDrama's Vitallest Expression is the Common Day\n\nFour Trees \u2014 upon a solitary Acre \u2014\n\nThe Birds reported from the South \u2014\n\nRemorse \u2014 is Memory \u2014 awake \u2014\n\nRenunciation \u2014 is a piercing Virtue \u2014\n\nNever for Society\n\nIt dropped so low \u2014 in my Regard \u2014\n\nAutumn \u2014 overlooked my Knitting \u2014\n\nAll but Death, can be Adjusted \u2014\n\nGrowth of Man \u2014 like Growth of Nature \u2014\n\nMy Worthiness is all my Doubt \u2014\n\nSo the Eyes accost \u2014 and sunder\n\nMy Soul \u2014 accused me \u2014 And I quailed \u2014\n\nMy Life had stood \u2014 a Loaded Gun \u2014\n\nNo Bobolink \u2014 reverse His Singing\n\nOne Blessing had I than the rest\n\nThe Mountains \u2014 grow unnoticed \u2014\n\nThese \u2014 saw Visions \u2014\n\nHe fought like those Who've nought to lose \u2014\n\nMost she touched me by her muteness \u2014\n\nFrom Blank to Blank \u2014\n\nThe Whole of it came not at once \u2014\n\nHe told a homely tale\n\nPresentiment \u2014 is that long Shadow \u2014 on the Lawn \u2014\n\nYou constituted Time \u2014\n\nMy Faith is larger than the Hills \u2014\n\nTo offer brave assistance\n\nWhen I hoped, I recollect\n\nOne and One \u2014 are One \u2014\n\nI lived on Dread \u2014\n\nNone can experience sting\n\nThe hallowing of Pain\n\nDeprived of other Banquet,\n\nIt is a lonesome Glee \u2014\n\nIf Blame be my side \u2014 forfeit Me \u2014\n\nThe Color of a Queen, is this \u2014\n\nThe Loneliness One dare not sound \u2014\n\nThis that would greet \u2014 an hour ago \u2014\n\nThe Service without Hope \u2014\n\nThe Truth \u2014 is stirless \u2014\n\nTo wait an Hour \u2014 is long \u2014\n\nThere is an arid Pleasure \u2014\n\nThe Birds begun at Four o'clock \u2014\n\nBereaved of all, I went abroad \u2014\n\nThey have a little Odor \u2014 that to me\n\nSeverer Service of myself\n\nSuch is the Force of Happiness \u2014\n\nJoy to have merited the Pain \u2014\n\nOn a Columnar Self \u2014\n\nNature \u2014 the Gentlest Mother is,\n\nGod gave a Loaf to every Bird \u2014\n\nThrough the strait pass of suffering \u2014\n\nGrief is a Mouse \u2014\n\nA Drop Fell on the Apple Tree \u2014\n\nHer final Summer was it \u2014\n\nWho Giants know, with lesser Men\n\nBy my Window have I for Scenery\n\nShe staked her Feathers \u2014 Gained an Arc \u2014\n\nDespair's advantage is achieved\n\nTwo \u2014 were immortal twice \u2014\n\nI play at Riches \u2014 to appease\n\nTime feels so vast that were it not\n\nWho Court obtain within Himself\n\nNo Notice gave She, but a Change \u2014\n\nThis Bauble was preferred of Bees \u2014\n\nA Planted Life \u2014 diversified\n\nExpectation \u2014 is Contentment \u2014\n\nSo set its Sun in Thee\n\nUnable are the Loved to die\n\nHer Grace is all she has \u2014\n\nThe Veins of other Flowers\n\nA Light exists in Spring\n\nThis quiet Dust was Gentleman and Ladies\n\nOne Day is there of the Series\n\nThe Luxury to apprehend\n\nA Death blow is a Life blow to Some\n\nGiven in Marriage unto Thee\n\nI could not drink it, Sweet,\n\nAll I may, if small,\n\nAll Circumstances are the Frame\n\nAway from Home are some and I \u2014\n\nThis Consciousness that is aware\n\nNot that We did, shall be the test\n\nThe Wind begun to knead the Grass \u2014\n\nAn Hour is a Sea\n\nLove reckons by itself \u2014 alone \u2014\n\nThe Only News I know\n\nThe Robin is the One\n\nAmple make this Bed \u2014\n\nTo this World she returned.\n\nDying! To be afraid of thee\n\nSoto! Explore thyself!\n\nPerhaps you think me stooping\n\nBefore He comes we weigh the Time!\n\nNature and God \u2014 I neither knew\n\nTruth \u2014 is as old as God \u2014\n\nHow well I knew Her not\n\nImpossibility, like Wine\n\nAlways Mine!\n\nI cannot buy it \u2014 'tis not sold \u2014\n\nA Moth the hue of this\n\nGood to hide, and hear 'em hunt!\n\nI made slow Riches but my Gain\n\nSpring is the Period\n\nBe Mine the Doom \u2014\n\nTwice had Summer her fair Verdure\n\nFinite \u2014 to fail, but infinite to Venture \u2014\n\nJust as He spoke it from his Hands\n\nThe good Will of a Flower\n\nI sing to use the Waiting\n\nWhen the Astronomer stops seeking\n\nApology for Her\n\nWhen One has given up One's life\n\nBanish Air from Air \u2014\n\nTo own the Art within the Soul\n\nThere is a finished feeling\n\nUncertain lease \u2014 develops lustre\n\nThis Chasm, Sweet, upon my life\n\nA doubt if it be Us\n\nAbsence disembodies \u2014 so does Death\n\nSplit the Lark \u2014 and you'll find the Music \u2014\n\nLight is sufficient to itself \u2014\n\nThat Distance was between Us\n\nThe Robin for the Crumb\n\nHe outstripped Time with but a Bout,\n\nFame is the tint that Scholars leave\n\nEscaping backward to perceive\n\nThey ask but our Delight \u2014\n\nBecause the Bee may blameless hum\n\nFinding is the first Act\n\nThe Sun and Moon must make their haste \u2014\n\nAs the Starved Maelstrom laps the Navies\n\nRibbons of the Year \u2014\n\nThey won't frown always \u2014 some sweet Day\n\nI stepped from Plank to Plank\n\nIt was a Grave, yet bore no Stone\n\nEach Scar I'll keep for Him\n\nThe Sun is gay or stark\n\nEach Second is the last\n\nThe Bird must sing to earn the Crumb\n\nI've none to tell me to but Thee\n\nA Shade upon the mind there passes\n\nThe Poets light but Lamps \u2014\n\nAn Everywhere of Silver\n\nOur little Kinsmen \u2014 after Rain\n\nThese tested Our Horizon \u2014\n\nWe outgrow love, like other things\n\nWhen I have seen the Sun emerge\n\nCrisis is a Hair\n\nFrom Us She wandered now a Year,\n\nTo my quick ear the Leaves \u2014 conferred \u2014\n\nWho occupies this House?\n\nDrab Habitation of Whom?\n\nOf Consciousness, her awful Mate\n\nA Cloud withdrew from the Sky\n\nOf Silken Speech and Specious Shoe\n\nHow fortunate the Grave \u2014\n\nHow happy I was if I could forget\n\nHerein a Blossom lies \u2014\n\nWhat did They do since I saw Them?\n\nSweet, to have had them lost\n\nThe first Day that I was a Life\n\nI hide myself within my flower,\n\nHad I not This, or This, I said,\n\nBetween My Country \u2014 and the Others \u2014\n\nThe Admirations \u2014 and Contempts \u2014 of time \u2014\n\nTill Death \u2014 is narrow Loving \u2014\n\nTis Sunrise \u2014 Little Maid \u2014 Hast Thou\n\nI make His Crescent fill or lack \u2014\n\nExperience is the Angled Road\n\nToo little way the House must lie\n\nPeace is a fiction of our Faith \u2014\n\nAnd this of all my Hopes\n\nI cannot be ashamed\n\nFaith \u2014 is the Pierless Bridge\n\nHis Feet are shod with Gauze \u2014\n\nLove \u2014 is anterior to Life \u2014\n\nOnly a Shrine, but Mine \u2014\n\nIf I can stop one Heart from breaking\n\nWe can but follow to the Sun \u2014\n\nIf it had no pencil\n\nThose who have been in the Grave the longest \u2014\n\nHow the Waters closed above Him\n\nLove \u2014 is that later Thing than Death \u2014\n\nStruck, was I, not yet by Lightning \u2014\n\nPatience \u2014 has a quiet Outer \u2014\n\nAbsent Place \u2014 an April Day \u2014\n\nThe Heart has narrow Banks\n\nHow far is it to Heaven?\n\nThere is a June when Corn is cut\n\nNoon \u2014 is the Hinge of Day \u2014\n\nMy best Acquaintances are those\n\nTwo Travellers perishing in Snow\n\nThat is solemn we have ended\n\nDeath leaves Us homesick, who behind,\n\nThis Dust, and its Feature \u2014\n\nI felt a Cleaving in my Mind \u2014\n\nFairer through Fading \u2014 as the Day\n\nWhat I see not, I better see \u2014\n\nOn that dear Frame the Years had worn\n\nThe Lady feeds Her little Bird\n\nSnow beneath whose chilly softness\n\nA Coffin \u2014 is a small Domain,\n\nI learned \u2014 at least \u2014 what Home could be \u2014\n\nThis is a Blossom of the Brain \u2014\n\nIt is an honorable Thought\n\nOf Tolling Bell I ask the cause?\n\nTwas Crisis \u2014 All the length had passed \u2014\n\nUnder the Light, yet under,\n\nThe Sunset stopped on Cottages\n\nAs Frost is best conceived\n\nA Man may make a Remark \u2014\n\nA Door just opened on a street \u2014\n\nThe Chemical conviction\n\nThe Hollows round His eager Eyes\n\nWhat shall I do when the Summer troubles \u2014\n\nAs One does Sickness over\n\nWe met as Sparks \u2014 Diverging Flints\n\nA loss of something ever felt I \u2014\n\nAs plan for Noon and plan for Night\n\nWert Thou but ill \u2014 that I might show thee\n\nMidsummer, was it, when They died \u2014\n\nA nearness to Tremendousness \u2014\n\nUnto Me? I do not know you \u2014\n\nDenial \u2014 is the only fact\n\nAll forgot for recollecting\n\nPain \u2014 expands the Time \u2014\n\nFitter to see Him, I may be\n\nHe who in Himself believes \u2014\n\nColor \u2014 Caste \u2014 Denomination \u2014\n\nRobbed by Death \u2014 but that was easy \u2014\n\nUnfulfilled to Observation \u2014\n\nTwas awkward, but it fitted me \u2014\n\nThe Soul's distinct connection\n\nThe Mountain sat upon the Plain\n\nDeath is a Dialogue between\n\nBesides this May\n\nIt bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon \u2014\n\nThis Merit hath the worst \u2014\n\nPurple \u2014 is fashionable twice \u2014\n\nAs Sleigh Bells seem in summer\n\nNo Other can reduce\n\nIdeals are the Fairly Oil\n\nTis Anguish grander than Delight\n\nThe Missing All \u2014 prevented Me\n\nA narrow fellow in the grass\n\nThe Leaves like Women interchange\n\nThe Definition of Beauty is\n\nGratitude \u2014 is not the mention\n\nNot all die early, dying young \u2014\n\nShe sped as Petals of a Rose\n\nThe Dust behind I strove to join\n\nWe miss Her, not because We see \u2014\n\nPartake as doth the Bee,\n\nThis was in the White of the Year \u2014\n\nWe'll pass without the parting\n\nCrumbling is not an instant's Act\n\nBest Things dwell out of Sight\n\nSuperfluous were the Sun\n\nThe Fingers of the Light\n\nThe Stimulus, beyond the Grave\n\nAurora is the effort\n\nDying at my music!\n\nThere is no Silence in the Earth \u2014 so silent\n\nBind me \u2014 I still can sing \u2014\n\nThe first We knew of Him was Death \u2014\n\nFalsehood of Thee could I suppose\n\nHow still the Bells in Steeples stand\n\nI was a Phoebe \u2014 nothing more \u2014\n\nUp Life's Hill with my my little Bundle\n\nShe rose as high as His Occasion\n\nWhich is best? Heaven \u2014\n\nToo scanty 'twas to die for you,\n\nDid We abolish Frost\n\nWere it but Me that gained the Height \u2014\n\nThe Hills in Purple syllables\n\nTo die \u2014 without the Dying\n\nWho saw no Sunrise cannot say\n\nMy Season's furthest Flower \u2014\n\nTrudging to Eden, looking backward,\n\nFar from Love the Heavenly Father\n\nI knew that I had gained\n\nIt rises \u2014 passes \u2014 on our South\n\nSo large my Will\n\nThe Products of my Farm are these\n\nThe Dying need but little, Dear,\n\nMy Heart upon a little Plate\n\nTwas my one Glory \u2014\n\nNor Mountain hinder Me\n\nThat Such have died enable Us\n\nFate slew Him, but He did not drop \u2014\n\nWho is the East?\n\nSaid Death to Passion\n\nHis Bill an Auger is\n\nBee! I'm expecting you!\n\nSatisfaction \u2014 is the Agent\n\nHere, where the Daisies fit my Head\n\nHer little Parasol to lift\n\nI heard, as if I had no Ear\n\nNot so the infinite Relations \u2014 Below\n\nSomewhat, to hope for,\n\nSpring comes on the World \u2014\n\nLest this be Heaven indeed\n\nA Sickness of this World it most occasions\n\nNature rarer uses Yellow\n\nI've dropped my Brain \u2014 My Soul is numb \u2014\n\nThe Opening and the Close\n\nReportless Subjects, to the Quick\n\nPain has but one Acquaintance\n\nAs willing lid o'er weary eye\n\nI cannot meet the Spring unmoved \u2014\n\nI never saw a Moor \u2014\n\nIt was a quiet way \u2014\n\nNot to discover weakness is\n\nThe Soul should always stand ajar\n\nThere is a Zone whose even Years\n\nI had a daily Bliss\n\nBloom \u2014 is Result \u2014 to meet a Flower\n\nSang from the Heart, Sire,\n\nAir has no Residence, no Neighbor,\n\nThree Weeks passed since I had seen Her \u2014\n\nHe scanned it \u2014 staggered \u2014\n\nAshes denote that Fire was \u2014\n\nTo help our Bleaker Parts\n\nLet down the Bars, Oh Death \u2014\n\nFame's Boys and Girls, who never die\n\nExcept the smaller size\n\nFurther in Summer than the Birds\n\nParadise is of the option.\n\nTo undertake is to achieve\n\nPerception of an object costs\n\nTitle divine \u2014 is mine!\n\nExperiment to me\n\nCount not that far that can be had,\n\nThe Sky is low \u2014 the Clouds are mean.\n\nJust Once! Oh least Request!\n\nThese are the Signs to Nature's Inns \u2014\n\nThe Bustle in a House\n\nThe Sun went down \u2014 no Man looked on \u2014\n\nWhen they come back \u2014 if Blossoms do \u2014\n\nSuperiority to Fate\n\nRevolution is the Pod\n\nWe learn it in Retreating\n\nAt Half past Three, a single Bird\n\nIf Nature smiles \u2014 the Mother must\n\nWhat Twigs We held by \u2014\n\nWe miss a Kinsman more\n\nEnded, ere it begun \u2014\n\nMyself can read the Telegrams\n\nI am afraid to own a Body \u2014\n\nThe Well upon the Brook\n\nIt was not Saint \u2014 it was too large \u2014\n\nBecause 'twas Riches I could own,\n\nThemself are all I have \u2014\n\nTo Whom the Mornings stand for Nights,\n\nThese Strangers, in a foreign World,\n\nDew \u2014 is the Freshet in the Grass \u2014\n\nOf the Heart that goes in, and closes the Door\n\nMy Cocoon tightens \u2014 Colors tease \u2014\n\nThe last Night that She lived\n\nBetween the form of Life and Life\n\nHis Bill is clasped \u2014 his Eye forsook \u2014\n\nThe spry Arms of the Wind\n\nThe Crickets sang\n\nLike Men and Women Shadows walk\n\nWe do not know the time we lose \u2014\n\nThe Bird did prance \u2014 the Bee did play \u2014\n\nA Diamond on the Hand\n\nI fit for them \u2014\n\nNone who saw it ever told it\n\nSome Wretched creature, savior take\n\nThat this should feel the need of Death\n\nThere is strength in proving that it can be borne\n\nThe largest Fire ever known\n\nThe murmuring of Bees, has ceased\n\nThere is another Loneliness\n\nA Mine there is no Man would own\n\nExhilaration is the Breeze\n\nParadise is that old mansion\n\nThis slow Day moved along \u2014\n\nTime does go on \u2014\n\nTis my first night beneath the Sun\n\nA great Hope fell\n\nHad we known the Ton she bore\n\nOh Sumptuous moment\n\nShall I take thee, the Poet said\n\nSoft as the massacre of Suns\n\nThese are the Nights that Beetles love \u2014\n\nTell all the Truth but tell it slant \u2014\n\nThat odd old man is dead a year \u2014\n\nThe Merchant of the Picturesque\n\nThe smouldering embers blush \u2014\n\nThe Snow that never drifts \u2014\n\nThe Wind took up the Northern Things\n\nToo cold is this\n\nThe Frost of Death was on the Pane \u2014\n\nThe duties of the Wind are few,\n\nA Spider sewed at Night\n\nHer sovereign People\n\nThe Day grew small, surrounded tight\n\nThe Face we choose to miss \u2014\n\nThe Props assist the House\n\nThe Work of Her that went,\n\nOurselves we do inter with sweet derision.\n\nIn thy long Paradise of Light\n\nWhen Etna basks and purrs\n\nAfter a hundred years\n\nAfter the Sun comes out\n\nI noticed People disappeared\n\nHow many schemes may die\n\nSoul, take thy risk.\n\nTell as a Marksman \u2014 were forgotten\n\nThrough what transports of Patience\n\nA full fed Rose on meals of Tint\n\nDistance \u2014 is not the Realm of Fox\n\nLest any doubt that we are glad that they were born Today\n\nSome Days retired from the rest\n\nBest Witchcraft is Geometry\n\nGreat Streets of silence led away\n\nHe is alive, this morning \u2014\n\nTrust adjust her Peradventure \u2014\n\nThe Life we have is very great.\n\nGod made no act without a cause,\n\nWere it to be the last\n\nContained in this short Life\n\nOf Paul and Silas it is said\n\nAlone and in a Circumstance\n\nAs old as Woe \u2014\n\nLest they should come \u2014 is all my fear\n\nNature affects to be sedate\n\nOn the World you colored\n\nThe Clouds their Backs together laid\n\nThe Lightning is a yellow Fork\n\nThere's the Battle of Burgoyne \u2014\n\nWe like a Hairbreadth 'scape\n\nWe never know how high we are\n\nA prompt \u2014 executive Bird is the Jay \u2014\n\nMy God \u2014 He sees thee \u2014\n\nOf so divine a Loss\n\nRemember me implored the Thief!\n\nWhen I hoped I feared \u2014\n\nRemembrance has a Rear and Front \u2014\n\nStep lightly on this narrow spot \u2014\n\nThe Days that we can spare\n\nA little Dog that wags his tail\n\nToo few the mornings be,\n\nOh Shadow on the Grass,\n\nTwas fighting for his Life he was \u2014\n\nThe Voice that stands for Floods to me\n\nThe Sun and Fog contested\n\nThe pungent atom in the Air\n\nAn honest Tear\n\nAll men for Honor hardest work\n\nSomehow myself survived the Night\n\nWhat we see we know somewhat\n\nTo make Routine a Stimulus\n\nI should not dare to be so sad\n\nA soft Sea washed around the House\n\nAre Friends Delight or Pain?\n\nBecause my Brook is fluent\n\nSo I pull my Stockings off\n\nThe Frost was never seen \u2014\n\nThe Past is such a curious Creature\n\nWhatever it is \u2014 she has tried it \u2014\n\nImmortal is an ample word\n\nThe Show is not the Show\n\nHe preached upon Breadth till it argued him narrow \u2014\n\nOur own possessions \u2014 though our own \u2014\n\nTo disappear enhances \u2014\n\nThe Sea said Come to the Brook \u2014\n\nA Sparrow took a Slice of Twig\n\nA word is dead\n\nWe like March.\n\nWe introduce ourselves\n\nI bet with every Wind that blew\n\nA Deed knocks first at Thought\n\nFortitude incarnate\n\nLet my first Knowing be of thee\n\nNow I knew I lost her \u2014\n\nOf Nature I shall have enough\n\nSome we see no more, Tenements of Wonder\n\nThe Riddle we can guess\n\nWho goes to dine must take his Feast\n\nLike Trains of Cars on Tracks of Plush\n\nIts Hour with itself\n\nThe Popular Heart is a Cannon first \u2014\n\nMy Triumph lasted till the Drums\n\nSo much of Heaven has gone from Earth\n\nBecause He loves Her\n\nIt came at last but prompter Death\n\nSomewhere upon the general Earth\n\nThe Clover's simple Fame\n\nHad I not seen the Sun\n\nIf my Bark sink\n\nLike Rain it sounded till it curved\n\nLike Time's insidious wrinkle\n\nMy Heart ran so to thee\n\nPower is a familiar growth \u2014\n\nRisk is the Hair that holds the Tun\n\nThe Beggar at the Door for Fame\n\nThe Lilac is an ancient shrub\n\nTo flee from memory\n\nSafe Despair it is that raves \u2014\n\nThe Butterfly's Assumption Gown\n\nThe Suburbs of a Secret\n\nThe Butterfly in honored Dust\n\nTo pile like Thunder to its close\n\nThe incidents of love\n\nThe Stars are old, that stood for me \u2014\n\nWhite as an Indian Pipe\n\nSilence is all we dread.\n\nLike Brooms of Steel\n\nHad this one Day not been.\n\nElijah's Wagon knew no thill\n\nLonging is like the Seed\n\nNot any higher stands the Grave\n\nDominion lasts until obtained \u2014\n\nWho were the Father and the Son\n\nA Wind that rose\n\nBecause that you are going\n\nA Word dropped careless on a Page\n\nI cannot see my soul but know 'tis there\n\nThere is no Frigate like a Book\n\nThis is the place they hoped before,\n\nThe most triumphant Bird I ever knew or met\n\nWhen Memory is full\n\nI saw that the Flake was on it\n\nConfirming All who analyze\n\nI worked for chaff and earning Wheat\n\nIs Heaven a Physician?\n\nSeptember's Baccalaureate\n\nSo proud she was to die\n\nThat sacred Closet when you sweep \u2014\n\nThe Bone that has no Marrow,\n\nThe Spider as an Artist\n\nTwas later when the summer went\n\nWhile we were fearing it, it came \u2014\n\nThe Mountains stood in Haze \u2014\n\nThe Way to know the Bobolink\n\nThe harm of Years is on him \u2014\n\nA stagnant pleasure like a Pool\n\nArt thou the thing I wanted?\n\nCould Hope inspect her Basis\n\nHad we our senses\n\nI know Suspense \u2014 it steps so terse\n\nI thought that nature was enough\n\nIn this short Life\n\nLain in Nature \u2014 so suffice us\n\nLeft in immortal Youth\n\nThe most pathetic thing I do\n\nUntil the Desert knows\n\nYesterday is History\n\nThe things we thought that we should do\n\nOf Life to own \u2014\n\nTwo Lengths has every Day \u2014\n\nDeath's Waylaying not the sharpest\n\nGo slow, my soul, to feed thyself\n\nThe Mushroom is the Elf of Plants \u2014\n\nDelight's Despair at setting\n\nFrom his slim Palace in the Dust\n\nI cannot want it more \u2014\n\nI think that the Root of the Wind is Water \u2014\n\nNot One by Heaven defrauded stay \u2014\n\nNot with a Club, the Heart is broken\n\nRecollect the Face of me\n\nSurprise is like a thrilling \u2014 pungent \u2014\n\nThat short \u2014 potential stir\n\nThe Day she goes\n\nThe Infinite a sudden Guest\n\nThe Notice that is called the Spring\n\nThis dirty \u2014 little \u2014 Heart\n\nTo break so vast a Heart\n\nWarm in her Hand these accents lie\n\nWhen a Lover is a Beggar\n\nWhich is the best \u2014 the Moon or the Crescent?\n\nWinter is good \u2014 his Hoar Delights\n\nAbraham to kill him \u2014\n\nFrigid and sweet Her parting Face \u2014\n\nHow News must feel when travelling\n\nDear March \u2014 Come in \u2014\n\nElizabeth told Essex\n\nFloss won't save you from an Abyss\n\nI never hear that one is dead\n\nI send you a decrepit flower\n\nKnock with tremor \u2014\n\nOur little secrets slink away \u2014\n\nThe Symptom of the Gale \u2014\n\nThe vastest earthly Day\n\nWhether they have forgotten\n\nWithout a smile \u2014 Without a Throe\n\nWonder \u2014 is not precisely Knowing\n\nPink \u2014 small \u2014 and punctual \u2014\n\nA little Madness in the Spring\n\nHow soft this Prison is\n\nLet me not mar that perfect Dream\n\nNature assigns the Sun \u2014\n\nUpon a Lilac Sea\n\nWhat tenements of clover\n\nA Bee his burnished Carriage\n\nA Rat surrendered here\n\nUnto the Whole \u2014 how add?\n\nWas not was all the Statement.\n\nA single Clover Plank\n\nNot any more to be lacked \u2014\n\nAn antiquated Grace\n\nAs Summer into Autumn slips\n\nEscape is such a thankful Word\n\nLift it \u2014 with the Feathers\n\nI'd rather recollect a setting\n\nLuck is not chance \u2014\n\nYou cannot take itself\n\nTo his simplicity\n\nThe last of Summer is Delight \u2014\n\nThe Heart is the Capital of the Mind \u2014\n\nThe Mind lives on the Heart\n\nThe Rat is the concisest Tenant.\n\nFaithful to the end Amended\n\nThe Treason of an accent\n\nThe long sigh of the Frog\n\nI sued the News \u2014 yet feared \u2014 the News\n\nThe Flake the Wind exasperate\n\nOf their peculiar light\n\nSummer laid her simple Hat\n\nHow know it from a Summer's Day?\n\nTake all away \u2014\n\nBrother of Ingots \u2014 Ah Peru \u2014\n\nTomorrow \u2014 whose location\n\nLove's stricken why\n\nTrusty as the stars\n\nGathered into the Earth,\n\nHow fits his Umber Coat\n\nThe Sun is one \u2014 and on the Tare\n\nThe worthlessness of Earthly things\n\nA Saucer holds a Cup\n\nDeath warrants are supposed to be\n\nDreams are the subtle Dower\n\nForbidden Fruit a flavor has\n\nHis Heart was darker than the starless night\n\nHis Mansion in the Pool\n\nHow much the present moment means\n\nI suppose the time will come\n\nIn many and reportless places\n\nLong Years apart \u2014 can make no\n\nPraise it \u2014 'tis dead \u2014\n\nSecrets is a daily word\n\nSummer \u2014 we all have seen \u2014\n\nThe Butterfly's Numidian Gown\n\nThose cattle smaller than a Bee\n\nTouch lightly Nature's sweet Guitar\n\nThese held their Wick above the West \u2014\n\nThey might not need me \u2014 yet they might \u2014\n\nHope is a strange invention \u2014\n\nLay this Laurel on the One\n\nWhose Pink career may have a close\n\nAfter all Birds have been investigated and laid aside \u2014\n\nShe laid her docile Crescent down\n\nIt sounded as if the Streets were running\n\nI have no Life but this \u2014\n\nPerhaps they do not go so far\n\nWhat mystery pervades a well!\n\nTo own a Susan of my own\n\nTo the stanch Dust\n\nMy Maker \u2014 let me be\n\nMarch is the Month of Expectation.\n\nBees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles \u2014\n\nNo Passenger was known to flee \u2014\n\nA Field of Stubble, lying sere\n\nThe Fact that Earth is Heaven \u2014\n\nCould mortal lip divine\n\nI shall not murmur if at last\n\nOf Paradise' existence\n\nShame is the shawl of Pink\n\nSweet Skepticism of the Heart \u2014\n\nUnworthy of her Breast\n\nA wild Blue sky abreast of Winds\n\nCrisis is sweet and yet the Heart\n\nHow Human Nature dotes\n\nHow lonesome the Wind must feel Nights \u2014\n\nIt was a quiet seeming Day \u2014\n\nOne Joy of so much anguish\n\nSuch are the inlets of the mind \u2014\n\nSummer has two Beginnings \u2014\n\nThe fairest Home I ever knew\n\nThe Gentian has a parched Corolla \u2014\n\nThe inundation of the Spring\n\nThe pretty Rain from those sweet Eaves\n\nTo earn it by disdaining it\n\nWater makes many Beds\n\nWe shun because we prize her Face\n\nWho never wanted \u2014 maddest Joy\n\nWith Pinions of Disdain\n\nSpurn the temerity \u2014\n\nHow brittle are the Piers\n\nGo not too near a House of Rose \u2014\n\nNot that he goes \u2014 we love him more\n\nThan Heaven more remote,\n\nA Dew sufficed itself \u2014\n\nBehold this little Bane \u2014\n\nHow ruthless are the gentle \u2014\n\nThe healed Heart shows its shallow scar\n\nThese Fevered Days \u2014 to take them to the Forest\n\nTo mend each tattered Faith\n\nA chilly Peace infests the Grass\n\nA little Snow was here and there\n\nDeath is the supple Suitor\n\nHis Mind like Fabrics of the East\n\nHow good his Lava Bed,\n\nHow soft a Caterpillar steps \u2014\n\nI thought the Train would never come \u2014\n\nThe Road was lit with Moon and star \u2014\n\nWhoever disenchants\n\nYour thoughts don't have words every day\n\nA Counterfeit \u2014 a Plated Person \u2014\n\nThose not live yet\n\nOpinion is a flitting thing,\n\nSo gay a Flower\n\nIt stole along so stealthy\n\nTime's wily Chargers will not wait\n\nBelshazzar had a Letter \u2014\n\nHis Cheek is his Biographer \u2014\n\nHeavenly Father \u2014 take to thee\n\nWe knew not that we were to live \u2014\n\nA Route of Evanescence\n\nOne thing of it we borrow\n\nBefore you thought of Spring\n\nOne of the ones that Midas touched\n\nA little overflowing word\n\nA winged spark doth soar about \u2014\n\nIf wrecked upon the Shoal of Thought\n\nThe Sweets of Pillage, can be known\n\nTheir Barricade against the Sky\n\nTo see the Summer Sky\n\nWe talked with each other about each other\n\nEstranged from Beauty \u2014 none can be \u2014\n\nFame is the one that does not stay \u2014\n\nHis voice decrepit was with Joy \u2014\n\nHow destitute is he\n\nLook back on Time, with kindly eyes \u2014\n\nThe Devil \u2014 had he fidelity\n\nThe fascinating chill that music leaves\n\nThe way Hope builds his House\n\nTis whiter than an Indian Pipe \u2014\n\nThe Robin is a Gabriel\n\nWe shall find the Cube of the Rainbow.\n\nLove is done when Love's begun,\n\nHer spirit rose to such a height\n\nThe Savior must have been\n\nBirthday of but a single pang\n\nA Dimple in the Tomb\n\nThe Face in evanescence lain\n\nThe Road to Paradise is plain,\n\nAnd with what body do they come? \u2014\n\nCould that sweet Darkness where they dwell\n\nThe competitions of the sky\n\nThe Thrill came slowly like a Boom for\n\nAll that I do\n\nFacts by our side are never sudden\n\nGlass was the Street \u2014 in tinsel Peril\n\nHow firm Eternity must look\n\nIt came his turn to beg \u2014\n\nIts little Ether Hood\n\nI saw the wind within her\n\nMore than the Grave is closed to me \u2014\n\nOf whom so dear\n\nShe could not live upon the Past\n\nSummer is shorter than any one \u2014\n\nThe Pile of Years is not so high\n\nYou cannot make Remembrance grow\n\nMine Enemy is growing old \u2014\n\nHow happy is the little Stone\n\nMy country need not change her gown,\n\nAll things swept sole away\n\nGo travelling with us!\n\nAn Antiquated Tree\n\nThe Things that never can come back, are several \u2014\n\nNo Autumn's intercepting Chill\n\nHow much of Source escapes with thee \u2014\n\nNot seeing, still we know \u2014\n\nThe Dandelion's pallid tube\n\nThe stem of a departed Flower\n\nThe Butterfly upon the Sky,\n\nHis little Hearse like Figure\n\nWe never know we go when we are going \u2014\n\nA faded Boy \u2014 in sallow Clothes\n\nHe lived the Life of Ambush\n\nHis oriental heresies\n\nOh give it Motion \u2014 deck it sweet\n\nThe Moon upon her fluent Route\n\nTis Seasons since the Dimpled War\n\nA Pang is more conspicuous in Spring\n\nAbove Oblivion's Tide there is a Pier\n\nFrom all the Jails the Boys and Girls\n\nOn that specific Pillow\n\nSociety for me my misery\n\nThe Life that tied too tight escapes\n\nThere comes a warning like a spy\n\nCandor \u2014 my tepid friend \u2014\n\nFollow wise Orion\n\nNow I lay thee down to Sleep \u2014\n\nAs imperceptibly as Grief\n\nNo matter where the Saints abide,\n\nCome show thy Durham Breast\n\nObtaining but our own Extent\n\nWho has not found the Heaven \u2014 below \u2014\n\nThe Bible is an antique Volume \u2014\n\nSweet Pirate of the heart,\n\nHope is a subtle Glutton \u2014\n\nMeeting by Accident,\n\nMy Wars are laid away in Books \u2014\n\nThe pattern of the sun\n\nThose \u2014 dying then,\n\nWithin thy Grave!\n\nBliss is the plaything of the child \u2014\n\nGo tell it \u2014 What a Message \u2014\n\nI groped for him before I knew\n\nImage of Light, Adieu \u2014\n\nLives he in any other world\n\nOf Death I try to think like this \u2014\n\nTried always and Condemned by thee\n\nTo be forgot by thee\n\nNo Brigadier throughout the Year\n\nHer Losses make our Gains ashamed \u2014\n\nBy homely gift and hindered Words\n\nPass to they Rendezvous of Light,\n\nSome Arrows slay but whom they strike \u2014\n\nClimbing to reach the costly Hearts\n\nThe Heart has many Doors \u2014\n\nTo see her is a Picture \u2014\n\nThe Clock strikes one that just struck two \u2014\n\nForever honored by the Tree\n\nHow slow the Wind \u2014\n\nWe wear our sober Dresses when we die,\n\nTo the bright east she flies,\n\nNo ladder needs the bird but skies\n\nThe Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings \u2014\n\nThe Spirit lasts \u2014 but in what mode \u2014\n\nMorning is due to all \u2014\n\nBlossoms will run away,\n\nIt would not know if it were spurned,\n\nWe shun it ere it comes,\n\nThe farthest Thunder that I heard\n\nWhere Roses would not dare to go,\n\nWitchcraft was hung, in History,\n\nExpanse cannot be lost \u2014\n\nThe Bird her punctual music brings\n\nTo her derided Home\n\nHe ate and drank the precious Words \u2014\n\nThis Me \u2014 that walks and works \u2014 must die,\n\nCosmopolities without a plea\n\nNot at Home to Callers\n\nThe Bobolink is gone \u2014\n\nThe Lassitudes of Contemplation\n\nThere came a Wind like a Bugle \u2014\n\nImmured in Heaven!\n\nDeclaiming Waters none may dread \u2014\n\nFew, yet enough,\n\nTis not the swaying frame we miss,\n\nWho is it seeks my Pillow Nights \u2014\n\nThough the great Waters sleep,\n\nUpon his Saddle sprung a Bird\n\nOf God we ask one favor,\n\nPursuing you in your transitions,\n\nThe going from a world we know\n\nWe send the Wave to find the Wave \u2014\n\nEach that we lose takes part of us;\n\nQuite empty, quite at rest,\n\nWithin that little Hive\n\nThe ecstasy to guess\n\nSunset that screens, reveals \u2014\n\nMorning that comes but once,\n\nTheir dappled importunity\n\nThe Auctioneer of Parting\n\nNot Sickness stains the Brave,\n\nParting with Thee reluctantly,\n\nOh what a Grace is this,\n\nWho abdicated Ambush\n\nTo try to speak, and miss the way\n\nThere are two Mays\n\nNot knowing when the Dawn will come,\n\nCircumference thou Bride of Awe\n\nA Flower will not trouble her, it has so small a Foot,\n\nA Sloop of Amber slips away\n\nA World made penniless by that departure\n\nApparently with no surprise\n\nBack from the cordial Grave I drag thee\n\nNo Life can pompless pass away \u2014\n\nThe pedigree of Honey\n\nA Drunkard cannot meet a Cork\n\nArrows enamored of his Heart \u2014\n\nAs from the earth the light Balloon\n\nOh Future! thou secreted peace\n\nSo give me back to Death \u2014\n\nStill own thee \u2014 still thou art\n\nTalk not to me of Summer Trees\n\nThe Jay his Castanet has struck\n\nThe Sun in reigning to the West\n\nIs it too late to touch you, Dear?\n\nGo thy great way!\n\nA Letter is a joy of Earth \u2014\n\nTake all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy,\n\nBetrothed to Righteousness might be\n\nRed Sea, indeed! Talk not to me\n\nExtol thee \u2014 could I? Then I will\n\nSome one prepared this mighty show\n\nThe Ditch is dear to the Drunken man\n\nWhy should we hurry \u2014 why indeed?\n\nOf Glory not a Beam is left\n\nThe immortality she gave\n\nA Cap of Lead across the sky\n\nA lane of Yellow led the eye\n\nA Word made Flesh is seldom\n\nAdvance is Life's condition\n\nAs we pass Houses musing slow\n\nBeauty crowds me till I die\n\nConferring with myself\n\nDown Time's quaint stream\n\nEden is that old-fashioned House\n\nEndanger it, and the Demand\n\nFame is a fickle food\n\nGlory is that bright tragic thing\n\nGuest am I to have\n\nHe went by sleep that drowsy route\n\nHis mind of man, a secret makes\n\nI did not reach Thee\n\nI know of people in the Grave\n\nI see thee clearer for the Grave\n\nI watcher her face to see which way\n\nIf I could tell how glad I was\n\nIn snow thou comest \u2014\n\nIn Winter in my Room\n\nJudgment is justest\n\nLightly stepped a yellow star\n\nNature can do no more\n\nNot any sunny tone\n\nOf this is Day composed\n\nOf Yellow was the outer Sky\n\nOn my volcano grows the Grass\n\nPeril as a Possesssion\n\nRather arid delight\n\nSometimes with the Heart\n\nSpeech is one symptom of Affection\n\nSummer begins to have the look\n\nThat she forgot me was the least\n\nThe Blunder is in estimate.\n\nThe butterfly obtains\n\nThe event was directly behind Him\n\nThe gleam of an heroic Act\n\nThe Hills erect their Purple Heads\n\nThe look of thee, what is it like\n\nThe ones that disappeared are back\n\nThe overtakelessness of those\n\nThe right to perish might be thought\n\nThe Sun retired to a cloud\n\nThe wind drew off\n\nThere is a solitude of space\n\nThese are the days that Reindeer love\n\nThey talk as slow as Legends grow\n\nTis easier to pity those when dead\n\nTo do a magnanimous thing\n\nTo tell the Beauty would decrease\n\nTo their apartment deep\n\nToday or this noon\n\nTwas comfort in her Dying Room\n\nUnto a broken heart\n\nVolcanoes be in Sicily\n\nWhen we have ceased to care\n\nWinter under cultivation\n\nWitchcraft has not a Pedigree\n\nWith sweetness unabated\n\nA curious Cloud surprised the Sky,\n\nA face devoid of love or grace,\n\nA Pit \u2014 but Heaven over it \u2014\n\nAs subtle as tomorrow\n\nBy a departing light\n\nConsulting summer's clock,\n\nDeath is like the insect\n\nDid life's penurious length\n\nDrowning is not so pitiful\n\nGod is indeed a jealous God \u2014\n\nHad I known that the first was the last\n\nHe was my host \u2014 he was my guest,\n\nHer face was in a bed of hair,\n\nHigh from the earth I heard a bird,\n\nHow dare the robins sing,\n\nI took one Draught of Life \u2014\n\nIf all the griefs I am to have\n\nIf ever the lid gets off my head\n\nIs Immortality a bane\n\nI've got an arrow here.\n\nLethe in my flower,\n\nLove can do all but raise the Dead\n\nMy life closed twice before its close \u2014\n\nNo man saw awe, nor to his house\n\nOh, honey of an hour,\n\nOne crown that no one seeks\n\nProud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it,\n\nRearrange a Wife's affection!\n\nSoftened by Time's consummate plush,\n\nSome say goodnight \u2014 at night \u2014\n\nSweet is the swamp with its secrets,\n\nThat it will never come again\n\nThe distance that the dead have gone\n\nThe grave my little cottage is,\n\nThe joy that has no stem no core,\n\nThe mob within the heart\n\nThe most important population\n\nThe parasol is the umbrella's daughter,\n\nThe reticent volcano keeps\n\nThe waters chased him as he fled,\n\nThe words the happy say\n\nThere comes an hour when begging stops,\n\nThis docile one inter\n\nThrough those old Grounds of memory,\n\nTo lose thee \u2014 sweeter than to gain\n\nTo make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,\n\nTwas here my summer paused\n\nUpon the gallows hung a wretch,\n\nWhere every bird is bold to go\n\nWhich misses most,\n\nElysium is as far as to\n\nA train went through a burial gate,\n\nWere natural mortal lady\n\nFame is a bee.\n\nThe saddest noise, the sweetest noise,\n\nThat Love is all there is,\n\nThose final Creatures, \u2014 who they are \u2014\n\nSweet hours have perished here;\n\nLad of Athens, faithful be\n\nThe longest day that God appoints\n\nExperiment escorts us last \u2014\n\nHow fleet \u2014 how indiscreet an one \u2014\n\nLet me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip,\n\nThe Summer that we did not prize,\n\nToo happy Time dissolves itself\n\nThe earth has many keys,\n**_LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER_**\n\nA-D E-H I-L M-O P-S T-V W-Z\n\nA Bee his burnished Carriage\n\nA Bird came down the Walk \u2014\n\nA Burdock \u2014 clawed my Gown \u2014\n\nA Cap of Lead across the sky\n\nA Charm invests a face\n\nA chilly Peace infests the Grass\n\nA Clock stopped \u2014\n\nA Cloud withdrew from the Sky\n\nA Coffin \u2014 is a small Domain,\n\nA Counterfeit \u2014 a Plated Person \u2014\n\nA curious Cloud surprised the Sky,\n\nA darting fear \u2014 a pomp \u2014 a tear \u2014\n\nA Day! Help! Help! Another Day!\n\nA Death blow is a Life blow to Some\n\nA Deed knocks first at Thought\n\nA Dew sufficed itself \u2014\n\nA Diamond on the Hand\n\nA Dimple in the Tomb\n\nA Door just opened on a street \u2014\n\nA doubt if it be Us\n\nA Drop Fell on the Apple Tree \u2014\n\nA Drunkard cannot meet a Cork\n\nA Dying Tiger \u2014 moaned for Drink \u2014\n\nA face devoid of love or grace,\n\nA faded Boy \u2014 in sallow Clothes\n\nA feather from the Whippoorwill\n\nA Field of Stubble, lying sere\n\nA first Mute Coming \u2014\n\nA Flower will not trouble her, it has so small a Foot,\n\nA full fed Rose on meals of Tint\n\nA fuzzy fellow, without feet,\n\nA great Hope fell\n\nA happy lip \u2014 breaks sudden \u2014\n\nA House upon the Height \u2014\n\nA Lady red \u2014 amid the Hill\n\nA lane of Yellow led the eye\n\nA Letter is a joy of Earth \u2014\n\nA Light exists in Spring\n\nA little bread \u2014 a crust \u2014 a crumb \u2014\n\nA little Dog that wags his tail\n\nA little East of Jordan,\n\nA little Madness in the Spring\n\nA little overflowing word\n\nA little Road \u2014 not made of Man \u2014\n\nA little Snow was here and there\n\nA long \u2014 long Sleep \u2014 A famous \u2014 Sleep \u2014\n\nA loss of something ever felt I \u2014\n\nA Man may make a Remark \u2014\n\nA Mien to move a Queen \u2014\n\nA Mine there is no Man would own\n\nA Moth the hue of this\n\nA Murmur in the Trees \u2014 to note \u2014\n\nA narrow fellow in the grass\n\nA nearness to Tremendousness \u2014\n\nA Night \u2014 there lay the Days between \u2014\n\nA Pang is more conspicuous in Spring\n\nA Pit \u2014 but Heaven over it \u2014\n\nA Planted Life \u2014 diversified\n\nA poor \u2014 torn heart \u2014 a tattered heart \u2014\n\nA precious \u2014 mouldering pleasure \u2014 'tis \u2014\n\nA Prison gets to be a friend \u2014\n\nA prompt \u2014 executive Bird is the Jay \u2014\n\nA Rat surrendered here\n\nA Route of Evanescence\n\nA Saucer holds a Cup\n\nA science \u2014 so the Savants say,\n\nA Secret told \u2014\n\nA sepal, petal, and a thorn\n\nA Shade upon the mind there passes\n\nA shady friend \u2014 for Torrid days \u2014\n\nA Sickness of this World it most occasions\n\nA single Clover Plank\n\nA single Screw of Flesh\n\nA slash of Blue \u2014\n\nA Sloop of Amber slips away\n\nA soft Sea washed around the House\n\nA solemn thing \u2014 it was \u2014 I said \u2014\n\nA Solemn thing within the Soul\n\nA something in a summer's Day\n\nA South Wind \u2014 has a pathos\n\nA Sparrow took a Slice of Twig\n\nA Spider sewed at Night\n\nA stagnant pleasure like a Pool\n\nA still \u2014 Volcano \u2014 Life \u2014\n\nA Thought went up my mind today \u2014\n\nA throe upon the features \u2014\n\nA Toad, can die of Light \u2014\n\nA Tongue \u2014 to tell Him I am true!\n\nA Tooth upon Our Peace\n\nA train went through a burial gate,\n\nA transport one cannot contain\n\nA Visitor in Marl \u2014\n\nAwake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,\n\nA Weight with Needles on the pounds \u2014\n\nA Wife \u2014 at daybreak I shall be \u2014\n\nA wild Blue sky abreast of Winds\n\nA Wind that rose\n\nA winged spark doth soar about \u2014\n\nA Word dropped careless on a Page\n\nA word is dead\n\nA Word made Flesh is seldom\n\nA World made penniless by that departure\n\nA wounded Deer - leaps highest -\n\nAbove Oblivion's Tide there is a Pier\n\nAbraham to kill him \u2014\n\nAbsence disembodies \u2014 so does Death\n\nAbsent Place \u2014 an April Day \u2014\n\nAdrift! A little boat adrift!\n\nAdvance is Life's condition\n\nAfraid! Of whom am I afraid?\n\nAfter a hundred years\n\nAfter all Birds have been investigated and laid aside \u2014\n\nAfter great pain, a formal feeling comes \u2014\n\nAfter the Sun comes out\n\nAgain \u2014 his voice is at the door \u2014\n\nAh, Moon \u2014 and Star!\n\nAh, Necromancy Sweet!\n\nAh, Teneriffe!\n\nAir has no Residence, no Neighbor,\n\nAll but Death, can be Adjusted \u2014\n\nAll Circumstances are the Frame\n\nAll forgot for recollecting\n\nAll I may, if small,\n\nAll men for Honor hardest work\n\nAll overgrown by cunning moss,\n\nAll that I do\n\nAll the letters I can write\n\nAll these my banners be.\n\nAll things swept sole away\n\nAlone and in a Circumstance\n\nAlone, I cannot be \u2014\n\nAlter? When the Hills do\n\nAlthough I put away his life \u2014\n\nAlways Mine!\n\nAmbition cannot find him.\n\nAmple make this Bed \u2014\n\nAn altered look about the hills \u2014\n\nAn antiquated Grace\n\nAn Antiquated Tree\n\nAn awful Tempest mashed the air \u2014\n\nAn Everywhere of Silver\n\nAn honest Tear\n\nAn Hour is a Sea\n\nAn ignorance a Sunset\n\nAnd this of all my Hopes\n\nAnd with what body do they come? \u2014\n\nAngels, in the early morning\n\nAnswer July \u2014\n\nApology for Her\n\nApparently with no surprise\n\nArcturus is his other name \u2014\n\nAre Friends Delight or Pain?\n\nArrows enamored of his Heart \u2014\n\nArt thou the thing I wanted?\n\nArtists wrestled here!\n\nAs by the dead we love to sit,\n\nAs Children bid the Guest Good Night\n\nAs far from pity, as complaint \u2014\n\nAs from the earth the light Balloon\n\nAs Frost is best conceived\n\nAs if I asked a common Alms,\n\nAs if some little Arctic flower\n\nAs if the Sea should part\n\nAs imperceptibly as Grief\n\nAs old as Woe \u2014\n\nAs One does Sickness over\n\nAs plan for Noon and plan for Night\n\nAs Sleigh Bells seem in summer\n\nAs subtle as tomorrow\n\nAs Summer into Autumn slips\n\nAs the Starved Maelstrom laps the Navies\n\nAs Watchers hang upon the East,\n\nAs we pass Houses musing slow\n\nAs willing lid o'er weary eye\n\nAshes denote that Fire was \u2014\n\nAt Half past Three, a single Bird\n\nAt last, to be identified!\n\nAt least \u2014 to pray \u2014 is left \u2014 is left \u2014\n\nAt leisure is the Soul\n\nAurora is the effort\n\nAutumn \u2014 overlooked my Knitting \u2014\n\nAway from Home are some and I \u2014\n\nBack from the cordial Grave I drag thee\n\nBaffled for just a day or two \u2014\n\nBanish Air from Air \u2014\n\nBe Mine the Doom \u2014\n\nBeauty \u2014 be not caused \u2014 It Is \u2014\n\nBeauty crowds me till I die\n\nBecause He loves Her\n\nBecause I could not stop for Death \u2014\n\nBecause my Brook is fluent\n\nBecause that you are going\n\nBecause the Bee may blameless hum\n\nBecause 'twas Riches I could own,\n\nBee! I'm expecting you!\n\nBees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles \u2014\n\nBefore He comes we weigh the Time!\n\nBefore I got my eye put out\n\nBefore the ice is in the pools \u2014\n\nBefore you thought of Spring\n\nBehind Me \u2014 dips Eternity \u2014\n\nBehold this little Bane \u2014\n\nBelshazzar had a Letter \u2014\n\nBereaved of all, I went abroad \u2014\n\nBereavement in their death to feel\n\nBesides the Autumn poets sing\n\nBesides this May\n\nBest Gains \u2014 must have the Losses' Test \u2014\n\nBest Things dwell out of Sight\n\nBest Witchcraft is Geometry\n\nBetrothed to Righteousness might be\n\nBetter \u2014 than Music! For I \u2014 who heard it \u2014\n\nBetween My Country \u2014 and the Others \u2014\n\nBetween the form of Life and Life\n\nBind me \u2014 I still can sing \u2014\n\nBirthday of but a single pang\n\nBlazing in Gold and quenching in Purple\n\nBless God, he went as soldiers,\n\nBliss is the plaything of the child \u2014\n\nBloom \u2014 is Result \u2014 to meet a Flower\n\nBloom upon the Mountain \u2014 stated \u2014\n\nBlossoms will run away,\n\nBound \u2014 a trouble \u2014\n\nBring me the sunset in a cup,\n\nBrother of Ingots \u2014 Ah Peru \u2014\n\nBut little Carmine hath her face \u2014\n\nBy a departing light\n\nBy a flower \u2014 By a letter \u2014\n\nBy Chivalries as tiny,\n\nBy homely gift and hindered Words\n\nBy my Window have I for Scenery\n\nBy such and such an offering\n\nCandor \u2014 my tepid friend \u2014\n\nCircumference thou Bride of Awe\n\nCivilization \u2014 spurns \u2014 the Leopard!\n\nClimbing to reach the costly Hearts\n\nCocoon above! Cocoon below!\n\nColor \u2014 Caste \u2014 Denomination \u2014\n\nCome show thy Durham Breast\n\nCome slowly - Eden!\n\nConferring with myself\n\nConfirming All who analyze\n\nConjecturing a Climate\n\nConscious am I in my Chamber,\n\nConsulting summer's clock,\n\nContained in this short Life\n\nCosmopolities without a plea\n\nCould \u2014 I do more \u2014 for Thee \u2014\n\nCould Hope inspect her Basis\n\nCould I \u2014 then \u2014 shut the door \u2014\n\nCould I but ride indefinite\n\nCould live \u2014 did live \u2014\n\nCould mortal lip divine\n\nCould that sweet Darkness where they dwell\n\nCount not that far that can be had,\n\nCrisis is a Hair\n\nCrisis is sweet and yet the Heart\n\nCrumbling is not an instant's Act\n\nDare you see a Soul at the White Heat?\n\nDear March \u2014 Come in \u2014\n\nDeath is a Dialogue between\n\nDeath is like the insect\n\nDeath is potential to that Man\n\nDeath is the supple Suitor\n\nDeath leaves Us homesick, who behind,\n\nDeath sets a Thing significant\n\nDeath warrants are supposed to be\n\nDeath's Waylaying not the sharpest\n\nDeclaiming Waters none may dread \u2014\n\nDefrauded I a Butterfly \u2014\n\nDelayed till she had ceased to know \u2014\n\nDelight \u2014 becomes pictorial \u2014\n\nDelight is as the flight \u2014\n\nDelight's Despair at setting\n\nDenial \u2014 is the only fact\n\nDeparted \u2014 to the Judgment \u2014\n\nDeprived of other Banquet,\n\nDespair's advantage is achieved\n\nDew \u2014 is the Freshet in the Grass \u2014\n\nDid life's penurious length\n\nDid Our Best Moment last \u2014\n\nDid the Harebell loose her girdle\n\nDid We abolish Frost\n\nDid we disobey Him?\n\nDid you ever stand in a Cavern's Mouth \u2014\n\nDistance \u2014 is not the Realm of Fox\n\nDistrustful of the Gentian \u2014\n\nDo People moulder equally,\n\nDominion lasts until obtained \u2014\n\nDon't put up my Thread and Needle \u2014\n\nDoom is the House without the Door \u2014\n\nDoubt Me! My Dim Companion!\n\nDown Time's quaint stream\n\nDrab Habitation of Whom?\n\nDrama's Vitallest Expression is the Common Day\n\nDreams \u2014 are well \u2014 but Waking's better,\n\nDreams are the subtle Dower\n\nDropped into the Ether Acre \u2014\n\nDrowning is not so pitiful\n\nDust is the only Secret \u2014\n\nDying at my music!\n\nDying! Dying in the night!\n\nDying! To be afraid of thee\n\nEach Life Converges to some Centre \u2014\n\nEach Scar I'll keep for Him\n\nEach Second is the last\n\nEach that we lose takes part of us;\n\nEden is that old-fashioned House\n\nElijah's Wagon knew no thill\n\nElizabeth told Essex\n\nElysium is as far as to\n\nEmbarrassment of one another\n\nEmpty my Heart, of Thee \u2014\n\nEndanger it, and the Demand\n\nEnded, ere it begun \u2014\n\nEndow the Living \u2014 with the Tears \u2014\n\nEscape is such a thankful Word\n\nEscaping backward to perceive\n\nEssential Oils \u2014 are wrung \u2014\n\nEstranged from Beauty \u2014 none can be \u2014\n\nExcept the Heaven had come so near \u2014\n\nExcept the smaller size\n\nExcept to Heaven, she is nought.\n\nExhilaration \u2014 is within \u2014\n\nExhilaration is the Breeze\n\nExpanse cannot be lost \u2014\n\nExpectation \u2014 is Contentment \u2014\n\nExperience is the Angled Road\n\nExperiment escorts us last \u2014\n\nExperiment to me\n\nExtol thee \u2014 could I? Then I will\n\nExultation is the going\n\nFacts by our side are never sudden\n\nFairer through Fading \u2014 as the Day\n\nFaith \u2014 is the Pierless Bridge\n\nFaith is a fine invention\n\nFaithful to the end Amended\n\nFalsehood of Thee could I suppose\n\nFame is a bee.\n\nFame is a fickle food\n\nFame is the one that does not stay \u2014\n\nFame is the tint that Scholars leave\n\nFame of Myself, to justify,\n\nFame's Boys and Girls, who never die\n\nFar from Love the Heavenly Father\n\nFate slew Him, but He did not drop \u2014\n\nFew, yet enough,\n\nFinding is the first Act\n\nFinite \u2014 to fail, but infinite to Venture \u2014\n\nFitter to see Him, I may be\n\nFloss won't save you from an Abyss\n\nFlowers \u2014 Well \u2014 if anybody\n\nFollow wise Orion\n\nFor Death \u2014 or rather\n\nFor each ecstatic instant\n\nFor every Bird a Nest \u2014\n\nFor largest Woman's Hearth I knew \u2014\n\nFor this \u2014 accepted Breath \u2014\n\nForbidden Fruit a flavor has\n\nForever \u2014 is composed of Nows \u2014\n\nForever at His side to walk \u2014\n\nForever honored by the Tree\n\nForget! The lady with the Amulet\n\nFortitude incarnate\n\nFour Trees \u2014 upon a solitary Acre \u2014\n\nFrequently the woods are pink -\n\nFrigid and sweet Her parting Face \u2014\n\nFrom all the Jails the Boys and Girls\n\nFrom Blank to Blank \u2014\n\nFrom Cocoon forth a Butterfly\n\nFrom his slim Palace in the Dust\n\nFrom Us She wandered now a Year,\n\nFunny \u2014 to be a Century \u2014\n\nFurther in Summer than the Birds\n\nGarland for Queens, may be \u2014\n\nGathered into the Earth,\n\nGive little Anguish \u2014\n\nGiven in Marriage unto Thee\n\nGlass was the Street \u2014 in tinsel Peril\n\nGlee \u2014 The great storm is over \u2014\n\nGlory is that bright tragic thing\n\nGlowing is her Bonnet,\n\nGo not too near a House of Rose \u2014\n\nGo slow, my soul, to feed thyself\n\nGo tell it \u2014 What a Message \u2014\n\nGo thy great way!\n\nGo travelling with us!\n\nGod gave a Loaf to every Bird \u2014\n\nGod is a distant \u2014 stately Lover \u2014\n\nGod is indeed a jealous God \u2014\n\nGod made a little Gentian \u2014\n\nGod made no act without a cause,\n\nGod permits industrious Angels \u2014\n\nGoing to Heaven!\n\nGoing to Him! Happy letter!\n\nGood Morning \u2014 Midnight \u2014\n\nGood Night! Which put the Candle out?\n\nGood night, because we must,\n\nGood to hide, and hear 'em hunt!\n\nGratitude \u2014 is not the mention\n\nGreat Caesar! Condescend\n\nGreat Streets of silence led away\n\nGrief is a Mouse \u2014\n\nGrowth of Man \u2014 like Growth of Nature \u2014\n\nGuest am I to have\n\nHad I known that the first was the last\n\nHad I not seen the Sun\n\nHad I not This, or This, I said,\n\nHad I presumed to hope \u2014\n\nHad this one Day not been.\n\nHad we known the Ton she bore\n\nHad we our senses\n\nHave any like Myself\n\nHave you got a Brook in your little heart,\n\nHe ate and drank the precious Words \u2014\n\nHe forgot \u2014 and I \u2014 remembered \u2014\n\nHe fought like those Who've nought to lose \u2014\n\nHe found my Being \u2014 set it up \u2014\n\nHe fumbles at your Soul\n\nHe gave away his Life \u2014\n\nHe is alive, this morning \u2014\n\nHe lived the Life of Ambush\n\nHe outstripped Time with but a Bout,\n\nHe parts Himself \u2014 like Leaves \u2014\n\nHe preached upon Breadth till it argued him narrow \u2014\n\nHe put the Belt around my life\n\nHe scanned it \u2014 staggered \u2014\n\nHe strained my faith \u2014\n\nHe told a homely tale\n\nHe touched me, so I live to know\n\nHe was my host \u2014 he was my guest,\n\nHe was weak, and I was strong \u2014 then \u2014\n\nHe went by sleep that drowsy route\n\nHe who in Himself believes \u2014\n\nHeart! We will forget him!\n\nHeart, not so heavy as mine\n\nHeaven \u2014 is what I cannot reach!\n\nHeaven has different Signs \u2014 to me \u2014\n\nHeaven is so far of the Mind\n\nHeavenly Father \u2014 take to thee\n\nHer \u2014 last Poems \u2014\n\nHer breast is fit for pearls,\n\nHer face was in a bed of hair,\n\nHer final Summer was it \u2014\n\nHer Grace is all she has \u2014\n\nHer little Parasol to lift\n\nHer Losses make our Gains ashamed \u2014\n\nHer smile was shaped like other smiles \u2014\n\nHer sovereign People\n\nHer spirit rose to such a height\n\nHer Sweet turn to leave the Homestead\n\nHer sweet Weight on my Heart a Night\n\nHere, where the Daisies fit my Head\n\nHerein a Blossom lies \u2014\n\nHigh from the earth I heard a bird,\n\nHis Bill an Auger is\n\nHis Bill is clasped \u2014 his Eye forsook \u2014\n\nHis Cheek is his Biographer \u2014\n\nHis Feet are shod with Gauze \u2014\n\nHis Heart was darker than the starless night\n\nHis little Hearse like Figure\n\nHis Mansion in the Pool\n\nHis Mind like Fabrics of the East\n\nHis mind of man, a secret makes\n\nHis oriental heresies\n\nHis voice decrepit was with Joy \u2014\n\nHope is a strange invention \u2014\n\nHope is a subtle Glutton \u2014\n\nHope is the thing with feathers \u2014\n\nHouses \u2014 so the Wise Men tell me \u2014\n\nHow brittle are the Piers\n\nHow dare the robins sing,\n\nHow destitute is he\n\nHow far is it to Heaven?\n\nHow firm Eternity must look\n\nHow fits his Umber Coat\n\nHow fleet \u2014 how indiscreet an one \u2014\n\nHow fortunate the Grave \u2014\n\nHow good his Lava Bed,\n\nHow happy I was if I could forget\n\nHow happy is the little Stone\n\nHow Human Nature dotes\n\nHow know it from a Summer's Day?\n\nHow lonesome the Wind must feel Nights \u2014\n\nHow many Flowers fail in Wood \u2014\n\nHow many schemes may die\n\nHow many times these low feet staggered \u2014\n\nHow much of Source escapes with thee \u2014\n\nHow much the present moment means\n\nHow News must feel when travelling\n\nHow noteless Men, and Pleiads, stand,\n\nHow ruthless are the gentle \u2014\n\nHow sick \u2014 to wait \u2014 in any place \u2014 but thine \u2014\n\nHow slow the Wind \u2014\n\nHow soft a Caterpillar steps \u2014\n\nHow soft this Prison is\n\nHow still the Bells in Steeples stand\n\nHow the old Mountains drip with Sunset\n\nHow the Waters closed above Him\n\nHow well I knew Her not\n\nI am afraid to own a Body \u2014\n\nI am alive \u2014 I guess \u2014\n\nI am ashamed \u2014 I hide \u2014\n\nI asked no other thing \u2014\n\nI bet with every Wind that blew\n\nI breathed enough to take the Trick \u2014\n\nI bring an unaccustomed wine\n\nI Came to buy a smile \u2014 today \u2014\n\nI can wade Grief \u2014\n\nI cannot be ashamed\n\nI cannot buy it \u2014 'tis not sold \u2014\n\nI cannot dance upon my Toes \u2014\n\nI cannot live with You \u2014\n\nI cannot meet the Spring unmoved \u2014\n\nI cannot see my soul but know 'tis there\n\nI cannot want it more \u2014\n\nI can't tell you \u2014 but you feel it \u2014\n\nI cautious, scanned my little life \u2014\n\nI could bring You Jewels \u2014 had I a mind to \u2014\n\nI could die \u2014 to know \u2014\n\nI could not drink it, Sweet,\n\nI could not prove the Years had feet \u2014\n\nI could suffice for Him, I knew \u2014\n\nI cried at Pity \u2014 not at Pain \u2014\n\nI cross till I am weary\n\nI did not reach Thee\n\nI died for Beauty \u2014 but was scarce\n\nI dreaded that first Robin, so,\n\nI dwell in Possibility \u2014\n\nI envy Seas, whereon He rides \u2014\n\nI fear a Man of frugal Speech \u2014\n\nI felt a Cleaving in my Mind \u2014\n\nI felt a Funeral, in my Brain,\n\nI felt my life with both my hands\n\nI fit for them \u2014\n\nI found the words to every thought\n\nI gained it so \u2014\n\nI gave myself to Him \u2014\n\nI got so I could take his name \u2014\n\nI groped for him before I knew\n\nI had a daily Bliss\n\nI had a guinea golden \u2014\n\nI had been hungry, all the Years \u2014\n\nI had no Cause to be awake \u2014\n\nI had no time to Hate \u2014\n\nI had not minded \u2014 Walls \u2014\n\nI had some things that I called mine \u2014\n\nI had the Glory \u2014 that will do \u2014\n\nI have a Bird in spring\n\nI have a King, who does not speak \u2014\n\nI have never seen Volcanoes \u2014\n\nI have no Life but this \u2014\n\nI haven't told my garden yet \u2014\n\nI heard a Fly buzz \u2014 when I died \u2014\n\nI heard, as if I had no Ear\n\nI held a Jewel in my fingers \u2014\n\nI hide myself within my flower,\n\nI keep my pledge.\n\nI knew that I had gained\n\nI know a place where Summer strives\n\nI know lives, I could miss\n\nI know of people in the Grave\n\nI know some lonely Houses off the Road\n\nI know Suspense \u2014 it steps so terse\n\nI know that He exists.\n\nI know where Wells grow \u2014 Droughtless Wells \u2014\n\nI learned \u2014 at least \u2014 what Home could be \u2014\n\nI like a look of Agony,\n\nI like to see it lap the Miles \u2014\n\nI live with Him \u2014 I see His face \u2014\n\nI lived on Dread \u2014\n\nI lost a World - the other day!\n\nI made slow Riches but my Gain\n\nI make His Crescent fill or lack \u2014\n\nI many times thought Peace had come\n\nI meant to find Her when I came \u2014\n\nI meant to have but modest needs \u2014\n\nI measure every Grief I meet\n\nI met a King this afternoon!\n\nI never felt at Home \u2014 Below \u2014 -\n\nI never hear that one is dead\n\nI never hear the word escape\n\nI never lost as much but twice,\n\nI never saw a Moor \u2014\n\nI never told the buried gold\n\nI noticed People disappeared\n\nI often passed the village\n\nI pay \u2014 in Satin Cash \u2014\n\nI play at Riches \u2014 to appease\n\nI prayed, at first, a little Girl,\n\nI read my sentence \u2014 steadily \u2014\n\nI reason, Earth is short \u2014\n\nI reckon \u2014 when I count it all \u2014\n\nI robbed the Woods \u2014\n\nI rose \u2014 because He sank \u2014\n\nI saw no Way \u2014 The Heavens were stitched \u2014\n\nI saw that the Flake was on it\n\nI saw the wind within her\n\nI see thee better \u2014 in the Dark \u2014\n\nI see thee clearer for the Grave\n\nI send Two Sunsets \u2014\n\nI send you a decrepit flower\n\nI shall keep singing!\n\nI shall know why \u2014 when Time is over \u2014\n\nI shall not murmur if at last\n\nI should have been too glad, I see \u2014\n\nI should not dare to be so sad\n\nI should not dare to leave my friend,\n\nI showed her Heights she never saw \u2014\n\nI sing to use the Waiting\n\nI sometimes drop it, for a Quick \u2014\n\nI started Early \u2014 Took my Dog \u2014\n\nI stepped from Plank to Plank\n\nI stole them from a Bee \u2014\n\nI sued the News \u2014 yet feared \u2014 the News\n\nI suppose the time will come\n\nI taste a liquor never brewed\n\nI tend my flowers for thee \u2014\n\nI think I was enchanted\n\nI think just how my shape will rise \u2014\n\nI think that the Root of the Wind is Water \u2014\n\nI think the Hemlock likes to stand\n\nI think the longest Hour of all\n\nI think to Live \u2014 may be a Bliss\n\nI thought that nature was enough\n\nI thought the Train would never come \u2014\n\nI tie my Hat \u2014 I crease my Shawl \u2014\n\nI took my Power in my Hand \u2014\n\nI took one Draught of Life \u2014\n\nI tried to think a lonelier Thing\n\nI want \u2014 it pleaded \u2014 All its life \u2014\n\nI was a Phoebe \u2014 nothing more \u2014\n\nI was the slightest in the House \u2014\n\nI watched the Moon around the House\n\nI watcher her face to see which way\n\nI went to Heaven \u2014\n\nI went to thank Her \u2014\n\nI worked for chaff and earning Wheat\n\nI would distil a cup,\n\nI would not paint \u2014 a picture \u2014\n\nI Years had been from Home\n\nI'd rather recollect a setting\n\nIdeals are the Fairly Oil\n\nIf all the griefs I am to have\n\nIf any sink, assure that this, now standing \u2014\n\nIf anybody's friend be dead\n\nIf Blame be my side \u2014 forfeit Me \u2014\n\nIf ever the lid gets off my head\n\nIf He dissolve \u2014 then \u2014 there is nothing \u2014 more \u2014\n\nIf He were living \u2014 dare I ask \u2014\n\nIf I can stop one Heart from breaking\n\nIf I could bribe them by a Rose\n\nIf I could tell how glad I was\n\nIf I may have it, when it's dead,\n\nIf I should cease to bring a Rose\n\nIf I should die,\n\nIf I shouldn't be alive\n\nIf I'm lost \u2014 now\n\nIf it had no pencil\n\nIf my Bark sink\n\nIf Nature smiles \u2014 the Mother must\n\nIf pain for peace prepares\n\nIf recollecting were forgetting,\n\nIf she had been the Mistletoe\n\nIf the foolish, call them flowers \u2014\n\nIf this is fading\n\nIf those I loved were lost\n\nIf What we could \u2014 were what we would \u2014\n\nIf wrecked upon the Shoal of Thought\n\nIf you were coming in the Fall,\n\nIf your Nerve, deny you \u2014\n\nI'll clutch \u2014 and clutch \u2014\n\nI'll send the feather from my Hat!\n\nI'll tell you how the Sun rose \u2014\n\nI'm ceded \u2014 I've stopped being Theirs \u2014\n\nI'm Nobody! Who are you?\n\nI'm saying every day\n\nI'm sorry for the Dead \u2014 Today \u2014\n\nI'm the little Heart's Ease!\n\nI'm wife \u2014 I've finished that \u2014\n\nImage of Light, Adieu \u2014\n\nImmortal is an ample word\n\nImmured in Heaven!\n\nImpossibility, like Wine\n\nIn Ebon Box, when years have flown\n\nIn falling Timbers buried \u2014\n\nIn lands I never saw \u2014 they say\n\nIn many and reportless places\n\nIn rags mysterious as these\n\nIn snow thou comest \u2014\n\nIn this short Life\n\nIn thy long Paradise of Light\n\nIn Winter in my Room\n\nInconceivably solemn!\n\nIs Bliss then, such Abyss,\n\nIs Heaven a Physician?\n\nIs Immortality a bane\n\nIs it dead \u2014 Find it \u2014\n\nIs it too late to touch you, Dear?\n\nIs it true, dear Sue?\n\nIt always felt to me \u2014 a wrong\n\nIt bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon \u2014\n\nIt came at last but prompter Death\n\nIt came his turn to beg \u2014\n\nIt can't be Summer!\n\nIt ceased to hurt me, though so slow\n\nIt did not surprise me \u2014\n\nIt don't sound so terrible \u2014 quite \u2014 as it did \u2014\n\nIt dropped so low \u2014 in my Regard \u2014\n\nIt feels a shame to be Alive \u2014\n\nIt is a lonesome Glee \u2014\n\nIt is an honorable Thought\n\nIt is easy to work when the soul is at play \u2014\n\nIt knew no lapse, nor Diminuation \u2014\n\nIt knew no Medicine \u2014\n\nIt makes no difference abroad \u2014\n\nIt might be lonelier\n\nIt rises \u2014 passes \u2014 on our South\n\nIt sifts from Leaden Sieves \u2014\n\nIt sounded as if the Streets were running\n\nIt stole along so stealthy\n\nIt struck me \u2014 every Day \u2014\n\nIt tossed \u2014 and tossed \u2014\n\nIt troubled me as once I was \u2014\n\nIt was a Grave, yet bore no Stone\n\nIt was a quiet seeming Day \u2014\n\nIt was a quiet way \u2014\n\nIt was given to me by the Gods \u2014\n\nIt was not Death, for I stood up,\n\nIt was not Saint \u2014 it was too large \u2014\n\nIt was too late for Man \u2014\n\nIt will be Summer \u2014 eventually.\n\nIt would have starved a Gnat \u2014\n\nIt would never be Common \u2014 more \u2014 I said \u2014\n\nIt would not know if it were spurned,\n\nIt's all I have to bring today \u2014\n\nIt's coming \u2014 the postponeless Creature \u2014\n\nIt's easy to invent a Life \u2014\n\nIts Hour with itself\n\nIt's like the Light \u2014\n\nIts little Ether Hood\n\nIt's such a little thing to weep \u2014\n\nIt's thoughts \u2014 and just One Heart \u2014\n\nI've dropped my Brain \u2014 My Soul is numb \u2014\n\nI've got an arrow here.\n\nI've heard an Organ talk, sometimes\n\nI've known a Heaven, like a Tent \u2014\n\nI've none to tell me to but Thee\n\nI've nothing else \u2014 to bring, You know \u2014\n\nI've seen a Dying Eye\n\nJesus! thy Crucifix\n\nJoy to have merited the Pain \u2014\n\nJudgment is justest\n\nJust as He spoke it from his Hands\n\nJust lost, when I was saved!\n\nJust Once! Oh least Request!\n\nJust so \u2014 Jesus \u2014 raps \u2014\n\nKill your Balm \u2014 and its Odors bless you \u2014\n\nKnock with tremor \u2014\n\nKnows how to forget!\n\nLad of Athens, faithful be\n\nLain in Nature \u2014 so suffice us\n\nLay this Laurel on the One\n\nLeast Bee that brew \u2014\n\nLeast Rivers \u2014 docile to some sea.\n\nLeft in immortal Youth\n\nLest any doubt that we are glad that they were born Today\n\nLest they should come \u2014 is all my fear\n\nLest this be Heaven indeed\n\nLet down the Bars, Oh Death \u2014\n\nLet me not mar that perfect Dream\n\nLet me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip,\n\nLet my first Knowing be of thee\n\nLet Us play Yesterday \u2014\n\nLethe in my flower,\n\nLife \u2014 is what we make of it \u2014\n\nLife, and Death, and Giants \u2014\n\nLift it \u2014 with the Feathers\n\nLight is sufficient to itself \u2014\n\nLightly stepped a yellow star\n\nLike Brooms of Steel\n\nLike eyes that looked on Wastes \u2014\n\nLike Flowers, that heard the news of Dews,\n\nLike her the Saints retire,\n\nLike Men and Women Shadows walk\n\nLike Mighty Foot Lights \u2014 burned the Red\n\nLike Rain it sounded till it curved\n\nLike Some Old fashioned Miracle\n\nLike Time's insidious wrinkle\n\nLike Trains of Cars on Tracks of Plush\n\nLives he in any other world\n\nLong Years apart \u2014 can make no\n\nLonging is like the Seed\n\nLook back on Time, with kindly eyes \u2014\n\nLove \u2014 is anterior to Life \u2014\n\nLove \u2014 is that later Thing than Death \u2014\n\nLove \u2014 thou art high \u2014\n\nLove can do all but raise the Dead\n\nLove is done when Love's begun,\n\nLove reckons by itself \u2014 alone \u2014\n\nLove's stricken why\n\nLow at my problem bending,\n\nLuck is not chance \u2014\n\nMake me a picture of the sun \u2014\n\nMama never forgets her birds,\n\nMany a phrase has the English language \u2014\n\nMany cross the Rhine\n\nMarch is the Month of Expectation.\n\nMe \u2014 come! My dazzled face\n\nMe from Myself \u2014 to banish \u2014\n\nMe prove it now \u2014 Whoever doubt\n\nMe, change! Me, alter!\n\nMeeting by Accident,\n\nMidsummer, was it, when They died \u2014\n\nMine \u2014 by the Right of the White Election!\n\nMine Enemy is growing old \u2014\n\nMore Life \u2014 went out \u2014 when He went\n\nMore than the Grave is closed to me \u2014\n\nMorning \u2014 is the place for Dew \u2014\n\nMorning \u2014 means Milking \u2014 to the Farmer \u2014\n\nMorning is due to all \u2014\n\nMorning that comes but once,\n\nMorns like these \u2014 we parted \u2014\n\nMost she touched me by her muteness \u2014\n\nMuch Madness is divinest Sense \u2014\n\nMusicians wrestle everywhere \u2014\n\nMust be a Woe \u2014\n\nMute thy Coronation \u2014\n\nMy best Acquaintances are those\n\nMy Cocoon tightens \u2014 Colors tease \u2014\n\nMy country need not change her gown,\n\nMy Eye is fuller than my vase \u2014\n\nMy Faith is larger than the Hills \u2014\n\nMy first well Day \u2014 since many ill \u2014\n\nMy friend attacks my friend!\n\nMy friend must be a Bird \u2014\n\nMy Garden \u2014 like the Beach \u2014\n\nMy God \u2014 He sees thee \u2014\n\nMy Heart ran so to thee\n\nMy Heart upon a little Plate\n\nMy life closed twice before its close \u2014\n\nMy Life had stood \u2014 a Loaded Gun \u2014\n\nMy Maker \u2014 let me be\n\nMy nosegays are for Captives \u2014\n\nMy period had come for Prayer \u2014\n\nMy Portion is Defeat \u2014 today \u2014\n\nMy Reward for Being, was This.\n\nMy River runs to thee \u2014\n\nMy Season's furthest Flower \u2014\n\nMy Soul \u2014 accused me \u2014 And I quailed \u2014\n\nMy Triumph lasted till the Drums\n\nMy Wars are laid away in Books \u2014\n\nMy wheel is in the dark!\n\nMy Worthiness is all my Doubt \u2014\n\nMyself can read the Telegrams\n\nMyself was formed \u2014 a Carpenter \u2014\n\nNature \u2014 sometimes sears a Sapling \u2014\n\nNature \u2014 the Gentlest Mother is,\n\nNature affects to be sedate\n\nNature and God \u2014 I neither knew\n\nNature assigns the Sun \u2014\n\nNature can do no more\n\nNature is what we see \u2014\n\nNature rarer uses Yellow\n\nNever for Society\n\nNew feet within my garden go \u2014\n\nNo Autumn's intercepting Chill\n\nNo Bobolink \u2014 reverse His Singing\n\nNo Brigadier throughout the Year\n\nNo Crowd that has occurred\n\nNo ladder needs the bird but skies\n\nNo Life can pompless pass away \u2014\n\nNo Man can compass a Despair \u2014\n\nNo man saw awe, nor to his house\n\nNo matter \u2014 now \u2014 Sweet \u2014\n\nNo matter where the Saints abide,\n\nNo Notice gave She, but a Change \u2014\n\nNo Other can reduce\n\nNo Passenger was known to flee \u2014\n\nNo Prisoner be \u2014\n\nNo Rack can torture me \u2014\n\nNo Romance sold unto\n\nNobody knows this little Rose \u2014\n\nNone can experience sting\n\nNone who saw it ever told it\n\nNoon \u2014 is the Hinge of Day \u2014\n\nNor Mountain hinder Me\n\nNot all die early, dying young \u2014\n\nNot any higher stands the Grave\n\nNot any more to be lacked \u2014\n\nNot any sunny tone\n\nNot at Home to Callers\n\nNot in this World to see his face \u2014\n\nNot knowing when the Dawn will come,\n\nNot One by Heaven defrauded stay \u2014\n\nNot probable \u2014 The barest Chance \u2014\n\nNot Revelation \u2014 'tis \u2014 that waits,\n\nNot seeing, still we know \u2014\n\nNot Sickness stains the Brave,\n\nNot so the infinite Relations \u2014 Below\n\nNot that he goes \u2014 we love him more\n\nNot that We did, shall be the test\n\nNot to discover weakness is\n\nNot with a Club, the Heart is broken\n\nNow I knew I lost her \u2014\n\nNow I lay thee down to Sleep \u2014\n\nObtaining but our own Extent\n\nOf all the Souls that stand create \u2014\n\nOf all the Sounds despatched abroad,\n\nOf Being is a Bird\n\nOf Bronze \u2014 and Blaze \u2014\n\nOf Brussels \u2014 it was not \u2014\n\nOf Consciousness, her awful Mate\n\nOf Course \u2014 I prayed \u2014\n\nOf Death I try to think like this \u2014\n\nOf Glory not a Beam is left\n\nOf God we ask one favor,\n\nOf Life to own \u2014\n\nOf Nature I shall have enough\n\nOf nearness to her sundered Things\n\nOf Paradise' existence\n\nOf Paul and Silas it is said\n\nOf Silken Speech and Specious Shoe\n\nOf so divine a Loss\n\nOf the Heart that goes in, and closes the Door\n\nOf their peculiar light\n\nOf this is Day composed\n\nOf Tolling Bell I ask the cause?\n\nOf Tribulation, these are They,\n\nOf whom so dear\n\nOf Yellow was the outer Sky\n\nOh Future! thou secreted peace\n\nOh give it Motion \u2014 deck it sweet\n\nOh Shadow on the Grass,\n\nOh Sumptuous moment\n\nOh what a Grace is this,\n\nOh, honey of an hour,\n\nOn a Columnar Self \u2014\n\nOn my volcano grows the Grass\n\nOn such a night, or such a night,\n\nOn that dear Frame the Years had worn\n\nOn that specific Pillow\n\nOn the World you colored\n\nOn this long storm the Rainbow rose \u2014\n\nOn this wondrous sea\n\nOnce more, my now bewildered Dove\n\nOne and One \u2014 are One \u2014\n\nOne Anguish \u2014 in a Crowd \u2014\n\nOne Blessing had I than the rest\n\nOne crown that no one seeks\n\nOne Crucifixion is recorded \u2014 only \u2014\n\nOne Day is there of the Series\n\nOne dignity delays for all \u2014\n\nOne Joy of so much anguish\n\nOne Life of so much Consequence!\n\nOne need not be a Chamber \u2014 to be Haunted \u2014\n\nOne of the ones that Midas touched\n\nOne Sister have I in our house,\n\nOne thing of it we borrow\n\nOne Year ago \u2014 jots what?\n\nOnly a Shrine, but Mine \u2014\n\nOnly God \u2014 detect the Sorrow \u2014\n\nOpinion is a flitting thing,\n\nOur journey had advanced \u2014\n\nOur little Kinsmen \u2014 after Rain\n\nOur little secrets slink away \u2014\n\nOur lives are Swiss \u2014\n\nOur own possessions \u2014 though our own \u2014\n\nOur share of night to bear \u2014\n\nOurselves we do inter with sweet derision.\n\nOurselves were wed one summer \u2014 dear \u2014\n\nOut of sight? What of that?\n\nOver and over, like a Tune \u2014\n\nOver the fence \u2014\n\nPain \u2014 expands the Time \u2014\n\nPain \u2014 has an Element of Blank \u2014\n\nPain has but one Acquaintance\n\nPapa above!\n\nParadise is of the option.\n\nParadise is that old mansion\n\nPartake as doth the Bee,\n\nParting with Thee reluctantly,\n\nPass to they Rendezvous of Light,\n\nPatience \u2014 has a quiet Outer \u2014\n\nPeace is a fiction of our Faith \u2014\n\nPerception of an object costs\n\nPerhaps I asked too large \u2014\n\nPerhaps they do not go so far\n\nPerhaps you think me stooping\n\nPerhaps you'd like to buy a flower,\n\nPeril as a Possesssion\n\nPigmy seraphs \u2014 gone astray \u2014\n\nPink \u2014 small \u2014 and punctual \u2014\n\nPoor little Heart!\n\nPortraits are to daily faces\n\nPower is a familiar growth \u2014\n\nPraise it \u2014 'tis dead \u2014\n\nPrayer is the little implement\n\nPrecious to Me \u2014 She still shall be \u2014\n\nPresentiment \u2014 is that long Shadow \u2014 on the Lawn \u2014\n\nPromise This \u2014 When You be Dying \u2014\n\nProud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it,\n\nPublication \u2014 is the Auction\n\nPurple \u2014 is fashionable twice \u2014\n\nPursuing you in your transitions,\n\nPut up my lute!\n\nQuite empty, quite at rest,\n\nRather arid delight\n\nRead \u2014 Sweet \u2014 how others \u2014 strove \u2014\n\nRearrange a Wife's affection!\n\nRecollect the Face of me\n\nRed Sea, indeed! Talk not to me\n\nRehearsal to Ourselves\n\nRemember me implored the Thief!\n\nRemembrance has a Rear and Front \u2014\n\nRemorse \u2014 is Memory \u2014 awake \u2014\n\nRemoved from Accident of Loss\n\nRenunciation \u2014 is a piercing Virtue \u2014\n\nReportless Subjects, to the Quick\n\nRest at Night\n\nReverse cannot befall\n\nRevolution is the Pod\n\nRibbons of the Year \u2014\n\nRisk is the Hair that holds the Tun\n\nRobbed by Death \u2014 but that was easy \u2014\n\nSafe Despair it is that raves \u2014\n\nSafe in their alabaster chambers\n\nSaid Death to Passion\n\nSang from the Heart, Sire,\n\nSatisfaction \u2014 is the Agent\n\nSavior! I've no one else to tell \u2014\n\nSecrets is a daily word\n\nSeptember's Baccalaureate\n\nSeverer Service of myself\n\nSexton! My Master's sleeping here.\n\nShall I take thee, the Poet said\n\nShame is the shawl of Pink\n\nShe bore it till the simple veins\n\nShe could not live upon the Past\n\nShe dealt her pretty words like Blades \u2014\n\nShe died \u2014 this was the way she died.\n\nShe died at play,\n\nShe dwelleth in the Ground \u2014\n\nShe hideth Her the last \u2014\n\nShe laid her docile Crescent down\n\nShe lay as if at play\n\nShe rose as high as His Occasion\n\nShe rose to His Requirement \u2014 dropt\n\nShe sights a Bird \u2014 she chuckles \u2014\n\nShe slept beneath a tree \u2014\n\nShe sped as Petals of a Rose\n\nShe staked her Feathers \u2014 Gained an Arc \u2014\n\nShe sweeps with many-colored Brooms \u2014\n\nShe went as quiet as the Dew\n\nShells from the Coast mistaking \u2014\n\nShe's happy, with a new Content \u2014\n\nShould you but fail at \u2014 Sea \u2014\n\nSic transit gloria mundi\n\nSilence is all we dread.\n\nSize circumscribes \u2014 it has no room\n\nSleep is supposed to be\n\nSmiling back from Coronation\n\nSnow beneath whose chilly softness\n\nSnow flakes.\n\nSo bashful when I spied her!\n\nSo from the mould\n\nSo gay a Flower\n\nSo give me back to Death \u2014\n\nSo glad we are \u2014 a Stranger'd deem\n\nSo has a Daisy vanished\n\nSo I pull my Stockings off\n\nSo large my Will\n\nSo much of Heaven has gone from Earth\n\nSo much Summer\n\nSo proud she was to die\n\nSo set its Sun in Thee\n\nSo the Eyes accost \u2014 and sunder\n\nSo well that I can live without \u2014\n\nSociety for me my misery\n\nSoft as the massacre of Suns\n\nSoftened by Time's consummate plush,\n\nSoil of Flint, if steady tilled \u2014\n\nSome \u2014 Work for Immortality \u2014\n\nSome Arrows slay but whom they strike \u2014\n\nSome Days retired from the rest\n\nSome keep the Sabbath going to Church \u2014\n\nSome one prepared this mighty show\n\nSome Rainbow \u2014 coming from the Fair!\n\nSome say goodnight \u2014 at night \u2014\n\nSome such Butterfly be seen\n\nSome things that fly there be \u2014\n\nSome we see no more, Tenements of Wonder\n\nSome Wretched creature, savior take\n\nSome, too fragile for winter winds\n\nSomehow myself survived the Night\n\nSometimes with the Heart\n\nSomewhat, to hope for,\n\nSomewhere upon the general Earth\n\nSoto! Explore thyself!\n\nSoul, take thy risk.\n\nSoul, Wilt thou toss again?\n\nSouth Winds jostle them \u2014\n\nSown in dishonor!\n\nSpeech \u2014 is a prank of Parliament \u2014\n\nSpeech is one symptom of Affection\n\nSplit the Lark \u2014 and you'll find the Music \u2014\n\nSpring comes on the World \u2014\n\nSpring is the Period\n\nSpurn the temerity \u2014\n\nStep lightly on this narrow spot \u2014\n\nStill own thee \u2014 still thou art\n\nStrong Draughts of Their Refreshing Minds\n\nStruck, was I, not yet by Lightning \u2014\n\nSuccess is counted sweetest\n\nSuch are the inlets of the mind \u2014\n\nSuch is the Force of Happiness \u2014\n\nSummer \u2014 we all have seen \u2014\n\nSummer begins to have the look\n\nSummer for thee, grant I may be\n\nSummer has two Beginnings \u2014\n\nSummer is shorter than any one \u2014\n\nSummer laid her simple Hat\n\nSunset at Night \u2014 is natural \u2014\n\nSunset that screens, reveals \u2014\n\nSuperfluous were the Sun\n\nSuperiority to Fate\n\nSurgeons must be very careful\n\nSurprise is like a thrilling \u2014 pungent \u2014\n\nSuspense \u2014 is Hostiler than Death \u2014\n\nSweet \u2014 safe \u2014 Houses \u2014\n\nSweet \u2014 You forgot \u2014 but I remembered\n\nSweet hours have perished here;\n\nSweet is the swamp with its secrets,\n\nSweet Mountains \u2014 Ye tell Me no lie \u2014\n\nSweet Pirate of the heart,\n\nSweet Skepticism of the Heart \u2014\n\nSweet, to have had them lost\n\nTake all away \u2014\n\nTake all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy,\n\nTake your Heaven further on \u2014\n\nTaken from men \u2014 this morning \u2014\n\nTaking up the fair Ideal,\n\nTalk not to me of Summer Trees\n\nTalk with prudence to a Beggar\n\nTeach Him \u2014 When He makes the names \u2014\n\nTell all the Truth but tell it slant \u2014\n\nTell as a Marksman \u2014 were forgotten\n\nThan Heaven more remote,\n\nThat after Horror \u2014 that 'twas us \u2014\n\nThat Distance was between Us\n\nThat first Day, when you praised Me, Sweet,\n\nThat I did always love\n\nThat is solemn we have ended\n\nThat it will never come again\n\nThat Love is all there is,\n\nThat odd old man is dead a year \u2014\n\nThat sacred Closet when you sweep \u2014\n\nThat she forgot me was the least\n\nThat short \u2014 potential stir\n\nThat Such have died enable Us\n\nThat this should feel the need of Death\n\nThe Admirations \u2014 and Contempts \u2014 of time \u2014\n\nThe Angle of a Landscape \u2014\n\nThe Auctioneer of Parting\n\nThe Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings \u2014\n\nThe Battle fought between the Soul\n\nThe Bee is not afraid of me.\n\nThe Beggar at the Door for Fame\n\nThe Beggar Lad \u2014 dies early \u2014\n\nThe Bible is an antique Volume \u2014\n\nThe Bird did prance \u2014 the Bee did play \u2014\n\nThe Bird her punctual music brings\n\nThe Bird must sing to earn the Crumb\n\nThe Birds begun at Four o'clock \u2014\n\nThe Birds reported from the South \u2014\n\nThe Black Berry \u2014 wears a Thorn in his side \u2014\n\nThe Blunder is in estimate.\n\nThe Bobolink is gone \u2014\n\nThe Body grows without \u2014\n\nThe Bone that has no Marrow,\n\nThe Brain \u2014 is wider than the Sky \u2014\n\nThe Brain, within its Groove\n\nThe Bustle in a House\n\nThe Butterfly in honored Dust\n\nThe butterfly obtains\n\nThe Butterfly upon the Sky,\n\nThe Butterfly's Assumption Gown\n\nThe Butterfly's Numidian Gown\n\nThe Chemical conviction\n\nThe Child's faith is new \u2014\n\nThe Clock strikes one that just struck two \u2014\n\nThe Clouds their Backs together laid\n\nThe Clover's simple Fame\n\nThe Color of a Queen, is this \u2014\n\nThe Color of the Grave is Green \u2014\n\nThe competitions of the sky\n\nThe Court is far away \u2014\n\nThe Crickets sang\n\nThe Daisy follows soft the Sun \u2014\n\nThe Dandelion's pallid tube\n\nThe Day came slow \u2014 till Five o'clock \u2014\n\nThe Day grew small, surrounded tight\n\nThe Day she goes\n\nThe Day that I was crowned\n\nThe Day undressed \u2014 Herself \u2014\n\nThe Days that we can spare\n\nThe Definition of Beauty is\n\nThe Devil \u2014 had he fidelity\n\nThe difference between Despair\n\nThe distance that the dead have gone\n\nThe Ditch is dear to the Drunken man\n\nThe Doomed \u2014 regard the Sunrise\n\nThe Drop, that wrestles in the Sea \u2014\n\nThe Dust behind I strove to join\n\nThe duties of the Wind are few,\n\nThe Dying need but little, Dear,\n\nThe earth has many keys,\n\nThe ecstasy to guess\n\nThe event was directly behind Him\n\nThe face I carry with me \u2014 last \u2014\n\nThe Face in evanescence lain\n\nThe Face we choose to miss \u2014\n\nThe Fact that Earth is Heaven \u2014\n\nThe fairest Home I ever knew\n\nThe farthest Thunder that I heard\n\nThe fascinating chill that music leaves\n\nThe feet of people walking home\n\nThe Fingers of the Light\n\nThe first Day that I was a Life\n\nThe first Day's Night had come \u2014\n\nThe first We knew of Him was Death \u2014\n\nThe Flake the Wind exasperate\n\nThe Flower must not blame the Bee \u2014\n\nThe Frost of Death was on the Pane \u2014\n\nThe Frost was never seen \u2014\n\nThe Future \u2014 never spoke \u2014\n\nThe Gentian has a parched Corolla \u2014\n\nThe Gentian weaves her fringes \u2014\n\nThe gleam of an heroic Act\n\nThe going from a world we know\n\nThe good Will of a Flower\n\nThe Grace \u2014 Myself \u2014 might not obtain \u2014\n\nThe Grass so little has to do \u2014\n\nThe grave my little cottage is,\n\nThe Guest is gold and crimson \u2014\n\nThe hallowing of Pain\n\nThe harm of Years is on him \u2014\n\nThe healed Heart shows its shallow scar\n\nThe Heart asks Pleasure \u2014 first \u2014\n\nThe Heart has many Doors \u2014\n\nThe Heart has narrow Banks\n\nThe Heart is the Capital of the Mind \u2014\n\nThe Heaven vests for Each\n\nThe Hills erect their Purple Heads\n\nThe Hills in Purple syllables\n\nThe Himmaleh was known to stoop\n\nThe Hollows round His eager Eyes\n\nThe immortality she gave\n\nThe incidents of love\n\nThe Infinite a sudden Guest\n\nThe inundation of the Spring\n\nThe Jay his Castanet has struck\n\nThe joy that has no stem no core,\n\nThe Judge is like the Owl \u2014\n\nThe Juggler's Hat her Country is \u2014\n\nThe Lady feeds Her little Bird\n\nThe Lamp burns sure \u2014 within \u2014\n\nThe largest Fire ever known\n\nThe Lassitudes of Contemplation\n\nThe last Night that She lived\n\nThe last of Summer is Delight \u2014\n\nThe Leaves like Women interchange\n\nThe Life that tied too tight escapes\n\nThe Life we have is very great.\n\nThe Lightning is a yellow Fork\n\nThe Lightning playeth \u2014 all the while \u2014\n\nThe Lilac is an ancient shrub\n\nThe Loneliness One dare not sound \u2014\n\nThe lonesome for they know not What \u2014\n\nThe long sigh of the Frog\n\nThe longest day that God appoints\n\nThe look of thee, what is it like\n\nThe Love a Life can show Below\n\nThe Luxury to apprehend\n\nThe Malay \u2014 took the Pearl \u2014\n\nThe Manner of its Death\n\nThe Martyr Poets \u2014 did not tell \u2014\n\nThe Merchant of the Picturesque\n\nThe Mind lives on the Heart\n\nThe Missing All \u2014 prevented Me\n\nThe mob within the heart\n\nThe Months have ends \u2014 the Years \u2014 a knot \u2014\n\nThe Moon is distant from the Sea \u2014\n\nThe Moon upon her fluent Route\n\nThe Moon was but a Chin of Gold\n\nThe Morning after Woe \u2014\n\nThe morns are meeker than they were \u2014\n\nThe most important population\n\nThe most pathetic thing I do\n\nThe most triumphant Bird I ever knew or met\n\nThe Mountain sat upon the Plain\n\nThe Mountains \u2014 grow unnoticed \u2014\n\nThe Mountains stood in Haze \u2014\n\nThe Murmur of a Bee\n\nThe murmuring of Bees, has ceased\n\nThe Mushroom is the Elf of Plants \u2014\n\nThe name \u2014 of it \u2014 is Autumn \u2014\n\nThe nearest Dream recedes \u2014 unrealized \u2014\n\nThe Night was wide, and furnished scant\n\nThe Notice that is called the Spring\n\nThe One who could repeat the Summer day \u2014\n\nThe ones that disappeared are back\n\nThe only Ghost I ever saw\n\nThe Only News I know\n\nThe Opening and the Close\n\nThe Outer \u2014 from the Inner\n\nThe overtakelessness of those\n\nThe parasol is the umbrella's daughter,\n\nThe Past is such a curious Creature\n\nThe pattern of the sun\n\nThe pedigree of Honey\n\nThe Pile of Years is not so high\n\nThe Poets light but Lamps \u2014\n\nThe Popular Heart is a Cannon first \u2014\n\nThe power to be true to You,\n\nThe pretty Rain from those sweet Eaves\n\nThe Products of my Farm are these\n\nThe Props assist the House\n\nThe Province of the Saved\n\nThe pungent atom in the Air\n\nThe rainbow never tells me\n\nThe Rat is the concisest Tenant.\n\nThe Red \u2014 Blaze \u2014 is the Morning \u2014\n\nThe reticent volcano keeps\n\nThe Riddle we can guess\n\nThe right to perish might be thought\n\nThe Road to Paradise is plain,\n\nThe Road was lit with Moon and star \u2014\n\nThe Robin for the Crumb\n\nThe Robin is a Gabriel\n\nThe Robin is the One\n\nThe Robin's my Criterion for Tune \u2014\n\nThe Rose did caper on her cheek \u2014\n\nThe saddest noise, the sweetest noise,\n\nThe Savior must have been\n\nThe Sea said Come to the Brook \u2014\n\nThe Service without Hope \u2014\n\nThe Show is not the Show\n\nThe Skies can't keep their secret!\n\nThe Sky is low \u2014 the Clouds are mean.\n\nThe smouldering embers blush \u2014\n\nThe Snow that never drifts \u2014\n\nThe Soul has Bandaged moments \u2014\n\nThe Soul selects her own Society \u2014\n\nThe Soul should always stand ajar\n\nThe Soul that hath a Guest\n\nThe Soul unto itself\n\nThe Soul's distinct connection\n\nThe Soul's Superior instants\n\nThe Spider as an Artist\n\nThe Spider holds a Silver Ball\n\nThe Spirit is the Conscious Ear.\n\nThe Spirit lasts \u2014 but in what mode \u2014\n\nThe spry Arms of the Wind\n\nThe Stars are old, that stood for me \u2014\n\nThe stem of a departed Flower\n\nThe Stimulus, beyond the Grave\n\nThe Suburbs of a Secret\n\nThe Summer that we did not prize,\n\nThe Sun \u2014 just touched the Morning \u2014\n\nThe Sun and Fog contested\n\nThe Sun and Moon must make their haste \u2014\n\nThe Sun in reigning to the West\n\nThe Sun is gay or stark\n\nThe Sun is one \u2014 and on the Tare\n\nThe Sun kept setting \u2014 setting \u2014 still\n\nThe Sun kept stooping \u2014 stooping \u2014 low!\n\nThe Sun retired to a cloud\n\nThe Sun went down \u2014 no Man looked on \u2014\n\nThe Sunrise runs for Both \u2014\n\nThe Sunset stopped on Cottages\n\nThe sweetest Heresy received\n\nThe Sweets of Pillage, can be known\n\nThe Symptom of the Gale \u2014\n\nThe Test of Love \u2014 is Death \u2014\n\nThe Things that never can come back, are several \u2014\n\nThe things we thought that we should do\n\nThe thought beneath so slight a film \u2014\n\nThe Thrill came slowly like a Boom for\n\nThe Tint I cannot take \u2014 is best \u2014\n\nThe Treason of an accent\n\nThe Trees like Tassels \u2014 hit \u2014 and swung \u2014\n\nThe Truth \u2014 is stirless \u2014\n\nThe vastest earthly Day\n\nThe Veins of other Flowers\n\nThe Voice that stands for Floods to me\n\nThe waters chased him as he fled,\n\nThe way Hope builds his House\n\nThe Way I read a Letter's \u2014 this \u2014\n\nThe Way to know the Bobolink\n\nThe Well upon the Brook\n\nThe Whole of it came not at once \u2014\n\nThe Wind \u2014 tapped like a tired Man \u2014\n\nThe Wind begun to knead the Grass \u2014\n\nThe Wind didn't come from the Orchard \u2014 today \u2014\n\nThe wind drew off\n\nThe Wind took up the Northern Things\n\nThe Winters are so short \u2014\n\nThe words the happy say\n\nThe Work of Her that went,\n\nThe World \u2014 feels Dusty\n\nThe World \u2014 stands \u2014 solemner \u2014 to me \u2014\n\nThe worthlessness of Earthly things\n\nThe Zeroes \u2014 taught us \u2014 Phosphorous \u2014\n\nTheir Barricade against the Sky\n\nTheir dappled importunity\n\nTheir Height in Heaven comforts not \u2014\n\nThemself are all I have \u2014\n\nThere are two Mays\n\nThere are two Ripenings \u2014 one \u2014 of sight \u2014\n\nThere came a Day at Summer's full,\n\nThere came a Wind like a Bugle \u2014\n\nThere comes a warning like a spy\n\nThere comes an hour when begging stops,\n\nThere is a finished feeling\n\nThere is a flower that Bees prefer \u2014\n\nThere is a June when Corn is cut\n\nThere is a Languor of the Life\n\nThere is a morn by men unseen \u2014\n\nThere is a pain \u2014 so utter \u2014\n\nThere is a Shame of Nobleness \u2014\n\nThere is a solitude of space\n\nThere is a word\n\nThere is a Zone whose even Years\n\nThere is an arid Pleasure \u2014\n\nThere is another Loneliness\n\nThere is another sky\n\nThere is no Frigate like a Book\n\nThere is no Silence in the Earth \u2014 so silent\n\nThere is strength in proving that it can be borne\n\nThere's a certain Slant of light\n\nThere's been a Death, in the Opposite House,\n\nThere's something quieter than sleep\n\nThere's the Battle of Burgoyne \u2014\n\nThese \u2014 saw Visions \u2014\n\nThese are the days that Reindeer love\n\nThese are the days when Birds come back \u2014\n\nThese are the Nights that Beetles love \u2014\n\nThese are the Signs to Nature's Inns \u2014\n\nThese Fevered Days \u2014 to take them to the Forest\n\nThese held their Wick above the West \u2014\n\nThese Strangers, in a foreign World,\n\nThese tested Our Horizon \u2014\n\nThey ask but our Delight \u2014\n\nThey called me to the Window, for\n\nThey dropped like Flakes \u2014\n\nThey have a little Odor \u2014 that to me\n\nThey have not chosen me, he said,\n\nThey leave us with the Infinite.\n\nThey might not need me \u2014 yet they might \u2014\n\nThey put Us far apart \u2014\n\nThey say that Time assuages \u2014\n\nThey shut me up in Prose \u2014\n\nThey talk as slow as Legends grow\n\nThey won't frown always \u2014 some sweet Day\n\nThis \u2014 is the land \u2014 the Sunset washes \u2014\n\nThis Bauble was preferred of Bees \u2014\n\nThis Chasm, Sweet, upon my life\n\nThis Consciousness that is aware\n\nThis dirty \u2014 little \u2014 Heart\n\nThis docile one inter\n\nThis Dust, and its Feature \u2014\n\nThis heart that broke so long \u2014\n\nThis is a Blossom of the Brain \u2014\n\nThis is my letter to the World\n\nThis is the place they hoped before,\n\nThis Me \u2014 that walks and works \u2014 must die,\n\nThis Merit hath the worst \u2014\n\nThis quiet Dust was Gentleman and Ladies\n\nThis slow Day moved along \u2014\n\nThis that would greet \u2014 an hour ago \u2014\n\nThis was a Poet \u2014 It is That\n\nThis was in the White of the Year \u2014\n\nThis World is not Conclusion.\n\nTho' I get home how late \u2014 how late \u2014\n\nTho' my destiny be Fustian \u2014\n\nThose \u2014 dying then,\n\nThose cattle smaller than a Bee\n\nThose fair \u2014 fictitious People \u2014\n\nThose final Creatures, \u2014 who they are \u2014\n\nThose not live yet\n\nThose who have been in the Grave the longest \u2014\n\nThough the great Waters sleep,\n\nThree times \u2014 we parted \u2014 Breath \u2014 and I \u2014\n\nThree Weeks passed since I had seen Her \u2014\n\nThrough lane it lay \u2014 through bramble \u2014\n\nThrough the Dark Sod \u2014 as Education \u2014\n\nThrough the strait pass of suffering \u2014\n\nThrough those old Grounds of memory,\n\nThrough what transports of Patience\n\nTie the Strings to my Life, My Lord,\n\nTill Death \u2014 is narrow Loving \u2014\n\nTime does go on \u2014\n\nTime feels so vast that were it not\n\nTime's wily Chargers will not wait\n\nTis Anguish grander than Delight\n\nTis customary as we part\n\nTis easier to pity those when dead\n\nTis good \u2014 the looking back on Grief \u2014\n\nTis little I \u2014 could care for Pearls \u2014\n\nTis my first night beneath the Sun\n\nTis not that Dying hurts us so \u2014\n\nTis not the swaying frame we miss,\n\nTis One by One \u2014 the Father counts \u2014\n\nTis Opposites \u2014 entice \u2014\n\nTis Seasons since the Dimpled War\n\nTis so appalling \u2014 it exhilarates \u2014\n\nTis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy!\n\nTis Sunrise \u2014 Little Maid \u2014 Hast Thou\n\nTis true \u2014 They shut me in the Cold \u2014\n\nTis whiter than an Indian Pipe \u2014\n\nTitle divine \u2014 is mine!\n\nTo be alive \u2014 is Power \u2014\n\nTo be forgot by thee\n\nTo break so vast a Heart\n\nTo die \u2014 takes just a little while \u2014\n\nTo die \u2014 without the Dying\n\nTo disappear enhances \u2014\n\nTo do a magnanimous thing\n\nTo earn it by disdaining it\n\nTo fight aloud, is very brave \u2014\n\nTo fill a Gap\n\nTo flee from memory\n\nTo hang our head \u2014 ostensibly \u2014\n\nTo hear an Oriole sing\n\nTo help our Bleaker Parts\n\nTo her derided Home\n\nTo his simplicity\n\nTo interrupt His Yellow Plan\n\nTo know just how He suffered \u2014 would be dear \u2014\n\nTo learn the Transport by the Pain\n\nTo lose one's faith \u2014 surpass\n\nTo lose thee \u2014 sweeter than to gain\n\nTo love thee Year by Year \u2014\n\nTo make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,\n\nTo make One's Toilette \u2014 after Death\n\nTo make Routine a Stimulus\n\nTo mend each tattered Faith\n\nTo my quick ear the Leaves \u2014 conferred \u2014\n\nTo my small Hearth His fire came \u2014\n\nTo offer brave assistance\n\nTo One denied the drink\n\nTo own a Susan of my own\n\nTo own the Art within the Soul\n\nTo pile like Thunder to its close\n\nTo put this World down, like a Bundle \u2014\n\nTo see her is a Picture \u2014\n\nTo see the Summer Sky\n\nTo tell the Beauty would decrease\n\nTo the bright east she flies,\n\nTo the stanch Dust\n\nTo their apartment deep\n\nTo this World she returned.\n\nTo try to speak, and miss the way\n\nTo undertake is to achieve\n\nTo venerate the simple days\n\nTo wait an Hour \u2014 is long \u2014\n\nTo Whom the Mornings stand for Nights,\n\nToday or this noon\n\nTomorrow \u2014 whose location\n\nToo cold is this\n\nToo few the mornings be,\n\nToo happy Time dissolves itself\n\nToo little way the House must lie\n\nToo scanty 'twas to die for you,\n\nTouch lightly Nature's sweet Guitar\n\nTried always and Condemned by thee\n\nTriumph \u2014 may be of several kinds \u2014\n\nTrudging to Eden, looking backward,\n\nTrust adjust her Peradventure \u2014\n\nTrust in the Unexpected \u2014\n\nTrusty as the stars\n\nTruth \u2014 is as old as God \u2014\n\nTwas a long Parting \u2014 but the time\n\nTwas awkward, but it fitted me \u2014\n\nTwas comfort in her Dying Room\n\nTwas Crisis \u2014 All the length had passed \u2014\n\nTwas fighting for his Life he was \u2014\n\nTwas here my summer paused\n\nTwas just this time, last year, I died.\n\nTwas later when the summer went\n\nTwas like a Maelstrom, with a notch,\n\nTwas Love \u2014 not me \u2014\n\nTwas my one Glory \u2014\n\nTwas such a little \u2014 little boat\n\nTwas the old \u2014 road \u2014 through pain \u2014\n\nTwas warm \u2014 at first \u2014 like Us \u2014\n\nTwice had Summer her fair Verdure\n\nTwo \u2014 were immortal twice \u2014\n\nTwo butterflies went out at Noon \u2014\n\nTwo Lengths has every Day \u2014\n\nTwo swimmers wrestled on the spar \u2014\n\nTwo Travellers perishing in Snow\n\nTwould ease \u2014 a Butterfly \u2014\n\nUnable are the Loved to die\n\nUncertain lease \u2014 develops lustre\n\nUnder the Light, yet under,\n\nUndue Significance a starving man attaches\n\nUnfulfilled to Observation \u2014\n\nUnit, like Death, for Whom?\n\nUntil the Desert knows\n\nUnto a broken heart\n\nUnto like Story \u2014 Trouble has enticed me \u2014\n\nUnto Me? I do not know you \u2014\n\nUnto my Books \u2014 so good to turn \u2014\n\nUnto the Whole \u2014 how add?\n\nUnworthy of her Breast\n\nUp Life's Hill with my my little Bundle\n\nUpon a Lilac Sea\n\nUpon Concluded Lives\n\nUpon his Saddle sprung a Bird\n\nUpon the gallows hung a wretch,\n\nVictory comes late \u2014\n\nVolcanoes be in Sicily\n\nWait till the Majesty of Death\n\nWarm in her Hand these accents lie\n\nWas not was all the Statement.\n\nWater makes many Beds\n\nWater, is taught by thirst.\n\nWe \u2014 Bee and I \u2014 live by the quaffing \u2014\n\nWe can but follow to the Sun \u2014\n\nWe Cover Thee \u2014 Sweet Face \u2014\n\nWe do not know the time we lose \u2014\n\nWe do not play on Graves \u2014\n\nWe don't cry \u2014 Tim and I,\n\nWe dream \u2014 it is good we are dreaming \u2014\n\nWe grow accustomed to the Dark \u2014\n\nWe introduce ourselves\n\nWe knew not that we were to live \u2014\n\nWe learn it in Retreating\n\nWe learned the Whole of Love \u2014\n\nWe like a Hairbreadth 'scape\n\nWe like March.\n\nWe lose \u2014 because we win \u2014\n\nWe met as Sparks \u2014 Diverging Flints\n\nWe miss a Kinsman more\n\nWe miss Her, not because We see \u2014\n\nWe never know how high we are\n\nWe never know we go when we are going \u2014\n\nWe outgrow love, like other things\n\nWe play at Paste \u2014\n\nWe pray \u2014 to Heaven \u2014\n\nWe see \u2014 Comparatively \u2014\n\nWe send the Wave to find the Wave \u2014\n\nWe shall find the Cube of the Rainbow.\n\nWe should not mind so small a flower \u2014\n\nWe shun because we prize her Face\n\nWe shun it ere it comes,\n\nWe talked as Girls do \u2014\n\nWe talked with each other about each other\n\nWe thirst at first \u2014 'tis Nature's Act \u2014\n\nWe wear our sober Dresses when we die,\n\nWe'll pass without the parting\n\nWent up a year this evening!\n\nWere it but Me that gained the Height \u2014\n\nWere it to be the last\n\nWere natural mortal lady\n\nWert Thou but ill \u2014 that I might show thee\n\nWhat care the Dead, for Chanticleer \u2014\n\nWhat did They do since I saw Them?\n\nWhat I can do \u2014 I will \u2014\n\nWhat I see not, I better see \u2014\n\nWhat if I say I shall not wait!\n\nWhat Inn is this\n\nWhat is \u2014 Paradise \u2014\n\nWhat mystery pervades a well!\n\nWhat shall I do \u2014 it whimpers so \u2014\n\nWhat shall I do when the Summer troubles \u2014\n\nWhat Soft \u2014 Cherubic Creatures \u2014\n\nWhat tenements of clover\n\nWhat Twigs We held by \u2014\n\nWhat we see we know somewhat\n\nWhat would I give to see his face?\n\nWhatever it is \u2014 she has tried it \u2014\n\nWhen a Lover is a Beggar\n\nWhen Bells stop ringing \u2014 Church \u2014 begins\n\nWhen Diamonds are a Legend,\n\nWhen Etna basks and purrs\n\nWhen I count the seeds\n\nWhen I have seen the Sun emerge\n\nWhen I hoped I feared \u2014\n\nWhen I hoped, I recollect\n\nWhen I was small, a Woman died \u2014\n\nWhen Katie walks, this simple pair accompany her side,\n\nWhen Memory is full\n\nWhen Night is almost done \u2014\n\nWhen One has given up One's life\n\nWhen Roses cease to bloom, Sir,\n\nWhen the Astronomer stops seeking\n\nWhen they come back \u2014 if Blossoms do \u2014\n\nWhen we have ceased to care\n\nWhen we stand on the tops of Things \u2014\n\nWhere bells no more affright the morn \u2014\n\nWhere every bird is bold to go\n\nWhere I have lost, I softer tread \u2014\n\nWhere Roses would not dare to go,\n\nWhere Ships of Purple \u2014 gently toss \u2014\n\nWhere Thou art \u2014 that \u2014 is Home \u2014\n\nWhether my bark went down at sea \u2014\n\nWhether they have forgotten\n\nWhich is best? Heaven \u2014\n\nWhich is the best \u2014 the Moon or the Crescent?\n\nWhich misses most,\n\nWhile Asters \u2014\n\nWhile it is alive\n\nWhile we were fearing it, it came \u2014\n\nWhite as an Indian Pipe\n\nWho abdicated Ambush\n\nWho Court obtain within Himself\n\nWho Giants know, with lesser Men\n\nWho goes to dine must take his Feast\n\nWho has not found the Heaven \u2014 below \u2014\n\nWho is it seeks my Pillow Nights \u2014\n\nWho is the East?\n\nWho never lost, are unprepared\n\nWho never wanted \u2014 maddest Joy\n\nWho occupies this House?\n\nWho saw no Sunrise cannot say\n\nWho were the Father and the Son\n\nWhoever disenchants\n\nWhole Gulfs \u2014 of Red, and Fleets \u2014 of Red \u2014\n\nWhose are the little beds, I asked\n\nWhose cheek is this?\n\nWhose Pink career may have a close\n\nWhy \u2014 do they shut Me out of Heaven?\n\nWhy do I love You, Sir?\n\nWhy make it doubt \u2014 it hurts it so \u2014\n\nWhy should we hurry \u2014 why indeed?\n\nWild Nights \u2014 Wild Nights!\n\nWill there really be a Morning?\n\nWinter is good \u2014 his Hoar Delights\n\nWinter under cultivation\n\nWitchcraft has not a Pedigree\n\nWitchcraft was hung, in History,\n\nWith Pinions of Disdain\n\nWith sweetness unabated\n\nWith thee, in the Desert \u2014\n\nWithin my Garden, rides a Bird\n\nWithin my reach!\n\nWithin that little Hive\n\nWithin thy Grave!\n\nWithout a smile \u2014 Without a Throe\n\nWithout this \u2014 there is nought \u2014\n\nWolfe demanded during dying\n\nWonder \u2014 is not precisely Knowing\n\nWould you like summer? Taste of ours.\n\nYesterday is History\n\nYou cannot make Remembrance grow\n\nYou cannot put a Fire out \u2014\n\nYou cannot take itself\n\nYou constituted Time \u2014\n\nYou know that Portrait in the Moon \u2014\n\nYou left me \u2014 Sire \u2014 two Legacies \u2014\n\nYou love me \u2014 you are sure \u2014\n\nYou love the Lord \u2014 you cannot see \u2014\n\nYou said that I was Great \u2014 one Day \u2014\n\nYou see I cannot see \u2014 your lifetime \u2014\n\nYou taught me Waiting with Myself \u2014\n\nYou'll find \u2014 it when you try to die \u2014\n\nYou'll know Her \u2014 by Her Foot \u2014\n\nYou'll know it \u2014 as you know 'tis Noon \u2014\n\nYour Riches \u2014 taught me \u2014 Poverty\n\nYour thoughts don't have words every day\n\nYou're right \u2014 the way is narrow \u2014\n\nYou've seen Balloons set \u2014 Haven't You?\n**The Letters**\n\n_The Amherst church attended by Dickinson and her family_\n**_THE LETTERS OF EMILY DICKINSON_**\n\nDue to Dickinson's reclusive nature and sheltered life, her correspondence was one of her only means of communicating with friends and family. Emily's strongest and most affectionate relationship was with her fellow student, Susan Gilbert, whom she sent over three hundred letters over the course of her life. Gilbert was supportive of Dickinson, playing the role of 'most beloved friend, influence, muse, and adviser' and her editorial suggestions played a primary role in Dickinson's creative development. As their intimacy grew, Gilbert became closer to the Dickinson family, and she married Austin Dickinson, Emily's brother, in 1856.\n\nEight years after the poet's death, Mabel Loomis Todd, ironically Austin's mistress, edited and published this collection of Dickinson's correspondence. Mabel Todd never actually met Emily Dickinson in person. Instead, they exchanged letters and it is likely that without Todd's later actions, as well as Lavinia's aid, Dickinson's poetry would never have reached a world-wide audience.\n\n_Susan Gilbert Dickinson_\n**CONTENTS**\n\n_INTRODUCTORY_\n\n_VOLUME I_\n\n_CHAPTER I_\n\n_CHAPTER I_\n\nTo Mrs. A. P. Strong\n\n_CHAPTER II_\n\nTo Mr. William Austin Dickinson\n\n_CHAPTER III_\n\nTo Mrs. Gordon L. Ford, Mr. Bowdoin, Mrs. Anthon, and Miss Lavinia Dickinson\n\n_CHAPTER IV_\n\nTo Dr J. G. Holland and Mrs. Holland\n\n_CHAPTER V_\n\nTo Mr. Samuel Bowles and Mrs. Bowles\n\n_VOLUME II_\n\n_CHAPTER VI_\n\nTo the Misses \u2014\n\n_CHAPTER VII_\n\nTo Mr. Thomas Wentworth Higginson\n\n_CHAPTER VIII_\n\nTo Mr. Perez D. Cowan, Miss Maria Whitney, Mr. Bowles, Mr. J. D. Clark, and Mr. C. H. Clark\n\n_CHAPTER IX_\n\nTo Mr. and Mrs. J. L. Jenkins, Mrs. Hanson Read, Mrs. W. A. Stearns, Mrs. Edward Tuckerman, Mrs. J. S. Cooper, Mrs. A. B. H. Davis, Mrs. H. F. Hills, Mrs. Jameson, Mr. F. F. Emerson, Maggie Maher, Mr. and Mrs. George Montague, Mrs. W. F. Stearns, Mr. J. K. Chickering, Mrs. Joseph Sweetser, Mr. Thomas Niles, Mrs. Carmickael, Dr and Mrs. Thomas P. Field, Mr. Theodore Holland, 1 H. H.,' Miss Eugenia Hall, Mrs. E. P. Crowell, and Mrs. J. C. Greenough\n\n_CHAPTER X_\n\nTo Mrs. Todd, Mrs. Tuckerman, the Misses, Mr. Clark, and Mrs. Currier\n\n_Mabel Loomis Todd_\n\n_Daguerreotype of Dickinson at Mount Holyoke Seminary, c. 1848_\n**INTRODUCTORY**\n\nTHE lovers of Emily Dickinson's poems have been so eager for some of her prose that her sister has asked me to prepare these volumes of her letters.\n\nEmily Dickinson's verses, often but the reflection of a passing mood, do not always completely represent herself, \u2014 rarely, indeed, showing the dainty humor, the frolicsome gayety, which continually bubbled over in her daily life. The somber and even weird outlook upon this world and the next, characteristic of many of the poems, was by no means a prevailing condition of the mind; for, while fully apprehending all the tragic elements in life, enthusiasm and bright joyousness were yet her normal qualities, and stimulating moral heights her native dwelling-place. All this may be glimpsed in her letters, no less full of charm, it is believed, to the general reader, than to Emily Dickinson's personal friends. As she kept no journal, the letters are the more interesting because they contain all the prose which she is known to have written.\n\nIt was with something almost like dread that I approached the task of arranging these letters, lest the deep revelations of a peculiarly shy inner life might so pervade them that in true loyalty to their writer none could be publicly used. But with few exceptions they have been read and prepared with entire relief from that feeling, and with unshrinking pleasure; the sanctities were not invaded. Emily kept her little reserves, and bared her soul but seldom, even in intimate correspondence. It was not so much that she was always on spiritual guard, as that she sported with her varying moods, and tested them upon her friends with apparent delight in the effect, as airy and playful as it was half unconscious.\n\nSo large is the number of letters to each of several correspondents, that it has seemed best to place these sets in separate chapters. The continuity is perhaps more perfectly preserved in this way than by the usual method of mere chronological succession; especially as, in a life singularly uneventful, no marked periods of travel or achievement serve otherwise to classify them. On this plan a certain order has been possible, too; the opening letters in each chapter are always later than the first of the preceding, although the last letters of one reach a date beyond the beginning of the next. The less remarkable writing, of course, fills the first chapters; but even this shows her love of study, of Nature and a devotion to home almost as intense as in strange Emily Bront\u00eb.\n\nNothing is perhaps more marked than the change of style between the diffuseness of girlhood and the brilliant sententiousness of late middle life, often startlingly unexpected. And yet suggestions of future picturesque and epigrammatic power occasionally flash through the long, youthful correspondence. Lowell once wrote of the first letters of Carlyle, 'The man... is all there in the earliest of his writing that we have (potentially there, in character wholly there).' It is chiefly for these 'potential' promises that Emily Dickinson's girlish letters are included, all the variations in the evolution of a style having hardly less interest for the student of human nature than of literature. Village life, even in a college town, was very democratic in the early days when the first of these letters were written, and they suggest a refreshing atmosphere of homely simplicity.\n\nUnusual difficulties have been encountered in arranging the letters with definite reference to years, as none but the very earliest were dated. The change in handwriting, of which specimens are given in facsimile, was no less noticeable than Emily Dickinson's development in literary style; and this alone has been a general guide. The thoughtfulness of a few correspondents in recording the time of the letters' reception has been a farther and most welcome assistance; while occasionally the kind of postage-stamp and the postmark helped to indicate when they were written, although generally the envelopes had not been preserved. But the larger part have been placed by searching out the dates of contemporaneous incidents mentioned, \u2014 for instance, numerous births, marriages, and deaths; any epoch in the life of a friend was an event to Emily Dickinson, always noticed by a bit of flashing verse, or a graceful, if mystically expressed, note of comfort or congratulation. If errors are found in assignment to the proper time, it will not be from lack of having interrogated all available sources of information.\n\nIn more recent years, dashes instead of punctuation, and capitals for all important words, together with the quaint handwriting, give to the actual manuscript an individual fascination quite irresistible. But the coldness of print destroys that elusive charm, so that dashes and capitals have been restored to their conventional use.\n\nIn her later years, Emily Dickinson rarely addressed the envelopes: it seemed as if her sensitive nature shrank from the publicity which even her handwriting would undergo, in the observation of indifferent eyes. Various expedients were resorted to, \u2014 obliging friends frequently performed this office for her; sometimes a printed newspaper label was pasted upon the envelope; but the actual strokes of her own pencil were, so far as possible, reserved exclusively for friendly eyes.\n\nEmily Dickinson's great disinclination for an exposition of the theology current during her girlhood is matter for small wonder. While her fathers were men of recognized originality and force, they did not question the religious teaching of the time; they were leaders in town and church, even strict and uncompromising in their piety. Reverence for accepted ways and forms, merely as such, seems entirely to have been left out of Emily's constitution. To her, God was not a far-away and dreary Power to be daily addressed, \u2014 the great 'Eclipse'\n\nof which she wrote, \u2014 but He was near and familiar and pervasive. Her garden was full of His brightness and glory; the birds sang and the sky glowed because of Him. To shut herself out of the sunshine in a church, dark, chilly, restricted, was rather to shut herself away from Him; almost pathetically she wrote, 'I believe the love of God may be taught not to seem like bears.'\n\nIn essence, no real irreverence mars her poems or her letters. Of malice aforethought, \u2014 an intentional irreverence, \u2014 she is never once guilty. The old interpretation of the biblical estimate of life was cause to her for gentle, wide-eyed astonishment.\n\nNo one knew better the phrases which had become cant, and which seemed always to misrepresent the Father Whom she knew with personal directness and without necessity for human intervention.\n\nIt was a theologically misconceived idea of a 'jealous God,' for which she had a profound contempt; and the fact that those ideas were still held by the stricter New England people of her day made not the slightest difference in her expression of disapproval. Fearless and daring, she had biblical quotation at her finger-tips; and even if she sometimes used it in a way which might shock a conventionalist, she had in her heart too profound an adoration for the great, ever-living, and present Father to hold a shadow of real irreverence toward Him, so peculiarly near. No soul in which dwelt not a very noble and actual love and respect for the essentials could have written as she did of real triumph, of truth, of aspiration.\n\n'We never know how high we are,\n\nTill we are called to rise;\n\nAnd then, if we are true to plan,\n\nOur statures touch the skies.\n\n'The heroism we recite\n\nWould be a daily thing\n\nDid not ourselves the cubits warp,\n\nFor fear to be a king.'\n\nMust not one who wrote that have had her ever-open shrine, her reverenced tribunal?\n\nThe whims and pretences of society; its forms and unrealities, seemed, to her thin and unworthy. Conventionalities, while they amused, exasperated her also; and the little poem beginning,\n\n'The show is not the show,\n\nBut they that go,'\n\nexpresses in large measure her attitude toward society, when she lived in the midst of it. Real life, on the other hand, seemed vast and inexpressibly solemn. Petty trivialities had no part in her constitution, and she came to despise them more and more, \u2014 so much, indeed, that with her increasing shyness, she gradually gave up all journeys, and finally retired completely from even the simple life of a New England college town.\n\nAs has been said of Emily Bronte, 'To this natural isolation of spirit we are in a great measure indebted for that passionate love of Nature which gives such a vivid reality and exquisite simplicity to her descriptions.' Emily Dickinson's letters, almost as much as the poems, exhibit her elf-like intimacy with Nature. She sees and apprehends the great mother's processes, and shares the rapture of all created things under the wide sky. The letters speak of flowers, of pines and autumnal colors; but no natural sight or sound or incident seems to have escaped her delicate apprehension.\n\nBird songs, crickets, frost, and winter winds, even the toad and snake, mushrooms and bats, have an indescribable charm for her, which she in turn brings to us. March, 'that month of proclamation,' was especially dear; and among her still unpublished verses is a characteristic greeting to the windy month. In all its aspects 'Nature became the unique charm and consolation of her life, and as such she has written of it.' Warm thanks are due the friends who have generously lent letters for reproduction. That they were friends of Emily Dickinson, and willing to share her words with the larger outside circle, waiting and appreciative, entitles them to the gratitude, not merely of the Editor, but of all who make up the world that Emily 'never saw,' but to which, nevertheless, she sent a 'message.'\n\nMABEL LOOMIS TODD\n\nAMHERST, MASSACHUSETTS _October_ 1894\n**VOLUME I**\n\n****\n**CHAPTER I**\n\n_To Mrs. A. P. Strong_\n\nTHE letters in this chapter were written to a schoolmate and early friend. The first is one of the oldest yet found, dated when Emily Dickinson had but recently passed her fourteenth birthday.\n\nBefore the era of outer envelopes, it is quaintly written on a large square sheet, and so folded that the fourth page forms a cover bearing the address. Most of the remaining letters to Mrs. Strong are thus folded, and sealed either with wax or wafers, \u2014 occasionally with little rectangular or diamond papers bearing mottoes stamped in gold. The handwriting is almost microscopic, the pages entirely filled. Merely personal items have been generally omitted.\n\nIt will be seen that the name 'Emilie E. Dickinson' is sometimes used. The _ie_ was a youthful vagary, and the second initial, E., stood for Elizabeth, a 'middle name' entirely discarded in later years.\n\nAMHERST, Feb. 23, 1845.\n\nDEAR A., \u2014 After receiving the smitings of conscience for a long time, I have at length succeeded in stifling the voice of that faithful monitor by a promise of a long letter to you; so leave everything and sit down prepared for a long siege in the shape of a bundle of nonsense from friend E.\n\n... I keep your lock of hair as precious as gold and a great deal more so. I often look at it when I go to my little lot of treasures, and wish the owner of that glossy lock were here. Old Time wags on pretty much as usual at Amherst, and I know of nothing that has occurred to break the silence; however, the reduction of the postage has excited my risibles somewhat. Only think! We can send a letter before long for five little coppers only, filled with the thoughts and advice of dear friends. But I will not get into a philosophizing strain just yet. There is time enough for that upon another page of this mammoth sheet.... Your _beau id\u00e9al_ D. I have not seen lately. I presume he was changed into a star some night while gazing at them, and placed in the constellation Orion between Bellatrix and Betelgeux. I doubt not if he was here he would wish to be kindly remembered to you. What delightful weather we have had for a week!\n\nIt seems more like smiling May crowned with flowers than cold, arctic February wading through snowdrifts. I have heard some sweet little birds sing, but I fear we shall have more cold weather and their little bills will be frozen up before their songs are finished. My plants look beautifully. Old King Frost has not had the pleasure of snatching any of them in his cold embrace as yet, and I hope will not. Our little pussy has made out to live. I believe you know what a fatality attends our little kitties, all of them, having had six die one right after the other. Do you love your little niece J. as well as ever? Your soliloquy on the year that is past and gone was not unheeded by me. Would that we might spend the year which is now fleeting so swiftly by to better advantage than the one which we have not the power to recall! Now I know you will laugh, and say I wonder what makes Emily so sentimental. But I don't care if you do, for I sha'n't hear you. What are you doing this winter? I am about everything. I am now working a pair of slippers to adorn my father's feet. I wish you would come and help me finish them.... Although it is late in the day, I am going to wish you a happy New Year, \u2014 not but what I think your New Year will pass just as happily without it, but to make a little return for your kind wish, which so far in a good many respects has been granted, probably because you wished that it might be so.... I go to singing-school Sabbath evenings to \"improve my voice. Don't you envy me?...\n\nI wish you would come and make me a long visit. If you will, I will entertain you to the best of my abilities, which you know are neither few nor small. Why can't you persuade your father and mother to let you come here to school next term, and keep me company, as I am going? Miss \u2014 , I presume you can guess who I mean, is going to finish her education next summer. The finishing stroke is to be put on at Newton. She will then have learned all that we poor foot-travellers are toiling up the hill of knowledge to acquire. Wonderful thought! Her horse has carried her along so swiftly that she has nearly gained the summit, and we are plodding along on foot after her. Well said and sufficient this. We'll finish an education sometime, won't we? You may then be Plato, and I will be Socrates, provided you won't be wiser than I am. Lavinia just now interrupted my flow of thought by saying give my love to A. I presume you will be glad to have some one break off this epistle. All the girls send much love to you. And please accept a large share for yourself. \u2014\n\nFrom your beloved\n\nEMILY E. DICKINSON.\n\nPlease send me a copy of that Romance you were writing at Amherst. I am in a fever to read it. I expect it will be against my Whig feelings.\n\nAfter this postscript many others follow, across the top, down the edges, tucked in wherever space will allow. There are also a few lines from each of three girl friends to 'dear A.'\n\nAMHERST, May 7, 1845.\n\nDEAR A., \u2014 It seems almost an age since I have seen you, and it is indeed an age for friends to be separated. I was delighted to receive a paper from you, and I also was much pleased with the news it contained, especially that you are taking lessons on the 'piny,' as you always call it. But remember not to get on ahead of me. Father intends to have a piano very soon. How happy I shall be when I have one of my own! Old Father Time has wrought many changes here since your last short visit. Miss S. T. and Miss N. M. have both taken the marriage vows upon themselves. Dr Hitchcock has moved into his new house, and Mr. Tyler across the way from our house has moved into President Hitchcock's old house. Mr. C. is going to move into Mr. T.'s former house, but the worst thing old Time has done here is he has walked so fast as to overtake H. M. and carry her to Hartford on last week Saturday. I was so vexed with him for it that I ran after him and made out to get near enough to him to put some salt on his tail, when he fled and left me to run home alone.... Viny went to Boston this morning with father, to be gone a fortnight, and I am left alone in all my glory. I suppose she has got there before this time, and is probably staring with mouth and eyes wide open at the wonders of the city. I have been to walk to-night, and got some very choice wild flowers. I wish you had some of them. Viny and I both go to school this term. We have a very fine school. There are 63 scholars. I have four studies. They are Mental Philosophy, Geology, Latin, and Botany. How large they sound, don't they? I don't believe you have such big studies.... My plants look finely now. I am going to send you a little geranium leaf in this letter, which you must press for me. Have you made you an herbarium yet? I hope you will if you have not, it would be such a treasure to you; 'most all the girls are making one. If you do, perhaps I can make some additions to it from flowers growing around here. How do you enjoy your school this term? Are the teachers as pleasant as our old school-teachers? I expect you have a great many prim, starched up young ladies there, who, I doubt not, are perfect models of propriety and good behavior. If they are, don't let your free spirit be chained by them. I don't know as there [are] any in school of this stamp. But there 'most always are a few, whom the teachers look up to and regard as their satellites. I am growing handsome very fast indeed! I expect I shall be the belle of Amherst when I reach my 17th year. I don't doubt that I shall have perfect crowds of admirers at that age. Then how I shall delight to make them await my bidding, and with what delight shall I witness their suspense while I make my final decision. But away with my nonsense. I have written one composition this term, and I need not assure you it was exceedingly edifying to myself as well as everybody else. Don't you want to see it? I really wish you could have a chance. We are obliged to write compositions once in a fortnight, and select a piece to read from some interesting book the week that we don't write compositions.\n\nWe really have some most charming young women in school this term. I sha'n't call them anything but women, for women they are in every sense of the word. I must, however, describe one, and while I describe her I wish Imagination, who is ever present with you, to make a little picture of this self-same young lady in your mind, and by her aid see if you cannot conceive how she looks. Well, to begin.... Then just imagine her as she is, and a huge string of gold beads encircling her neck, and don't she present a lively picture; and then she is so bustling, she is always whizzing about, and whenever I come in contact with her I really think I am in a hornet's nest. I can't help thinking every time I see this singular piece of humanity of Shakespeare's description of a tempest in a teapot. But I must not laugh about her, for I verily believe she has a good heart, and that is the principal thing now-a-days. Don't you hope I shall become wiser in the company of such virtuosos? It would certainly be desirable. Have you noticed how beautifully the trees look now? They seem to be completely covered with fragrant blossoms.... I had so many things to do for Viny, as she was going away, that very much against my wishes I deferred writing you until now, but forgive and forget, dear A., and I will promise to do better in future. Do write me soon, and let it be a long, long letter; and when you can't get time to write, send a paper, so as to let me know you think of me still, though we are separated by hill and stream. All the girls send much love to you. Don't forget to let me receive a letter from you soon. I can say no more now as my paper is all filled up.\n\nYour affectionate friend,\n\nEMILY E. DICKINSON.\n\n_[Written in 1845; postmarked Amherst, August 4.]_\n\n_Sabbath Eve._\n\nDEAR A., \u2014 I have now sat down to write you a long, long letter. My writing apparatus is upon a stand before me, and all things are ready. I have no flowers before me as you had to inspire you. But then you know I can imagine myself inspired by them, and perhaps that will do as well. You cannot imagine how delighted I was to receive your letter. It was so full, and everything in it was interesting to me because it came from you. I presume you did not doubt my gratitude for it, on account of my delaying so long to answer it, for you know I have had no leisure for anything. When I tell you that our term has been eleven weeks long, and that I have had four studies and taken music lessons, you can imagine a little how my time has been taken up lately. I will try to be more punctual in such matters for the future. How are you now? I am very sorry to hear that you are unable to remain in your school on account of your health, it must be such a disappointment to you. But I presume you are enjoying yourself much to be at home again. You asked me in your last letter if old Father Time wagged on in Amherst pretty much as ever. For my part, I see no particular change in his movements unless it be that he goes on a swifter pace than formerly, and that he wields his sickle more sternly than ever. How do you like taking music lessons? I presume you are delighted with it. I am taking lessons this term of Aunt S \u2014 , who is spending the summer with us. I never enjoyed myself more than I have this summer; for we have had such a delightful school and such pleasant teachers, and besides I have had a piano of my own. Our examination is to come off next week on Monday. I wish you could be here at that time. Why can't you come? If you will, you can come and practise on my piano as much as you wish to. I am already gasping in view of our examination; and although I am determined not to dread it I know it is so foolish, yet in spite of my heroic resolutions, I cannot avoid a few misgivings when I think of those tall, stern trustees, and when I know that I shall lose my character if I don't recite as precisely as the laws of the Medes and Persians.\n\nBut what matter will that be a hundred years hence? I will distress you no longer with my fears, for you know well enough what they are without my entering into any explanations. Are you practising now you are at home? I hope you are, for if you are not you would be likely to forget what you have learnt. I want very much to hear you play. I have the same instruction book that you have, Bertini, and I am getting along in it very well. Aunt S \u2014 says she sha'n't let me have many tunes now, for she wants I should get over in the book a good ways first.\n\nOh, A., if Sarah G \u2014 , H \u2014 , and yourself were only here this summer, what times we should have! I wish if we can't be together all the time that we could meet once in a while at least. I wish you would all come to our house, and such times as we would have would be a caution. I want to see you all so much that it seems as if I could not wait. Have you heard anything from Miss Adams, our dear teacher? How much I would give to see her once more, but I am afraid I never shall. She is so far away. You asked me in your letter to tell you all the news worth telling, and although there is not much, yet I will endeavor to think of everything that will be new to you. In the first place, Mrs. J. and Mrs. S. M. have both of them a little daughter. Very promising children, I understand. I don't doubt if they live they will be ornaments to society. I think they are both to be considered as embryos of future usefulness. Mrs. \\V. M. has now two grand-daughters. Isn't she to be envied?... I am sorry that you are laying up H.'s sins against her. I think you had better heap coals of fire upon her head by writing to her constantly until you get an answer. I have some patience with these 'school marms.' They have so many trials. I hope you will decide to blot out her iniquities against her. I don't know about this Mr. E. giving you concert tickets. I think for my part it looks rather suspicious. He is a young man, I suppose. These music teachers are always such high-souled beings that I think they would exactly suit your fancy. My garden looks beautifully now. I wish you could see it. I would send you a bouquet if I could get a good opportunity. My house plants look very finely, too. You wished me to give you some account of S. P. She is attending school this term and studying Latin and Algebra. She is very well and happy and sends much love to you. All the girls send much love to you, and wish you to write to them. I have been working a beautiful book-mark to give to one of our school-girls. Perhaps you have seen it. It is an arrow with a beautiful wreath around it. Have you altered any since I have seen you? Isn't it a funny question for one friend to ask another? I haven't altered any, I think, except that I have my hair done up, and that makes me look different. I can imagine just how you look now. I wonder what you are doing this moment. I have got an idea that you are knitting edging. Are you? Won't you tell me when you answer my letter whether I guessed right or not?... You gave me a compliment in your letter in regard to my being a faithful correspondent. I must say I think I deserve it. I have been learning several beautiful pieces lately. The 'Grave of Bonaparte 'is one, 'Lancers Quickstep,' and 'Maiden, 1 weep no more,' which is a sweet little song. I wish much to see you and hear you play. I hope you will come to A. before long. Why can't you pass commencement here? I do wish you would.... I have looked my letter over, and find I have written nothing worth reading.... Accept much love from your affectionate friend, EMILY E. D.\n\n_Thursday,_ Sept. 26, 1845.\n\nDEAREST A., \u2014 As I just glanced at the clock and saw how smoothly the little hands glide over the surface, I could scarcely believe that those selfsame little hands had eloped with so many of my precious moments since I received your affectionate letter, and it was still harder for me to believe that I, who am always boasting of being so faithful a correspondent, should have been guilty of negligence in so long delaying to answer it.... I am very glad to hear that you are better than you have been, and I hope in future disease will not be as neighborly as he has been heretofore to either of us. I long to see you, dear A., and speak with you face to face; but so long as a bodily interview is denied us, we must make letters answer, though it is hard for friends to be separated. I really believe you would have been frightened to have heard me scold when Sabra informed me that you had decided not to visit Amherst this fall. But as I could find no one upon whom to vent my spleen for your decision, I thought it best to be calm, and therefore have at length resigned myself to my cruel fate, though with not a very good grace. I think you do well to inquire whether anything has been heard from H. I really don't know what has become of her, unless procrastination has carried her off. I think that must be the case. I think you have given quite a novel description of the wedding. Are you quite sure Mr. F., the minister, told them to stand up and he would tie them in a great bow-knot? But I beg pardon for speaking so lightly of so solemn a ceremony. You asked me in your letter if I did not think you partial in your admiration of Miss Helen H., ditto Mrs. P. I answer, Not in the least. She was universally beloved in Amherst. She made us quite a visit in June, and we regretted more than ever that she was going where we could not see her as often as we had been accustomed. She seemed very happy in her prospects, and seemed to think distance nothing in comparison to a home with the one of her choice. I hope she will be happy, and of course she will. I wished much to see her once more, but was denied the privilege.... You asked me if I was attending school now. I am not. Mother thinks me not able to confine myself to school this term. She had rather I would exercise, and I can assure you I get plenty of that article by staying at home. I am going to learn to make bread to-morrow. So you may imagine me with my sleeves rolled up, mixing flour, milk, saleratus, etc., with a deal of grace. I advise you if you don't know how to make the staff of life to learn with dispatch. I think I could keep house very comfortably if I knew how to cook. But as long as I don't, my knowledge of housekeeping is about of as much use as faith without works, which you know we are told is dead. Excuse my quoting from Scripture, dear A., for it was so handy in this case I couldn't get along very well without it. Since I wrote you last, the summer is past and gone, and autumn with the sere and yellow leaf is already upon us. I never knew the time to pass so swiftly, it seems to me, as the past summer. I really think some one must have oiled his chariot wheels, for I don't recollect of hearing him pass, and I am sure I should if something had not prevented his chariot wheels from creaking as usual. But I will not expatiate upon him any longer, for I know it is wicked to trifle with so revered a personage, and I fear he will make me a call in person to inquire as to the remarks which I have made concerning him. Therefore I will let him alone for the present.... How are you getting on with your music? Well, I hope and trust. I am taking lessons and am getting along very well, and now I have a piano, I am very happy. I feel much honored at having even a doll named for me. I believe I shall have to give it a silver cup, as that is the custom among old ladies when a child is named for them.... Have you any flowers now? I have had a beautiful flower-garden this summer; but they are nearly gone now. It is very cold to-night, and I mean to pick the prettiest ones before I go to bed, and cheat Jack Frost of so many of _the treasures_ he calculates to rob to-night. Won't it be a capital idea to put him at defiance, for once at least, if no more? I would love to send you a bouquet if I had an opportunity, and you could press it and write under it, The last flowers of summer. Wouldn't it be poetical, and you know that is what young ladies aim to be now-a-days.... I expect I have altered a good deal since I have seen you, dear A. I have grown tall a good deal, and wear my golden tresses done up in a net-cap. Modesty, you know, forbids me to mention whether my personal appearance has altered. I leave that for others to judge. But my [word omitted] has not changed, nor will it in time to come. I shall always remain the same old sixpence.... I can say no more now, as it is after ten, and everybody has gone to bed but me. Don't forget your affectionate friend, EMILY E. D.\n\nAMHERST, Jan. 12, 1846.\n\nA., MY DEAR, \u2014 Since I received your precious letter another year has commenced its course, and the old year has gone never to return. How sad it makes one feel to sit down quietly and think of the flight of the old year, and the unceremonious obtrusion of the new year upon our notice! How many things we have omitted to do which might have cheered a human heart, or whispered hope in the ear of the sorrowful, and how many things have we done over which the dark mantle of regret will ever fall! How many good resolutions did I make at the commencement of the year now flown, merely to break them and to feel more than ever convinced of the weakness of my own resolutions! The New Year's day was unusually gloomy to me, I know not why, and perhaps for that reason a host of unpleasant reflections forced themselves upon me which I found not easy to throw off. But I will no longer sentimentalize upon the past, for I cannot recall it. I will, after inquiring for the health of my dear A., relapse into a more lively strain. I can hardly have patience to write, for I have not seen you for so long that I have worlds of things to tell you, and my pen is not swift enough to answer my purpose at all. However, I will try to make it communicate as much information as possible and wait to see your own dear self once more before I relate all my thoughts which have come and gone since I last saw you. I suppose from your letter that you are enjoying yourself finely this winter at Miss C.'s school. I would give a great deal if I was there with you. I don't go to school this winter except to a recitation in German. Mr. C. has a very large class, and father thought I might never have another opportunity to study it. It takes about an hour and a half to recite. Then I take music lessons and practise two hours in a day, and besides these two I have a large stand of plants to cultivate. This is the principal round of my occupation this winter.... I have just seen a funeral procession go by of a negro baby, so if my ideas are rather dark you need not marvel.... Old Santa Claus was very polite to me the last Christmas. I hung up my stocking on the bedpost as usual. I had a perfume bag and a bottle of otto of rose to go with it, a sheet of music, a china mug with _Forget me not_ upon it, from S. S., \u2014 who, by the way, is as handsome, entertaining, and as fine a piano player as in former times, \u2014 a toilet cushion, a watch case, a fortuneteller, and an amaranthine stock of pin-cushions and needlebooks, which in ingenuity and art would rival the works of Scripture Dorcas. I found abundance of candy in my stocking, which I do not think has had the anticipated effect upon my disposition, in case it was to sweeten it, also two hearts at the bottom of all, which I thought looked rather ominous; but I will not enter into any more details, for they take up more room than I can spare.\n\nHaven't we had delightful weather for a week or two? It seems as if Old Winter had forgotten himself. Don't you believe he is absent-minded? It has been bad weather for colds, however. I have had a severe cold for a few days, and can sympathize with you, though I have been delivered from a stiff neck. I think you must belong to the tribe of Israel, for you know in the Bible the prophet calls them a stiff-necked generation. I have lately come to the conclusion that I am Eve, alias Mrs. Adam. You know there is no account of her death in the Bible, and why am not I Eve? If you find any statements which you think likely to prove the truth of the case, I wish you would send them to me without delay.\n\nHave you heard a word from H. M. or S. T.? I consider them lost sheep. I send them a paper every week on Monday, but I never get one in return. I am almost a mind to take a hand-car and go around to hunt them up. I can't think that they have forgotten us, and I know of no reason unless they are sick why they should delay so long to show any signs of remembrance. Do write me soon a very long letter, and tell me all about your school and yourself too.\n\nYour affectionate friend, EMILY E. DICKINSON.\n\n_Friday Eve_ [summer], 1846.\n\nMY DEAR A., \u2014 Though it is a long time since I received your affectionate epistle, yet when I give you my reasons for my long delay, I know you will freely forgive and forget all past offences.\n\nIt seems to me that time has never flown so swiftly with me as it has the last spring. I have been busy every minute, and not only so, but hurried all the time. So you may imagine that I have not had a spare moment, much though my heart has longed for it, to commune with an absent friend.... I presume you will be wondering by this time what I am doing to be in so much haste as I have declared myself to be. Well, I will tell you. I am fitting to go to South Hadley Seminary, and expect if my health is good to enter that institution a year from next fall. Are you not astonished to hear such news? You cannot imagine how much I am anticipating in entering there. It has been in my thought by day, and my dreams by night, ever since I heard of South Hadley Seminary. I fear I am anticipating too much, and that some freak of fortune may overturn all my airy schemes for future happiness. But it is my nature always to anticipate more than I realize.... Have you not heard that Miss Adams \u2014 dear Miss Adams \u2014 is here this term? Oh, you cannot imagine how natural it seems to see her happy face in school once more. But it needs Harriet, Sarah, and your own dear self to complete the ancient picture. I hope we shall get you all back before Miss Adams goes away again. Have you yet heard a word from that prodigal, \u2014 H.?...\n\nYour affectionate friend, EMILY E. D.\n\nI send you a memento in the form of a pressed flower, which you must keep.\n\nA converted Jew has been lecturing here for the last week. His lectures were free, and they were on the present condition of the Jews. Dr Scudder, a returned missionary, is here now, and he is lecturing also. Have you seen a beautiful piece of poetry which has been going through the papers lately? _Are we almost there?_ is the title of it.... I have two hours to practise daily now I am in school. I have been learning a beautiful thing, which I long to have you hear....\n\nBOSTON, Sept. 8, 1846.\n\nMY DEAR FRIEND A., \u2014 It is a long, long time since I received your welcome letter, and it becomes me to sue for forgiveness, which I am sure your affectionate heart will not refuse to grant. But many and unforeseen circumstances have caused my long delay.... Father and mother thought a journey would be of service to me, and accordingly I left home for Boston week before last. I had a delightful ride in the cars, and am now getting settled down, if there can be such a state in the city. I am visiting in my aunt's family, and am happy. Happy! did I say? No; not happy, but contented. I have been here a fortnight to-day, and in that time I have both seen and heard a great many wonderful things. Perhaps you might like to know how I have spent the time here. I have been to Mount Auburn, to the Chinese Museum, to Bunker Hill; I have attended two concerts and one Horticultural Exhibition. I have been upon the top of the State House, and almost everywhere that you can imagine. Have you ever been to Mount Auburn? If not, you can form but slight conception of this 'City of the Dead.' It seems as if nature had formed this spot with a distinct idea in view of its being a resting-place for her children, where, wearied and disappointed, they might stretch themselves beneath the spreading cypress, and close their eyes 'calmly as to a night's repose, or flowers at set of sun.'\n\nThe Chinese Museum is a great curiosity. There are an endless variety of wax figures made to resemble the Chinese, and dressed in their costume. Also articles of Chinese manufacture of an innumerable variety deck the rooms. Two of the Chinese go with this exhibition. One of them is a professor of music in China, and the other is teacher of a writing-school at home. They were both wealthy, and not obliged to labor, but they were also opium-eaters; and fearing to continue the practice lest it destroyed their lives, yet unable to break the 'rigid chain of habit 'in their own land, they left their families, and came to this country. They have now entirely overcome the practice. There is something peculiarly interesting to me in their self-denial. The musician played upon two of his instruments, and accompanied them with his voice. It needed great command over my risible faculties to enable me to keep sober as this amateur was performing; yet he was so very polite to give us some of his native music that we could not do otherwise than to express ourselves highly edified with his performances. The writing-master is constantly occupied in writing the names of visitors who request it, upon cards in the Chinese language, for which he charges 12 and a half cents apiece. He never fails to give his card besides to the persons who wish it. I obtained one of his cards for Viny and myself, and I consider them very precious. Are you still in Norwich, and attending to music? I am not now taking lessons, but I expect to when I return home.\n\nDoes it seem as though September had come? How swiftly summer has fled, and what report has it borne to heaven of misspent time and wasted hours? Eternity only will answer. The ceaseless flight of the seasons is to me a very solemn thought; and yet why do we not strive to make a better improvement of them? With how much emphasis the poet has said, 'We take no note of time but from its loss. 'Twere wise in man to give it then a tongue. Pay no moment but in just purchase of its worth, and what its worth ask death-beds. They can tell. Part with it as with life reluctantly.' Then we have higher authority than that of man for the improvement of our time. For God has said, 'Work while the day lasts, for the night is coming in the which no man can work.' Let us strive together to part with time more reluctantly, to watch the pinions of the fleeting moment until they are dim in the distance, and the new-coming moment claims our attention. I have perfect confidence in God and His promises, and yet I know not why I feel that the world holds a predominant place in my affections.... Your affectionate friend,\n\nEMILY E. D.\n\nNumerous postscripts are appended, as usually: \u2014\n\nI have really suffered from the heat the last week. I think it remarkable that we should have such weather in September. There were over one hundred deaths in Boston last week, a great many of them owing to the heat. Mr. Taylor, our old teacher, was in Amherst at Commencement time. Oh, I do love Mr. Taylor. It seems so like old times to meet Miss Adams and Mr. Taylor together again. I could hardly refrain from singing, 'Auld Lang Syne.' It seemed so very _\u00e0 propos._ Have you forgotten the memorable ride we all took with Mr. Taylor, 'Long, long ago '?... Austin entered college last Commencement. Only think! I have a brother who has the honor to be a Freshman! Will you not promise me that you will come to Commencement when he graduates? Do! Please! I have altered very much since you were here. I am now very tall, and wear long dresses nearly. Do you believe we shall know each other when we meet? Don't forget to write soon. \u2014 E.\n\n_Sabbath Eve,_ 1846.\n\nMY DEAR A., \u2014 When I last wrote you I was in Boston, where I spent a delightful visit of four weeks. I returned home about the middle of September in very good health and spirits, for which it seems to me I cannot be sufficiently grateful to the Giver of all mercies. I expected to go into the Academy upon my return home, but as I stayed longer than I expected to, and as the school had already commenced, I made up my mind to remain at home during the fall term and pursue my studies the winter term, which commences a week after Thanksgiving. I kept my good resolution for once in my life, and have been sewing, practising upon the piano, and assisting mother in household affairs. I am anticipating the commencement of the next term with a great deal of pleasure, for I have been an exile from school two terms on account of my health, and you know what it is to 'love school.' Miss Adams is with us now, and will remain through the winter, and we have an excellent Principal in the person of Mr. Leonard Humphrey, who was the last valedictorian. We now have a fine school. I thank you a thousand times for your long and affectionate letter.... I found a quantity of sewing waiting with open arms to embrace me, or rather for me to embrace it, and I could hardly give myself up to 'Nature's sweet restorer,' for the ghosts of out-of-order garments crying for vengeance upon my defenceless head. However, I am happy to inform you, my dear friend, that I have nearly finished my sewing for winter, and will answer all the letters which you shall deem worthy to send so naughty a girl as myself, at short notice....\n\nWrite soon. Your affectionate\n\nEMILY E. D.\n\n_[March 15, 1847.]_\n\n_Sabbath Eve,_ 1847.\n\nEVER DEAR A., \u2014 ... We have spent our vacation of a fortnight, and school has commenced again since you wrote me. I go this term, and am studying Algebra, Euclid, Ecclesiastical History, and reviewing Arithmetic again to be upon the safe side of things next autumn. We have a delightful school this term under the instruction of our former principals, and Miss R. Woodbridge, daughter of Rev. Dr W. of Hadley, for preceptress. We all love her very much. Perhaps a slight description of her might be interesting to my dear A. She is tall and rather slender, but finely proportioned, has a most witching pair of blue eyes, rich brown hair, delicate complexion, cheeks which vie with the opening rose-bud, teeth like pearls, dimples which come and go like the ripples in yonder little merry brook, and then she is so affectionate and lovely. Forgive my glowing description, for you know I am always in love with my teachers. Yet, much as we love her, it seems lonely and strange without 'our dear Miss Adams.' I suppose you know that she has left Amherst, not again to return as a teacher. It is indeed true that she is to be married. Are you not astonished? Nothing was known but that she was to return to the school, until a few days before she left for Syracuse, where she has gone to make her 'wedding gear.' She is to be married the first of next April, to a very respectable lawyer in Conway, Massachusetts. She seemed to be very happy in anticipation of her future prospects, and I hope she will realize all her fond hopes. I cannot bear to think that she will never more wield the sceptre and sit upon the throne in our venerable schoolhouse, and yet I am glad she is going to have a home of her own, and a kind companion to take life's journey with her. I am delighted that she is to live so near us, for we can ride up and see her often. You cannot imagine how much I enjoyed your description of your Christmas fete at Miss Campbell's. How magnificent the 'Christmas tree' must have been, and what a grand time you must have had, so many of you! Oh!!\n\nI had a great many presents, Christmas and New Year's holidays, both, but we had no such celebration of the former which you describe.... Do write me soon \u2014 a long letter \u2014 and tell me how soon you are coming, and how long we can keep you when you come. Your affectionate EMILY E. DICKINSON.\n\nMT. HOLYOKE SEMINARY, NOV. 6, 1847.\n\nMY DEAR A., \u2014 I am really at Mount Holyoke Seminary, and this is to be my home for a long year. Your affectionate letter was joyfully received, and I wish that this might make you as happy as yours did me. It has been nearly six weeks since I left home, and that is a longer time than I was ever away from home before now. I was very homesick for a few days, and it seemed to me I could not live here. But I am now contented and quite happy, if I can be happy when absent from my dear home and friends. You may laugh at the idea that I cannot be happy when away from home, but you must remember that I have a very dear home and that this is my first trial in the way of absence for any length of time in my life. As you desire it, I will give you a full account of myself since I first left the paternal roof. I came to South Hadley six weeks ago next Thursday. I was much fatigued with the ride, and had a severe cold besides, which prevented me from commencing my examinations until the next day, when I began. I finished them in three days, and found them about what I had anticipated, though the old scholars say they are more strict than they ever have been before. As you can easily imagine, I was much delighted to finish without failures, and I came to the conclusion then, that I should not be at all homesick, but the reaction left me as homesick a girl as it is not usual to see. I am now quite contented and am very much occupied in reviewing the Junior studies, as I wish to enter the middle class. The school is very large, and though quite a number have left, on account of finding the examinations more difficult than they anticipated, yet there are nearly 300 now. Perhaps you know that Miss Lyon is raising her standard of scholarship a good deal, on account of the number of applicants this year, and she makes the examinations more severe than usual.\n\nYou cannot imagine how trying they are, because if we cannot go through them all in a specified time, we are sent home. I cannot be too thankful that I got through as soon as I did, and I am sure that I never would endure the suspense which I endured during those three days again for all the treasures of the world.\n\nI room with my cousin Emily, who is a Senior. She is an excellent room-mate, and does all in her power to make me happy. You can imagine how pleasant a good room-mate is, for you have been away to school so much. Everything is pleasant and happy here, and I think I could be no happier at any other school away from home. Things seem much more like home than I anticipated, and the teachers are all very kind and affectionate to us. They call on us frequently and urge us to return their calls, and when we do, we always receive a cordial welcome from them. I will tell you my order of time for the day, as you were so kind as to give me yours. At 6 o'clock we all rise. We breakfast at 7. Our study hours begin at 8. At 9 we all meet in Seminary Hall for devotions. At 10\u00bc I recite a review of Ancient History, in connection with which we read Goldsmith and Grimshaw. At 11, I recite a lesson in Pope's _Essay on Man,_ which is merely transposition. At 12 I practise calisthenics, and at 12\u00bc read until dinner, which is at 12\u00bd, and after dinner, from 1\u00bd until 2, I sing in Seminary Hall. From 2\u00be until 3\u00be I practise upon the piano. At 3\u00be I go to Sections, where we give in all our accounts for the day, including absence, tardiness, communications, breaking silent study hours, receiving company in our rooms, and ten thousand other things which I will not take time or place to mention. At 4\u00bdwe go into Seminary Hall and receive advice from Miss Lyon in the form of a lecture. We have supper at 6, and silent study hours from then until the retiring bell, which rings at 8\u00be, but the tardy bell does not ring until 9\u00be, so that we don't often obey the first warning to retire. Unless we have a good and reasonable excuse for failure upon any of the items that I mentioned above, they are recorded and a _black mark_ stands against our names. As you can easily imagine, we do not like very well to get 'exceptions,' as they are called scientifically here.\n\nMy domestic work is not difficult and consists in carrying the knives from the first tier of tables at morning and noon, and at night washing and wiping the same quantity of knives. I am quite well and hope to be able to spend the year here, free from sickness. You have probably heard many reports of the food here; and if so, I can tell you that I have yet seen nothing corresponding to my ideas on that point from what I have heard. Everything is wholesome and abundant and much nicer than I should imagine could be provided for almost 300 girls. We have also a great variety upon our tables and frequent changes. One thing is certain, and that is, that Miss Lyon and all the teachers seem to consult our comfort and happiness in everything they do, and you know that is pleasant. When I left home I did not think I should find a companion or a dear friend in all the multitude. I expected to find rough and uncultivated manners, and, to be sure, I have found some of that stamp, but on the whole, there is an ease and grace, a desire to make one another happy, which delights and at the same time surprises me very much. I find no Abby nor Abiah nor Mary, but I love many of the girls. Austin came to see me when I had been here about two weeks, and brought Viny and A. I need not tell you how delighted I was to see them all, nor how happy it made me to hear them say that 'they were _so lonely_.' It is a sweet feeling to know that you are missed and that your memory is precious at home. This week, on Wednesday, I was at my window, when I happened to look towards the hotel and saw father and mother, walking over here as dignified as you please. I need not tell you that I danced and clapped my hands, and flew to meet them, for you can imagine how I felt. I will only ask you, do you love your parents? They wanted to surprise me, and for that reason did not let me know they were coming. I could not bear to have them go, but go they must, and so I submitted in sadness. Only to think that in weeks I shall be at my _own dear home_ again. You will probably go home at Thanksgiving time, and we can rejoice with each other.\n\nYou don't [know] how I laughed at your description of your introduction to Daniel Webster, and I read that part of your letter to cousin Emily. You must feel quite proud of the acquaintance, and will not, I hope, be vain in consequence. However, you don't know Governor Briggs, and I do, so you are no better off than I.... A., you must write me often, and I shall write you as often as I have time....\n\nFrom your affectionate\n\nEMILY E. D.\n\nMr. HOLYOKE FEMALE SEMINARY, Jan. 17, 1848.\n\nMY DEAR A., \u2014 Your welcome epistle found me upon the eve of going home, and it is needless to say very happy. We all went home on Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and a stormy day it was, but the storm must not be in our way, so we tried to make the best of it and look as cheerful as we could. Many of the girls went very early in the morning in order to reach home the same day, and when we all sat down to the breakfast table, it seemed lonely enough to see so many places vacant. After breakfast, as we were not required to keep all the family rules, a number of us met together at one of the windows in the Hall to watch for our friends, whom we were constantly expecting. No morning of my life ever passed so slowly to me, and it really seemed to me they never were coming, so impatiently did I wait their arrival. At last, almost tired out, I spied a carriage in the distance, and surely Austin was in it. You, who have been away so much, can easily imagine my delight and will not laugh, when I tell you how I dashed downstairs and almost frightened my dignified brother out of his senses. All was ready in a moment or less than a moment, and cousin Emily and myself, not forgetting the driver, were far on our way towards home. The rain fell in torrents and the wind howled around the sides of the mountain over our heads, and the brooks below, filled by the rain, rushed along their pebbly beds almost frightfully, yet nothing daunted, we rode swiftly along, and soon the colleges and the spire of our venerable meeting-house rose to my delighted vision.\n\nNever did Amherst look more lovely to me, and gratitude rose in my heart to God, for granting me such a safe return to my _own dear home._ Soon the carriage stopped in front of our own house, and all were at the door to welcome the returned one, from mother, with tears in her eyes, down to pussy, who tried to look as gracious as was becoming her dignity. Oh, A., it was the first meeting, as it had been the first separation, and it was a joyful one to all of us. The storm did not at all subside that night, but in the morning I was waked by the glorious sunshine [it] self, staring full in my face. We went to church in the morning and listened to an excellent sermon from our own minister, Mr. Colton. At noon we returned and had a nice dinner, which, you well know, cannot be dispensed with on Thanksgiving day. We had several calls in the afternoon, and had four invitations out for the evening. Of course we could not accept them all, much to my sorrow, but decided to make two visits. At about 7 o'clock father, mother, Austin, Viny, cousin Emily, and myself to bring up the rear, went down to Professor Warner's, where we spent an hour delightfully with a few friends, and then bidding them good eve, we young folks went down to Mrs. S. M.'s, accompanied by _sister Mary._ There was quite a company of young people assembled when we arrived, and after we had played many games we had, in familiar terms, a 'candy scrape.' We enjoyed the evening much, and returned not until the clock pealed out, 'Remember ten o'clock, my dear, remember ten o'clock.' After our return, father wishing to hear the piano, I, like an obedient daughter, played and sang a few tun\u00e9s, much to his apparent gratification. We then retired, and the next day and the next were as happily spent as the eventful Thanksgiving day itself.\n\nYou will probably think me foolish thus to give you an inventory of my time while at home, but I did enjoy so much in those short four days that I wanted you to know and enjoy it too. Monday came so soon, and with it came a carriage to our door, and amidst tears falling thick and fast away I went again. Slowly and sadly dragged a few of the days after my return to the Seminary, and I was very homesick, but 'after a storm there comes a calm,' and so it was in my case. My sorrows were soon lost in study, and I again felt happy, if happiness there can be away from 'home, sweet home.'\n\nOur term closes this week on Thursday, and Friday I hope to see home and friends once more. I have studied hard this term, and aside from my delight at going home, there is a sweetness in approaching rest to me. This term is the longest in the year, and I would not wish to live it over again, I can assure you. I love this Seminary, and all the teachers are bound strongly to my heart by ties of affection. There are many sweet girls here, and dearly do I love some new faces, but I have not yet found the place of a _few_ dear ones filled, nor would I wish it to be here. I am now studying Silliman's Chemistry and Cutter's Physiology, in both of which I am much interested. We finish Physiology before this term closes, and are to be examined in it at the spring examinations, about five weeks after the commencement of the next term. I already begin to dread that time, for an examination in Mount Holyoke Seminary is rather more public than in our old academy, and a failure would be more disgraceful then, I opine; but I hope, to use my father's own words, 'that I shall not disgrace myself.' What are you studying now? You did not mention that item in your last letters to me, and consequently I am quite in the dark as regards your progress in those affairs. All I can say is, that I hope you will not leave poor me far behind....\n\nYour affectionate _sister,_\n\nEMILY E. DICKINSON.\n\nP. S. Our Section have commenced reading compositions, and we read once in a month, during which time we write two.\n\nIntellectual brilliancy of an individual type was already at seventeen her distinguishing characteristic, and nothing of the recluse was yet apparent. Traditions of extraordinary compositions still remain; and it is certain that each was an epoch for those who heard, whether teachers or pupils. An old friend and schoolmate of Emily tells me that she was always surrounded by a group of girls at recess, to hear her strange and intensely funny stories, invented upon the spot.\n\nMT HOLYOKE FEMALE SEMINARY, May 16,1848.\n\nMY DEAR A., \u2014 You must forgive me, indeed you must, that I have so long delayed to write you, and I doubt not you will when I give you all my reasons for so doing. You know it is customary for the first page to be occupied with apologies, and I must not depart from the beaten track for one of my own imagining.... I had not been very well all winter, but had not written home about it, lest the folks should take me home. During the week following examinations, a friend from Amherst came over and spent a week with me, and when that friend returned home, father and mother were duly notified of the state of my health. Have you so treacherous a friend?\n\nNot knowing that I was to be reported at home, you can imagine my amazement and consternation when Saturday of the same week Austin arrived in full sail, with orders from head-quarters to bring me home at all events. At first I had recourse to words, and a desperate battle with those weapons was waged for a few moments, between my _Sophomore_ brother and myself. Finding words of no avail, I next resorted to tears. But woman's tears are of little avail, and I am sure mine flowed in vain. As you can imagine, Austin was victorious, and poor, defeated I was led off in triumph. You must not imbibe the idea from what I have said that I do not love home \u2014 far from it. But I could not bear to leave teachers and companions before the close of the term and go home to be dosed and receive the physician daily, and take warm drinks and be condoled with on the state of health in general by all the old ladies in town.\n\nHaven't I given a ludicrous account of going home sick from a boarding-school? Father is quite a hand to give medicine, especially if it is not desirable to the patient, and I was dosed for about a month after my return home, without any mercy, till at last out of mere pity my cough went away, and I had quite a season of peace. Thus I remained at home until the close of the term, comforting my parents by my presence, and instilling many a lesson of wisdom into the budding intellect of my only sister. I had almost forgotten to tell you that I went on with my studies at home, and kept up with my class. Last Thursday our vacation closed* and on Friday morn, midst the weeping of friends, crowing of roosters, and singing of birds, I again took my departure from home. Five days have now passed since we returned to Holyoke, and they have passed very slowly. Thoughts of home and friends 'come crowding thick and fast, like lightnings from the mountain cloud,' and it seems very desolate.\n\nFather has decided not to send me to Holyoke another year, so this is my _last term._ Can it be possible that I have been here almost a year? It startles me when I really think of the advantages I have had, and I fear I have not improved them as I ought. But many an hour has fled with its report to heaven, and what has been the tale of me?... How glad I am that spring has come, and how it calms my mind when wearied with study to walk out in the green fields and beside the pleasant streams in which South Hadley is rich! There are not many wild flowers near, for the girls have driven them to a distance, and we are obliged to walk quite a distance to find them, but they repay us by their sweet smiles and fragrance.\n\nThe older I grow, the more do I love spring and spring flowers. Is it so with you? While at home there were several pleasure parties of which I was a member, and in our rambles we found many and beautiful children of spring, which I will mention and see if you have found them, \u2014 the trailing arbutus, adder's tongue, yellow violets, liver-leaf, blood-root, and many other smaller flowers.\n\nWhat are you reading now? I have little time to read when I am here, but while at home I had a feast in the reading line, I can assure you. Two or three of them I will mention: _Evangeline, The Princess, The Maiden Aunt, The Epicurean,_ and _The Twins and Heart_ by Tupper, complete the list. Am not I a pedant for telling you what I have been reading? Have you forgotten your visit at Amherst last summer, and what delightful times we had? I have not, and I hope you will come and make another and a longer, when I get home from Holyoke.\n\nFather wishes to have me at home a year, and then he will probably send me away again, where I know not....\n\nEver your own affectionate\n\nEMILIE E. DICKINSON.\n\nP. S. My studies for this series are Astronomy and Rhetoric, which take me through to the Senior studies. What are you studying now, if you are in school, and do you attend to music? I practise only one hour a day this term.\n\nAlthough nearly two years elapse between the last letter and the following, the handwriting is quite unaltered, being still exceedingly small and clear, and averaging twenty words to a line.\n\nAMHERST, Jan. 29, 1850.\n\nVERY DEAR A., \u2014 The folks have all gone away; they thought that they left me alone, and contrived things to amuse me should they stay long, and _I_ be lonely. Lonely, indeed, \u2014 they didn't look, and they couldn't have seen if they had, who should bear me company. _Three_ here, instead of _one,_ wouldn't it scare them? A curious trio, part earthly and part spiritual two of us, the other, all heaven, and no earth. _God_ is sitting here, looking into my very soul to see if I think right thoughts. Yet I am not afraid, for I try to be right and good; and He knows every one of my struggles. He looks very gloriously, and everything bright seems dull beside Him; and I don't dare to look directly at Him for fear I shall die. Then _you_ are here, dressed in that quiet black gown and cap, \u2014 that funny little cap I used to laugh at you about, \u2014 and you don't appear to be thinking about anything in particular, \u2014 not in one of your _breaking-dish_ moods, I take it. You seem aware that I'm writing you, and are amused, I should think, at any such friendly manifestation when you are already present. _Success,_ however, even in making a fool of myself, isn't to be despised; so I shall persist in writing, and you may in laughing at me, \u2014 if you are fully aware of the value of time as regards your immortal spirit. I can't say that I advise you to laugh; but if you are punished, and I warned you, that can be no business of mine. So I fold up my arms, and leave you to fate \u2014 may it deal very kindly with you! The trinity winds up with me, as you may have surmised, and I certainly wouldn't be at the fag-end but for civility to you. This self-sacrificing spirit will be the ruin of me!\n\nI am occupied principally with a cold just now, and the dear creature _will_ have so much attention that my time slips away amazingly. It has heard _so_ much of New Englanders, of their kind attentions to strangers, that it's come all the way from the Alps to determine the truth of the tale. It says the half wasn't told it, and I begin to be afraid it wasn't. Only think \u2014 came all the way from that distant Switzerland to find what was the truth! Neither husband, protector, nor friend accompanied it, and so utter a state of loneliness gives friends if nothing else. You are dying of curiosity; let me arrange that pillow to make your exit easier. I stayed at home all Saturday afternoon, and treated some disagreeable people who insisted upon calling here as tolerably as I could; when evening shades began to fall, I turned upon my heel, and walked. Attracted by the gayety visible in the street, I still kept walking till a little creature pounced upon a thin shawl I wore, and commenced riding. I stopped, and begged the creature to alight, as I was fatigued already, and quite unable to assist others. It wouldn't get down, and commenced talking to itself: 'Can't be New England \u2014 must have made some mistake \u2014 disappointed in my reception \u2014 don't agree with accounts. Oh, what a world of deception and fraud! Marm, will you tell me the name of this country \u2014 it's Asia Minor, isn't it? I intended to stop in New England.' By this time I was so completely exhausted that I made no further effort to rid me of my load, and travelled home at a moderate jog, paying no attention whatever to it, got into the house, threw off both bonnet and shawl, and out flew my tormentor, and putting both arms around my neck, began to kiss me immoderately, and express so much love it completely bewildered me. Since then it has slept in my bed, eaten from my plate, lived with me everywhere, and will tag me through life for all I know. I think I'll wake first, and get out of bed, and leave it; but early or late, it is dressed before me, and sits on the side of the bed looking right into my face with such a comical expression it almost makes me laugh in spite of myself. I can't call it interesting, but it certainly _is_ curious, has two peculiarities which would quite win your heart, \u2014 a huge pocket-handkerchief and a very red nose. The first seems so very _abundant,_ it gives you the idea of independence and prosperity in business. The last brings up the 'jovial bowl, my boys,' and such an association is worth the having. If it _ever_ gets tired of _me,_ I will forward it to _you_ \u2014 you would love it for _my_ sake, if not for its own; it will tell you some queer stories about me, \u2014 how I sneezed so loud one night that the family thought the last trump was sounding, and climbed into the currant-bushes to get out of the way; how the rest of the people, arrayed in long night-gowns, folded their arms, and were waiting; but this is a wicked story, \u2014 it can tell some better ones. Now, my dear friend, let me tell you that these last thoughts are fictions, \u2014 vain imaginations to lead astray foolish young women. They are flowers of speech; they both make and tell deliberate falsehoods; avoid them as the snake, and turn aside as from the rattle-snake, and I don't _think_ you will be harmed. Honestly, though, a snake-bite is a serious matter, and there can't be too much said or done about it. The big serpent bites the deepest; and we get so accustomed to its bites that we don't mind about them. 'Verily I say unto you, fear _him.'_ Won't you read some work upon snakes? \u2014 I have a real anxiety for you. I love those little green ones that slide around by your shoes in the grass, and make it rustle with their elbows; they are rather my favorites on the whole; but I wouldn't influence _you_ for the world. There is an air of misanthropy about the striped snake that will commend itself at once to your taste, \u2014 there is no monotony about it \u2014 but we will more of this again. Something besides severe colds and serpents, and we will try to find _that_ something. It can't be a garden, can it? or a strawberry-bed, which rather belongs to a garden; nor it can't be a school-house, nor an attorney-at-law. Oh, dear! I don't know what it is. Love for the absent don't _sound_ like it; but try it, and see how it goes.\n\nI miss you very much indeed; think of you at night when the world's nodding, nid, nid, nodding \u2014 think of you in the daytime when the cares of the world, and its toils, and its continual vexations choke up the love for friends in some of our hearts; remember your warnings sometimes \u2014 try to do as you told me sometimes \u2014 and sometimes conclude it's no use to try; then my heart says it _is,_ and new trial is followed by disappointment again. I wondered, when you had gone, why we didn't talk more, \u2014 it wasn't for want of a subject; it never _could Se_ for _that._ Too many, perhaps, \u2014 such a crowd of people that nobody heard the speaker, and all went away discontented. You astonished me in the outset, perplexed me in the continuance, and wound up in a grand snarl I shall be all my pilgrimage unravelling. Rather a dismal prospect certainly; but 'it's always the darkest the hour before day,' and this earlier sunset promises an earlier rise \u2014 a sun in splendor \u2014 and glory, flying out of its purple nest. Wouldn't you love to see God's bird, when it first tries its wings? If you were here I would tell you something \u2014 several somethings \u2014 which have happened since you went away; but time and space, as usual, oppose themselves, and I put my treasures away till 'we two meet again.' The hope that I shall continue in love towards you, and _vice versa,_ will sustain me till then. If you are thinking soon to go away, and to show your face no more, just inform me, will you? I would have the 'long, lingering look,' which you cast behind, \u2014 it would be an invaluable addition to my treasures, and 'keep your memory green.' 'Lord, keep all our memories green,' and help on our affection, and tie the 'link that doth us bind' in a tight bow-knot that will keep it from separation, and stop us from growing old; if that is impossible, make old age pleasant to us, put its arms around us kindly, and when we go home, let that home be called heaven.\n\nYour very sincere and _wicked_ friend,\n\nEMILY E. DICKINSON.\n\nI haven't thanked you for your letter yet, but not for want of gratitude. I will do so _now_ most sincerely, most heartily \u2014 gladly and gratefully. You will write me another soon, that I may have _four right_ feelings again! They don't come for the asking. I have been introducing you to me in this letter so far; we will traffic in 'joys 'and 'sorrows 'some other day. Colds make one very carnal, and the spirit is always afraid of them. You will excuse all mistakes in view of ignorance; all sin, in view of 'the fall; 'all want of friendly affection, in the sight of the verse, 'The deepest stream the stillest runs; 'and other general deficiencies, on the ground of universal incapacity! Here is surely room for charity, and the heavenly visitor wouldn't have come but for these faults. 'No loss without a gain.' I called to see your cousins an evening since; they were well, and evidently delighted to see one another \u2014 and us.\n\nWhen your letter came, I had two Western cousins \u2014 now at South Hadley Seminary \u2014 staying their vacation with me. They took an unbounded delight in a sentence I read them; and to pay for it, send you their love.\n\nIn the following letter appear farther traces of the later and almost invariable custom of using dashes, instead of conventional punctuation. These, however, will not be given generally. In printing her poems it was found necessary to employ usual punctuation, in order that the meaning should be more easily apprehended; and in the letters the same system, often for the same reason, has been adopted.\n\nAMHERST, May 7, 1850.\n\nDEAR REMEMBERED, \u2014 The circumstances under which I write you this morning are at once glorious, afflicting, and beneficial, \u2014 glorious in _ends,_ afflicting in _means,_ and beneficial, I trust, in _both._ Twin loaves of bread have just been born into the world under my auspices, \u2014 fine children, the image of their mother; and here, my dear friend, is the _glory._\n\nOn the lounge, asleep, lies my sick mother, suffering intensely from acute neuralgia, except at a moment like this, when kind sleep draws near, and beguiles her, \u2014 here is the _affliction._\n\nI need not draw the beneficial inference, \u2014 the good I myself derive, the winning the spirit of patience, the genial housekeeping influence stealing over my mind and soul, \u2014 you know all these things I would say, and will seem to suppose they are written, when indeed they are only thought.\n\nOn Sunday my mother was taken, had been perfectly well before, and could remember no possible imprudence which should have induced the disease. Everything has been done, and though we think her gradually throwing it off, she still has much suffering. I have always neglected the culinary arts, but attend to them now from necessity, and from a desire to make everything pleasant for father and Austin. Sickness makes desolation, and the day is dark and dreary; but health will come back, I hope, and light hearts and smiling faces. We are sick hardly ever at home, and don't know what to do when it comes, \u2014 wrinkle our little brows, and stamp with our little feet, and our tiny souls get angry, and command it to go away. Mrs. Brown will be glad to see it, \u2014 old ladies expect to die; 'as for _us,_ the young and active, with all longings \"for the strife,\" _we_ to perish by the roadside, weary with the \"march of life \" \u2014 no, no, my dear \"Father Mortality,\" get out of the way if you please; we will call if we ever want you. Good-morning, sir! ah, good-morning!'\n\nWhen I am not at work, I sit by the side of mother, provide for her little wants, and try to cheer and encourage her. I ought to be glad and grateful that I _can_ do anything now, but I do feel so very lonely, and so anxious to have her cured. I haven't repined but once, and you shall know all the why. At noon... I heard a well-known rap, and a friend I love _so_ dearly came and asked me to ride in the woods, the sweet, still woods, \u2014 and I wanted to exceedingly. I told him I could not go, and he said he was disappointed, he wanted me very much. Then the tears came into my eyes, though I tried to choke them back, and he said I _could_ and _should_ go, and it seemed, to me unjust. Oh, I struggled with great temptation, and it cost me much of denial; but I think in the end I conquered, \u2014 not a glorious victory, where you hear the rolling drum, but a kind of a helpless victory, where triumph would come of itself, faintest music, weary soldiers, nor a waving flag, nor a long, loud shout. I had read of Christ's temptations, and how they were like our own, only he didn't sin; I wondered if _one_ was like mine, and whether it made him angry. I couldn't make up my mind; do you think he ever did?\n\nI went cheerfully round my work, humming a little air till mother had gone to sleep, then cried with all my might \u2014 seemed to think I was much abused \u2014 that this wicked world was unworthy such devoted and terrible suffering \u2014 and came to my various senses in great dudgeon at life, and time, and love for affliction and anguish.\n\nWhat shall we do, my darling, when trial grows more and more, when the dim, lone light expires, and it's dark, so very dark, and we wander, and know not where, and cannot get out of the forest \u2014 whose is the hand to help us, and to lead, and forever guide us; they talk of a 'Jesus of Nazareth ' \u2014 will you tell me if it be he?...\n\nIt's Friday, my dear A., and that in another week, yet my mission is unfulfilled \u2014 and you so sadly neglected, and don't know the reason why. Where do you think I've strayed, and from what new errand returned? I have come from 'to and fro, and walking up and down 'the same place that Satan hailed from, when God asked him where he'd been;.but not to illustrate further, I tell you I have been dreaming, dreaming a _golden_ dream, with eyes all the while wide open, and I guess it's almost morning; and besides, I have been at work, providing the 'food that perisheth,' scaring the timorous dust, and being obedient and kind. I am yet the Queen of the Court, if regalia be dust and dirt, have three loyal subjects, whom I'd rather relieve from service. Mother is still an invalid, though a partially restored one; father and Austin still clamor for food; and I, like a martyr, am feeding them. Wouldn't you love to see me in these bonds of great despair, looking around my kitchen, and praying for kind deliverance, and declaring by 'Omai's beard 'I never was in such plight? _My_ kitchen, I think I called it \u2014 God forbid that it was, or shall be, my own \u2014 God keep me from what they call _households,_ except that bright one of 'faith '!\n\nDon't be afraid of my imprecations \u2014 they never did any one harm, and they make me feel so cool, and so very much more comfortable!... I presume you are loving your mother, and loving the stranger and wanderer \u2014 visiting the poor and afflicted, and reaping whole fields of blessings \u2014 save me a little sheaf, only a very little one! Remember and care for me sometimes, and scatter a fragrant flower in this wilderness life of mine by writing me, and by not forgetting, and by lingering longer in prayer, that the Father may bless one more!\n\nYour affectionate friend,\n\nEMILY.\n\nMr. Humphrey, spoken of in the following letter, is the same friend of whom Emily had already written (page 24); he graduated from Amherst as valedictorian in 1846, being subsequently Principal of the well-known Amherst Academy, and still later a theological student at Andover, and tutor in Amherst College. His sudden death, November 30, 1850, caused much grief to his many friends, who admired his polished scholarship and lovable personality.\n\n_[Amherst, January 2, 1851.]_\n\n_Tuesday Evening._\n\nI write A. to-night, because it is cool and quiet, and I can forget the toil and care of the feverish day, and then I am _selfish_ too, because I am feeling lonely; some of my friends are gone, and some of my friends are sleeping \u2014 sleeping the churchyard sleep \u2014 the hour of evening is sad \u2014 it was once my study hour \u2014 my master has gone to rest, and the open leaf of the book, and the scholar at school _alone,_ make the tears come, and I cannot brush them away; I would not if I could, for they are the only tribute I can pay the departed Humphrey.\n\n_You_ have stood by the grave before; I have walked there sweet summer evenings and read the names on the stones, and wondered who would come and give me the same memorial; but I never have laid my friends there, and forgot that they too must die; this is my first affliction, and indeed 'tis hard to bear it. To those bereaved so often that home is no more here, and whose communion with friends is had only in prayers, there must be much to hope for, but when the unreconciled spirit has nothing left but God, that spirit is lone indeed. I don't think there will be any sunshine, or any singing-birds in the spring that's coming.... I will try not to say any more \u2014 my rebellious thoughts are many, and the friend I love and trust in has much _now_ to forgive. I wish I were somebody else \u2014 I would pray the prayer of the 'Pharisee,' but I am -a poor little 'Publican.' 'Son of David,' look down on me!\n\n'Twas a great while ago when you wrote me, I remember the leaves were falling \u2014 and _now_ there are falling snows; who maketh the two to differ \u2014 are not leaves the brethren of snows?\n\nThen it _can't_ be a great while since then, though I verily thought it _was;_ we are not so young as we once were, and time seems to be growing long. I dream of being a grandame, and banding my silver hairs, and I seem to be quite submissive to the thought of growing old; no doubt you ride rocking-horses in your present as in young sleeps \u2014 quite a pretty contrast indeed, of me braiding my own gray hairs, and my friend at play with her childhood, a pair of decayed old ladies! Where _are_ you, my _antique_ friend, or my very dear and young one \u2014 just as you please to please \u2014 it _may_ seem quite a presumption that I address you at all, knowing not if you habit here, or if my 'bird has flown 'in which world her wing is folded. When I think of the friends I love, and the little while we may dwell here, and then 'we go away,' I have a yearning feeling, a desire eager and anxious lest any be stolen away, so that I cannot behold them. I would have you here, all here, where I can _see_ you, and _hear_ you, and where I can say 'Oh, no,' if the 'Son of Man 'ever 'cometh '!\n\nIt is not enough, now and then, at long and uncertain intervals to hear you 're alive and well. I do not care for the body, I love the timid soul, the blushing, shrinking soul; it hides, for it is afraid, and the bold, obtrusive body \u2014 Pray, marm, did you call _me?_ We are very small, A. \u2014 I think we grow still smaller \u2014 this tiny, insect life the portal to another; it seems strange \u2014 strange indeed. I'm afraid we are all unworthy, yet we shall 'enter in.'\n\nI can think of no other way than for you, my dear girl, to come here \u2014 we are growing away from each other, and talk even now like strangers. To forget the 'meum and teum,' _dearest_ friends must meet sometimes, and then comes the 'bond of the spirit 'which, if I am correct, is 'unity.'\n\n... You are growing wiser than I am, and nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom \u2014 perchance to bear no fruit, or if plucked, I may find it bitter. The shore is safer, A., but I love to buffet the sea \u2014 I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger! You are learning control and firmness. Christ Jesus will love you more. I'm afraid he don't love me _any!_... Write when you _will,_ my friend, and forget all amiss herein, for as these few imperfect words to the full communion of spirits, so this small giddy life to the _better,_ the life eternal, and that _we_ may live this life, and be filled with this true communion, I shall not cease to pray.\n\nE.\n\n_[August, 1851.]_\n\n_Tuesday Evening._\n\n'Yet a little while I am with you, and again a little while and I am _not_ with you,' because you go to your mother!... But the virtue of the text consists in this, my dear, that 'if I _go,_ I come again, and ye shall be with me where I am; 'that is to say, that if you come in November, you shall be mine, and I shall be thine, and so on, _vice versa,_ until _ad infinitum,_ which isn't a great way off. While I think of it, my dear friend, and we are upon these subjects, allow me to remark that you have the funniest manner of popping into town, and the most lamentable manner of popping out again, of any one I know. It really becomes to me a matter of serious moment, this propensity of yours concerning your female friends \u2014 the 'morning cloud and the early dew 'are not more evanescent.\n\nI think it was Tuesday evening that we were so amused by the oratorical feats of three or four young gentlemen. I remember I sat by you and took great satisfaction in such seat and society \u2014 I remember further our mutual good-nights, our promises to meet again, to tell each other tales of our own heart and life, to seek and find each other after so long a time of distant separation. I can hardly realize that these are recollections, that our happy to-day joins the great band of yesterdays and marches on to the dead too. quickly flown, my bird, for me to satisfy me that you _did_ sit and sing beneath my chamber window! I only went out once after the time I saw you \u2014 the morning of Mr. Beecher I looked for you in vain. I discovered your Palmer cousins, but if you indeed were there, it must have been in a form to my gross sense impalpable. I was disappointed. I had been hoping much a little visit from you; when will the hour be that we shall sit together and talk of what we were and what we are and may be \u2014 with the shutters closed, dear A., and the balmiest little breeze stealing in at the window? I love those little fancies, yet I would love them more were they not quite so fanciful as they have seemed to be. I have fancied so many times, and so many times gone home to find it was _only_ fancy, that I am half afraid to hope for what I long for. It would seem, my dear A., that out of all the moments crowding this little world, a _few_ might be vouchsafed to spend with those we love \u2014 a separated hour, an hour more pure and true than ordinary hours, when we could pause a moment, before we journey on. We had a pleasant time talking the other morning \u2014 had I known it was all my portion, mayhap I'd improved it more, but it never'll come back again to try, whether or no. Don't you think sometimes these brief, imperfect meetings have a tale to tell \u2014 perhaps but for the sorrow which accompanies them we should not be reminded of brevity and change, and should build the dwelling earthward whose site is in the skies \u2014 perhaps the treasure here would be too dear a treasure couldn't 'the moth corrupt, and the thief break through and steal; 'and this makes me think how I found a little moth in my stores the other day, a very subtle moth that had, in ways and manners to me and mine unknown, contrived to hide itself in a favorite worsted basket \u2014 how long my little treasure-house had furnished an arena for its destroying labors it is not mine to tell; it had an errand there \u2014 I trust it fulfilled its mission; it taught me, dear A., to have no treasure here, or rather it tried to tell me in its little mothy way of another enduring treasure the robber cannot steal, nor time waste away. How many a lesson learned from lips of such tiny teachers \u2014 don't it make you think of the Bible, 'not many mighty, nor wise '?\n\nYou met our dear Sarah T. after I saw you here.: Her sweet face is the same as in those happy school-days \u2014 and in vain I search for wrinkles brought on by many cares; we all love Sarah dearly, and shall try to do all in our power to make her visit happy. Isn't it very remarkable that in so many years Sarah has changed so little \u2014 not that she has stood still, but has made such _peaceful_ progress \u2014 her thoughts, though they are older, have all the charm of youth \u2014 have not yet lost their freshness, their innocence and peace; she seems so pure in heart, so sunny and serene, like some sweet lark or robin, ever soaring and singing. I have not seen her much \u2014 I want to see her more \u2014 she speaks often of _you,_ and with a warm affection. I hope no change or time shall blight those loves of ours, I would bear them all in my arms to my home in the glorious heaven and say, 'Here am I, my Father, and those whom thou hast given me.' If the life which is to come is better than dwelling _here,_ and angels are there and our friends are glorified and are singing there and praising there, need we fear to go when spirits beyond wait for us? I was meaning to see you more and talk about such things with you \u2014 I want to know your views and your eternal feelings \u2014 how things beyond are to you \u2014 oh, there is much to speak of in meeting one you love, and it always seems to me that I might have spoken more, and I almost always think that what we found to say might have been left unspoken.\n\nShall it _always_ be so, A.? Is there no longer day given for our communion with the spirits of our love? Writing is brief and fleeting \u2014 conversation will come again, yet if it _will,_ it hastes and must be on its way. Earth is short, but Paradise is long \u2014 \u2014 there must be many moments in an eternal day; then sometime we shall tarry while time and tide roll on, and till then _vale._\n\nYour own dear\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[Written from Amherst between January 1, and the middle of June, 1852.]_\n\n_Sunday Evening._\n\nMY VERY DEAR A., \u2014 I love to sit here alone, writing a letter to you, and whether your joy in reading will amount to as much or more, or even less than mine in penning it to you, becomes to me just now a very important problem \u2014 and I will tax each power to solve the same for me; if as happy, indeed, I have every occasion for gratitude \u2014 \u2014 more so, my absent friend, I may not hope to make you, but I do hope most earnestly it may not give you _less._ Oh, I do know it will not, if school-day hearts are warm and school-day memories precious! As I told you, it is Sunday to-day, so I find myself quite curtailed in the selection of subjects, being myself quite vain, and naturally adverting to many worldly things which would doubtless grieve and distress you: much more will I be restrained by the fact that such stormy Sundays I always remain at home, and have not those opportunities for hoarding up great truths which I would have otherwise. In view of these things, A., your kind heart will be lenient, forgiving all empty words and unsatisfying feelings on the Sabbath-day ground which we have just alluded to. I rejoice in one theme appropriate to every place and time \u2014 indeed it cannot intrude in the hour most unseemly for every other thought and every other feeling; and sure I am to-day, howe'er it may be holy, I shall not break or reproach by speaking of the links which bind us to each other, and make the very thought of you, and time when I last saw you, a sacred thing to me. And I have many memories, and many thoughts beside, which by some strange entwining, circle you round and round; if you please, a vine of fancies, towards which dear A. sustains the part of oak, and as up each sturdy branch there climbs a little tendril so full of faith and confidence and the most holy trust, so let the hearts do also, of the dear 'estray; 'then the farther we may be from home and from each other, the nearer by that faith which 'overcometh all things 'and bringeth us to itself.\n\nAmherst and Philadelphia, separate indeed, and yet how near, bridged by a thousand trusts and a 'thousand times ten thousand 'the travellers who cross, whom you and I may not see, nor hear the trip of their feet, yet faith tells us they are there, ever crossing and re-crossing. Very likely, A., you fancy me at home in my own little chamber, writing you a letter, but you are greatly mistaken. I am on the blue Susquehanna paddling down to you; I am not much of a sailor, so I get along rather slowly, and I am not much of a mermaid, though I verily think I shall be, if the tide overtakes me at my present jog. Hard-hearted girl! I don't believe you care, if you did you would come quickly and help me out of this sea; but if I drown, A., and go down to dwell in the seaweed forever and forever, I will not forget your name, nor all the wrong you did me!\n\nWhy did you go away and not come to see me? I felt so sure you would come, because you promised me, that I watched and waited for you, and bestowed a tear or two upon my absentee. How very sad it is to have a confiding nature, one's hopes and feelings are quite at the mercy of all who come along; and how very desirable to be a stolid individual, whose hopes and aspirations are safe in one's waistcoat pocket, and _that_ a pocket indeed, and one not to be picked!\n\nNotwithstanding your faithlessness I should have come to see you, but for that furious snow-storm; I did attempt in spite of it, but it conquered in spite of me, and I doffed my hood and shawl, and felt very crestfallen the remainder of the day. I did want one more kiss, one sweet and sad good-by, before you had flown away; perhaps, my dear A., it is well that I go without it; it might have added anguish to our long separation, or made the miles still longer which keep a friend away. I always try to think in any disappointment that had I been gratified, it had been sadder still, and I weave from such supposition, _at times,_ considerable consolation; consolation upside down as I am pleased to call it.\n\n... Shall I have a letter soon \u2014 oh, may I very soon, for 'some days are dark and dreary, and the wind is never weary.'\n\nEMILY E.\n\n_[Also written before the middle of June, 1852.]_\n\n_Sabbath Day._\n\nI love to link you, A. and E., I love to put you together and look at you side by side \u2014 the picture pleases me, and I should love to watch it until the sun goes down, did I not call to mind a very precious letter for which I have not as yet rendered a single farthing, so let me thank you that midst your many friends and cares and influenzas, you yet found time for me, and loved me. You remarked that I had written you more affectionately than wont \u2014 I have thought that word over and over, and it puzzles me now; whether our few last years have been cooler than our first ones, or whether I write indifferently when I truly know it not, the query troubles me. I do believe sincerely, that the friendship formed at school was no warmer than now, nay more, that _this_ is warmest \u2014 they differ indeed to me as morning differs from noon \u2014 one may be fresher, cheerier, but the other fails not.\n\nYou and I have grown older since school-days, and our years have made us soberer \u2014 I mean have made _me_ so, for you were always dignified, e'en when a little girl, and used, now and then, to cut a timid caper. That makes me think of you the very first time I saw you, and I can't repress a smile, not to say a hearty laugh, at your little girl expense. I have roused your curiosity, so I will e'en tell you that one Wednesday afternoon, in the days of that dear old Academy, I went in to be entertained by the rhetoric of the gentlemen and the milder form of the girls \u2014 I had hardly recovered myself from the dismay attendant upon entering august assemblies, when with the utmost equanimity you ascended the stairs, bedecked with dandelions, arranged, it seemed, for curls. I shall never forget that scene, if I live to have gray hairs, nor the very remarkable fancies it gave me then of you, and it comes over me now with the strangest bygone funniness, and I laugh merrily. Oh, A., you and the early flower are forever linked to me; as soon as the first green grass comes, up from a chink in the stones peeps the little flower, precious 'leontodon,' and my heart fills toward you with a warm and childlike fulness! Nor do I laugh now; far from it, I rather bless the flower which sweetly, slyly too, makes me come nearer you.\n\nBut, my dear, I can't give the dandelion the privilege due to you, so good-by, little one!\n\nI would love to see you, A., I would rather than write to you, might I with equal ease, for the weather is very warm, and my head aches a little, and my heart a little more, so taking me _collectively,_ I seem quite miserable, but I'll give you the sunny corners, and you mustn't look at the shade. You were happy when you wrote me; I hope so now, though I would you were in the country, and could reach the hills and fields. I can reach them, carry them home, which I do in my arms daily, and when they drop and fade, I have only to gather fresh ones. Your joy would indeed be full, could you sit as I, at my window, and hear the boundless birds, and every little while feel the breath of some new flower! Oh, do you love the spring, and isn't it brothers and sisters, and blessed, ministering spirits unto you and me, and us all?\n\nI often see A. \u2014 oftener than at sometimes when friendship drooped a little. Did you ever know that a flower, once withered and freshened again, became an immortal flower, \u2014 that is, that it rises again? I think resurrections here are sweeter, it may be, than the longer and lasting one \u2014 for you expect the one, and only hope for the other.... I will show you the _sunset_ if you will sit by me, but I cannot bring it there, for so much gold is heavy. Can you see it in Philadelphia?\n\nA rather long interval seems to have elapsed between the preceding letter and the next, which was written about July 26, probably of 1853. The hand-writing is quite different from the earlier letters, more resembling that middle period of which an illustration is given, yet still somewhat smaller.\n\nThe delicate and sunshiny sarcasm in this note may be the more fully appreciated by recalling that Emily Dickinson was not yet twenty-two years old.\n\n_Tuesday Evening._\n\nMY DEAR CHILD, \u2014 Thank you for that sweet note which came so long ago, and thank you for asking me to come and visit you, and thank you for loving me, long ago, and to-day, and too for all the sweetness, and all the gentleness, and all the tenderness with which you remember me, \u2014 your quaint, old-fashioned friend.\n\nI wanted very much to write you sooner, and I tried frequently, but till now in vain, and as I write to-night, it is with haste, and fear lest something still detain me. You know, my dear A., that the summer has been warm, that at this pleasant season we have much company, that this irresolute body refuses to serve sometimes, and the indignant tenant can only hold its peace, \u2014 all this you know, for I have often told you, and yet I say it again, if mayhap it persuades you that I do love you indeed, and have not done neglectfully.... I think it was in June that your note reached here, and I did snatch a moment to call upon your friend. Yet I went in the dusk, and it was Saturday evening, so even then, A., you see how cares pursued me. I found her very lovely in what she said to me, and I fancied in her face so, although the gentle dusk would draw her curtain close, and I didn't see her clearly. We talked the most of you, \u2014 a theme we surely loved, or we had not discussed it in preference to all. I would love to meet her again, and give my love to her, for your sake. You asked me to come and see you \u2014 I must speak of that. I thank you, A., but I don't go from home, unless emergency leads me by the hand, and then I do it obstinately, and draw back if I can. Should I ever leave home, which is improbable, I will, with much delight, accept your invitation; till then, my dear A., my warmest thanks are yours, but don't expect me. I'm so old-fashioned, darling, that all your friends would stare. I should have to bring my work-bag, and my big spectacles, and I half forgot my grandchildren, and my pincushion, and puss \u2014 why, think of it seriously, A., \u2014 do you think it my _duty_ to leave? Will you write me again? Mother and Vinnie send their love, and here's a kiss from me.\n\nGood-night, from\n\nEMILY.\n**CHAPTER II**\n\n_To Mr. William Austin Dickinson_\n\nTHE following letters were written to Emily Dickinson's brother between the years 1847 and 1854, the earlier ones being sent from South Hadley, while he was a student in Amherst College. Later ones were written at Amherst, and sent to Boston, where he had charge of a school after graduation, 1851 and 1852; while the latest were addressed to Cambridge during her brother's studies at the Harvard Law School, 1853 and 1854. During these last two years their father, the Hon. Edward Dickinson, was in Congress at Washington.\n\n_[South Hadley, Autumn, 1847.]_\n\n_Thursday Noon._\n\nMY DEAR BROTHER AUSTIN, \u2014 I have not really a moment of time in which to write you, and am taking time from 'silent study hours; 'but I am determined not to break my promise again, and I generally carry my resolutions into effect. I watched you until you were out of sight Saturday evening, and then went to my room and looked over my treasures; and surely no miser ever counted his heaps of gold with more satisfaction than I gazed upon the presents from home....\n\nI can't tell you now how much good your visit did me. My spirits have wonderfully lightened since then. I had a great mind to be homesick after you went home, but I concluded not to, and therefore gave up all homesick feelings. Was not that a wise determination?...\n\nThere has been a menagerie here this week. Miss Lyon provided 'Daddy Hawks 'as a beau for all the Seminary girls who wished to see the bears and monkeys, and your sister, not caring to go, was obliged to decline the gallantry of said gentleman, \u2014 which I fear I may never have another opportunity to avail myself of. The whole company stopped in front of the Seminary and played for about a quarter of an hour, for the purpose of getting custom in the afternoon, I opine. Almost all the girls went; and I enjoyed the solitude finely.\n\nI want to know when you are coming to see me again, for I want to see you as much as I did before. I went to see Miss F. in her room yesterday.... I love her very much, and think I shall love all the teachers when I become better acquainted with them and find out their ways, which, I can assure you, are almost 'past finding out.'\n\nI had almost forgotten to tell you of a dream which I dreamed last night, and I would like to have you turn Daniel and interpret it to me; or if you don't care about going through all the perils which he did, I will allow you to interpret it without, provided you will try to tell no lies about it. Well, I dreamed a dream, and lo! father had failed, and mother said that 'our rye-field, which she and I planted, was mortgaged to Seth Nims.' I hope it is not true; but do write soon and tell me, for you know I should expire of mortification to have our rye-field mortgaged, to say nothing of its falling into the merciless hands of a loco!\n\nWon't you please to tell me when you answer my letter who the candidate for President is? I have been trying to find out ever since I came here, and have not yet succeeded. I don't know anything more about affairs in the world than if I were in a trance, and you must imagine with all your 'Sophomoric discernment 'that it is but little and very faint. Has the Mexican War terminated yet, and how? Are we beaten? Do you know of any nation about to besiege South Hadley? If so, do inform me of it, for I would be glad of a chance to escape, if we are to be stormed. I suppose Miss Lyon would furnish us all with daggers and order us to fight for our lives in case such perils should befall us.... Miss F. told me if I was writing to Amherst to send her love. Not specifying to whom, you may deal it out as your good sense and discretion prompt. Be a good boy and mind me!\n\n_[South Hadley, November 2, 1847.]_\n\n_Tuesday Noon._\n\nMY DEAR BROTHER AUSTIN, \u2014 I have this moment finished my recitation in history, and have a few minutes which I shall occupy in answering your short but welcome letter. You probably heard that I was alive and well yesterday, unless Mr. E. Dickinson was robbed of a note whose contents were to that effect. But as robbers are not very plenty now-a-days, I will have no forebodings on that score, for the present. How do you get along without me now, and does 'it seem any more like a funeral 'than it did before your visit to your humble servant in this place? Answer me! I want much to see you all at home, and expect to three weeks from to-morrow if nothing unusual, like a famine or a pestilence, occurs to prevent my going home. I am anticipating much in seeing you on this week Saturday, and you had better not disappoint me! for if you do, I will harness the 'furies,' and pursue you with 'a whip of scorpions,' which is even worse, you will find, than the 'long oat' which you may remember.... Tell father I am obliged to him much for his offers of pecuniary assistance, but do not need any. We are furnished with an account-book here, and obliged to put down every mill which we spend, and what we spend it for, and show it to Miss Whitman every Saturday; so you perceive your sister is learning accounts in addition to the other branches of her education. I am getting along nicely in my studies, and am happy, quite, for me. Do write a long letter to Your affectionate sister,\n\nEMILY.\n\nEnclosed with this was a delicately written 'bill of fare 'for one of the Seminary dinners.\n\nSOUTH HADLEY SEMINARY\n\nNov. 2d, 1847\n\nBILL OF FARE\n\nROAST VEAL POTATOES SQUASH GRAVV\n\nWHEAT AND BROWN BREAD BUTTER PEPPER AND SALT\n\n_Dessert_ APPLE DUMPLING SAUCE\n\nWATER\n\nIsn't that a dinner fit to set before a king?\n\n_[South Hadley, December 11, 1847.]_\n\n_Saturday, P. M._\n\nMY DEAR BROTHER AUSTIN, \u2014 ... I finished my examination in Euclid last evening, and without a failure at any time. You can easily imagine how glad I am to get through with four books, for you have finished the whole forever.... How are you all at home, and what are you doing this vacation? You are reading _Arabian Nights,_ according to Viny's statement. I hope you have derived much benefit from their perusal, and presume your powers of imagining will vastly increase thereby. But I must give you a word of advice too. Cultivate your other powers in proportion as you allow imagination to captivate you. Am not I a very wise young lady?\n\nI had almost forgotten to tell you what my studies are now \u2014 'better late than never.' They are Chemistry, Physiology, and quarter course in Algebra. I have completed four studies already, and am getting along well. Did you think that it was my birthday yesterday? I don't believe I am _seventeen!..._\n\nFrom your affectionate sister, EMILY.\n\n_[South Hadley, about February 14, 1848.]_\n\n_Thursday Morn._\n\nMY DEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 You will perhaps imagine from my date that I am quite at leisure, and can do what I please even in the forenoon, but one of our teachers, who is engaged, received a visit from her intended quite unexpectedly yesterday afternoon, and she has gone to her home to show him, I opine, and will be absent until Saturday. As I happen to recite to her in one of my studies, her absence gives me a little time in which to write.\n\nYour welcome letter found me all engrossed in the study of sulphuric acid! I deliberated for a few moments after its reception on the propriety of carrying it to Miss Whitman, your friend. The result of my deliberation was a conclusion to open it with moderation, peruse its contents with sobriety becoming my station, and if after a close investigation of its contents I found nothing which savored of rebellion or an unsubdued will, I would lay it away in my folio, and forget I had received it. Are you not gratified that I am so rapidly gaining correct ideas of female propriety and sedate deportment? After the proposed examination, finding it concealed no dangerous sentiments, I with great gravity deposited it with my other letters, and the impression that I once had such a letter is entirely obliterated by the waves of time.\n\nI have been quite lonely since I came back, but cheered by the thought that I am not to return another year, I take comfort, and still hope on. My visit at home was happy, very happy to me; and had the idea of in so short a time returning been constantly in my dreams by night and day, I could not have been happier. 'There is no rose without a thorn' to me. Home was always dear to me, and dearer still the friends around it; but never did it seem so dear as now. All, all are kind to me, but their tones fall strangely on my ear, and their countenances meet mine not like home-faces, I can assure you most sincerely. Then when tempted to feel sad, I think of the blazing fire and the cheerful meal and the chair empty now I am gone. I can hear the cheerful voices and the merry laugh, and a desolate feeling comes home to my heart, to think I am alone. But my good angel only waits to see the tears coming and then whispers, 'Only this year! only twenty-two weeks more, and then home again you will be to stay.' To you, all busy and excited, I suppose the time flies faster; but to me slowly, very slowly, so that I can see his chariot wheels when they roll along, and himself is often visible. But I will no longer imagine, for your brain is full of _Arabian Nights'_ fancies, and it will not do to pour fuel on your already kindled imagination....\n\nI suppose you have written a few and received a quantity of valentines this week. Every night have I looked, and yet in vain, for one of Cupid's messengers. Many of the girls have received very beautiful ones; and I have not quite done hoping for one. Surely my friend _Thomas_ has not lost all his former affection for me! I entreat you to tell him I am pining for a valentine. I am sure I shall not very soon forget last Valentine week, nor any the sooner the fun I had at that time.... Monday afternoon Mistress Lyon arose in the hall, and forbade our sending 'any of those foolish notes called valentines.' But those who were here last year, knowing her opinions, were sufficiently cunning to write and give them into the care of D. during the vacation; so that about 150 were despatched on Valentine morn, before orders should be put down to the contrary effect. Hearing of this act, Miss Whitman, by and with the advice and consent of the other teachers, with frowning brow, sallied over to the Post Office to ascertain, if possible, the number of the valentines, and worse still, the names of the offenders. Nothing has yet been heard as to the amount of her information, but as D. is a good hand to help the girls, and no one has yet received sentence, we begin to think her mission unsuccessful. I have not written one, nor do I intend to.\n\nYour injunction to pile on the wood has not been unheeded, for we have been obliged to obey it to keep from freezing up.... We cannot have much more cold weather, I am sure, for spring is near.... Professor Smith preached here last Sabbath, and such sermons I never heard in my life. We were all charmed with him, and dreaded to have him close....\n\nYour affectionate sister,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[South Hadley, late May, 1848.]_\n\n_Monday Morn._\n\nMY DEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 I received a letter from home on Saturday by Mr. G \u2014 S \u2014 , and father wrote in it that he intended to send for cousin Emily and myself on Saturday of this week to spend the Sabbath at home. I went to Miss Whitman, after receiving the letter, and asked her if we could go if you decided to come for us. She seemed stunned by my request, and could not find utterance to an answer for some time. At length she said, 'Did you not know it was contrary to the rules of the Seminary to ask to be absent on the Sabbath? 'I told her I did not. She then took a Catalogue from her table, and showed me the law in full at the last part of it. She closed by saying that we could not go, and I returned to my room without farther ado. So you see I shall be deprived of the pleasure of a visit home, and you that of seeing me, if I may have the presumption to call it a pleasure! The teachers are not willing to let the girls go home this term as it is the last one, and as I have only nine weeks more to spend here, we had better be contented to obey the commands. We shall only be the more glad to see one another after a longer absence, that will be all. I was highly edified with your imaginative note to me, and think your flights of fancy indeed wonderful at your age! When are you coming to see me \u2014 it would be very pleasant to us to receive a visit from your highness if you can be absent from home long enough for such a purpose.... I can't write longer.\n\nYour affectionate sister,\n\nEMILIE.\n\nThe next letter was written three years later, and sent to Boston.\n\n_[Amherst, early in 1851.]_\n\n_Sunday Evening._\n\nIt might not come amiss, dear Austin, to have a tiding or two concerning our state and feelings, particularly when we remember that 'Jamie has gone awa'.'\n\nOur state is pretty comfortable, and our feelings are somewhat solemn, which we account for satisfactorily by calling to mind the fact that it is the Sabbath day. Whether a certain passenger in a certain yesterday's stage has any sombre effect on our once merry household or the reverse, 'I dinna choose to tell,' but be the case as it may, we are rather a crestfallen company, to make the best of us, and what with the sighing wind, the sobbing rain, and the whining of Nature generally, we can hardly contain ourselves, and I only hope and trust that your this-evening's-lot is cast in far more cheery places than the ones you leave behind.\n\nWe are enjoying this evening what is called a 'northeast storm ' \u2014 a little north of east in case you are pretty definite. Father thinks it's 'amazin' raw,' and I'm half disposed to think that he's in the right about it, though I keep pretty dark and don't say much about it! Vinnie is at the instrument, humming a pensive air concerning a young lady who thought she was 'almost there.' Vinnie seems much grieved, and I really suppose I ought to betake myself to weeping; I'm pretty sure that I _shall_ if she don't abate her singing.\n\nFather's just got home from meeting and Mr. Boltwood's, found the last quite comfortable and the first not quite so well.... There has been not much stirring since when you went away \u2014 I should venture to say prudently that matters had come to a stand \u2014 unless something new 'turns up,' I cannot see anything to prevent a quiet season. Father takes care of the doors and mother of the windows, and Vinnie and I are secure against all outward attacks. If we can get our hearts 'under,' I don't have much to fear \u2014 I've got all but three feelings down, if I can only keep them!...\n\nI shall think of you to-morrow with four and twenty Irish boys all in a row. I miss you very much \u2014 I put on my bonnet to-night, opened the gate very desperately, and for a little while the suspense was terrible \u2014 I think I was held in check by some invisible agent, for I returned to the house without having done any harm!\n\nIf I hadn't been afraid that you would 'poke fun' at my feelings, I had written a sincere letter, but since 'the world is hollow, and dollie's stuffed with sawdust,' I really do not think we had better expose our feelings....\n\nYour dear sister, \u2014\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Amherst, 1851.]_\n\n_Sunday Evening._\n\nI received your letter, Austin, permit me to thank you for it and to request some more as soon as it's convenient \u2014 permit me to accord with your discreet opinion concerning Swedish Jennie, and to commend the heart brave enough to express it \u2014 combating the opinion of two civilized worlds and New York into the bargain must need considerable daring \u2014 indeed, it had never occurred to me that amidst the hallelujahs one tongue would dare be dumb, and much less, I assure you, that this dissenting one should be my romantic brother! For I had looked for delight and a very high style of rapture in such a youth as you....\n\nWe have all been rather piqued at Jennie's singing so well, and this first calumnious whisper pleases us so well, we rejoice that we didn't come \u2014 our visit is yet before us.... You haven't told us yet as you promised about your home \u2014 what kind of people they are \u2014 whether you find them pleasant \u2014 whether those timid gentlemen have yet 'found tongues to say.' Do you find the life and living any more annoying than you at first expected \u2014 do you light upon any friends to help the time away \u2014 have you whipped any more bad boys \u2014 all these are solemn questions, pray give them proper heed!\n\nTwo weeks of your time are gone; I can't help wondering sometimes if you would love to see us, and come to this still home.... A Senior levee was held at Professor and Mrs. Haven's on Tuesday of last week \u2014 Vinnie played pretty well. There's another at the President's this next Friday evening. _Clarum et venerabile_ Seniors!\n\n_[Amherst, March, 1851.]_\n\n_Sunday Afternoon._\n\n... It's a glorious afternoon \u2014 the sky is blue and warm \u2014 the wind blows just enough to keep the clouds sailing, and the sunshine \u2014 oh _such_ sunshine! It isn't like gold, for gold is dim beside it; it isn't like anything which you or I have seen! It seems to me 'Ik Marvel' was born on such a day; I only wish you were here. Such days were made on purpose for you and me; then what in the world are you gone for? Oh, dear, I do not know, but this I do know, that if wishing would bring you home, you were here to-day. Is it pleasant in Boston? _Of course_ it isn't, though. I might have known more than to make such an inquiry. No doubt the streets are muddy, and the sky some dingy hue, and I can think just how everything bangs and rattles, and goes rumbling along through stones and plank and clay! I don't feel as if I could have you there, possibly, another day. I'm afraid you'll turn into a bank, or a Pearl Street counting-room, if you have not already assumed some monstrous shape, living in such a place.\n\nLet me see \u2014 April; three weeks until April \u2014 the very first of April \u2014 well, perhaps that will do, only be sure of the week, the _whole_ week, and nothing but the week. If they make new arrangements, give my respects to them, and tell them old arrangements are good enough for you, and you will have them; then if they raise the wind, why, let it blow \u2014 there's nothing more excellent than a breeze now and then!\n\nWhat a time we shall have Fast day, after we get home from meeting \u2014 why, it makes me dance to think of it; and Austin, if I dance so many days beforehand, what will become of me when the hour really arrives? I don't know, I'm sure; and I don't care, much, for that or for anything else but get you home.... Much love from mother and Vinnie; we are now pretty well, and our hearts are set on April, the _very first_ of April!\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[Amherst, late March, 1851.]_\n\n_Thursday Night._\n\nDEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 ... I have read _Ellen Middleton._ I needn't tell you I like it, nor need I tell you more, for you know already.\n\nI thank you more and more for all the pleasures you give me \u2014 I can give you nothing, Austin, but a warm and grateful heart that is yours now and always. Love from all.\n\nEMILIE.\n\nOnly think, you are coming Saturday! I don't know why it is that it's always _Sunday_ immediately you get home. I will arrange it differently. If it wasn't twelve o'clock I would stay longer.\n\n_[Amherst, June 16,1851.]_\n\n_Sunday Evening._\n\n... I'm glad you are so well pleased, I'm glad you are _not_ delighted. I would not that foreign places should wear the smile of home. We are quite alarmed for the _boys_ \u2014 hope you won't kill or pack away any of 'em \u2014 so near Dr Webster's bones 't is not strange you have had temptations!... The country's still just now, and the severities alluded to will have a salutary influence in waking the people up. Speaking of _getting up,_ how early are metropolitans expected to wake up, especially young men \u2014 more especially school-masters? I miss my 'department 'mornings. I lay it quite to heart that I've no one to wake up. _Your_ room looks lonely enough, I do not love to go in there; whenever I pass through I find I 'gin to whistle, as we read that little boys are wont to do in the graveyard. I am going to set out crickets as soon as I find time, that they by their shrill singing shall help disperse the gloom; will they grow if I transplant them?\n\nYou importune me for news; I am very sorry to say 'Vanity of vanities 'there's no such thing as news \u2014 it is almost time for the cholera, and then things will take a start!... All of the folks send love.\n\nYour affectionate\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[July 5, 1851.]_\n\n_Sunday Afternoon._\n\nI have just come in from church very hot and faded.... Our church grows interesting \u2014 Zion lifts her head \u2014 I overhear remarks signifying Jerusalem, \u2014 I do not feel at liberty to say any more to-day!\n\n... I wanted to write you Friday, the night of Jennie Lind, but reaching home past midnight, and my room sometime after, encountering several perils starting and on the way, among which a kicking horse, an inexperienced driver, a number of Jove's thunderbolts, and a very terrible rain, are worthy to have record. All of us went \u2014 just four \u2014 add an absent individual and that will make full five. The concert commenced at eight, but knowing the world was _hollow_ we thought we'd start at six, and come up with everybody that meant to come up with us; we had proceeded some steps when one of the beasts showed symptoms; and just by the blacksmith's shop exercises commenced, consisting of kicking and plunging on the part of the horse, and whips and moral suasion from the gentleman who drove \u2014 the horse refused to proceed, and your respected family with much chagrin dismounted, advanced to the hotel, and for a season halted; another horse procured, we were politely invited to take our seats, and proceed, which we refused to do till the animal was warranted. About half through our journey thunder was said to be heard, and a suspicious cloud came travelling up the sky. What words express our horror when rain began to fall, in drops, sheets, cataracts \u2014 what fancy conceive of drippings and of drenchings which we met on the way; how the stage and its mourning captives drew up at Warner's Hotel; how all of us alighted, and were conducted in, \u2014 how the rain did not abate, \u2014 how we walked in silence to the old Edwards church ( Evidently a slip of the pen, as Jenny Lind sang in the old First Church at Northampton on that occasion.) and took our seats in the same \u2014 how Jennie came out like a child and sang and sang again \u2014 how bouquets fell in showers, and the roof was rent with applause \u2014 how it thundered outside, and inside with the thunder of God and of men \u2014 judge ye which was the loudest; how we all loved Jennie Lind, but not accustomed oft to her manner of singing didn't fancy _that_ so well as we did _her._ No doubt it was very fine, but take some notes from her _Echo,_ the bird sounds from the _Bird Song,_ and some of her curious trills, and I'd rather have a Yankee.\n\n_Herself_ and not her music was what we seemed to love \u2014 she has an air of exile in her mild blue eyes, and a something sweet and touching in her native accent which charms her many friends. _Give me my thatched cottage_ as she sang she grew so earnest she seemed half lost in song, and for a transient time I fancied she _had_ found it and would be seen 'na mair; 'and then her foreign accent made her again a wanderer \u2014 we will talk about her sometime when you come. Father sat all the evening looking _mad,_ and yet so much amused you would have _died_ a-laughing.... It wasn't sarcasm exactly, nor it wasn't disdain, it was infinitely funnier than either of those virtues, as if old Abraham had come to see the show, and thought it was all very well, but a little excess of _monkey!_ She took $4,000 for tickets at Northampton aside from all expenses....\n\nAbout our coming to Boston \u2014 we think we shall probably come \u2014 we want to see our friends, yourself and Aunt L.'s family. We don't care a fig for the Museum, the stillness, or Jennie Lind.... Love from us all.\n\nYour affectionate sister,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Late July, 1851.]_\n\n_Sunday Evening._\n\n... Oh how I wish I could see your world and its little kingdoms, and I wish I could see the king \u2014 \u2014 Stranger! he was my brother! I fancy little boys of several little sizes, some of them clothed in blue cloth, some of them clad in gray \u2014 I seat them round on benches in the school-room of my mind \u2014 \u2014 then I set them all to shaking \u2014 on peril of their lives that they move their lips or whisper; then I clothe you with authority and empower you to punish, and to enforce the law, I call you 'Rabbi, Master,' and the picture is complete! It would seem very funny, say for Vinnie and me to come round as Committee \u2014 we should enjoy the terrors of fifty little boys, and any specimens of discipline in your way would be a rare treat for us. I should love to know how you managed \u2014 whether government as a science is laid down and executed, or whether you _cuff_ and _thrash_ as the occasion dictates; whether you use _pure_ law as in the case of commanding, or whether you enforce it by means of sticks and stones as in the case of agents. I suppose you have authority bounded but by their lives.... I should think you'd be tired of school and teaching and such hot weather. I really wish you were here, and the Endicott school where you found it. Whenever we go to ride in our beautiful family carriage we think if 'wishes were horses 'we four 'beggars would ride.' We shall enjoy brimful everything now but half full, and to have you home once more will be like living again.\n\nWe are having a pleasant summer \u2014 without one of the five it is yet a lonely one. Vinnie says sometimes \u2014 Didn't we have a brother \u2014 it seems to me we did, his name was Austin \u2014 we call but he answers not again \u2014 echo, Where is Austin? laughing, 'Where _is_ Austin? '... I wish they need not exhibit just for once in the year, and give you up on Saturday instead of the next week Wednesday; but keep your courage up and show forth those Emerald Isles till school committees and mayors are blinded with the dazzling! Wouldn't I love to be there!...\n\nOur apples are ripening fast. I am fully convinced that with your approbation they will not only pick themselves, but arrange one another in baskets and present themselves to be eaten.\n\nLove from all.\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[August, 1851.]_\n\n_Sunday Afternoon._\n\nAt my old stand again, dear Austin, and happy as a queen to know that while I speak those whom I love are listening, and I am happier still if I shall make them happy.\n\nI have just finished reading your letter which was brought in since church. I like it grandly \u2014 very \u2014 because it is so long, and also it's _so_ funny \u2014 we have all been laughing till the old house rung again at your delineation of men, women, and things. I feel quite like retiring in presence of one so grand, and casting my small lot among small birds and fishes; you say you don't comprehend me, you want a simpler style \u2014 gratitude indeed for all my fine philosophy! I strove to be exalted, thinking I might reach _you,_ and while I pant and struggle and climb the nearest cloud, you walk out very leisurely in your slippers from Empyrean, and without the slightest notice, request me to get down! As simple as you please, the simplest sort of simple \u2014 I'll be a little ninny, a little pussy catty, a little Red Riding Hood; I'll wear a bee in my bonnet, and a rose-bud in my hair, and what remains to do you shall be told hereafter.\n\nYour letters are richest treats, send them always just such warm days \u2014 they are worth a score of fans and many refrigerators \u2014 the only difficulty they are so _queer,_ and laughing such hot weather is anything but amusing. A little more of earnest, and a little less of jest until we are out of August, and then you may joke as freely as the father of rogues himself, and we will banish care, and daily die a-laughing!\n\nIt is very hot here now; I don't believe it's any hotter in Boston than it is here.... Vinnie suggests that she may sometimes occur to mind when you would like more collars made. I told her I wouldn't tell you \u2014 I haven't, however, decided whether I will or not.\n\nI often put on five knives and forks, and another tumbler, forgetting for the moment that 'we are not all here.' It occurs to me, however, and I remove the extra, and brush a tear away in memory of my brother.\n\nWe miss you now and always. When God bestows but three, and one of those is withdrawn, the others are left alone.... Father is as uneasy when you are gone away as if you catch a trout and put him in Sahara. When you first went away he came home very frequently \u2014 walked gravely towards the barn, and returned looking very stately \u2014 then strode away down street as if the foe was coming; _now_ he is more resigned \u2014 contents himself by fancying that 'we shall hear to-day,' and then when we do not hear, he wags his head profound, and thinks without a doubt there will be news 'to-morrow.\" Once one is two,' once one will be two \u2014 ah, I have it here!\n\nI wish you could have some cherries \u2014 if there was any way we would send you a basket of them \u2014 they are very large and delicious, and are just ripening now. Little Austin Grout comes every day to pick them, and mother takes great comfort in calling him by name, from vague association with her departed boy. Austin, to tell the truth, it is very still and lonely \u2014 I do wish you were here.... The railroad is 'a-workin'.' My love to all my friends. I am on my way downstairs to put the tea-kettle boiling \u2014 writing and taking tea cannot sympathize. If you forget me now, your right hand _shall_ its cunning.\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[Written after a visit of the sisters in Boston. Amherst, September 24,1851.]_\n\n_Tuesday Evening._\n\nWe have got home, dear Austin. It is very lonely here \u2014 I have tried to make up my mind which was better, home and parents and country, or city and smoke and dust shared with the only being whom I __ can call my brother. The scales _don't_ poise very evenly, but so far as I can judge, the balance is in your favor. The folks are much more lonely than while we were away \u2014 they say they seemed to feel that we were straying together and together would return, and the unattended sisters seemed very sad to them.... They have had a number of friends to call and visit with them. Mother never was busier than while we were away \u2014 what with fruit and plants and chickens and sympathizing friends she really was so hurried she hardly knew what to do.\n\nVinnie and I came safely, and met with no mishap \u2014 the bouquet was not withered nor was the bottle cracked. It was fortunate for the freight car that Vinnie and I were there, ours being the only baggage passing along the line. The folks looked very funny who travelled with us that day \u2014 they were dim and faded, like folks passed away \u2014 the conductor seemed so grand with about half a dozen tickets which he dispersed and demanded in a very small space of time \u2014 I judged that the minority were travelling that day, and couldn't hardly help smiling at our ticket friend, however sorry I was at the small amount of people passing along his way. He looked as if he wanted to make an apology for not having more travellers to keep him company.\n\nThe route and the cars seemed strangely \u2014 there were no boys with fruit, there were no boys with pamphlets; one fearful little fellow ventured into the car with what appeared to be publications and tracts; he offered them to no one, and no one inquired for them, and he seemed greatly relieved that no one wanted to buy them.... Mother sends much love, and Vinnie.\n\nYour lonely sister,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Amherst, Autumn, 1851.]_\n\n_Saturday Morn._\n\nDEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 I've been trying to think this morning how many weeks it was since you went away \u2014 I fail in calculations; it seems so long to me since you went back to school that I set down days for years, and weeks for a score of years \u2014 not reckoning time by minutes, I don't know what to think of such great discrepancies between the actual hours and those which 'seem to be.' It may seem long to you since you returned to Boston \u2014 how I wish you would stay and never go back again. Everything is so still here, and the clouds are cold and gray \u2014 I think it will rain soon. Oh, I am so lonely!... You had a windy evening going back to Boston, and we thought of you many times and hoped you would not be cold. Our fire burned so cheerfully I couldn't help thinking of how many were here, and how many were away, and I wished so many times during that long evening that the door would open and you come walking in. Home is a holy thing, \u2014 nothing of doubt or distrust can __ enter its blessed portals. I feel it more and more as the great world goes on, and one and another forsake in whom you place your trust, here seems indeed to be a bit of Eden which not the sin of any can utterly destroy, \u2014 smaller it is indeed, and it may be less fair, but fairer it is and brighter than all the world beside.\n\nI hope this year in Boston will not impair your health, and I hope you will be as happy as you used to be before. I don't wonder it makes you sober to leave this blessed air \u2014 if it were in my power I would on every morning transmit its purest breaths fragrant and cool to you. How I wish you could have it \u2014 a thousand little winds waft it to me this morning, fragrant with forest leaves and bright autumnal berries. I would be willing to give you my portion for to-day, and take the salt sea's breath in its bright, bounding stead....\n\nYour affectionate\n\nEMILY.\n\n... Mother sends her love and your waistcoat, thinking you'll like the one, and quite likely need the other.\n\n_[Amherst, October 2, 1851.]_\n\n_Wednesday Noon._\n\nWe are just through dinner, Austin, I want to write so much that I omit digestion, and a dyspepsia will probably be the result.... I received your letter yesterday.... You say we mustn't trouble to send you any fruit, also your clothes must give us no uneasiness. I don't ever want to have you say any more such things. They make me feel like crying. If you'd only teased us for it, and declared that you would have it, I shouldn't have cared so much that we could find no way to send you any, but you resign so cheerfully your birthright of purple grapes, and do not so much as murmur at the departing peaches, that I hardly can taste the one or drink the juice of the other. They are so beautiful, Austin, \u2014 we have such an abundance 'while you perish with hunger.'\n\nI do hope some one will make up a mind to go before our peaches are quite gone. The world is full of people travelling everywhere, until it occurs to you that you will send an errand, and then by 'hook or crook 'you can't find any traveller who, for money or love, can be induced to go and carry the opprobrious package. It's a very selfish age, that is all I can say about it. Mr. Storekeeper S \u2014 has been 'almost persuaded' to go, but I believe he has put it off 'till a more convenient season,' so to show my disapprobation I sha'n't buy any more gloves at Mr. S \u2014 's store! Don't you think it will seem very cutting to see me pass by his goods and purchase at Mr. K \u2014 's? I don't think I shall retract should he regret his course and decide to go tomorrow, because it is the principle of disappointing people which I disapprove!...\n\nThe peaches are very large \u2014 one side a rosy cheek, and the other a golden, and that peculiar coat of velvet and of down which makes a peach so beautiful. The grapes, too, are fine, juicy, and _such_ a purple \u2014 I fancy the robes of kings are not a tint more royal. The vine looks like a kingdom, with ripe round grapes for kings, and hungry mouths for subjects \u2014 the first instance on record of subjects devouring kings! You _shall_ have some grapes, dear Austin, if I have to come on foot in order to bring them to you.\n\nThe apples are very fine \u2014 it isn't quite time to pick them \u2014 the cider is almost done \u2014 we shall have some I guess by Saturday, at any rate Sunday noon. The vegetables are not gathered, but will be before very long. The horse is doing nicely; he travels 'like a bird 'to use a favorite phrase of your delighted mother's. You ask about the leaves \u2014 shall I say they are falling? They had begun to fall before Vinnie and I came home, and we walked up the steps through little brown ones rustling....\n\nVinnie tells me she has detailed the news \u2014 she reserved the deaths for me, thinking I might fall short of my usual letter somewhere. In accordance with her wishes I acquaint you with the decease of your aged friend Deacon \u2014 . He had no disease that we know of, but gradually went out.... Monday evening we were all startled by a violent church-bell ringing, and thinking of nothing but fire, rushed out in the street to see. The sky was a beautiful red, bordering on a crimson, and rays of a gold pink color were constantly shooting off from a kind of sun in the centre. People were alarmed at this beautiful phenomenon, supposing that fires somewhere were coloring the sky. The exhibition lasted for nearly fifteen minutes, and the streets were full of people wondering and admiring. Father happened to see it among the very first, and rang the bell himself to call attention to it. You will have a full account from the pen of Mr. Trumbull, who, I have not a doubt, was seen with a long lead pencil a-noting down the sky at the time of its highest glory.... You will be here now so soon \u2014 we are impatient for it \u2014 we want to see you, Austin, how much I cannot say here.\n\nYour affectionate\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Amherst, early October, 1851.]_\n\n_Friday Morning._\n\nDEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 ... I would not spend much strength upon those little school-boys \u2014 you will need it all for something better and braver after you get away. It would rejoice my heart if on some pleasant morning you'd turn the school-room key on Irish boys, nurse and all, and walk away to freedom and the sunshine here at home. Father says all Boston wouldn't be a temptation to you another year \u2014 I wish it would not tempt you to stay another day. Oh, Austin, it is wrong to tantalize you so while you are braving all things in trying to fulfil duty. Duty is black and brown \u2014 home is bright and shining, 'and the spirit and the bride say come, and let him that' wandereth come, for 'behold all things are ready.' We are having such lovely weather \u2014 the air is as sweet and still \u2014 now and then a gay leaf falling \u2014 the crickets sing all day long \u2014 high in a crimson tree a belated bird is singing \u2014 a thousand little painters are tingeing hill and dale. I admit now, Austin, that autumn is _most_ beautiful, and spring is but the least, yet they 'differ as stars 'in their distinctive glories. How happy if you were here to share these pleasures with us \u2014 the fruit should be more sweet, and the dying day more golden \u2014 merrier the falling nut if with you we gathered it and hid it down deep in the abyss of basket; but you complain not, wherefore do we?\n\nTuesday evening we had a beautiful time reading and talking of the good times of last summer, and we anticipated \u2014 boasted ourselves of to-morrow \u2014 of the future we created, and all of us went to ride in an air-bubble for a carriage. We cherish all the past, we glide a-down the present, awake yet dreaming; but the future of ours together \u2014 there the bird sings loudest, and the sun shines always there....\n\nI had a dissertation from E. C. a day or two ago \u2014 don't know which was the author, Plato or Socrates \u2014 rather think Jove had a finger in it.... They all send their love. Vinnie sends hers. How soon you will be here! Days, flee away \u2014 'lest with a whip of scorpions I overtake your lingering.' I am in a hurry \u2014 this pen is too slow for me \u2014 'it hath done what it could.'\n\nYour affectionate\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Amherst, before 'Cattle Show,' 1851.]_\n\n_Friday Morning._\n\n... The breakfast is so warm, and pussy is here a-singing, and the tea-kettle sings too, as if to see which was loudest, and I am so afraid lest kitty should be beaten \u2014 yet a shadow falls upon my morning picture \u2014 where is the youth so bold, the bravest of our fold \u2014 a seat is empty here \u2014 spectres sit in your chair, and now and then nudge father with their long, bony elbows. I wish you were here, dear Austin; the dust falls on the bureau in your deserted room, and gay, frivolous spiders spin away in the corners. I don't go there after dark whenever I can help it, for the twilight seems to pause there, and I am half afraid; and if ever I have to go, I hurry with all my might, and never look behind me, for I know who I should see.\n\nBefore next Tuesday \u2014 oh, before the coming stage, will I not brighten and brush it, and open the long-closed blinds, and with a sweeping broom will I not bring each spider down from its home so high, and tell it it may come back again when master has gone \u2014 and oh, I will bid it to be a tardy spider, to tarry on the way; and I will think my eye is fuller than sometimes, though _why_ I cannot tell, when it shall rap on the window and come to live again. I am so happy when I know how soon you are coming that I put away my sewing and go out in the yard to think. I have tried to delay the frosts, I have coaxed the fading flowers, I thought I _could_ detain a few of the crimson leaves until you had smiled upon them; but their companions call them, and they cannot stay away.\n\nYou will find the blue hills, Austin, with the autumnal shadows silently sleeping on them, and there will be a glory lingering round the day, so you'll know autumn has been here; and the setting sun will tell you, if you don't get home till evening.... I thank you for such a long letter, and yet if I might choose, the next should be a longer. I think a letter just about three days long would make me happier than any other kind of one, if you please, \u2014 \u2014 dated at Boston, but thanks be to our Father you may conclude it here. Everything has changed since my other letter, \u2014 the doors are shut this morning, and all the kitchen wall is covered with chilly flies who are trying to warm themselves, \u2014 poor things, they do not understand that there are no summer mornings remaining to them and me, and they have a bewildered air which is really very droll, didn't one feel sorry for them. You would say't was a gloomy morning if you were sitting here, \u2014 \u2014 the frost has been severe, and the few lingering leaves seem anxious to be going, and wrap their faded cloaks more closely about them as if to shield them from the chilly northeast wind. The earth looks like some poor old lady who by dint of pains has bloomed e'en till now, yet in a forgetful moment a few silver hairs from out her cap come stealing, and she tucks them back so hastily and thinks nobody sees. The cows are going to pasture, and little boys with their hands in their pockets are whistling to try to keep warm. Don't think that the sky will frown so the day when you come home! She will smile and look happy, and be full of sunshine then, and even should she frown upon her child returning, there is another sky, ever serene and fair, and there is another sunshine, though it be darkness there; never mind faded forests, Austin, never mind silent fields \u2014 _here_ is a little forest, whose leaf is ever green; here is a brighter garden, where not a frost has been; in its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum; prithee, my brother, into _my_ garden come!\n\nYour very affectionate sister.\n\n_[November, 1851.]_\n\n_Thursday Evening._\n\nDEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 Something seems to whisper 'He is thinking of home this evening,' perhaps because it rains, perhaps because it's evening and the orchestra of winds perform their strange, sad music. I wouldn't wonder if home were thinking of him; and it seems so natural for one to think of the other, perhaps it is no superstition or omen of this evening, \u2014 no omen 'at all, at all,' as Mrs. Mack would say.\n\nFather is staying at home this evening it is so inclement \u2014 Vinnie diverts his mind with little snatches of music; and mother mends a garment to make it snugger for you \u2014 and what do you think I do among this family circle? I am thinking of you with all my might, and it just occurs to me to note a few of my thoughts for your own inspection. 'Keeping a diary 'is not familiar to me as to your sister Vinnie, but her own bright example is quite a comfort to me, so I'll try.\n\nI waked up this morning thinking for all the world I had had a letter from you \u2014 just as the seal was breaking, father rapped at my door. I was sadly disappointed not to go on and read; but when the four black horses came trotting into town, and their load was none the heavier by a tiding for me \u2014 I was not disappointed then, it was harder to me than had I been disappointed.... I found I had made no provision for any such time as that.... The weather has been unpleasant ever since you went away \u2014 Monday morning we waked up in the midst of a furious snow-storm \u2014 the snow was the depth of an inch; oh, it looked so wintry! By-and-by the sun came out, but the wind blew violently and it grew so cold that we gathered all the quinces, put up the stove in the sitting-room, and bade the world good-by. Kind clouds came over at evening; still the sinking thermometer gave terrible signs of what would be on the morning. At last the morning came, laden with mild south winds, and the winds have brought the rain, so here we are.... Your very hasty letter just at your return rejoiced us \u2014 that you were 'better \u2014 happier \u2014 heartier.' What made you think of such beautiful words to tell us how you were, and how cheerful you were feeling? It did us a world of good. How little the scribe thinks of the value of his line \u2014 how many eager eyes will search its every meaning, how much swifter the strokes of 'the little mystic clock, no human eye hath seen, which ticketh on and ticketh on, from morning until e'en.' If it were not that I could write you, you could not go away; therefore pen and ink are very excellent things.\n\nWe had new brown bread for tea \u2014 when it came smoking on and we sat around the table, how I did wish a slice could be reserved for you! You shall have as many loaves as we have eaten slices if you will but come home. This suggests Thanksgiving, you will soon be here; then I can't help thinking of how, when we rejoice, so many hearts are breaking next Thanksgiving day. What will you say, Austin, if I tell you that Jennie Grout and merry Martha Kingman will spend the day above? They are not here \u2014 'While we delayed to let them forth, angels beyond stayed for them.'...\n\nYour affectionate\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Amherst, November 17, 1851.]_\n\n_Sunday Afternoon._\n\nDEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 We have just got home from meeting \u2014 it is very windy and cold \u2014 the hills from our kitchen window are just crusted with snow, which with their blue mantillas makes them seem so beautiful. You sat just here last Sunday, where I am sitting now; and our voices were nimbler than our pens can be, if they try never so hardly. I should be quite sad to-day, thinking about last Sunday, didn't another Sabbath smile at me so pleasantly, promising me on its word to present you here again when 'six days' work is done.'\n\nFather and mother sit in state in the sitting-room perusing such papers, only, as they are well assured, have nothing carnal in them; Vinnie is eating an apple which makes me think of gold, and accompanying it with her favorite _Observer,_ which, if you recollect, deprives us many a time of her sisterly society. Pussy hasn't returned from the afternoon assembly, so you have us all just as we are at present. We were very glad indeed to hear from you so soon, glad that a cheerful fire met you at the door. I _do_ well remember how chilly the west wind blew, and how everything shook and rattled before I went to sleep, and I often thought of you in the midnight car, and hoped you were not lonely.... We are thinking most of Thanksgiving than anything else just now \u2014 how full will be the circle, less then by none \u2014 how the things will smoke \u2014 how the board will groan with the thousand savory viands \u2014 how when the day is done, lo, the evening cometh, laden with merrie laugh and happy conversation, and then the sleep and the dream each of a knight or 'Ladie ' \u2014 how I love to see them, a beautiful company coming down the hill which men call the Future, with their hearts full of joy and their hands of gladness. Thanksgiving indeed to a family united once more together before they go away.... Don't mind the days \u2014 some of them are long ones, but who cares for length when breadth is in store for him? Or who minds the cross who knows he'll have a crown? I wish I could imbue you with all the strength and courage which can be given men \u2014 I wish I could assure you of the constant remembrance of those you leave at home \u2014 I wish \u2014 but oh! how vainly \u2014 that I could bring you back again and never more to stray. You are tired now, dear Austin, with my incessant din, but I can't help saying any of these things.\n\nThe very warmest love from Vinnie and every one of us. I am never ready to go.\n\nReluctant EMILY.\n\n_[December, 1851]._\n\n_Monday Morning._\n\nDEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 ... I was so glad to get your letter. I had been making calls all Saturday afternoon, and came home very tired, and a little disconsolate, so your letter was more than welcome.... Oh Austin, you don't know how we all wished for you yesterday. We had such a splendid sermon from Professor Park \u2014 I never heard anything like it, and don't expect to again, till we stand at the great white throne, and 'he reads from the Book, the Lamb's Book.' The students and chapel people all came to our church, and it was very full, and still, so still the buzzing of a fly would have boomed like a cannon. And when it was all over, and that wonderful man sat down, people stared at each other, and looked as wan and wild as if they had seen a spirit, and wondered they had not died. How I wish you had heard him \u2014 I thought of it all the time....\n\nAffectionately,\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[Amherst, January, 1852.]_\n\n_Monday Morning.''_\n\nDid you think I was tardy, Austin? For two Sunday afternoons it has been so cold and cloudy that I didn't feel in my very happiest mood, and so I did not write until next Monday morning, determining in my heart never to write to you in any but cheerful spirits.\n\nEven this morning, Austin, I am not in merry case, for it snows slowly and solemnly, and hardly an outdoor thing can be seen a-stirring \u2014 now and then a man goes by with a large cloak wrapped around him, and shivering at that; and now and then a stray kitten out on some urgent errand creeps through the flakes and crawls so fast as _may_ crawl half frozen away. I am glad for the sake of your body that you are not here this morning, for it is a trying time for fingers and toes \u2014 for the heart's sake I would verily have you here. You know there are winter mornings when the cold without only adds to the warm within, and the more it snows and the harder it blows brighter the fires blaze, and chirps more merrily the 'cricket on the hearth.' It is hardly cheery enough for such a scene this morning, and yet methinks it would be if you were only here. The future full of sleigh-rides would chase the gloom from our minds which only deepens and darkens with every flake that falls.\n\nBlack Fanny would 'toe the mark 'if you should be here to-morrow; but as the prospects are, I presume Black Fanny's hoofs will not attempt to fly. Do you have any snow in Boston? Enough for a ride, I hope, for the sake of 'Auld Lang Syne.' Perhaps the 'ladie' of curls would not object to a drive.... We miss you more and more, we do not become accustomed to separation from you.\n\nI almost wish sometimes we needn't miss you so much, since duty claims a year of you entirely to herself; and then again I think that it is pleasant to miss you if you must go away, and I would not have it otherwise, even if I could. In every pleasure and pain you come up to our minds so wishfully \u2014 we know you'd enjoy our joy, and if you were with us, Austin, we could bear little trials more cheerfully.... When I know of anything funny I am just as apt to cry, far more so than to laugh, for I know who loves jokes best, and who is not here to enjoy them. We don't have many jokes, though, now, it is pretty much all sobriety; and we do not have much poetry, father having made up his mind that it's pretty much all real life. Father's real life and mine sometimes come into collision but as yet escape unhurt.... I am so glad you are well and in such happy spirits \u2014 both happy and well is a great comfort to us when you are far away.\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[February 6, 1852.]_\n\n_Friday Morning._\n\n... Since we have written you the grand railroad decision is made, and there is great rejoicing throughout this town and the neighboring; that is, Sunderland, Montague, and Belchertown. Everybody is wide awake, everything is stirring, the streets are full of people walking cheeringly, and you should really be here to partake of the jubilee. The event was celebrated by D. Warner and cannon; and the silent satisfaction in the hearts of all is its crowning attestation.\n\nFather is really sober from excessive satisfaction, and bears his honors with a most becoming air. Nobody believes it yet, it seems like a fairy tale, a most miraculous event in the lives of us all. The men begin working next week; only think of it, Austin; why, I verily believe we shall fall down and worship the first 'son of Erin 'that comes, and the first sod he turns will be preserved as an emblem of the struggle and victory of our heroic fathers. Such old fellows as Col. S. and his wife fold their arms complacently and say, 'Well, I declare, we have got it after all.' Got it, _you_ good-for-nothings! and so we have, in spite of sneers and pities and insults from all around; and we will keep it too, in spite of earth and heaven! How I wish you were here \u2014 it is really too bad, Austin, at such a time as now. I miss your big hurrahs, and the famous stir you make upon all such occasions; but it is a comfort to know that you are here \u2014 that your whole soul is here, and though apparently absent, yet present in the highest and the truest sense.... Take good care of yourself, Austin, and think much of us all, for we do so of you.\n\nEMILIE.\n\nSeveral subsequent letters, all piquant and breezy, but dealing quite entirely with family matters, experiences with callers, and other personal subjects, have been omitted.\n\n_[March 24, 1852.]_\n\n_Wednesday Morn._\n\nYou wouldn't think it was spring, Austin, if you were at home this morning, for we had a great snowstorm yesterday, and things are all white this morning. It sounds funny enough to hear birds singing and sleigh-bells at a time. But it won't last long, so you needn't think 'twill be winter at the time when you come home.\n\nI waited a day or two, thinking I might hear from you, but you will be looking for me, and wondering where I am, so I sha'n't wait any longer. We 're rejoiced that you 're coming home \u2014 the first thing we said to father when he got out of the stage was to ask if you were coming. I was sure you would all the while, for father said 'of course you would,' he should 'consent to no other arrangement,' and as you say, Austin, 'what father says he means.' How very soon it will be now \u2014 why, when I really think of it, how near and how happy it is! My heart grows light so fast that I could mount a grasshopper and gallop around the world, and not fatigue him any! The sugar weather holds on, and I do believe it will stay until you come.... 'Mrs. S.' is very feeble; 'can't bear allopathic treatment, can't have homoeopathic, don't want hydropathic,' oh, what a pickle she is in. Shouldn't think she would deign to live, it is so decidedly vulgar! They have not yet concluded where to move \u2014 Mrs. W. will perhaps obtain board in the celestial city, but I'm sure I can't imagine what will become of the rest.... Much love from us all.\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[May 10, 1852.]_\n\n_Monday Morning,_ 5 o'c.\n\nDEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 ... Vinnie will tell you all the news, so I will take a little place to describe a thunder-shower which occurred yesterday afternoon, \u2014 the very first of the season. Father and Vinnie were at meeting, mother asleep in her room, and I at work by my window on a 'Lyceum lecture.' The air was really scorching, the sun red and hot, and you know just how the birds sing before a thunder-storm, a sort of hurried and agitated song \u2014 pretty soon it began to thunder, and the great 'cream-colored heads' peeped out of their windows. Then came the wind and rain, and I hurried around the house to shut all the doors and windows. I wish you had seen it come, so cool and so refreshing \u2014 and everything glistening from it as with a golden dew \u2014 I thought of you all the time. This morning is fair and delightful. You will awake in dust, and with it the ceaseless din of the untiring city. Wouldn't you change your dwelling for my palace in the dew? Good-by for now. I shall see you so soon.\n\nMr. Edward Dickinson was in Baltimore when the following letter was written, in attendance upon the Whig Convention which sought, unsuccessfully, the nomination of Daniel Webster for the presidency.\n\n_[Amherst, June 21, 1852.]_\n\n_Sunday Morning._\n\n... Father has not got home, and we don't know when to expect him. We had a letter from him yesterday, but he didn't say when he should come. He writes that he 'should think the whole world was there, and some from other worlds.' He says he meets a great many old friends and acquaintances, and forms a great many new ones \u2014 he writes in very fine spirits, and says he enjoys himself very much.... I wish you could have gone with him, you would have enjoyed it so, but I did not much suppose that selfish old school would let you.... Last week the Senior levee came off at the President's. I believe Professor Haven is to give one soon \u2014 and there is to be a reception at Professor Tyler's next Tuesday evening which I shall attend. You see Amherst is growing lively, and by the time you come everything will be in a buzz.... We all send you our love.\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[Amherst, July 23, 1852.]_\n\n_Sunday Night._\n\n... You'd better not come home; I say the law will have you, a pupil of the law o'ertaken by the law, and brought to condign punishment, \u2014 scene for angels and men, or rather for archangels, who being a little higher would seem to have a 'vantage so far as view's concerned. _'Are_ you pretty comfortable, though,' \u2014 and are you deaf and dumb and gone to the asylum where such afflicted persons learn to hold their tongues?\n\nThe next time you aren't going to write me, I'd thank you to let me know \u2014 this kind of _protracted_ insult is what no man can bear. Fight with me like a man \u2014 let me have fair shot, and you are _caput mortuum et cap-a-pie,_ and that ends the business! If you really think I so deserve this silence, tell me why \u2014 how \u2014 I'll be a thorough scamp or else I won't be any, just which you prefer.\n\nT \u2014 of S \u2014 's class went to Boston yesterday; it was in my heart to send an apple by him for your private use, but father overheard some of my intentions, and said they were 'rather small ' \u2014 whether this remark was intended for the apple, or for my noble self I did not think to ask him; I rather think he intended to give us both a cut \u2014 however, he may not!\n\nYou are coming home on Wednesday, as perhaps you know, and I am very happy in prospect of your coming, and hope you want to see us as much as we do you. Mother makes nicer pies with reference to your coming, I arrange my thoughts in a convenient shape, Vinnie grows only perter and more pert day by day.\n\nThe horse is looking finely \u2014 better than in his life \u2014 by which you may think him dead unless I add _before._ The carriage stands in state all covered in the chaise-house \u2014 we have one foundling hen into whose young mind I seek to instill the fact that 'Massa is a-comin!'\n\nThe garden is amazing \u2014 we have beets and beans, have had splendid potatoes for three weeks now. Old Amos weeds and hoes and has an oversight of all thoughtless vegetables. The apples are fine and large in spite of my impression that father called them 'small.'\n\nYesterday there was a fire. At about three in the afternoon Mr. Kimberly's barn was discovered to be on fire; the wind was blowing a gale directly from the west, and having had no rain, the roofs [were] as dry as stubble. Mr. Palmer's house was charred \u2014 the little house of father's \u2014 and Mr. Kimberly's also. The engine was broken, and it seemed for a little while as if the whole street must go; the Kimberlys' barn was burnt down, and the house much charred and injured, though not at all destroyed \u2014 Mr. Palmer's barn took fire, and Deacon Leland's also, but were extinguished with only part burned roofs. We all feel very thankful at such a narrow escape.\n\nFather says there was never such imminent danger, and such miraculous escape. Father and Mr. Frink took charge of the fire \u2014 or rather of the _water,_ since fire usually takes care of itself. The men all worked like heroes, and after the fire was out father gave commands to have them march to Howe's where an entertainment was provided for them. After the whole was over they gave 'three cheers for Edward Dickinson,' and three more for the insurance company. On the whole, it is very wonderful that we didn't all bum up, and we ought to hold our tongues and be very thankful. If there _must_ be a fire, I'm sorry it couldn't wait until you had got home, because you seem to enjoy such things so very much.\n\nThere is nothing of moment now which I can find to tell you, except a case of measles in Hartford.... Good-by, Sir. Fare you well. My benison to your school.\n\n_[Amherst, Spring, 1853.]_\n\n_Tuesday Noon,_\n\nDEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 ... How soon now you are coming, and how happy we are in the thought of seeing you! I can't realize that you will come, it is so still and lonely it doesn't seem possible it can be otherwise; but we shall see, when the nails hang full of coats again, and the chairs hang full of hats, and I can count the slippers under the chair. Oh, Austin, how we miss them all, and more than them, somebody who used to hang them there, and get many a hint ungentle to carry them away. Those times seem far off now, a great way, as things we did when children. I wish we were children now \u2014 I wish we were always children, how to grow up I don't know.... Cousin J. has made us an Aeolian harp which plays beautifully whenever there is a breeze.\n\nAustin, you mustn't care if your letters do not get here just when you think they will \u2014 they are always new to us, and delightful always, and the more you send us the happier we shall be. We all send our love to you, and think much and say much of seeing you again \u2014 keep well till you come, and if knowing that we all love you makes you happier, then, Austin, you may sing the whole day long!\n\nAffectionately,\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[Amherst, March 18, 1853.]_\n\n_Friday Morning._\n\nDEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 I presume you remember a story that \"Vinnie tells of a breach of promise case where the correspondence between the parties consisted of a reply from the girl to one she had never received but was daily expecting. Well, I am writing an answer to the letter I haven't had, so you will see the force of the accompanying anecdote. I have been looking for you ever since dispatching my last, but this is a fickle world, and it's a great source of complacency that 't will all be burned up by and by. I should be pleased with a line when you've published your work to father, if it's perfectly convenient!\n\nYour letters are very funny indeed \u2014 about the only jokes we have, now you are gone, and I hope you will send us one as often as you can. Father takes great delight in your remarks to him \u2014 puts on his spectacles and reads them o'er and o'er as if it was a blessing to have an only son. He reads all the letters you write, as soon as he gets them, at the post-office, no matter to whom addressed; then he makes me read them aloud at the supper table again, and when he gets home in the evening, he cracks a few walnuts, puts his spectacles on, and with your last in his hand, sits down to enjoy the evening.... I believe at this moment, Austin, that there's nobody living for whom father has such respect as for you. But my paper is getting low, and I must hasten to tell you that we are very happy to hear good news from you, that we hope you'll have pleasant times and learn a great deal while you 're gone, and come back to us greater and happier for the life lived at Cambridge. We miss you more and more. I wish that we could see you, but letters come the next \u2014 write them often, and tell us everything.\n\nAffectionately,\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[June 14,1853.]_\n\n... We have been free from company by the 'Amherst and Belchertown Railroad' since J. went home, though we live in constant fear of some other visitation. 'Oh, would some power the giftie gie' folks to see themselves as we see them. \u2014 _Burns._\n\nI have read the poems, Austin, and am going to read them again. They please me very much, but I must read them again before I know just what I think of 'Alexander Smith.' They are not very coherent, but there's a good deal of exquisite frenzy, and some wonderful figures as ever I met in my life. We will talk about it again. The grove looks nicely, Austin, and we think -must certainly grow. We love to go there \u2014 it is a charming place. Everything is singing now, and everything is beautiful that _can_ be in its life.... The time for the New London trip has not been fixed upon. I sincerely wish it may wait until you get home from Cambridge if you would like to go.\n\nThe cars continue thriving \u2014 a good many passengers seem to arrive from somewhere, though nobody knows from where. Father expects his new buggy to arrive by the cars every day now, and that will help a little. I expect all our grandfathers and all their country cousins will come here to spend Commencement, and don't doubt the stock will rise several per cent that week. If we children could obtain board for the week in some 'vast wilderness,'\n\nI think we should have good times. Our house is crowded daily with the members of this world, the high and the low, the bond and the free, the 'poor in this world's goods,' and the 'almighty dollar; 'and what in the world they are after continues to be unknown. But I hope they will pass away as insects or vegetation, and let us reap together in golden harvest time. You and I and our sister Vinnie must have a pleasant time to be unmolested together when your school-days end. You must come home from school, not stopping to play by the way.... We all send our love to you, and miss you very much, and think of seeing you again very much. Write me again soon. I have said a good deal to-day.\n\nEMILIE.\n\nThe new railroad was opened for the first regular trip from Palmer to Amherst, May 9, 1853. Mr. Edward Dickinson wrote on that day, 'We have no railroad jubilee till we see whether all moves right, then we shall glorify becomingly.' Everything was apparently satisfactory, for the celebration occurred early in June, when more than three hundred New London people visited Amherst. In the following letter from Emily are indications of her growing distaste to mingle in a social _m\u00eal\u00e9e,_ despite genuine interest in itself and its cause.\n\n_[June 20, 1853.]_\n\n_Monday Morning._\n\nMY DEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 ... The New London day passed off grandly, so all the people said. It was pretty hot and dusty, but nobody cared for that. Father was, as usual, chief marshal of the day, and went marching around with New London at his heels like some old Roman general upon a triumph day. Mrs. H. got a capital dinner, and was very much praised. Carriages flew like sparks, hither and thither and yon, and they all said 'twas fine. I 'spose 'it was. I sat in Professor Tyler's woods and saw the train move off, and then came home again for fear somebody would see me, or ask me how I did. Dr Holland was here, and called to see us \u2014 was very pleasant indeed, inquired for you, and asked mother if Vinnie and I might come and see them in Springfield.... We all send you our love.\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[Postmarked, July 2,1853.]_\n\n_Friday Afternoon._\n\nDEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 ... Some of the letters you've sent us we have received, and thank you for affectionately. Some we have not received, but thank you for the memory, of which the emblem perished. Where all those letters go, yours and ours, somebody surely knows, but we do not. There 's a new postmaster to-day, but we don't know who's to blame.\n\nYou never wrote me a letter, Austin, which I liked half so well as the one father brought me. We think of your coming home with a great deal of happiness, and are glad you want to come.\n\nFather said he never saw you looking in better health or seeming in finer spirits. He didn't say a word about the Hippodrome or the Museum, and he came home so stern that none of us dared to ask him, and besides grandmother was here, and you certainly don't think I'd allude to a Hippodrome in the presence of that lady! I'd as soon think of popping fire-crackers in the presence of Peter the Great. But you'll tell us when you get home \u2014 how soon \u2014 how soon!... I admire the 'Poems 'very much. We all send our love to you \u2014 shall write you again Sunday.\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[Summer, 1853.]_\n\n_Sunday Afternoon._\n\n... It is cold here to-day, Austin, and the west wind blows \u2014 the windows are shut at home, and the fire burns in the kitchen. How we should love to see you \u2014 how pleasant it would be to walk to the grove together. We will walk there when you get home. We all went down this morning, and the trees look beautifully \u2014 every one is growing, and when the west wind blows, the pines lift their light leaves and make sweet music. Pussy goes down there too, and seems to enjoy much in her own observations.\n\nMr. Dwight has not answered yet; he probably will this week. I do think he will come, Austin, and shall be so glad if he will.... We all wish you here always, but I hope't will seem only dearer for missing it so long. Father says you will come in three weeks \u2014 that won't be long now \u2014 keep well and happy, Austin, and remember us all you can, and much love from home and\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_Thursday Evening._\n\n... G. H. has just retired from an evening's visit here, and I gather my spent energies to write a word to you.\n\n'Blessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for they shall have their reward! 'Dear Austin, I don't _feel_ funny, and I hope you won't laugh at anything I say. I am thinking of you and Vinnie \u2014 what nice times you are having, sitting and talking together, while I am lonely here, and I _wanted_ to sit and think of you, and fancy what you were saying, all the evening long, but \u2014 ordained otherwise. I hope you will have grand times, and don't forget the unit without you, at home.\n\nI have had some things from you to which I perceive no meaning. They either were very vast, or they didn't mean anything, I don't know certainly which. What did you mean by a note you sent me day before yesterday? Father asked me what you wrote, and I gave it to him to read. He looked very much confused, and finally put on his spectacles, which didn't seem to help him much \u2014 I don't think a telescope would have assisted him. I hope you will write to me \u2014 I love to hear from you, and now Vinnie is gone I shall feel very lonely.... Love for them all if there are those to love and think of me, and more and most for you, from\n\nEMILY.\n\n_Tuesday Evening._\n\nWell, Austin, dear Austin, you have got back again, codfish and pork and all \u2014 all but the slippers, so nicely wrapped to take, yet found when you were gone under the kitchen chair. I hope you, won't want them. Perhaps you have some more there \u2014 I will send them by opportunity, should there be such a thing. Vinnie proposed franking them, but I fear they are rather large! What should you think of it? It isn't every day that we have a chance to sponge Congress,... but Caesar is such 'an honorable man' that we may all go to the poor-house for all the American Congress will lift a finger to help us....\n\nThe usual rush of callers, and this beleaguered family as yet in want of time. I do hope immortality will last a little while, but if the A \u2014 s should happen to get there first, we shall be driven _there...._\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[March 17, 1854.]_\n\n... Since you went back to Cambridge the weather has been wonderful, \u2014 the thermometer every noon between 60 and 70 above zero, and the air full of birds.\n\nTo-day has not seemed like a day. It has been most unearthly, \u2014 so mild, so bright, so still, the windows open, and fires uncomfortable.\n\nSince supper it lightens frequently. In the south you can see the lightning \u2014 in the north the northern lights. Now a furious wind blows just from the north and west, and winter comes back again....\n\nThere is to be a party at Professor Haven's tomorrow night, for married people merely. Celibacy excludes me and my sister. Father and mother are invited. Mother will go.... Mother and Vinnie send love. They are both getting ready for Washington. Take care of yourself.\n\nEMILIE.\n\nAlready Emily seems to have exhibited disinclination for journeys, as, in a letter to his son in Cambridge, dated at Washington, March 13, 1854, Mr. Edward Dickinson said, 'I have written home to have Lavinia come with your mother and you, and Emily, too, if she will, but that I will not insist upon her coming.' Emily, however, did go to Washington with her family, later in the spring, as a subsequent letter to Mrs. Holland will show.\n\n_[Amherst, March 27, 1854.]_\n\n_Sunday Evening._\n\nWell, Austin, \u2014 it's Sunday evening. Vinnie is sick with the ague \u2014 mother taking a tour of the second story as she is wont, Sabbath evening \u2014 the wind is blowing high, the weather very cold, and I am rather cast down in view of all these circumstances.... I went to meeting alone all day. I assure you I felt very solemn. I went to meeting five minutes before the bell rang, morning and afternoon, so not to have to go in after all the people had got there. I wish you had heard Mr. Dwight's sermons to-day. He has preached wonderfully, and I thought all the afternoon how I wished you were there.... I will tell you something funny. You know Vinnie sent father [at Washington] a box of maple sugar \u2014 she got the box at the store, and it said on the outside of it, '1 doz. genuine Quaker Soap.' We didn't hear from the box, and so many days passed we began to feel anxious lest it had never reached him; and mother, writing soon, alluded in her letter to the 'sugar sent by the girls,' and the funniest letter from father came in answer to hers. It-seems the box went straightway, but father not knowing the hand, merely took off the papers in which the box was wrapped, and the label 'Quaker Soap' so far imposed upon him that he put the box in a drawer with his shaving materials, and supposed himself well stocked with an excellent Quaker Soap.\n\n... We all send our love to you, and want you should write us often. Good-night, from\n\nEMILIE.\n\n... The Germanians gave a concert here the evening of exhibition day. Vinnie and I went with J. I never heard sounds before. They seemed like brazen robins, all wearing broadcloth wings, and I think they were, for they all flew away as soon as the concert was over.\n\n_[Late Spring, 1854.]_\n\n_Saturday Noon._\n\nDEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 I rather thought from your letter to me that my essays, together with the lectures at Cambridge, were too much for you, so I thought I would let you have a little vacation; but you must have got rested now, so I shall renew the series. Father was very severe to me; he thought I'd been trifling with you, so he gave me quite a trimming about 'Uncle Tom' and 'Charles Dickens 'and these 'modern literati' who, he says, are nothing, compared to past generations who flourished when he was a boy. Then he said there were 'somebody's rev-e-ries,' he didn't know whose they were, that he thought were very ridiculous \u2014 so I'm quite in disgrace at present, but I think of that 'pinnacle 'on which you always mount when anybody insults you, and that's quite a comfort to me....\n\nAfter a page or two of information about friends in the village, the letter continues:\n\nThis is all the news I can think of, but there is one old story, Austin, which you may like to hear \u2014 it is that we think about you the whole of the livelong day, and talk of you when we 're together. And you can recollect when you are busy studying that those of us at home not so hard at work as you are, get much time to be with you. We all send our love to you.\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[Amherst, May, 1854.]_\n\n_Saturday Morn._\n\nDEAR AUSTIN, \u2014 A week ago we were all here \u2014 to-day we are not all here \u2014 yet the bee hums just as merrily, and all the busy things work on as if the same. They do not miss you, child, but there is a humming-bee whose song is not so merry, and there are busy ones who pause to drop a tear. Let us thank God, to-day, Austin, that we can love our friends, our brothers and our sisters, and weep when they are gone, and smile at their return. It is indeed a joy which we are blest to know.\n\nTo-day is very beautiful \u2014 just as bright, just as blue, just as green and as white and as crimson as the cherry-trees full in bloom, and the half-opening peach-blossoms, and the grass just waving, and sky and hill and cloud can make it, if they try. How I wish you were here, Austin; you thought last Saturday beautiful, yet to this golden day 't was but one single gem to whole handfuls of jewels. You will ride to-day, I hope, or take a long walk somewhere, and recollect us all, \u2014 Vinnie and me and father and mother and home. Yes, Austin, every one of us, for we all think of you, and bring you to recollection many times each day \u2014 not bring you to recollection, for we never put you away, but keep recollecting on....\n\nYou must think of us to-night while Mr. Dwight takes tea here, and we will think of you far away down in Cambridge.\n\nDon't mind the can, Austin, if it is rather dry, don't mind the daily road though it is rather dusty, but remember the brooks and the hills, and remember while you 're but one, we are but four at home!\n\nEMILIE.\n**CHAPTER III**\n\n_To Mrs. Gordon L. Ford, Mr. Bowdoin, Mrs. Anthon, and Miss Lavinia Dickinson_\n\nWITH a number of early letters to herself, Mrs. Ford of Brooklyn sent me also a short sketch of her remembrance of Emily Dickinson's girlhood, which seems to show her in a somewhat different aspect from anything which other friends have given.\n\nMrs. Ford was a daughter of the late Professor Fowler of Amherst College, and her recollections, making a pleasant picture of life in Amherst nearly fifty years ago, have all the charm of early friendship and intercourse in the days when plain living and high thinking were not an exceptional combination.\n\nIn speaking of several letters which she could not find, Mrs. Ford wrote, 'The other things which I wish I could put my hand on were funny \u2014 sparkling with fun, and that is a new phase to the public; but she certainly began as a humorist' Although sent to me for publication in this volume of _Letters,_ Mrs. Ford had hoped to revise and perhaps shorten the sketch in the proof; and her sudden death, within a few days after writing it, lends a saddened interest to these memories of a vanished friendship.\n\n'My remembrances of my friend Emily Dickinson are many and vivid, and delightful to me personally, yet they are all of trifles in themselves, and only interesting to the general public as they cast light on the growth and changes in her soul.\n\n'Our parents were friends, and we knew each other from childhood, but she was several years younger, and how and when we drew together I cannot recall, but I think the friendship was based on certain sympathies and mutual admirations of beauty in nature and ideas. She loved the great aspects of nature, and yet was full of interest and affection for its smaller details. We often walked together over the lovely hills of Amherst, and I remember especially two excursions to Mount Norwottock, five miles away, where we found the climbing fern, and came home laden with pink and white trilliums, and later, yellow lady's-slippers. She knew the wood-lore of the region round about, and could name the haunts and the habits of every wild or garden growth within her reach. Her eyes were wide open to nature's sights, and her ears to nature's voices.\n\n'My chief recollections of her are connected with these woodland walks, or out-door excursions with a merry party, perhaps to Sunderland for the \"sugaring off\" of the maple sap, or to some wild brook in the deeper forest, where the successful fishermen would afterward cook the chowder. She was a free talker about what interested her, yet I cannot remember one personal opinion expressed of her mates, her home, or her habits.\n\n'Later we met to discuss books. _The Atlantic Monthly_ was a youngster then, and our joy over a new poem by Lowell, Longfellow, and Whittier, our puzzles over Emerson's \"If the red slayer think he slays,\" our laughter at Oliver Wendell Holmes, were full and satisfying. Lowell was especially dear to us, and once I saw a passionate fit of crying brought on, when a tutor of the College, who died while contesting the senatorship for Louisiana, told us from his eight years of seniority, that \"Byron had a much better style,\" and advised us \"to leave Lowell, Motherwell and Emerson alone.\" Like other young creatures, we were ardent partisans.\n\n'There was a fine circle of young people in Amherst, and we influenced each other strongly. We were in the adoring mood, and I am glad to say that many of those idols of our girlhood have proved themselves golden. The eight girls who composed this group had talent enough for twice their number, and in their respective spheres of mothers, authors or women, have been noteworthy and admirable. Three of them have passed from earth, but the others live in activity and usefulness.\n\n'This group started a little paper in the Academy, now the village High School, which was kept up for two years. Emily Dickinson was one of the wits of the school, and a humorist of the \"comic column.\" Fanny Montague often made the head title of the paper \u2014 _Forest Leaves_ \u2014 in leaves copied from nature, and fantasies of her own pen-work. She is now a wise member of art circles in Baltimore, a manager of the Museum of Art, and the appointed and intelligent critic of the Japanese exhibit at the Exposition in Chicago. Helen Fiske (the \"H. H.\" of later days) did no special work on the paper for various reasons.\n\n'This paper was all in script, and was passed around the school, where the contributions were easily recognized from the handwriting, which in Emily's case was very beautiful \u2014 small, clear, and finished. Later, though her writing retained its elegance, it became difficult to read. I wish very much I could find a copy of _Forest Leaves,_ but we recklessly gave the numbers away, and the last one I ever saw turned up at the Maplewood Institute in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, where they started a similar paper. Emily's contributions were irresistible, but I cannot recall them. One bit was stolen by a roguish editor for the College paper, where her touch was instantly recognized; and there were two paragraphs in _The Springfield Republican._\n\n'We had a Shakespeare Club \u2014 a rare thing in those days, \u2014 and one of the tutors proposed to take all the copies of all the members and mark out the questionable passages. This plan was negatived at the first meeting, as far as \"the girls \"spoke, who said they did not want the strange things emphasized, nor their books spoiled with marks. Finally we told the men to do as they liked \u2014 \"we shall read everything.\" I remember the lofty air with which Emily took her departure, saying, \"There's nothing wicked in Shakespeare, and if there is I don't want to know it.\" The men read for perhaps three meetings from their expurgated editions, and then gave up their plan, and the whole text was read out boldly.\n\n'There were many little dances, with cake and lemonade at the end, and one year there was a valentine party, where the lines of various authors were arranged to make apparent sense, but absolute nonsense, the play being to guess the names and places of the misappropriated lines.\n\n'Emily was part and parcel of all these gatherings, and there were no signs, in her life and character, of the future recluse. As a prophetic hint, she once asked me if it did not make me shiver to hear a great many people talk \u2014 they took \"all the clothes off their souls \" \u2014 and we discussed this matter. She mingled freely in all the companies and excursions of the moment, and the evening frolics.\n\n'Several of this group had beauty, all had intelligence and character, and others had charm. Emily was not beautiful, yet she had great beauties. Her eyes were lovely auburn, soft and warm, her hair lay in rings of the same color all over her head, and her skin and teeth were fine. At this time she had a demure manner which brightened easily into fun where she felt at home, but among strangers she was rather shy, silent, and even deprecating. She was exquisitely neat and careful in her dress, and always had flowers about her, another pleasant habit of modernity.\n\n'I have so many times seen her in the morning at work in her garden where everything throve under her hand, and wandering there at eventide, that she is perpetually associated in my mind with flowers \u2014 a flower herself, \u2014 especially as for years it was her habit to send me the first buds of the arbutus which we had often hung over together in the woods, joying in its fresh fragrance as the very breath of coming spring.\n\n'My busy married life separated me from these friends of my youth, and intercourse with them has not been frequent; but I rejoice that my early years were passed in scenes of beautiful nature, and with these mates of simple life, high cultivation and noble ideals. In Emily as in others, there was a rare combination of fervor and simplicity, with good practical living, great conscience and directness of purpose. She loved with all her might, there was never a touch of the worldling about her, and we all knew and trusted her love.\n\n'Dr Holland once said to me, \"Her poems are too ethereal for publication.\" I replied, \"They are beautiful \u2014 so concentrated \u2014 but they remind me of air-plants that have no roots in earth.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" he said, \"a perfect description; \"and I think these lyrical ejaculations, these breathed-out projectiles, sharp as lances, would at that time have fallen into idle ears. But gathered in a volume where many could be read at once as her philosophy of life, they explain each other, and so become intelligible and delightful to the public.\n\n'The first poem I ever read was the robin chorister (published in the first volume) which she gave my husband years ago. I think in spite of her seclusion, she was longing for poetic sympathy, and that some of her later habits of life originated in this suppressed and ungratified desire.\n\n'I only wish the interest and delight her poems have aroused could have come early enough in her career to have kept her social and communicative, and at one with her friends. Still, these late tributes to her memory are most welcome to the circle that loved her, even though they are but laurels to lay on her grave.\n\n'E. E. F. F.'\n\nThe first letter was written in 1848; the others at intervals until 1853. Though placed in order, they were not dated by Mrs. Ford.\n\nDEAR EMILY, \u2014 I said when the barber came I would save you a little lock, and fulfilling my promise, I send you one to-day. I shall never give you anything again that will be half so full of sunshine as this wee lock of hair, but I wish no hue more sombre might ever fall to you.\n\nAll your gifts Should be rainbows if I owned half the shine, and but a bit of sea to furnish raindrops for one. Dear Emily, this is all \u2014 it will serve to make you remember me when locks are crisp and gray, and the quiet cap, and the spectacles, and 'John Anderson my Jo 'are all that is left of you.\n\nI must have one of yours. Please spare me a little lock sometime when you have your scissors and there is one to spare.\n\nYour very affectionate\n\nEMILIE.\n\nThe buds are small, dear Emily, but will you please accept one for your cousin and yourself? I quite forgot the rosebugs when I spoke of the buds, last evening, and I found a family of them taking an early breakfast on my most precious bud, with a smart little worm for landlady, so the sweetest are gone, but accept my love with the smallest, and I'm\n\nYour affectionate\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_Tuesday Morn._\n\nDEAR EMILY, \u2014 I come and see you a great many times every day, though I don't bring my body with me, so perhaps you don't know I'm there. But I love to come just as dearly, for nobody sees me then, and I sit and chat away, and look up in your face, and no matter who calls if 'my Lord the King,' he doesn't interrupt me. Let me say, dear Emily, both mean to come at a time, so you shall be very sure I am sitting by your side, and not have to trust the fancy....\n\nAffectionately,\n\nE.\n\n_Thursday Morning._\n\nDEAR EMILY, \u2014 I fear you will be lonely this dark and stormy day, and I send this little messenger to say you must not be.\n\nThe day is long to me. I have wanted to come and see you. I have tried earnestly to come, but always have been detained by some ungenerous care, and now this falling snow sternly and silently lifts up its hand between.\n\nHow glad I am affection can always leave and go. How glad that the drifts of snow pause at the outer door and go no farther, and it is as warm within as if no winter came.... Let us think of the pleasant summer whose gardens are far away, and whose robins are singing always. If it were not for blossoms... and for that brighter sunshine above, beyond, away, these days were dark indeed; but I try to keep recollecting that we are away from home, and have many brothers and sisters who are expecting us. Dear Emilie, don't weep, for you will both be so happy where 'sorrow cannot come.'\n\nVinnie left her Testament on a little stand in our room, and it made me think of her, so I thought I would open it, and the first words I read were in those sweetest verses, 'Blessed are the poor \u2014 Blessed are they that mourn \u2014 Blessed are they that weep, for they shall be comforted.' Dear Emily, I thought of you, and I hastened away to send this message to you.\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_Thursday Morn._\n\nDEAR EMILY, \u2014 I can't come in this morning, because I am so cold, but you will know I am here ringing the big front door-bell, and leaving a note for you.\n\nOh, I want to come in, I have a great mind now to follow little Jane into your warm sitting-room; are you there, dear Emily?\n\nNo, I resist temptation and run away from the door just as fast as my feet will carry me, lest if I once come in I shall grow so happy that I shall stay there always and never go home at all. You will have read this note by the time I reach the office, and you can't think how fast I run.\n\nAffectionately, EMILY.\n\nP. S. I have just shot past the corner, and now all the wayside houses, and the little gate flies open to see me coming home.\n\n_Saturday Morn._\n\nIt has been a long week, dear Emily, for I have not seen your face, but I have contrived to think of you very much instead, which has half reconciled me to not seeing you for so long. I was coming several times, but the snow would start the first, and then the paths were damp, and then a friend would drop in to chat, and the short afternoon was gone before I was aware.\n\nDid Mr. D \u2014 give you a message from me? He promised to be faithful, but I don't suppose divines think earthly loves of much consequence. My flowers come in my stead to-day, dear Emily. I hope you will love to see them, and whatever word of love or welcome kindly you would extend to me, 'do even so to them.' They are small, but so full of meaning if they only mean the half of what I bid them.\n\nVery affectionately,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_Thursday Morning._\n\n... When I am as old as you, and have had so many friends, perhaps they won't seem so precious, and then I sha'n't write any more little _billets-doux_ like these, but you will forgive me now, because I can't find many so dear to me as you. Then I know I can't have you always; some day a 'brave dragoon 'will be stealing you away, and I will have farther to go to discover you at all, so I shall recollect all these sweet opportunities, and feel so sorry if I didn't improve them....\n\nAbout this time (December, 1849), the following little note was sent to Mr. Bowdoin, a law student in Mr. Dickinson's office, 'on returning _Jane Eyre._ The leaves mentioned were box leaves.'\n\n_[December, 1849.]_\n\nMR BOWDOIN, \u2014 If all these leaves were altars, and on every one a prayer that Currer Bell might be saved, and you were God \u2014 would you answer it?\n\nMr. Bowdoin, who was considered by the young girls at that time 'a confirmed bachelor,' also received the accompanying valentine from Emily.\n\nVALENTINE WEEK .\n\nAwake, ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,\n\nUnwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine.\n\nOh the earth was _made_ for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,\n\nFor sighing, and gentle whispering, and _unity_ made of _twain._\n\nAll things do go a courting, in earth or sea, or air,\n\nGod hath made nothing single but _thee_ in His world so fair!\n\nThe _bride_ and then the _bridegroom,_ the _two,_ and then the _one,_\n\nAdam, and Eve, his consort, the moon and then the sun;\n\nThe life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,\n\nWho will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree.\n\nThe high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small,\n\nNone cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball;\n\nThe bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives,\n\nAnd they make a merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves;\n\nThe wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won,\n\nAnd the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son.\n\nThe storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune,\n\nThe wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon,\n\nTheir spirits meet together, they make them solemn vows,\n\nNo more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose.\n\nThe worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,\n\nNight unto day is married, morn unto eventide;\n\nEarth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,\n\nAnd Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.\n\nNow to the application, to the reading of the roll,\n\nTo bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul:\n\nThou art a _human_ solo, a being cold, and lone,\n\nWilt have no kind companion, thou reapest what thou hast sown.\n\nHast never silent hours, and minutes all too long,\n\nAnd a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song?\n\nThere's _Sarah,_ and _Eliza,_ and _Emeline_ so fair,\n\nAnd _Harriet_ and _Sabra,_ and she with curling hair.\n\nThine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see\n\n_Six_ true and comely maidens sitting upon the tree;\n\nApproach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb,\n\nAnd seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time.\n\nThen bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower,\n\nAnd give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower \u2014\n\nAnd bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum \u2014\n\nAnd bid the world Goodtnorrow, and go to glory home!\n\nValentines seemed ever near the thoughts of the young people of this generation, and another clever one, written by Emily in 1852, somehow found its way into _The Republican,_ probably through some friend. It was originally sent to Mr. William Howland.\n\n_Sic transit gloria mundi,_\n\nHow doth the busy bee \u2014\n\n_Dum vivimus vivamus,_ I stay mine enemy.\n\nOh, _veni, vidi, vici,_\n\nOh, _caput, cap-a-pie,_\n\nAnd oh, _memento mori_\n\nWhen I am far from thee.\n\nHurrah for Peter Parley,\n\nHurrah for Daniel Boone,\n\nThree cheers, sir, for the gentlemen\n\nWho first observed the moon.\n\nPeter put up the sunshine,\n\nPattie arrange the stars,\n\nTell Luna tea is waiting,\n\nAnd call your brother Mars.\n\nPut down the apple, Adam,\n\nAnd come away with me;\n\nSo shall thou have a pippin\n\nFrom off my father's tree.\n\nI climb the hill of science\n\nI 'view the landscape o'er,'\n\nSuch transcendental prospect\n\nI ne'er beheld before.\n\nUnto the Legislature\n\nMy country bids me go.\n\nI'll take my india-rubbers,\n\nIn case the wind should blow.\n\nDuring my education,\n\nIt was announced to me\n\nThat gravitation, stumbling,\n\nFell from an apple-tree.\n\nThe earth upon its axis\n\nWas once supposed to turn,\n\nBy way of a gymnastic\n\nIn honor to the sun.\n\nIt was the brave Columbus,\n\nA-sailing on the tide,\n\nWho notified the nations\n\nOf where I would reside.\n\nMortality is fatal,\n\nGentility is fine,\n\nRascality heroic,\n\nInsolvency sublime.\n\nOur fathers being weary\n\nLay down on Bunker Hill,\n\nAnd though full many a morning,\n\nYet they are sleeping still.\n\nThe trumpet, sir, shall wake them,\n\nIn dream I see them rise,\n\nEach with a solemn musket\n\nA-marching to the skies.\n\nA coward will remain, sir,\n\nUntil the fight is done,\n\nBut an immortal hero\n\nWill take his hat and run.\n\nGood-by, sir, I am going \u2014\n\nMy country calleth me.\n\nAllow me, sir, at parting\n\nTo wipe my weeping e'e.\n\nIn token of our friendship\n\nAccept this _Bonnie Doon,_\n\nAnd when the hand that plucked it\n\nHas passed beyond the moon,\n\nThe memory of my ashes\n\nWill consolation be.\n\nThen farewell, Tuscarora,\n\nAnd farewell, sir, to thee.\n\n_To Mrs. Ford Sunday Afternoon_ .\n\nI have just come home from meeting, where I have been all day, and it makes me so happy to think of writing you that I forget the sermon and minister and all, and think of none but you.... I miss you always, dear Emily, and I think now and then that I can't stay without you, and half make up my mind to make a little bundle of all my earthly things, bid my blossoms and home good-by, and set out on foot to find you. But we have so much matter of fact here that I don't dare to go, so I keep on sighing, and wishing you were here.\n\nI know you would be happier amid this darling spring than in ever so kind a city, and you would get well much faster drinking our morning dew \u2014 and the world here is so beautiful, and things so sweet and fair, that your heart would be soothed and comforted.\n\nI would tell you about the spring if I thought it might persuade you even now to return, but every bud and bird would only afflict you and make you sad where you are, so not one word of the robins, and not one word of the bloom, lest it make the city darker, and your own home more dear.\n\nBut nothing forgets you, Emily, not a blossom, not a bee; for in the merriest flower there is a pensive air, and in the bonniest bee a sorrow \u2014 they know that you are gone, they know how well you loved them, and in their little faces is sadness, and in their mild eyes, tears. But another spring, dear friend, you must and shall be here, and nobody can take you away, for I will hide you and keep you \u2014 and who would think of taking you if I hold you tight in my arms?\n\nYour home looks very silent \u2014 I try to think of things funny, and turn the other way when I am passing near, for sure I am that looking would make my heart too heavy, and make my eyes so dim. How I do long once more to hear the household voices, and see you there at twilight sitting in the door \u2014 and I shall when the leaves fall, sha'n't I, and the crickets begin to sing?\n\nYou must not think sad thoughts, dear Emily. I fear you are doing so, from your sweet note to me, and it almost breaks my heart to have you so far away, where I cannot comfort you.\n\nAll will be well, I know, and I know all will be happy, and I so wish I was near to convince my dear friend so. I want very much to hear how Mr. Ford is now. I hope you will tell me, for it's a good many weeks since I have known anything of him. You and he may come this way any summer; and how I hope he may \u2014 and I shall pray for him, and for you, and for your home on earth, which will be next the one in heaven.\n\nYour very affectionate,\n\nEMILIE.\n\nI thank you for writing me, one precious little 'forget-me-not' to bloom along my way. But one little one is lonely \u2014 pray send it a blue-eyed mate, that it be not alone. Here is love from mother and father and Vinnie and me....\n\n_Wednesday Eve._\n\nDEAR EMILY, \u2014 Are you there, and shall you always stay there, and is it not dear Emily any more, but Mrs. Ford of Connecticut, and must we stay alone, and will you not come back with the birds and the butterflies, when the days grow long and warm?\n\nDear Emily, we are lonely here. I know Col.\n\nS \u2014 is left, and Mr. and Mrs. K \u2014 , but pussy has run away, and you do not come back again, and the world has grown so long! I knew you would go away, for I know the roses are gathered, but I guessed not yet, not till by expectation we had become resigned. Dear Emily, when it came, and hidden by your veil you stood before us all and made those promises, and when we kissed you, all, and went back to our homes, it seemed to me translation, not any earthly thing, and if a little after you'd ridden on the wind, it would not have surprised me.\n\nAnd now five days have gone, Emily, and long and silent, and I begin to know that you will not come back again. There's a verse in the Bible, Emily, I don't know where it is, nor just how it goes can I remember, but it's a little like this \u2014 ' I can go to her, but she cannot come back to me.' I guess that isn't right, but my eyes are full of tears, and I'm sure I do not care if I make mistakes or not. Is it happy there, dear Emily, and is the fireside warm, and have you a little cricket to chirp upon the hearth?\n\nHow much we think of you \u2014 how dearly love you \u2014 how often hope for you that it may all be happy.\n\nSunday evening your father came in \u2014 he stayed a little while. I thought he looked solitary. I thought he had grown old. How lonely he must be \u2014 I'm sorry for him.\n\nMother and Vinnie send their love, and hope you are so happy. Austin has gone away. Father comes home to-morrow. I know father will miss you. He loved to meet you here.\n\n'So fades a summer cloud away,\n\nSo smiles the gale when storms are o'er,\n\nSo gently shuts the eye of day,\n\nSo dies a wave along the shore.'\n\nKiss me, dear Emily, and remember me if you will, with much respect, to your husband. Will you write me sometime?\n\nAffectionately,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To Mrs. Anthon_\n\nAMHERST .\n\n... Sweet at my door this March night another candidate. Go home! We don't like Katies here! Stay! My heart votes for you, and what am I, indeed, to dispute her ballot!\n\nWhat are your qualifications? Dare you dwell in the East where we dwell? Are you afraid of the sun? When you hear the new violet sucking her way among the sods, shall you be resolute? All we are strangers, dear, the world is not acquainted with \"s, because we are not acquainted with her; and pilgrims. Do you hesitate? And soldiers, oft \u2014 some of us victors, but those I do not see to-night, owing to the smoke. We are hungry, and thirsty, sometimes, we are barefoot and cold \u2014 will you still come?\n\nThen, bright I record you \u2014 Kate, gathered in March! It is a small bouquet, dear, but what it lacks in size it gains in fadelessness. Many can boast a hollyhock, but few can bear a rose! And should new flower smile at limited associates, pray her remember were there many, they were not worn upon the breast, but tilled in the pasture. So I rise wearing her \u2014 so I sleep holding, \u2014 sleep at last with her fast in my hand, and wake bearing my flower. Emilie.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nThere are two ripenings, one of sight,\n\nWhose forces spheric wind,\n\nUntil the velvet product\n\nDrops spicy to the ground.\n\nA homelier maturing,\n\nA process in the burr\n\nThat teeth of frosts alone disclose\n\nOn far October air.\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nThe prettiest of pleas, dear, but with a lynx like me quite unavailable. Finding is slow, facilities for losing so frequent, in a world like this, I hold with extreme caution. A prudence so astute may seem unnecessary, but plenty moves those most, dear, who have been in want, and Saviour tells us, Kate, the poor are always with us. Were you ever poor? I have been a beggar, and rich to-night, as by God's leave I believe I am, the 'lazzaroni's 'faces haunt, pursue me still!\n\nYou do not yet 'dishmn,' Kate. Distinctly sweet your face stands in its phantom niche \u2014 I touch your hand \u2014 my cheek your cheek \u2014 I stroke your vanished hair. Why did you enter, sister, since you must depart? Had not its heart been torn enough but you must send your shred?\n\nOh, our condor Kate! Come from your crags again! Oh, dew upon the bloom fall yet again a summer's night! Of such have been the frauds which have vanquished faces, sown plant of flesh the church-yard plats, and occasioned angels.\n\nThere is a subject, dear, on which we never touch.\n\nIgnorance of its pageantries does not deter me. I too went out to meet the dust early in the morning.\n\nI too in daisy mounds possess hid treasure, therefore I guard you more. You did not tell me you had once been a 'millionaire.' Did my sister think that opulence could be mistaken? Some trinket will remain, some babbhng plate or jewel.\n\nI write you from the summer. The murmuring leaves fill up the chinks through which the winter red\n\nshone when Kate was here, and F was here, and\n\nfrogs sincerer than our own splash in their Maker's pools. It 's but a little past, dear, and yet how far from here it seems, fled with the snow! So through the snow go many loving feet parted by 'Alps.' How brief, from vineyards and the sun!\n\nParents and Vinnie request love to be given girl.\n\nEmilie.\n\nTo the Same.\n\nKatie, \u2014 Last year at this time I did not miss you, but positions shifted, until I hold your black in strong hallowed remembrance, and trust my colors are to you tints slightly beloved.\n\nYou cease, indeed, to talk, which is a custom prevalent among things parted and torn, but shall I class this, dear, among elect exceptions, and bear you just as usual unto the kind Lord?\n\nWe dignify our faith when we can cross the ocean with it, though most prefer ships.\n\nHow do you do this year?... How many years, I wonder, will sow the moss upon them, before we bind again, a little altered, it may be, elder a little it _will_ be, and yet the same, as suns which shine between our lives and loss, and violets \u2014 not last year's, but having the mother's eyes.\n\nDo you find plenty of food at home? Famine is unpleasant.\n\nIt is too late for frogs \u2014 or what pleases me better, dear, not quite early enough! The pools were full of you for a brief period, but that brief period blew away, leaving me with many stems, and but a few foliage! Gentlemen here have a way of plucking the tops of the trees, and putting the fields in their cellars annually, which in point of taste is execrable, and would they please omit, I should have fine vegetation and foliage all the year round, and never a winter month. Insanity to the sane seems so unnecessary \u2014 but I am only one, and they are 'four and forty,' which little affair of numbers leaves me impotent. Aside from this, dear Katie, inducements to visit Amherst are as they were \u2014 I am pleasantly located in the deep sea, but love will row you out, if her hands are strong, and don't wait till I land, for I'm going ashore on the other side.\n\nEMILIE.\n\nFollowing are letters written to her sister, Miss Lavinia Dickinson, while Emily was receiving treatment for her eyes in Boston. She was there for this purpose twice, \u2014 during the summer of 1864, and again in 1865, usually writing of these years as 'when I was sick so long,' which has given many persons the idea of an invalidism she never had.\n\nDEAR VINNIE, \u2014 Many write that they do not write because that they have too much to say, I that I have enough. Do you remember the Whippowil will that sang one night on the orchard fence, and then drove to the south, and we never heard of him afterward?\n\nHe will go home, and I shall go home, perhaps in the same train. It is a very sober thing to keep my summer in strange towns \u2014 what, I have not told, but I have found friends in the wilderness. You know Elijah did, and to see the 'ravens 'mending my stockings would break a heart long hard.\n\nFanny and Lou are solid gold, and Mrs. B \u2014 and her daughter very kind, and the doctor enthusiastic about my getting well. I feel no gayness yet \u2014 I suppose I had been discouraged so long.\n\nYou remember the prisoner of Chillon did not know liberty when it came, and asked to go back to jail.\n\nC \u2014 and A \u2014 came to see me and brought beautiful flowers. Do you know what made them remember me? Give them my love and gratitude.\n\nThey told me about the day at Pelham, you, dressed in daisies, and Mr. Mc D \u2014 . I couldn't see you, Vinnie. I am glad of all the roses you find, while your primrose is gone. How kind Mr. C \u2014 grew. Was Mr. D \u2014 dear?\n\nEmily wants to be well \u2014 if any one alive wants to get well more, I would let him, first.\n\nGive my love to father and mother and Austin. Tell Margaret I remember her, and hope Richard is well.... How I wish I could rest all those who are tired for me.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR VINNIE, \u2014 The hood is far under way, and the girls think it a beauty.... I hope the chimneys are done, and the hemlocks set, and the two teeth filled in the front yard. How astonishing it will be to me!...\n\nThe pink lily you gave Lou has had five flowers since I came, and has more buds. The girls think it my influence. Lou wishes she knew father's view of Jeff Davis' capture \u2014 thinks no one but him can do it justice. She wishes to send a photograph of the arrest to Austin, including the skirt and spurs, but fears he will think her trifling with him. I advised her not to be rash.\n\nHow glad I should be to see you all, but it won't be long, Vinnie. You will be willing, won't you, for a little while? It has rained and been very hot, and mosquitoes, as in August. I hope the flowers are well. The tea-rose I gave Aunt L \u2014 has a flower now. Is the lettuce ripe? Persons wear no bonnets here. Fanny has a blade of straw with handle of ribbon.\n\nAffectionately,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\n... Father told me you were going. I wept for the little plants, but rejoiced for you. Had I loved them as well as I did, I could have begged you to stay with them, but they are foreigners now, and all, a foreigner. I have been sick so long I do not know the sun. I hope they may be alive, for home would be strange except them, now the world is dead.\n\nA \u2014 N \u2014 lives here since Saturday, and two new people more, a person and his wife, so I do little but fly, yet always find a nest. I shall go home in two weeks. You will get me at Palmer?\n\nLove for E \u2014 and Mr. D \u2014 .\n\nSISTER.\n\n_To the Same._.. The Doctor will let me go Monday of Thanksgiving week. He wants to see me Sunday, so I cannot before.... Love for the Middletown pearls.\n\nShall write E \u2014 after Tuesday, when I go to the Doctor. Thank her for sweet note.\n\nThe drums keep on for the still man \u2014 but Emily must stop.\n\nLove of Fanny and Lou.\n\nSISTER.\n\nSoon after the close of the war, a friend, Mrs. Vanderbilt of Long Island, met with a very serious bodily accident. Upon her recovery she received the following welcome to the realm of health: \u2014\n\nTo this world she returned,\n\nBut with a tingle of that;\n\nA compound manner,\n\nAs a sod\n\nEspoused a violet\n\nThat chiefer to the skies\n\nThan to himself allied,\n\nDwelt, hesitating,\n\nHalf of dust,\n\nAnd half of day, the bride.\n\nEMILY.\n\nOn the occasion of another friend's departure from Amherst after a visit, Emily's good-by was embodied in the following lines, accompanied by an oleander blossom tied with black ribbon:\n\nWe'll pass without a parting,\n\nSo to spare Certificate of absence,\n\nDeeming where\n\nI left her I could find her\n\nIf I tried.\n\nThis way I keep from missing Those who died.\n\nEMILY.\n**CHAPTER IV**\n\n_To Dr J. G. Holland and Mrs. Holland_\n\nTHE dates of these letters can be approximated only by the hand-writing \u2014 which varies from the early style, about 1853, to the latest \u2014 and by events mentioned, the time of whose occurrence is known. Mrs. Holland writes that there were many other letters, even more quaint and original, but unhappily not preserved.\n\n_[About 1853.]_\n\n_Friday Evening._\n\nThank you, dear Mrs. Holland \u2014 Vinnie and I will come, if you would like to have us. We should have written before, but mother has not been well, and we hardly knew whether we could leave her, but she is better now, and I write quite late this evening, that if you still desire it, Vinnie and I will come. Then, dear Mrs. Holland, if agreeable to you, we will take the Amherst train on Tuesday morning, for Springfield, and be with you at noon.\n\nThe cars leave here at nine o'clock, and I think reach Springfield at twelve. I can think just how we dined with you a year ago from now, and it makes my heart beat faster to think perhaps we'll see you so little while from now.\n\nTo live a thousand years would not make me forget the day and night we spent there, and while I write the words, I don't believe I'm coming, so sweet it seems to me. I hope we shall not tire you; with all your other cares, we fear we should not come, but you _will_ not let us trouble you, will you, dear Mrs. Holland?\n\nFather and mother ask a very warm remembrance to yourself and Dr Holland.\n\nWe were happy the grapes and figs seemed acceptable to you, and wished there were many more. I am very sorry to hear that 'Kate 'has such excellent lungs. With all your other cares, it must be quite a trial to you.\n\nIt is also a source of pleasure to me that Annie goes to sleep, on account of the 'interregnum 'it must afford to you.\n\nThree days and we are there \u2014 happy \u2014 very happy! To-morrow I will sew, but I shall think of you, and Sunday sing and pray \u2014 yet I shall not forget you, and Monday's very near, and here's to me on Tuesday! Good-night, dear Mrs. Holland \u2014 I see I'm getting wild \u2014 you will forgive me all, and not _forget_ me all, though? Vinnie is fast asleep, or her love would be here \u2014 though she is, it is. Once more, if it is fair, we will come on Tuesday, and you love to have us, but if not convenient, please surely tell us so.\n\nAffectionately,\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_Tuesday Evening._\n\nDEAR DR AND MRS HOLLAND, \u2014 dear Minnie \u2014 it is cold to-night, but the thought of you so warm, that I sit by it as a fireside, and am never cold any more. I love to write to you \u2014 it gives my heart a holiday and sets the bells to ringing. If prayers had any answers to them, you were all here to-night, but I seek and I don't find, and knock and it is not opened. Wonder if God is just \u2014 presume He is, however, and it was only a blunder of Matthew's.\n\nI think mine is the case, where when they ask an egg, they get a scorpion, for I keep wishing for you, keep shutting up my eyes and looking toward the sky, asking with all my might for you, and yet you do not come. I wrote to you last week, but thought you would laugh at me, and call me sentimental, so I kept my lofty letter for 'Adolphus Hawkins, Esq.'\n\nIf it wasn't for broad daylight, and cooking-stoves, and roosters, I'm afraid you would have occasion to smile at my letters often, but so sure as 'this mortal' essays immortality, a crow from a neighboring farm-yard dissipates the illusion, and I am here again.\n\nAnd what I mean is this \u2014 that I thought of you all last week, until the world grew rounder than it sometimes is, and I broke several dishes.\n\nMonday, I solemnly resolved I would be _sensible,_ so I wore thick shoes, and thought of Dr Humphrey, and the Moral Law. One glimpse of _The Republican_ makes me break things again \u2014 I read in it every night.\n\nWho writes those funny accidents, where railroads meet each other unexpectedly, and gentlemen in factories get their heads cut off quite informally? The author, too, relates them in such a sprightly way, that they are quite attractive. Vinnie was disappointed to-night, that there were not more accidents \u2014 I read the news aloud, while Vinnie was sewing. _The Republican_ seems to us like a letter from you, and we break the seal and read it eagerly....\n\nVinnie and I talked of you as we sewed, this afternoon. I said \u2014 'how far they seem from us,' but Vinnie answered me 'only a little way.'... I'd love to be a bird or bee, that whether hum or sing, still might be near you.\n\nHeaven is large \u2014 is it not? Life is short too, isn't it? Then when one is done, is there not another, and \u2014 and \u2014 then if God is willing, we are neighbors then. Vinnie and mother send their love. Mine too is here. My letter as a bee, goes laden. Please love us and remember us. Please write us very soon, and tell us how you are....\n\nAffectionately,\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[Late Autumn, 1853.]_\n\n_Sabbath Afternoon._\n\nDEAR FRIENDS, \u2014 I thought I would write again. I write you many letters with pens which are not seen. Do you receive them?\n\nI think of you all to-day, and dreamed of you last night.\n\nWhen father rapped on my door to wake me this morning, I was walking with you in the most wonderful garden, and helping you pick \u2014 roses, and though we gathered with all our might, the basket was never full. And so all day I pray that I may walk with you, and gather roses again, and as night draws on, it pleases me, and I count impatiently the hours 'tween me and the darkness, and the dream of you and the roses, and the basket never full.\n\nGod grant the basket fill not, till, with hands purer and whiter, we gather flowers of gold in baskets made of pearl; higher \u2014 higher! It seems long since we heard from you \u2014 long, since how little Annie was, or any one of you \u2014 so long since Cattle Show, when Dr Holland was with us. Oh, it always seems a long while from our seeing you, and even when at your house, the nights seemed much more long than they're wont to do, because separated from you. I want so much to know if the friends are all well in that dear cot in Springfield \u2014 and if well whether happy, and happy \u2014 _how_ happy, and why, and what bestows the joy? And then those other questions, asked again and again, whose answers are so sweet, do they love \u2014 remember us \u2014 wish sometimes we were there? Ah, friends \u2014 dear friends \u2014 perhaps my queries tire you, but I so long to know.\n\nThe minister to-day, not our own minister, preached about death and judgment, and what would become of those, meaning Austin and me, who behaved improperly \u2014 and somehow the sermon scared me, and father and Vinnie looked very solemn as if the whole was true, and I would not for worlds have them know that it troubled me, but I longed to come to you, and tell you all about it, and learn how to be better. He preached such an awful sermon though, that I didn't much think I should ever see you again until the Judgment Day, and then you would not speak to, me, according to his story. The subject of perdition seemed to please him, somehow. It seems very solemn to me. I'll tell you all about it, when I see you again.\n\nI wonder what you are doing to-day \u2014 if you have been to meeting? To-day has been a fair day, very still and blue. To-night the crimson children are playing in the west, and to-morrow will be colder. How sweet if I could see you, and talk of all these things! Please write us very soon. The days with you last September seem a great way off, and to meet you again, delightful. I'm sure it won't be long before we sit together.\n\nThen will I not repine, knowing that bird of mine, though flown \u2014 learneth beyond the sea, melody new for me, and will return.\n\nAffectionately,\n\nEMILY.\n\nThis little poem was enclosed in the foregoing letter: \u2014\n\nTruth is as old as God,\n\nHis twin identity \u2014\n\nAnd will endure as long as He,\n\nA co-eternity,\n\nAnd perish on the day\n\nThat He is borne away\n\nFrom mansion of the universe,\n\nA lifeless Deity.\n\n_[Enclosing some leaves, 1854.]_\n\n_January 2d._\n\n_May_ it come _to-day?_\n\nThen New Year the sweetest, and long life the merriest, and the Heaven highest \u2014 by and by!\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[Spring, 1854.]_\n\nPHILADELPHIA.\n\nDEAR MRS HOLLAND AND MINNIE, and Dr Holland too \u2014 I have stolen away from company to write a note to you; and to say that I love you still.\n\nI am not at home \u2014 I have been away just five weeks to-day, and shall not go quite yet back to Massachusetts. Vinnie is with me here, and we have wandered together into many new ways.\n\nWe were three weeks in Washington, while father was there, and have been two in Philadelphia. We have had many pleasant times, and seen much that is fair, and heard much that is wonderful \u2014 many sweet ladies and noble gentlemen have taken us by the hand and smiled upon us pleasantly \u2014 and the sun shines brighter for our way thus far.\n\nI will not tell you what I saw \u2014 the elegance, the grandeur; you will not care to know the value of the diamonds my Lord and Lady wore, but if you haven't been to the sweet Mount Vernon, then I _will_ tell you how on one soft spring day we glided down the Potomac in a painted boat, and jumped upon the shore \u2014 how hand in hand we stole along up a tangled pathway till we reached the tomb of General George Washington, how we paused beside it, and no one spoke a word, then hand in hand, walked on again, not less wise or sad for that marble story; how we went within the door \u2014 raised the latch he lifted when he last went home \u2014 thank the Ones in Light that he's since passed in through a brighter wicket! Oh, I could spend a long day, if it did not weary you, telling of Mount Vernon \u2014 and I will sometime if we live and meet again, and God grant we shall!\n\nI wonder if you have all forgotten us, we have stayed away so long. I hope you haven't \u2014 I tried to write so hard before I went from home, but the moments were so busy, and then they _flew_ so. I was sure when days _did_ come in which I was less busy, I should seek your forgiveness, and it did not occur to me that you might not forgive me. Am I too late to-day? Even if you are angry, I shall keep praying you, till from very weariness, you will take me in. It seems to me many a day since we were in Springfield, and Minnie and the _dumb-bells_ seem as vague \u2014 as vague; and sometimes I wonder if I ever dreamed \u2014 then if I'm dreaming now, then if I _always_ dreamed, and there is not a world, and not these darling friends, for whom I would not count my life too great a sacrifice. Thank God there is a world, and that the friends we love dwell forever and ever in a house above. I fear I grow incongruous, but to meet my friends does delight me so that I quite forget time and sense and so forth.\n\nNow, my precious friends, if you won't forget me until I get home, and become more sensible, I will write again, and more properly. Why didn't I ask before, if you were well and happy?\n\n_Forgetful_ EMILIE.\n\n_[November, 1854.]_\n\n_Saturday Eve._\n\nI come in flakes, dear Dr Holland, for verily it snows, and as descending swans, here a pinion and there a pinion, and anon a plume, come the bright inhabitants of the white home.'\n\nI know they fall in Springfield; perhaps you see them now \u2014 and therefore I look out again, to see if you are looking.\n\nHow pleasant it seemed to hear your voice \u2014 so said Vinnie and I, as we as individuals, and then collectively, read your brief note. Why didn't you speak to us before? We thought you had forgotten us \u2014 we concluded that one of the bright things had gone forever more. That is a sober feeling, and it mustn't come too often in such a world as this. A violet came up next day, and blossomed in our garden, and were it not for these same flakes, I would go in the dark and get it, so to send to you. Thank Him who is in Heaven, Katie Holland lives! Kiss her on every cheek for me \u2014 I really can't remember how many the bairn has \u2014 and give my warmest recollection to Mrs. Holland and Minnie, whom to love, this Saturday night, is no trifling thing. I'm very happy that you are happy \u2014 and that you cheat the angels of another one.\n\nI would the many households clad in dark attire had succeeded so. You must all be happy and strong and well. I love to have the lamps shine on your evening table. I love to have the sun shine on your daily walks.\n\nThe 'new house '! God bless it! You will leave the 'maiden and married life of Mary Powell 'behind.\n\nLove and remember\n\nEMILIE.\n\nWhile the family lived for many years in the old mansion built by Emily Dickinson's grandfather, the Hon. Samuel Fowler Dickinson, they had moved away from it about 1840; and the following letter describes their return after fifteen years to their early home, where Emily was born, and where she died: \u2014\n\n_Sabbath Day._\n\nYour voice is sweet, dear Mrs. Holland \u2014 I wish I heard it oftener.\n\nOne of the mortal musics Jupiter denies, and when indeed its gentle measures fall upon my ear, I stop the birds to listen. Perhaps you think I _have_ no bird, and this is rhetoric \u2014 pray, Mr. Whately, what is _that_ upon the cherry-tree? Church is done, and the winds blow, and Vinnie is in that pallid land the simple call 'sleep.' They will be wiser by and by, we shall all be wiser! While I sit in the snows, the summer day on which you came and the bees and the south wind, seem fabulous as _Heaven_ seems to a sinful world \u2014 and I keep remembering it till it assumes a _spectral_ air, and nods and winks at me, and then all of you turn to phantoms and vanish slow away. We cannot talk and laugh more, in the parlor where we met, but we learned to love for aye, there, so it is just as well.\n\nWe shall sit in a parlor 'not made with hands 'unless we are very careful!\n\nI cannot tell you how we moved. I had rather not remember. I believe my 'effects 'were brought in a bandbox, and the 'deathless me,' on foot, not many moments after. I took at the time a memorandum of my several senses, and also of my hat and coat, and my best shoes \u2014 but it was lost in the _m\u00eal\u00e9e,_ and I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.\n\nSuch wits as I reserved, are so badly shattered that repair is useless \u2014 and still I can't help laughing at my own catastrophe. I supposed we were going to make a 'transit,' as heavenly bodies did \u2014 but we came budget by budget, as our fellows do, till we fulfilled the pantomime contained in the word 'moved.' It is a kind of _gone to Kansas_ feeling, and if I sat in a long wagon, with my family tied behind, I should suppose without doubt I was a party of emigrants!\n\nThey say that 'home is where the heart is.' I think it is where the _house_ is, and the adjacent buildings.\n\nBut, my dear Mrs. Holland, I have another story, and lay my laughter all away, so that I can sigh. Mother has been an invalid since we came _home,_ and Vinnie and I 'regulated,' and Vinnie and I 'got settled,' and still we keep our father's house, and mother lies upon the lounge, or sits in her easy-chair. I don't know what her sickness is, for I am but a simple child, and frightened at myself. I often wish I was a grass, or a toddling daisy, whom all these problems of the dust might not terrify \u2014 and should my own machinery get slightly out of gear, _please,_ kind ladies and gentlemen, some one stop the wheel, \u2014 for I know that with belts and bands of gold, I shall whizz triumphant on the new stream! Love for you \u2014 love for Dr Holland \u2014 thanks for his exquisite hymn \u2014 tears for your sister in sable, and kisses for Minnie and the bairns.\n\nFrom your mad\n\nEMILIE.\n\n_[Spring, 1856?]_\n\n... February passed like a skate and I know March. Here is the 'light 'the stranger said 'was not on sea or land.' Myself could arrest it, but will not chagrin him.\n\n... Cousin Peter told me the Doctor would address Commencement \u2014 trusting it insure you both for papa's _f\u00eate_ I endowed Peter. We do not always know the source of the smile that flows to us....\n\nMy flowers are near and foreign, and I have but to cross the floor to stand in the Spice Isles.\n\nThe wind blows gay to-day and the jays bark like blue terriers.\n\nI tell you what I see \u2014 the landscape of the spirit requires a lung, but no tongue. I hold you few I love, till my heart is red as February and purple as March.\n\nHand for the Doctor.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Late Summer, 1856.]_\n\n_Sabbath Night._\n\nDon't tell, dear Mrs. Holland, but wicked as I am, I read my Bible sometimes, and in it as I read to-day, I found a verse like this, where friends should 'go no more out; 'and there were 'no tears,' and I wished as I sat down to-night that we were _there \u2014_ not _here_ \u2014 and that wonderful world had commenced, which makes such promises, and rather than to write you, I were by your side, and the 'hundred and forty and four thousand were chatting pleasantly, yet not disturbing us. And I'm half tempted to take my seat in that Paradise of which the good man writes, and begin forever and ever _now,_ so wondrous does it seem. My only sketch, profile, of Heaven is a large, blue sky, bluer and larger than the _biggest_ I have seen in June, and in it are my friends \u2014 all of them \u2014 every one of them \u2014 those who are with me now, and those who were 'parted 'as we walked, and 'snatched up to Heaven.'\n\nIf roses had not faded, and frosts had never come, and one had not fallen here and there whom I could not waken, there were no need of other Heaven than the one below \u2014 and if God had been here this summer, and seen the things that I have seen \u2014 I guess that He would think His Paradise superfluous. Don't tell Him, for the world, though, for after all He's said about it, I should like to see what He _was_ building for us, with no hammer, and no stone, and no journeyman either. Dear Mrs. Holland, I love, to-night \u2014 love you and Dr Holland, and 'time and sense ' \u2014 and fading things, and things that do _not_ fade.\n\nI'm so glad you are not a blossom, for those in my garden fade, and then a 'reaper whose name is Death 'has come to get a few to help him make a bouquet for himself, so I'm glad you are not a rose \u2014 and I'm glad you are not a bee, for where they go when summer's done, only the thyme knows, and even were you a robin, when the west winds came, you would coolly wink at me, and away, some morning!\n\nAs 'little Mrs. Holland,' then, I think I love you most, and trust that tiny lady will dwell below while we dwell, and when with many a wonder we seek the new Land, _her_ wistful face, _with_ ours, shall look the last upon the hills, and first upon \u2014 well, _Home!_\n\nPardon my sanity, Mrs. Holland, in a world insane, and love me if you will, for I had rather _be_ loved than to be called a king in earth, or a lord in Heaven.\n\nThank you for your sweet note \u2014 the clergy are very well. Will bring such fragments from them as shall seem me good. I kiss my paper here for you and Dr Holland \u2014 would it were cheeks instead.\n\nDearly, \u2014\n\nEMILIE.\n\nP.S. The bobolinks have gone.\n\nDEAR SISTER, \u2014 After you went, a low wind warbled through the house like a spacious bird, making it high but lonely. When you had gone the love came. I supposed it would. The supper of the heart is when the guest has gone.\n\nShame is so intrinsic in a strong affection we must all experience Adam's reticence. I suppose the street that the lover travels is thenceforth divine, incapable of turnpike aims.\n\nThat you be with me annuls fear and I await Commencement with merry resignation. Smaller than David you clothe me with extreme Goliath.\n\nFriday I tasted life. It was a vast morsel. A circus passed the house \u2014 still I feel the red in my mind though the drums are out.\n\nThe book you mention, I have not met. Thank you for tenderness.\n\nThe lawn is full of south and the odors tangle, and I hear to-day for the first the river in the tree.\n\nYou mentioned spring's delaying \u2014 I blamed her for the opposite. I would eat evanescence slowly.\n\nVinnie is deeply afflicted in the death of her dappled cat, though I convince her it is immortal which assists her some. Mother resumes lettuce, involving my transgression \u2014 suggestive of yourself, however, which endears disgrace.\n\n'House' is being 'cleaned.' I prefer pestilence. That is more classic and less fell.\n\nYours was my first arbutus. It was a rosy boast.\n\nI will send you the first witch hazel.\n\nA woman died last week, young and in hope but a little while \u2014 at the end of our garden. I thought since of the power of Death, not upon affection, but its mortal signal. It is to us the Nile.\n\nYou refer to the unpermitted delight to be with those we love. I suppose that to be the license not granted of God.\n\nCount not that far that can be had,\n\nThough sunset lie between \u2014\n\nNor that adjacent, that beside,\n\nIs further than the sun.\n\nLove for your embodiment of it. \u2014\n\nEMILY\n\nGod bless you, dear Mrs. Holland! I read it in the paper.\n\nI'm so glad it's a little boy, since now the little sisters have some one to draw them on the sled \u2014 and if a grand old lady you should live to be, there's something sweet, they say, in a son's arm.\n\nI pray for the tenants of that holy chamber, the wrestler, and the wrestled for. I pray for distant father's heart, swollen, happy heart!\n\nSaviour keep them all!\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Autumn, 1859.]_\n\nDEAR HOLLANDS, \u2014 Belong to me! We have no fires yet, and the evenings grow cold. To-morrow, stoves are set. How many barefoot shiver I trust their Father knows who saw not fit to give them shoes.\n\nVinnie is sick to-night, which gives the world a russet tinge, usually so red. It is only a headache, but when the head aches next to you, it becomes important. When she is well, time leaps. When she is ill, he lags, or stops entirely.\n\nSisters are brittle things. God was penurious with me, which makes me shrewd with Him.\n\n_One_ is a dainty sum! One bird, one cage, one flight; one song in those far woods, as yet suspected by faith only!\n\nThis is September, and you were coming in September. Come! Our parting is too long. There has been frost enough. We must have summer now, and 'whole legions 'of daisies.\n\nThe gentian is a greedy flower, and overtakes us all. Indeed, this world is short, and I wish, until I tremble, to touch the ones I love before the hills are red \u2014 are gray \u2014 are white \u2014 are 'born again '! If we knew how deep the crocus lay, we never should let her go. Still, crocuses stud many mounds whose gardeners till in anguish some tiny, vanished bulb.\n\nWe saw you that Saturday afternoon, but heedlessly forgot to ask where you were going, so did not know, and could not write. Vinnie saw Minnie flying by, one afternoon at Palmer. She supposed you were all there on your way from the sea, and untied her fancy! To say that her fancy wheedled her is superfluous.\n\nWe talk of you together, then diverge on life, then hide in you again, as a safe fold. Don't leave us long, dear friends! You know we 're children still, and children fear the dark.\n\nAre you well at home? Do you work now? Has it altered much since I was there? Are the children women, and the women thinking it will soon be afternoon? We will help each other bear our unique burdens.\n\nIs Minnie with you now? Take her our love, if she is. Do her eyes grieve her now? Tell her she may have half ours.\n\nMother's favorite sister is sick, and mother will have to bid her good-night. It brings mists to us all; \u2014 the aunt whom Vinnie visits, with whom she spent, I fear, her last inland Christmas. Does God take care of those at sea? My aunt is such a timid woman!\n\nWill you write to us? I bring you all their loves \u2014 \u2014 _many._\n\nThey tire me.\n\nEMILIE.\n\nHow is your little Byron? Hope he gains his foot without losing his genius. Have heard it ably argued that the poet's genius lay in his foot \u2014 as the bee's prong and his song are concomitant. Are you stronger than these? To assault so minute a creature seems to me malign, unworthy of Nature \u2014 \u2014 but the frost is no respecter of persons.\n\nI should be glad to be with you, or to open your letter. Blossoms belong to the bee, if needs be by _habeas corpus._\n\nEMILY.\n\nProbably about 1861 came this brilliant, yet half pathetic, arraignment of the friends who had not written when Emily expected to hear. Who could resist such a plea?\n\n_Friday,_ DEAR FRIENDS, \u2014 I write to you. I receive no letter.\n\nI say 'they dignify my trust.' I do not disbelieve. I go again. _Cardinals_ wouldn't do it. Cockneys wouldn't do it, but I can't _stop_ to strut, in a world where bells toll. I hear through visitor in town, that 'Mrs. Holland is not strong.' The little peacock in me, tells me not to inquire again. Then I remember my tiny friend \u2014 how brief she is \u2014 how dear she is, and the peacock quite dies away. Now, you need not speak, for perhaps you are weary, and 'Herod 'requires all your thought, but if you are _well_ \u2014 let Annie draw me a little picture of an erect flower; if you are _ill,_ she can hang the flower a little on one side!\n\nThen, I shall understand, and you need not stop to write me a letter. Perhaps you laugh at me! Perhaps the whole United States are laughing at me too! _I_ can't stop for that! _My_ business is to love. I found a bird, this morning, down \u2014 down \u2014 on a little bush at the foot of the garden, and wherefore sing, I said, since nobody _hears?_\n\nOne sob in the throat, one flutter of bosom \u2014 _'My_ business is to _sing '_ \u2014 and away she rose! How do I know but cherubim, once, themselves, as patient, listened, and applauded her unnoticed hymn?\n\nEMILY.\n\nDEAR SISTER, \u2014 Father called to say that our steelyard was fraudulent, exceeding by an ounce the rates of honest men. He had been selling oats. I cannot stop smiling, though it is hours since, that even our steelyard will not tell the truth.\n\nBesides wiping the dishes for Margaret, I wash them now, while she becomes Mrs. Lawler, vicarious papa to four previous babes. Must she not be an adequate bride?\n\nI winced at her loss, because I was in the habit of her, and even a new rolling-pin has an embarrassing element, but to all except anguish, the mind soon adjusts.\n\nIt is also November. The noons are more laconic and the sundowns sterner, and Gibraltar lights make the village foreign. November always seemed to me the Norway of the year. \u2014 is still with the sister who put her child in an ice nest last Monday forenoon. The redoubtable God! I notice where Death has been introduced, he frequently calls, making it desirable to forestall his advances.\n\nIt is hard to be told by the papers that a friend is failing, not even know where the water lies. Incidentally, only, that he comes to land. Is there no voice for these? Where is Love to-day?\n\nTell the dear Doctor we mention him with a foreign accent, party already to transactions spacious and untold. Nor have we omitted to breathe shorter for our little sister. Sharper than dying is the death for the dying's sake.\n\nNews of these would comfort, when convenient or possible.\n\nEMILY.\n\nDEAR SISTER, \u2014\n\nIt was incredibly sweet that Austin had seen you, and had stood in the dear house which had lost its friend. To see one who had seen you was a strange assurance. It helped dispel the fear that you departed too, for notwithstanding the loved notes and the lovely gift, there lurked a dread that you had gone or would seek to go. 'Where the treasure is,' there is the prospective.\n\nAustin spoke very warmly and strongly of you, and we all felt firmer, and drew a vocal portrait of Kate at Vinnie's request, so vivid that we saw her....\n\nNot all die early, dying young, Maturity of fate Is consummated equally In ages or a night. A hoary boy I've known to drop Whole-statured, by the side Of junior of fourscore \u2014 't was act, Not period, that died.\n\nEMILY.\n\nWill some one lay this little flower on Mrs. Holland's pillow?\n\nEMILIE.\n\nIn handwriting similar to the letters about 1862-68, are several poems, enclosed to the Hollands, among them, \u2014\n\nAway from home are some and I,\n\nAn emigrant to be\n\nIn a metropolis of homes\n\nIs common possibility.\n\nThe habit of a foreign sky We, difficult, acquire, As children who remain in face, The more their feet retire.\n\nAnd \u2014\n\nThough my destiny be fustian\n\nHers be damask fine \u2014\n\nThough she wear a silver apron,\n\nI, a less divine,\n\nStill, my little gypsy being,\n\nI would far prefer,\n\nStill my little sunburnt bosom,\n\nTo her rosier.\n\nFor when frosts their punctual fingers\n\nOn her forehead lay,\n\nYou and I and Doctor Holland\n\nBloom eternally,\n\nRoses of a steadfast summer\n\nIn a steadfast land,\n\nWhere no autumn lifts her pencil,\n\nAnd no reapers stand.\n\nIn addition to these, many other poems were sent to the Hollands which have already been published; all of them, however, showing slight changes from copies which she retained.\n\n_[Autumn, 1876.]_\n\n_Saturday Eve._\n\nDEAR HOLLANDS, \u2014 Good-night! I can't stay any longer in a world of death. Austin is ill of fever. I buried my garden last week \u2014 our man, Dick, lost a little girl through the scarlet fever. I thought perhaps that _you_ were dead, and not knowing the sexton's address, interrogate the daisies. Ah! dainty \u2014 dainty Death! Ah! democratic Death! Grasping the proudest zinnia from my purple garden, \u2014 then deep to his bosom calling the serf's child!\n\nSay, is he everywhere? Where shall I hide my things? Who is alive? The woods are dead. Is Mrs. H. alive? Annie and Katie \u2014 are they below, or received to nowhere?\n\nI shall not tell how short time is, for I was told by lips which sealed as soon as it was said, and the open revere the shut. You were not here in summer. _Summer?_ My memory flutters \u2014 had I \u2014 was there a summer? You should have seen the fields go \u2014 gay little entomology! Swift little ornithology! Dancer, and floor, and cadence quite gathered away, and I, a phantom, to you a phantom, rehearse the story! An orator of feather unto an audience of fuzz, \u2014 and pantomimic plaudits. 'Quite as good as a play,' indeed! Tell Mrs. Holland she is mine.\n\nAsk her if _vice versa f_ Mine is but just the thief s request \u2014 'Remember me to-day.' Such are the bright chirographics of the 'Lamb's Book.' Goodnight! My ships are in! \u2014 My window overlooks the wharf! One yacht, and a man-of-war; two brigs and a schooner! 'Down with the topmast! Lay her a' hold, a' hold!'\n\nEMILIE.\n\nA letter from Mrs. Holland to Emily and her sister jointly, in 1877, called forth this unique protest.\n\nSISTER, \u2014 A mutual plum is not a plum. I was too respectful to take the pulp and do not like a stone.\n\nSend no union letters. The soul must go by Death alone, so, it must by life, if it is a soul.\n\nIf a committee \u2014 no matter.\n\nI saw the sunrise on the Alps since I saw you. Travel why to Nature, when she dwells with us? Those who lift their hats shall see her, as devout do God.\n\nI trust you are merry and sound. The chances are all against the dear, when we are not with them, though paws of principalities cannot affront if we are by.\n\nDr Vaill called here Monday on his way to your house to get the Doctor to preach for him. Shall search _The Republican_ for a brief of the sermon. To-day is very homely and awkward as the homely are who have not mental beauty.\n\nThen follows, \u2014\n\n'The sky is low, the clouds are mean,' printed at page 103 of the _Poems,_ First Series.\n\n_[Spring, 1878.]_\n\nI thought that 'Birnam Wood' had 'come to Dunsinane.' Where did you pick arbutus? In Broadway, I suppose. They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.... It is hard not to hear again that vital 'Sam is coming ' \u2014 though if grief is a test of a priceless life, he is compensated. He was not ambitious for redemption \u2014 that was why it is his. 'To him that hath, shall be given.' Were it not for the eyes, we would know of you oftener. Have they no remorse for their selfishness? 'This tabernacle 'is a blissful trial, but the bliss predominates.\n\nI suppose you will play in the water at Alexandria Bay, as the baby does at the tub in the drive.... Speak to us when your eyes can spare you, and 'keep us, at home, or by the way,' as the clergyman says, when he folds the church till another Sabbath.\n\nLovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[August, 1879.]_\n\nLOVED AND LITTLE SISTER, \u2014 Vinnie brought in a sweet pea to-day, which had a pod on the 'off' side. Startled by the omen, I hasten to you.\n\nAn unexpected impediment to my reply to your dear last, was a call from my Aunt Elizabeth \u2014 ' the only male relative on the female side,' and though many days since, its flavor of court-martial still sets my spirit tingling.\n\nWith what dismay I read of those columns of kindred in the Bible \u2014 the Jacobites and the Jebusites and the Hittites and the Jacqueminots!\n\nI am sure you are better, for no rheumatism in its senses would stay after the thermometer struck ninety!\n\nWe are revelling in a gorgeous drought.\n\nThe grass is painted brown, and how nature would look in other than the standard colors, we can all infer.... I bade \u2014 call on you, but Vinnie said you were 'the other side the globe,' yet Vinnie thinks Vermont is in Asia, so I don't intend to be disheartened by trifles.\n\nVinnie has a new pussy that catches a mouse an hour. We call her the 'minute hand.'...\n\nDr Holland's death, in October of 1881, brought grief to many loving hearts, but to the quiet Amherst household peculiar pain, voiced in the notes to follow.\n\nWe read the words but know them not. We are too frightened with sorrow. If that dear, tired one must sleep, could we not see him first?\n\nHeaven is but a little way to one who gave it, here. 'Inasmuch,' to him, how tenderly fulfilled!\n\nOur hearts have flown to you before \u2014 our breaking voices follow. How can we wait to take you all in our sheltering arms?\n\nCould there be new tenderness, it would be for you, but the heart is full \u2014 another throb would split it \u2014 nor would we dare to speak to those whom such a grief removes, but we have somewhere heard 'A little child shall lead them.'\n\nEMILY.\n\n_Thursday._\n\nAfter a while, dear, you will remember that there is a heaven \u2014 but you can't now. Jesus will excuse it. He will remember his shorn lamb.\n\nThe lost one was on such childlike terms with the Father in Heaven. He has passed from confiding to comprehending \u2014 perhaps but a step.\n\nThe _safety_ of a beloved lost is the first anguish. With you, that is peace.\n\nI shall never forget the Doctor's prayer, my first morning with you \u2014 so simple, so believing. _That_ God must be a friend \u2014 _that_ was a different God \u2014 and I almost felt warmer myself, in the midst of a tie so sunshiny.\n\nI am yearning to know if he knew he was fleeing \u2014 if he spoke to you. Dare I ask if he suffered? Some one will tell me a very little, when they have the strength.... Cling tight to the hearts that will not let you fall.\n\nEMILY.\n\nPanting to help the dear ones and yet not knowing how, lest any voice bereave them but that loved voice that will not come, if I can rest them, here is down \u2014 or rescue, here is power.\n\nOne who only said 'I am sorry 'helped me the most when father ceased \u2014 it was too soon for language.\n\nFearing to tell mother, some one disclosed it unknown to us. Weeping bitterly, we tried to console her. She only replied 'I loved him so.'\n\nHad he a tenderer eulogy?\n\nEMILY.\n\n... I know you will live for our sake, dear, you would not be willing to for your own. That is the duty which saves. While we are trying for others, power of life comes back, very faint at first, like the new bird, but by and by it has wings.\n\nHow sweetly you have comforted me \u2014 the toil to comfort you, I hoped never would come. A sorrow on your sunny face is too dark a miracle \u2014 but how sweet that he rose in the morning \u2014 accompanied by dawn. How lovely that he spoke with you, that memorial time! How gentle that he left the pang he had not time to feel! Bequest of darkness, yet of light, since unborne by him. 'Where thou goest, _we_ will go ' \u2014 how mutual, how intimate! No solitude receives him, but neighborhood and friend.\n\nRelieved forever of the loss of those that must have fled, but for his sweet haste. Knowing he could not spare _them,_ he hurried like a boy from that unhappened sorrow. Death has mislaid his sting \u2014 the grave forgot his victory. Because the flake fell not on him, we will accept the drift, and wade where he is lain.\n\nDo you remember the clover leaf? The little hand that plucked it will keep tight hold of mine.\n\nPlease give her love to Annie, and Kate, who also gave a father.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[To Mrs. Holland, on the marriage of her daughter Annie, December 7, 1881 ]_\n\nSWEET SISTER, \u2014 We were much relieved to know that the dear event had occurred without overwhelming any loved one, and perhaps it is sweeter and safer so. I feared much for the parting, to you, to whom parting has come so thickly in the last few days. I knew all would be beautiful, and rejoice it was. Few daughters have the immortality of a father for a bridal gift. Could there be one more costly?\n\nAs we never have ceased to think of you, we will more tenderly, now. Confide our happiness to Annie, in her happiness. We hope the unknown balm may ease the balm withdrawn.\n\nYou and Katie, the little sisters, lose her, yet obtain her, for each new width of love largens all the rest. Mother and Vinnie think and speak. Vinnie hopes to write. Would that mother could, but her poor hand is idle. Shall I return to you your last and sweetest words \u2014 'But I love you all '?\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Christmas, 1881.]_\n\nDare we wish the brave sister a sweet Christmas, who remembered us punctually in sorrow as in peace?\n\nThe broken heart is broadest. Had it come all the way in your little hand, it could not have reached us perfecter, though had it, we should have clutched the hand and forgot the rest.\n\nFearing the day had associations of anguish to you, I was just writing when your token came. Then, humbled with wonder at your self-forgetting, I delayed till now. Reminded again of gigantic Emily Bront\u00eb, of whom her Charlotte said 'Full of ruth for others, on herself she had no mercy.' The hearts that never lean, must fall. To moan is justified.\n\nTo thank you for remembering under the piercing circumstances were a profanation.\n\nGod bless the hearts that suppose they are beating and are not, and enfold in His infinite tenderness those that do not know they are beating and are.\n\nShall we wish a triumphant Christmas to the brother withdrawn? Certainly he possesses it.\n\nHow much of Source escapes with thee \u2014 How chief thy sessions be \u2014 For thou hast borne a universe Entirely away.\n\nWith wondering love,\n\nEMILY.\n\n'Whom seeing not, we 'clasp.\n\nEMILY.\n\nConcerning the little sister, not to assault, not to adjure, but to obtain those constancies which exalt friends, we followed her to St Augustine, since which the trail was lost, or says George Stearns of his alligator, 'there was no such aspect.'\n\nThe beautiful blossoms waned at last, the charm of all who knew them, resisting the effort of earth or air to persuade them to root, as the great florist says 'The flower that never will in other climate grow,'\n\nTo thank you for its fragrance would be impossible, but then its other blissful traits are more than can be numbered. And the beloved Christmas, too, for which I never thanked you. I hope the little heart is well, \u2014 _big_ would have been the width, \u2014 and the health solaced; any news of her as sweet as the first arbutus.\n\nEmily and Vinnie give the love greater every hour.\n**CHAPTER V**\n\n_To Mr. Samuel Bowles and Mrs. Bowles_\n\nAS Emily Dickinson approached middle life, and even before her thirtieth year, it seemed to become more and more impossible for her to mingle in general society; and a growing feeling of shyness, as early as 1862 or 1863, caused her to abstain, sometimes, from seeing the dearest friends who came to the house. In spite of her sympathy with sadness, and her deep apprehension of the tragic element in life, she was not only keenly humorous and witty, as already said, but, while made serious by the insistence of life's pathos, she was yet at heart as ecstatic as a bird. This combination of qualities made her companionship, when she vouchsafed it, peculiarly breezy and stimulating. Such a nature must inevitably know more pain than pleasure.\n\nPassionately devoted to her friends, her happiness in their love and trust was at times almost too intense to bear; and it will already have been seen how disproportionately great pain was caused by even comparatively slight separations. With her, pathos lay very near raillery and badinage, \u2014 sadness very near delight.\n\nWhether, in writing her poems, the joy of creating was sufficient, or whether a thought of future and wider recognition ever came, it is certain that during life her friends made her audience. She cared more for appreciation and approval from the few who were dear than for any applause from an impersonal public. She herself writes, 'My friends are my estate.'\n\nAll her letters show this rare loyalty of soul, those in the preceding chapter particularly, but none perhaps more strongly than those to Mr. and Mrs. Bowles. Beginning about 1858, the letters cover a period of twenty-six or twenty-seven years. Often a single short poem comprises the entire letter, \u2014 sometimes only four lines, and without title, date, or signature, but unmistakably pertinent to a special occasion or subject.\n\n_[Late August, 1858?]_\n\nAMHERST.\n\nDEAR MR BOWLES, \u2014 I got the little pamphlet. I think you sent it to me, though unfamiliar with your hand \u2014 I may mistake.\n\nThank you, if I am right. Thank you, if not, since here I find bright pretext to ask you how you are to-night, and for the health of four more, elder and minor Mary, Sallie and Sam, tenderly to inquire.\n\nI hope your cups are full.\n\nI hope your vintage is untouched. In such a porcelain life one likes to be _sure_ that all is well lest one stumble upon one's hopes in a pile of broken crockery.\n\nMy friends are my estate. Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them! They tell me those were poor early have different views of gold. I don't know how that is.\n\nGod is not so wary as we, else He would give us no friends, lest we forget Him! The charms of the heaven in the bush are superseded, I fear, by the heaven in the hand, occasionally.\n\nSummer stopped since you were here. Nobody noticed her \u2014 that is, no men and women. Doubtless, the fields are rent by petite anguish, and 'mourners go about 'the woods. But this is not for us. Business enough indeed, our stately resurrection! A special courtesy, I judge, from what the clergy say! To the 'natural man 'bumblebees would seem an improvement, and a spicing of birds, but far be it from me to impugn such majestic tastes!\n\nOur pastor says we are a 'worm.' How is that reconciled? 'Vain, sinful worm 'is possibly of another species.\n\nDo you think we shall 'see God '? Think of Abraham strolling with Him in genial promenade!\n\nThe men are mowing the second hay. The cocks are smaller than the first, and spicier. I would distil a cup, and bear to all my friends, drinking to her no more astir, by beck, or burn, or moor!\n\nGood-night, Mr. Bowles. This is what they say who come back in the morning; also the closing paragraph on repealed lips. Confidence in daybreak modifies dusk.\n\nBlessings for Mrs. Bowles, and kisses for the bairns' lips. We want to see you, Mr. Bowles, but spare you the rehearsal of 'familiar truths.'\n\nGood-night, EMILY.\n\n_[Winter, 1858?]_\n\n_Monday Eve._\n\nDEAR MRS BOWLES, \u2014 You send sweet messages. Remembrance is more sweet than robins in May orchards.\n\nI love to trust that round bright fires, some, braver than I, take my pilgrim name. How are papa, mamma, and the little people?...\n\nIt storms in Amherst five days \u2014 it snows, and then it rains, and then soft fogs like veils hang on all the houses, and then the days turn topaz, like a lady's pin.\n\nThank you for bright bouquet, and afterwards verbena. I made a plant of a little bough of yellow heliotrope which the bouquet bore me, and call it Mary Bowles. It is many days since the summer day when you came with Mr. Bowles, and before another summer day it will be many days. My garden is a little knoll with faces under it, and only the pines sing tunes, now the birds are absent. I cannot walk to the distant friends on nights piercing as these, so I put both hands on the window-pane, and try to think how birds fly, and imitate, and fail, like Mr. 'Rasselas.' I could make a balloon of a dandelion, but the fields are gone, and only 'Professor Lowe 'remains to weep with me. If I built my house I should like to call you. I talk of all these things with Carlo, and his eyes grow meaning, and his shaggy feet keep a slower pace. Are you safe to-night? I hope you may be glad. I ask God on my knee to send you much prosperity, few winter days, and long suns. I have a childish hope to gather all I love together and sit down beside and smile....\n\nWill you come to Amherst? The streets are very cold now, but we will make you warm. But if you never came, perhaps you could write a letter, saying how much you would like to, if it were 'God's will.' I give good-night, and daily love to you and Mr. Bowles. \u2014\n\nEMILIE.\n\nAMHERST.\n\nI should like to thank dear Mrs. Bowles for the little book, except my cheek is red with shame because I write so often. Even the 'lilies of the field 'have their dignities.\n\nWhy did you bind it in green and gold? The _immortal_ colors. I take it for an emblem. I never read before what Mr. Parker wrote.\n\nI heard that he was 'poison.' Then I like poison very well. Austin stayed from service yesterday afternoon, and I... found him reading my Christmas gift.... I wish the 'faith of the fathers 'didn't wear brogans, and carry blue umbrellas. I give you all 'New Year! 'I think you kept gay Christmas, from the friend's account, and can only sigh with one not present at 'John Gilpin,\" and when he next doth ride a race,' etc. You picked your berries from my holly. Grasping Mrs. Bowles!\n\nTo-day is very cold, yet have I much bouquet upon the window-pane of moss and fern. I call them saints' flowers, because they do not romp as other flowers do, but stand so still and white.\n\nThe snow is very tall,... which makes the trees so low that they tumble my hair, when I cross the bridge.\n\nI think there will be no spring this year, the flowers are gone so far. Let us have spring in our heart, and never mind the orchises!... Please have my love, mother's, and Vinnie's. Carlo sends a brown kiss, and pussy a gray and white one, to each of the children.\n\nPlease, now I write so often, make lamplighter of me, then I shall not have lived in vain.\n\nDear Mrs. Bowles, dear Mr. Bowles, dear Sally \u2014 Sam and Mamie, now all shut your eyes, while I do benediction!\n\nLovingly, EMILY.\n\n_[Written in 1861, on the birth of a son.]_\n\nDEAR MARY, \u2014 Can you leave your flower long enough just to look at mine?\n\nWhich is the prettiest? I shall tell you myself, some day. I used to come to comfort you, but now to tell you how glad I am, and how glad we all are.... You must not stay in New York any more \u2014 you must come back now, and bring the blanket to Massachusetts where we can all look. What a responsible shepherd! Four lambs in one flock! Shall you be glad to see us, or shall we seem old-fashioned, by the face in the crib?\n\nTell him I've got a pussy for him, with a spotted gown; and a dog with ringlets.\n\nWe have very cold days since you went away, and I think you hear the wind blow far as the Brevoort House, it comes from so far, and crawls so. Don't let it blow baby away. Will you call him Robert for me? He is the bravest man alive, but _his_ boy has no mamma. That makes us all weep, don't it?\n\nGood-night, Mary.\n\nEMILY.\n\nOne of the very few of Emily Dickinson's verses named by herself was sent Mrs. Bowles soon after the preceding letter.\n\nBABY.\n\nTeach him, when he makes the names,\n\nSuch an one to say\n\nOn his babbling, berry lips\n\nAs should sound to me \u2014\n\nWere my ear as near his nest\n\nAs my thought, to-day \u2014\n\nAs should sound \u2014 'forbid us not ' \u2014\n\nSome like 'Emily.'\n\n_[August, 1861.]_\n\nMARY, \u2014 I do not know of you, a long while. I remember you \u2014 several times. I wish I knew if you kept me? The doubt, like the mosquito, buzzes round my faith. We are all human, Mary, until we are divine, and to some of us, that is far off, and to some as near as the lady ringing at the door; perhaps _that's_ what alarms. I say I will go myself \u2014 I cross the river, and climb the fence \u2014 now I am at the gate, Mary \u2014 now I am in the hall \u2014 now I am looking your heart in the eye!\n\nDid it wait for me \u2014 did it go with the company? Cruel company, who have the stocks, and farms, and creeds \u2014 and _it_ has just its heart! I hope you are glad, Mary; no pebble in the brook to-day \u2014 no film on noon.\n\nI can think how you look; you can't think how I look; I've got more freckles, since you saw me, playing with the school-boys; then I pare the 'Juneating 'to make the pie, and get my fingers 'tanned.'\n\nSummer went very fast \u2014 she got as far as the woman from the hill, who brings the blueberry, and that is a long way. I shall have no winter this year, on account of the soldiers. Since I cannot weave blankets or boots, I thought it best to omit the season. Shall present a 'memorial 'to God when the maples turn. Can I rely on your 'name'?\n\nHow is your garden, Mary? Are the pinks true, and the sweet williams faithful? I've got a geranium like a sultana, and when the hummingbirds come down, geranium and I shut our eyes, and go far away.\n\nAsk 'Mamie 'if I shall catch her a butterfly with a vest like a Turk? I will, if she will build him a house in her 'morning-glory.'\n\nVinnie would send her love, but she put on a white frock, and went to meet to-morrow \u2014 a few minutes ago; mother would send her love, but she is in the 'eave spout,' sweeping up a leaf that blew in last November; I brought my own, myself, to you and Mr. Bowles.\n\nPlease remember me, because I remember you \u2014 always.\n\nThen follows the poem beginning 'My river runs to thee,' published in the First Series of the _Poems_ , page 54.\n\nDon't cry, dear Mary. Let us do that for you, because you are too tired now. We don't know how dark it is, but if you are at sea, perhaps when we say that we are there, you won't be as afraid.\n\nThe waves are very big, but every one that covers you, covers us, too.\n\nDear Mary, you can't see us, but we are close at your side. May we comfort you?\n\nLovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Autumn, 1861.]_\n\nFRIEND, SIR, \u2014 I did not see you. I am very sorry. Shall I keep the wine till you come again, or send it in by Dick? It is now behind the door in the library, also an unclaimed flower. I did not know you were going so soon. Oh! my tardy feet.\n\nWill you not come again?\n\nFriends are gems, infrequent. Potosi is a care, sir. I guard it reverently, for I could not afford to be poor now, after affluence. I hope the hearts in Springfield are not so heavy as they were. God bless the hearts in Springfield.\n\nI am happy you have a horse. I hope you will get stalwart, and come and see us many years.\n\nI have but two acquaintance, the 'quick and the dead ' \u2014 and would like more.\n\nI write you frequently, and am much ashamed. My voice is not quite loud enough to cross so many fields, which will, if you please, apologize for my pencil.\n\nWill you take my love to Mrs. Bowles, whom I remember every day?\n\nEMILIE.\n\nVinnie hallos from the world of night-caps, 'don't forget her love.'\n\n_[January, 1862.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Are you willing? I am so far from land. To offer you the cup, it might some Sabbath come _my_ turn. Of wine how solemnfull!\n\nDid you get the doubloons \u2014 did you vote upon 'Robert '? You said you would come in February. Only three weeks more to wait at the gate!\n\nWhile you are sick, we \u2014 are homesick. Do you look out to-night? The moon rides like a girl through a topaz town. I don't think we shall ever be merry again \u2014 you are ill so long. When did the dark happen?\n\nI skipped a page to-night, because I come so often, now, I might have tired you.\n\n_That_ page is fullest, though.\n\nVinnie sends her love. I think father and mother care a great deal for you, and hope you may be well. When you tire with pain, to know that eyes would cloud, in Amherst \u2014 might that comfort, _some?_\n\nEMILY.\n\nWe never forget Mary.\n\nDEAR MR BOWLES, \u2014 Thank you.\n\nFaith is a fine invention\n\nWhen gentlemen can see?\n\nBut microscopes are prudent In an emergency! (see Second Series, page 53)\n\nYou spoke of the 'East.' I have thought about it this winter.\n\nDon't you think you and I should be shrewder to take the mountain road?\n\nThat bareheaded life, under the grass, worries one like a wasp. The rose is for Mary.\n\nEMILY.\n\nThe zeros taught us phosphorus \u2014\n\nWe learned to like the fire\n\nBy playing glaciers when a boy, And tinder guessed by power\n\nOf opposite to balance odd,\n\nIf white, a red must be!\n\nParalysis, our primer dumb\n\nUnto vitality.\n\nI couldn't let Austin's note go, without a word.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_Sunday Night._\n\nDEAR MARY, \u2014 Could you leave 'Charlie' long enough? Have you time for _met_ I sent Mr. Bowles a little note, last Saturday morning, asking him to do an errand for me.\n\nI forgot he was going to Washington, or I shouldn't have troubled him, so late. Now, Mary, I fear he did not get it, and _you_ tried to do the errand for me \u2014 and it troubled you. Did it? Will you tell me? Just say with your pencil 'It didn't tire me, Emily,' and then I shall be sure, for with all your care, I would not have taxed you for the world.\n\nYou never refused me, Mary, you cherished me many times, but I thought it must seem so selfish to ask the favor of Mr. Bowles just as he went from home, only I forgot that. Tell me to-night just a word, Mary, with your own hand, so I shall know I harassed none \u2014 and I will be _so_ glad.\n\nAustin told us of Charlie \u2014 I send a rose for his small hands.\n\nPut it in, when he goes to sleep, and then he will dream of Emily, and when you bring him to Amherst we shall be 'old friends.' Don't love him so well, you know, as to forget us. We shall wish he wasn't _there,_ if you do, I'm afraid, sha'n't we?\n\nI'll remember you, if you like me to, while Mr. Bowles is gone, and that will stop the lonely, some, but I cannot agree to stop when he gets home from Washington.\n\nGood-night, Mary. You won't forget my little note, to-morrow, in the mail. It will be the first one you ever wrote me in your life, and yet, was I the little friend a long time? _Was_ I, Mary?\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[March, 1862.]_\n\nPerhaps you thought I didn't care \u2014 because I stayed out, yesterday. I _did_ care, Mr. Bowles. I pray for your sweet health to Allah every morning, but something troubled me, and I knew you needed light and air, so I didn't come. Nor have I the conceit that you _noticed_ me \u2014 but I couldn't bear that you, or Mary, so gentle to me, should think me forgetful.\n\nIt's little at the most, we can do for ours, and we must do _that_ flying, or our things are flown!\n\nDear friend, I wish you were well.\n\nIt grieves me till I cannot speak, that you are suffering. Won't you come back? Can't I bring you something? My little balm might be o'erlooked by wiser eyes, you know. Have you tried the breeze that swings the sign, or the hoof of the dandelion? _J_ own 'em \u2014 wait for mine! This is all I have to say. Kinsmen need say nothing, but 'Swiveller 'may be sure of the 'MARCHIONESS.'\n\nLove for Mary.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 ... Austin is disappointed \u2014 he expected to see you to-day. He is sure you won't go to sea without first speaking to him. I presume if Emily and Vinnie knew of his writing, they would entreat him to ask you not.\n\nAustin is chilled by Frazer's murder. (A son of President Stearns of Amherst College, who was killed during the war, 13th March, 1862.) He says his brain keeps saying over 4 Frazer is killed ' \u2014 'Frazer is killed,' just as father told it to him. Two or three words of lead, that dropped so deep they keep weighing. Tell Austin how to get over them!\n\nHe is very sorry you are not better. He cares for you when at the office, and afterwards, too, at home; and sometimes wakes at night, with a worry for you he didn't finish quite by day. He would not like it that I betrayed him, so you'll never tell....\n\nMary sent beautiful flowers. Did she tell you?\n\n_[Spring, 1862.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The hearts in Amherst ache tonight \u2014 you could not know how hard. They thought they could not wait, last night, until the engine sang a pleasant tune that time, because that you were coming. The flowers waited, in the vase, and love got peevish, watching. A railroad person rang, to bring an evening paper \u2014 Vinnie tipped pussy over, in haste to let you in, and I, for joy and dignity, held tight in my chair. My hope put out a petal.\n\nYou would come, to-day, \u2014 but... we don't believe it, now; 'Mr. Bowles not coming! 'Wouldn't you, to-morrow, and this but be a bad dream, gone by next morning?\n\n_Please_ do not take our _spring_ away, since you blot summer out! We cannot count our tears for this, because they drop so fast....\n\nDear friend, we meant to make _you_ brave, but moaned before we thought.... If you'll be sure and get well, we'll try to bear it. If we could only care the less, it would be so much easier. Your letter troubled my throat. It gave that little scalding we could not know the reason for till we grew far up.\n\nI must do my good-night in crayon I meant to in red.\n\nLove for Mary.\n\nEMILY.\n\nAfter Mr. Bowles had sailed for Europe, Emily sent this quaintly consoling note to Springfield.\n\n_[Early Summer, 1862.]_\n\nDEAR MARY, \u2014 When the best is gone, I know that other things are not of consequence. The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care.\n\nYou wonder why I write so. Because I cannot help. I like to have you know some care \u2014 so when your life gets faint for its other life, you can lean on us. We won't break, Mary. We look very small, but the reed can carry weight.\n\nNot to see what we love is very terrible, and talking doesn't ease it, and nothing does but just itself. The eyes and hair we chose are all there are \u2014 to us. Isn't it so, Mary?\n\nI often wonder how the love of Christ is done when that below holds so.\n\nI hope the little 'Robert 'coos away the pain. Perhaps your flowers help, some....\n\nThe frogs sing sweet to-day \u2014 they have such pretty, lazy times \u2014 how nice to be a frog!...\n\nMother sends her love to you \u2014 she has a sprained foot, and can go but little in the house, and not abroad at all.\n\nDon't dishearten, Mary, we 'll keep thinking of you. Kisses for all.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[To Mr. Bowles, June, 1862.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 You go away \u2014 and where you go we cannot come \u2014 but then the months have names \u2014 and each one comes but once a year \u2014 and though it seems they never could, they sometimes do, go by.\n\nWe hope you are more well than when you lived in America, and that those foreign people are kind, and true, to you. We hope you recollect each life you left behind, even ours, the least.\n\nWe wish we knew how Amherst looked, in your memory. Smaller than it did, maybe, and yet things swell, by leaving, if big in themselves.\n\nWe hope you will not alter, but be the same we grieved for when the _China_ sailed.\n\nIf you should like to hear the news, we did not die here \u2014 we did not change. We have the guests we did, except yourself \u2014 and the roses hang on the same stems as before you went. Vinnie trains the honeysuckle, and the robins steal the string for nests \u2014 quite, quite as they used to.\n\nI have the errand from my heart \u2014 I might forget to tell it. Would you please to come home? The long life's years are scant, and fly away, the Bible says, like a told story \u2014 and sparing is a solemn thing, somehow, it seems to me \u2014 and I grope fast, with my fingers, for all out of my sight I own, to get it nearer.\n\nI had one letter from Mary. I think she tries to be patient \u2014 but you wouldn't want her to succeed, would you, Mr. Bowles?\n\nIt's fragrant news, to know they pine, when we are out of sight.\n\nIt is 'most Commencement. The little cousin from Boston has come, and the hearts in Pelham have an added thrill. We shall miss you, most, dear friend, who annually smiled with us, at the gravities. I question if even Dr Vaill have his wonted applause.\n\nShould anybody, where you go, talk of Mrs. Browning, you must hear for us, and if you touch her grave, put one hand on the head, for me \u2014 her unmentioned mourner.\n\nFather and mother, and Vinnie and Carlo, send their love to you, and warm wish for your health \u2014 and I am taking lessons in prayer, so to coax God to keep you safe. Good-night, dear friend. You sleep so far, how can I know you hear?\n\nEMILY.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I cannot see you. You will not less believe me. That you return to us alive is better than a summer, and more to hear your voice below than news of any bird.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[August, 1862.]_\n\nDEAR MR BOWLES, \u2014 Vinnie is trading with a tin peddler \u2014 buying water-pots for me to sprinkle geraniums with when you get home next winter, and she has gone to the war.\n\nSummer isn't so long as it was, when we stood looking at it before you went away; and when I finish August, we'll hop the autumn very soon, and then it will be yourself.\n\nI don't know how many will be glad to see you, \u2014 because I never saw your whole friends, but I have heard that in large cities noted persons chose you \u2014 though how glad those I know will be, is easier told.\n\nI tell you, Mr. Bowles, it is a suffering to have a sea \u2014 no care how blue \u2014 between your soul and you.\n\nThe hills you used to love when you were in Northampton, miss their old lover, could they speak; and the puzzled look deepens in Carlo's forehead as the days go by and you never come.\n\nI've learned to read the steamer place in newspapers now. It's 'most like shaking hands with you, or more like your ringing at the door.\n\nWe reckon your coming by the fruit. When the grape gets by, and the pippin and the chestnut \u2014 when the days are a little short by the clock, and a little long by the want \u2014 when the sky has new red gowns, and a purple bonnet \u2014 then we say you will come. I am glad that kind of time goes by.\n\nIt is easier to look behind at a pain, than to see it coming.\n\nA soldier called, a morning ago, and asked for a nosegay to take to battle. I suppose he thought we kept an aquarium.\n\nHow sweet it must be to one to come home, whose home is in so many houses, and every heart a 'best room.' I mean you, Mr. Bowles.... Have not the clovers names to the bees?\n\nEMILY.\n\nBefore he comes\n\nWe weigh the time,\n\n'T is heavy, and 't is light\n\nWhen he departs\n\nAn emptiness\n\nIs the superior freight.\n\nEMILY.\n\nWhile asters On the hill Their everlasting fashions set, And covenant gentians frill!\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Late Autumn, 1862.]_\n\nSo glad we are, a stranger'd deem\n\n'T was sorry that we were;\n\nFor where the holiday should be\n\nThere publishes a tear;\n\nNor how ourselves be justified,\n\nSince grief and joy are done\n\nSo similar, an optizan\n\nCould not decide between.\n\n_[Early Winter, 1862.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Had we the art like you, to endow so many, by just recovering our health, 'twould give us tender pride, nor could we keep the news, but carry it to you, who seem to us to own it most.\n\nSo few that live have life, it seems of quick importance not one of those escape by death. And since you gave us fear, congratulate us for ourselves \u2014 you give us safer peace.\n\nHow extraordinary that life's large population contain so few of power to us \u2014 and those a vivid species who leave no mode, like Tyrian dye.\n\nRemembering these minorities, permit our gratitude for you. We ask that you be cautious, for many sakes, excelling ours. To recapitulate the stars were useless as supreme. Yourself is yours, dear friend, but ceded, is it not, to here and there a minor life? Do not defraud these, for gold may be bought, and purple may be bought, but the sale of the spirit never did occur.\n\nDo not yet work. No public so exorbitant of any as its friend, and we can wait your health. Besides, there is an idleness more tonic than toil.\n\nThe loss of sickness \u2014 was it loss?\n\nOr that ethereal gain\n\nYou earned by measuring the grave,\n\nThen measuring the sun.\n\nBe sure, dear friend, for want you have estates of lives.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[With Flowers.]_\n\nIf she had been the mistletoe, And I had been the rose, How gay upon your table My velvet life to close! Since I am of the Druid, And she is of the dew, I'll deck tradition's buttonhole, And send the rose to you.\n\nE.\n\nDEAR MR BOWLES, \u2014 I can't thank you any more. You are thoughtful so many times you grieve me always j _now_ the old words are numb, and there aren't any new ones.\n\nBrooks are useless in freshet time. When you come to Amherst \u2014 please God it were to-day \u2014 I will tell you about the picture \u2014 if I _can,_ I will.\n\n_Speech_ is a prank of Parliament,\n\n_Tears_ a trick of the nerve, \u2014\n\nBut the heart with the heaviest freight on\n\nDoesn't always swerve.\n\nEMILY.\n\nPerhaps you think me stooping!\n\nI'm not ashamed of that!\n\nChrist stooped until he touched the grave!\n\nDo those at sacraftient\n\nCommemorate dishonor \u2014\n\nOr love, annealed of love,\n\nUntil it bend as low as death\n\nRe-royalized above?\n\nThe juggler's hat her country is,\n\nThe mountain gorse the bee's.\n\nI stole them from a bee,\n\nBecause \u2014 thee! Sweet plea \u2014 He pardoned me!\n\nEMILY.\n\nBesides the verses given here, many others were sent to Mr. and Mrs. Bowles, as to the Hollands, which, having already been published in one or the other volume of the _Poems,_ will not be reprinted.\n\n_[Summer, 1863.]_\n\nDEAR FRIENDS, \u2014 I am sorry you came, because you went away.\n\nHereafter, I will pick no rose, lest it fade or prick me.\n\nI would like to have you dwell here.\n\nThough it is almost nine o'clock, the skies are gay and yellow, and there's a purple craft or so, in which a friend could sail. To-night looks like 'Jerusalem'!... I hope we may all behave so as to reach Jerusalem.\n\nHow are your hearts to-day? Ours are pretty well. I hope your tour was bright, and gladdened Mrs. Bowles. Perhaps the retrospect will call you back some morning.\n\nYou shall find us all at the gate if you come in a hundred years, just as we stood that day. If it become of 'jasper' previously, you will not object, so that we lean there still, looking after you.\n\nI rode with Austin this morning. He showed me mountains that touched the sky, and brooks that sang like bobolinks. Was he not very kind? I will give them to you, for they are mine, and 'all things are mine,' excepting 'Cephas and Apollos,' for whom I have no taste. Vinnie's love brims mine.\n\nTake\n\nEMILIE.\n\nDEAR MRS BOWLES, \u2014 Since I have no sweet flower to send you, I enclose my heart. A little one, sunburnt, half broken sometimes, yet close as the spaniel to its friends. Your flowers come from heaven, to which, if I should ever go, I will pluck you palms.\n\nMy words are far away when I attempt to thank you, so take the silver tear instead, from my full eye.\n\nYou have often remembered me.\n\nI have little dominion. Are there not wiser than I, who, with curious treasure, could requite your gift?\n\nAngels fill the hand that loaded EMILY'S.\n\nNature and God, I neither knew, Yet both, so well knew me They startled, like executors Of an identity.\n\nYet neither told, that I could learn; My secret as secure As Herschel's private interest, Or Mercury's affair.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 You remember the little 'meeting 'we held for you last spring? We met again, Saturday.\n\n'Twas May when we 'adjourned,' but then adjourns are all. The meetings were alike, Mr. Bowles.\n\nThe topic did not tire us, so we chose no new. We voted to remember you so long as both should live, including immortality; to count you as ourselves, except sometimes more tenderly, as now, when you are ill, and we, the haler of the two \u2014 and so I bring the bond we sign so many times, for you to read when chaos comes, or treason, or decay, still witnessing for morning.... We hope our joy to see you gave of its own degree to you. We pray for your new health, the prayer that goes not down when they shut the church. We offer you our cups \u2014 stintless, as to the bee, \u2014 the lily, her new liquors.\n\nWould you like summer? Taste of ours.\n\nSpices? Buy here!\n\nIll! We have berries, for the parching!\n\nWeary! Furloughs of down!\n\nPerplexed! Estates of violet trouble ne'er looked on!\n\nCaptive! We bring reprieve of roses t Fainting! Flasks of air!\n\nEven for Death, a fairy medicine.\n\nBut, which is it, sir? \u2014 EMILY.\n\nI'll send the feather from my hat!\n\n. Who knows but at the sight of _that_ My sovereign will relent? As trinket, worn by faded child, Confronting eyes long comforted Blisters the adamant!\n\nEMILY.\n\nHer breast is fit for pearls,\n\nBut I was not a diver.\n\nHer brow is fit for thrones,\n\nBut I had not a crest.\n\nHer heart is fit for rest \u2014\n\nI, a sparrow, build there\n\nSweet of twigs and twine,\n\nMy perennial nest.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 How hard to thank you \u2014 but the large heart requites itself. Please to need me. I wanted to ask you to receive Mr. Browning from me, but you denied my Bront\u00eb \u2014 so I did not dare.\n\nIs it too late now? I should like so much to remind you how kind you had been to me.\n\nYou could choose \u2014 as you did before \u2014 if it would not be obnoxious \u2014 except where you 'measured by your heart,' you should measure this time by mine. I wonder which would be biggest!\n\nAustin told, Saturday morning, that you were not so well. 'T was sundown, all day, Saturday \u2014 and Sunday such a long bridge no news of you could cross!\n\nTeach us to miss you less because the fear to miss you more haunts us all the time. We didn't care so much, once. I wish it was then, now, but you kept tightening, so it can't be stirred to-day. You didn't mean to be worse, did you? Wasn't it a mistake?\n\nWon't you decide soon to be the strong man we first knew? 'T would lighten things so much \u2014 and yet that man was not so dear \u2014 I guess you'd better not.\n\nWe pray for you, every night. A homely shrine our knee, but Madonna looks at the heart first Dear friend \u2014 don't discourage!\n\nAffectionately,\n\nEMILY.\n\nNo wilderness can be\n\nWhere _this_ attendeth thee \u2014\n\nNo desert noon,\n\nNo fear of frost to come\n\nHaunt the perennial bloom, But certain June!\n\nEMILY.\n\nThe following lines, sent with flowers, have almost as quaint and 'seventeenth century' a flavor as the now famous quatrain beginning, \u2014\n\n'A death-blow is a life-blow to some.'\n\nIf recollecting were forgetting\n\nThen I remember not.\n\nAnd if forgetting, recollecting,\n\nHow near I had forgot!\n\nAnd if to miss were merry,\n\nAnd if to mourn were gay,\n\nHow very blithe the fingers\n\nThat gathered this, to-day!\n\nEMILIE.\n\nOther verses, sent at different times, were written in the same general hand, \u2014 that of the early middle period, from about 1863 to 1870; among them: \u2014\n\n'They have not chosen me,' he said,\n\n'But I have chosen them.'\n\nBrave, broken-hearted statement\n\nUttered in Bethlehem!\n\nI could not have told it,\n\nBut since Jesus dared,\n\nSovereign! know a daisy\n\nThy dishonor shared.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_Saturday._\n\nMother never asked a favor of Mr. Bowles before \u2014 that he accept from her the little barrel of apples.\n\n'Sweet apples,' she exhorts me, with an occasional Baldwin for Mary and the squirrels.\n\nEMILY.\n\nJust once \u2014 oh! least request!\n\nCould adamant refuse\n\nSo small a grace,\n\nSo scanty put,\n\nSuch agonizing terms?\n\nWould not a God of flint\n\nBe conscious of a sigh,\n\nAs down his heaven dropt remote,\n\n'Just once, sweet Deity?'\n\nA spray of white pine was enclosed with this note: \u2014\n\nA feather from the whippoorwill\n\nThat everlasting sings!\n\nWhose galleries are sunrise,\n\nWhose opera the springs,\n\nWhose emerald nest the ages spin\n\nOf mellow, murmuring thread,\n\nWhose beryl egg, what school boys-hunt\n\nIn 'recess 'overhead!\n\nEMILY.\n\nWe part with the river at the flood through a timid custom, though with the same waters we have often played.\n\nEMILY.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Vinnie accidentally mentions that you hesitated between the _Theophilus_ and the _Junius._\n\nWould you confer so sweet a favor as to accept that too, when you come again?\n\nI went to the room as soon as you left, to confirm your presence, recalling the Psalmist's sonnet to God beginning\n\nI have no life but this \u2014\n\nTo lead it here,\n\nNor any death but lest\n\nDispelled from there.\n\nNor tie to earths to come,\n\nNor action new,\n\nExcept through this extent \u2014\n\nThe love of you.\n\nIt is strange that the most intangible thing is the most adhesive.\n\nYour 'rascal.'\n\nI washed the adjective.\n\nI should think you would have few letters, for your own are so noble that they make men afraid. And sweet as your approbation is, it is had in fear, lest your depth convict us.\n\nYou compel us each to remember that when water ceases to rise, it has commenced falling. That is the law of flood.\n\nThe last day that I saw you was the newest and oldest of my life.\n\nResurrection can come but once, first, to the same house. Thank you for leading us by it.\n\nCome always, dear friend, but refrain from going. You spoke of not liking to be forgotten. Could you, though you would?\n\nTreason never knew you.\n\nEMILY.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 You have the most triumphant face out of Paradise, probably because you are there constantly, instead of ultimately.\n\nOurselves we do inter with sweet derision the channel of the dust; who once achieves, invalidates the balm of that religion, that doubts as fervently as it believes.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_Wednesday._\n\nDear Mr. Bowles's note, of itself a blossom, came only to-night.\n\nI am glad it lingered, for each was all the heart could hold.\n\nEMILY.\n\nOf your exquisite act there can be no acknowledgment but the ignominy that grace gives.\n\nEMILY.\n\nCould mortal lip divine The undeveloped freight Of a delivered syllable, 'T would crumble with the weight!\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 It was so delicious to see you \u2014 a peach before the time \u2014 it makes all seasons possible, and zones a caprice.\n\nWe, who arraign the _Arabian Nights_ for their understatement, escape the stale sagacity of supposing them sham.\n\nWe miss your vivid face, and the besetting accents you bring from your Numidian haunts.\n\nYour coming welds anew that strange trinket of life which each of us wear and none of us own; and the phosphorescence of yours startles us for its permanence.\n\nPlease rest the life so many own \u2014 for gems abscond.\n\nIn your own beautiful words \u2014 for the voice is the palace of all of us, \u2014\n\n'Near, but remote.'\n\nEMILY.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The paper wanders so I cannot write my name on it, so I give you father's portrait instead.\n\nAs summer into autumn slips\n\nAnd yet we sooner say\n\n'The summer 'than 'the autumn,' lest\n\nWe turn the sun away,\n\nAnd almost count it an affront\n\nThe presence to concede\n\nOf one however lovely, not\n\nThe one that we have loved, \u2014\n\nSo we evade the charge of years,\n\nOne, one attempting shy\n\nThe circumvention of the shaft\n\nOf life's declivity.\n\nEMILY.\n\nIf we die, will you come for us, as you do for father?\n\n'Not born,' yourself 'to die,' you must reverse us all.\n\nLast to adhere\n\nWhen summers swerve away \u2014\n\nElegy of\n\nIntegrity.\n\nTo remember our own Mr. Bowles is all we can do.\n\nWith grief it is done, so warmly and long, it can never be new.\n\nEMILY.\n\nIn January of 1878, Mr. Bowles died, leaving a sense of irreparable loss, not only to his friends, but to his great constituency through _The Republican_ , into whose success he had woven the very tissue of his own magnetic personality.\n\n_[January, 1878.]_\n\nI hasten to you, Mary, because no moment must be lost when a heart is breaking, for though it broke 50 long, each time is newer than the last, if it broke truly. To be willing that I should speak to you was so generous, dear.\n\nSorrow almost resents love, it is so inflamed.\n\nI am glad if the broken words helped you. I bad not hoped so much, I felt so faint in uttering them, thinking of your great pain. Love makes us 'heavenly 'without our trying in the least. 'T is easier than a Saviour \u2014 it does not stay on high and call us to its distance; its low 'Come unto me 'begins in every place. It makes but one mistake, it tells us it is 'rest ' \u2014 perhaps its toil is rest, but what we have not known we shall know again, that divine 'again 'for which we are all breathless.\n\nI am glad you 'work.' Work is a bleak redeemer, but it does redeem; it tires the flesh so that can't tease the spirit.\n\nDear 'Mr. Sam' is very near, these midwinter days. When purples come on Pelham, in the afternoon, we say 'Mr. Bowles's colors.' I spoke to him once of his Gem chapter, and the beautiful eyes rose till they were out of reach of mine, in some hallowed fathom.\n\nNot that he goes \u2014 we love him more who led us while he stayed. Beyond earth's trafficking frontier, for what he moved, he made.\n\nMother is timid and feeble, but we keep her with us. She thanks you for remembering her, and never forgets you.... Your sweet 'and left me all alone,' consecrates your lips.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Spring, 1878.]_\n\nHad you never spoken to any, dear, they would not upbraid you, but think of you more softly, as one who had suffered too much to speak. To forget you would be impossible, had we never seen you; for you were his for whom we moan while consciousness remains. As he was himself Eden, he is with Eden, for we cannot become what we were not.\n\nI felt it sweet that you needed me \u2014 though but a simple shelter I will always last. I hope your boys and girls assist his dreadful absence, for sorrow does not stand so still on their flying hearts.\n\nHow fondly we hope they look like him \u2014 that his beautiful face may be abroad.\n\nWas not his countenance on earth graphic as a spirit's? The time will be long till you see him, dear, but it will be short, for have we not each our heart to dress \u2014 heavenly as his?\n\nHe is without doubt with my father. Thank you for thinking of him, and the sweet, last respect you so faithfully paid him.\n\nMother is growing better, though she cannot stand, and has not power to raise her head for a glass of water. She thanks you for being sorry, and speaks of you with love.... Your timid 'for his sake,' recalls that sheltering passage, 'for his sake who loved us, and gave himself to die for us.'\n\nEMILY.\n\nHow lovely to remember! How tenderly they told of you! Sweet toil for smitten hands to console the smitten!\n\nLabors as endeared may engross our lost. Buds of other days quivered in remembrance. Hearts of other days lent their solemn charm.\n\nLife of flowers Iain in flowers \u2014 what a home of dew! And the bough of ivy; was it as you said? Shall I plant it softly?\n\nThere were little feet, white as alabaster.\n\nDare I chill them with the soil?\n\nNature is our eldest mother, she will do no harm.\n\nLet the phantom love that enrolls the sparrow shield you softer than a child.\n\n_[April, 1880.]_\n\nDEAR MARY, \u2014 The last April that father lived, lived I mean below, there were several snow-storms, and the birds were so frightened and cold, they sat by the kitchen door. Father went to the barn in his slippers and came back with a breakfast of grain for each, and hid himself while he scattered it, lest it embarrass them. Ignorant of the name or fate of their benefactor, their descendants are singing this afternoon.\n\nAs I glanced at your lovely gift, his April returned. I am powerless toward your tenderness.\n\nThanks of other days seem abject and dim, yet antiquest altars are the fragrantest. The past has been very near this week, but not so near as the future \u2014 both of them pleading, the latter priceless.\n\nDavid's grieved decision haunted me when a little girl. I hope he has found Absalom.\n\nImmortality as a guest is sacred, but when it becomes as with you and with us, a member of the family, the tie is more vivid....\n\nIf affection can reinforce, you, dear, shall not fall.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Probably the famous 'Yellow Day,' September 6, 1881.]_\n\n_Tuesday._\n\nDEAR MARY, \u2014 I give you only a word this mysterious morning in which we must light the lamps to see each other's faces, thanking you for the trust too confiding for speech.\n\nYou spoke of enclosing the face of your child. As it was not there, forgive me if I tell you, lest even the copy of sweetness abscond; and may I trust you received the flower the mail promised to take you, my foot being incompetent?\n\nThe timid mistake about being 'forgotten,' shall I caress or reprove? Mr. Samuel's 'sparrow 'does not 'fall 'without the fervent 'notice.'\n\n'Would you see us, would Vinnie? 'Oh, my doubting Mary! Were you and your brave son in my father's house, it would require more prowess than mine to resist seeing you.\n\nShall I still hope for the picture? And please address to my full name, as the little note was detained and opened, the name being so frequent in town, though not an Emily but myself.\n\nVinnie says 'give her my love, and tell her I would delight to see her; 'and mother combines.\n\nThere should be no tear on your cheek, dear, had my hand the access to brush it away.\n\nEMILY.\n\nDEAR MARY, \u2014 To have been the mother of the beautiful face, is of itself fame, and the look of Arabia in the eyes is like Mr. Samuel. 'Mr. Samuel' is his memorial name. 'Speak, that we may see thee,' and Gabriel no more ideal than his swift eclipse. Thank you for the beauty, which I reluctantly return, and feel like committing a 'startling fraud' in that sweet direction. If her heart is as magical as her face, she will wreck many a spirit, but the sea is ordained.\n\nAustin looked at her long and earnestly.\n\n'Yes, it is Sam's child.' His Cashmere confederate. It is best, dear, you have so much to do. Action is redemption.\n\n'And again a little while and ye shall not see me,' Jesus confesses is temporary.\n\nThank you indeed.\n\nEMILY.\n**VOLUME II**\n\n**CHAPTER VI**\n\n_To the Misses \u2014_\n\nAMONG the most natural and spontaneous of Emily Dickinson's letters are these to her cousins. They are, perhaps, more than usually full of her real self, or one unmistakable phase of that elusive individuality. Many, indeed, are so completely personal that they are of necessity omitted, and the final letter has been reserved for the closing chapter.\n\n_[January, 1859.]_\n\nSince it snows this morning, dear L \u2014 , too fast for interruption, put your brown curls in a basket, and come and sit with me.\n\nI am sewing for Vinnie, and Vinnie is flying through the flakes to buy herself a little hood. It's quite a fairy morning, and I often lay down my needle, and 'build a castle in the air' which seriously impedes the sewing project. What if I pause a little longer, and write a note to you! Who will be the wiser? I have known little of you, since the October morning when our families went out driving, and you and I in the dining-room decided to be distinguished. It's a great thing to be 'great,'\n\nL \u2014 , and you and I might tug for a life, and never accomplish it, but no one can stop our looking on, and you know some cannot sing, but the orchard is full of birds, and we all can listen. What if we learn, ourselves, some day! Who indeed knows?\n\n\u2014 said you had many little cares; I hope they do not fatigue you. I would not like to think of L \u2014 as weary, now and then. Sometimes I get tired, and I would rather none I love would understand the word....\n\nDo you still attend Fanny Kemble? 'Aaron Burr' and father think her an 'animal,' but I fear zoology has few such instances. I have heard many notedly _bad_ readers, and a fine one would be almost a fairy surprise. When will you come again, L \u2014 ? For you remember, dear, you are one of the ones from whom I do not run away! I keep an ottoman in my heart exclusively for you. My love for your father and F \u2014 .\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[March, 1859.]_\n\nThe little 'apple of my eye,' is not dearer than L \u2014 ; she knows I remember her, \u2014 why waste an instant in defence of an absurdity? My birds fly far off, nobody knows where they go to, but you see I know they are coming back, and other people don't, that makes the difference.\n\nI've had a curious winter, very swift, sometimes sober, for I haven't felt well, much, and March amazes me! I didn't think of it, that's all! Your 'hay' don't look so dim as it did at one time. I hayed a little for the horse two Sundays ago, and mother thought it was summer, and set one plant outdoors which she brought from the deluge, but it snowed since, and we have fine sleighing, now, on _one_ side of the road, and wheeling on the other, a kind of variegated turnpike quite picturesque to see!\n\nYou are to have Vinnie, it seems, and I to tear my hair, or engage in any other vocation that seems fitted to me. Well, the earth is round, so if Vinnie rolls your side sometimes, 't isn't strange; I wish I were there, too, but the geraniums felt so I couldn't think of leaving them, and one minute carnation pink cried, till I shut her up \u2014 see box!\n\nNow, my love, robins, for both of you, and when you and Vinnie sing at sunrise on the apple boughs, just cast your eye to my twig.\n\nPOOR PLOVER.\n\n_[Early Summer, 1859.]_\n\nDEAR L \u2014 , \u2014 You did not acknowledge my vegetable; perhaps you are not familiar with it. I was reared in the garden, you know. It was to be eaten with mustard! Bush eighty feet high, just under chamber window \u2014 much used at this season when other vegetables are gone. You should snuff the hay if you were here to-day, infantile as yet, homely, as cubs are prone to be, but giving brawny promise of hay-cocks by and by. 'Methinks I see you,' as school-girls say, perched upon a cock with the 'latest work,' and confused visions of bumblebees tugging at your hat. Not so far off, cousin, as it used to be, that vision and the hat. It makes me feel so hurried, I run and brush my hair so to be all ready.\n\nI enjoy much with a precious fly, during sister's absence, not one of your blue monsters, but a timid creature, that hops from pane to pane of her white house, so very cheerfully, and hums and thrums, a sort of speck piano. Tell Vinnie I'll kill him the day she comes, for I sha'n't need him any more, and she don't mind flies!\n\nTell F \u2014 and papa to come with the sweetwilliams.\n\nTell Vinnie I counted three peony noses, red as Sammie Matthews's, just out of the ground, and get her to make the accompanying face. 'By-Bye.'\n\nEMILY.\n\nMiss Lavinia Dickinson was visiting her cousins when their mother died, and Emily's letter to her sister at that time seems more appropriate here than in any other connection: \u2014\n\n_[April, 1860.]_\n\nVINNIE, \u2014 I can't believe it, when your letters come, saying what Aunt L \u2014 said 'just before she died.' Blessed Aunt L \u2014 now; all the world goes out, and I see nothing but her room, and angels bearing her into those great countries in the blue sky of which we don't know anything.\n\nThen I sob and cry till I can hardly see my way 'round the house again; and then sit still and wonder if she sees us now, if she sees' _me,_ who said that she 'loved Emily.' Oh! Vinnie, it is dark and strange to think of summer afterward! How she loved the summer! The birds keep singing just the same. Oh! The thoughtless birds!\n\nPoor little L \u2014 ! Poor F \u2014 ! You must comfort them!\n\nIf you were with me, Vinnie, we could talk about her together.\n\nAnd I thought she would live! I wanted her to live so, I thought she could not die! To think how still she lay while I was making the little loaf, and fastening her flowers! Did you get my letter in time to tell her how happy I would be to do what she requested? Mr. Brady is coming to-morrow to bring arbutus for her. Dear little aunt! Will she look down?\n\nYou must tell me all you can think about her. Did she carry my little bouquet? So many brokenhearted people have got to hear the birds sing, and see all the little flowers grow, just the same as if the sun hadn't stopped shining forever!... How I wish I could comfort you! How I wish you could comfort me, who weep at what I did not see and never can believe. I will try and share you a little longer, but it is so long, Vinnie.\n\nWe didn't think, that morning when I wept that you left me, and you, for other things, that we should weep more bitterly before we saw each other.\n\nWell, she is safer now than 'we know or even think.' Tired little aunt, sleeping ne'er so peaceful! Tuneful little aunt, singing, as we trust, hymns than which the robins have no sweeter ones.\n\nGood-night, broken hearts, L \u2014 , and F \u2014 , and Uncle L \u2014 . Vinnie, remember SISTER.\n\n_[Autumn, 1860.]_\n\nBravo, L \u2014 , the cape is a beauty, and what shall I render unto F \u2014 , for all her benefits? I will take my books and go into a corner and give thanks! Do you think I am going 'upon the boards 'that I wish so smart attire? Such are my designs, though. I beg you not to disclose them! May I not secure L \u2014 for drama, and F \u2014 for comedy?\n\nYou are a brace of darlings, and it would give me joy to see you both, in any capacity.... Will treasure all till I see you. Never fear that I shall forget! In event of my decease, I will still exclaim 'Dr Thompson,' and he will reply 'Miss Montague.'\n\nMy little L \u2014 pined for the hay in her last communication. Not to be saucy, dear, we sha'n't have any more before the first of March, Dick having hid it all in the barn in a most malicious manner; but he has not brought the sunset in, so there is still an inducement to my little girls. We have a sky or two, well worth consideration, and trees so fashionable they make us all _pass\u00e9e._\n\nI often remember you both, last week. I thought that flown mamma could not, as was her wont, shield from crowd, and strangers, and was glad Eliza was there. I knew she would guard my children, as she has often guarded me, from publicity, and help to fill the deep place never to be full. Dear cousins, I know you both better than I did, and love you both better, and always I have a chair for you in the smallest parlor in the world, to wit, my heart.\n\nThis world is just a little place, just the red in the sky, before the sun rises, so let us keep fast hold of hands, that when the birds begin, none of us be missing.\n\n'Burnham 'must think F \u2014 a scholastic female.\n\nI wouldn't be in her place! If she feels delicate about it, she can tell him the books are for a friend in the East Indies.\n\nWon't F \u2014 give my respects to the 'Bell and Everett party 'if she passes that organization on her way to school? I hear they wish to make me Lieutenant-Governor's daughter. Were they cats I would pull their tails, but as they are only patriots, I must forego the bliss....\n\nLove to papa.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Winter, 1860-61.]_\n\nDEAR FRIENDS, \u2014 L \u2014 's note to Miss W \u2014 only stopped to dine. It went out with a beautiful name on its face in the evening mail. 'Is there nothing else,' as the clerk says? So pleased to enact a trifle for my little sister. It is little sisters you are, as dear F \u2014 says in the hallowed note. Could mamma read it, it would blur her light even in Paradise.\n\nIt was pretty to lend us the letters from the new friends. It gets us acquainted. We will preserve them carefully.... I regret I am not a scholar in the Friday class. I believe the love of God may be taught not to seem like bears. Happy the reprobates under that loving influence.\n\nI have one new bird and several trees of old ones. A snow slide from the roof, dispelled mother's 'sweetbrier.' You will of course feel for her, as you were named for him! There are as yet no streets, though the sun is riper, and these small bells have rung so long I think it 'tea-time' always.\n\n_[Spring, 1861.]_\n\n... Send a sundown for L \u2014 , please, and a crocus for F \u2014 . Shadow had no stem, so they could not pick him.\n\n... \u2014 fed greedily upon _Harper's Magazines_ while here. Suppose he is restricted to Martin Luther's works at home. It is a criminal thing to be a boy in a godly village, but maybe he will be forgiven.\n\n... The seeing pain one can't relieve makes a demon of one. If angels have the heart beneath their silver jackets, I think such things could make them weep, but Heaven is so cold! It will never look kind to me that God, who causes all, denies such little wishes. It could not hurt His glory, unless it were a lonesome kind. I 'most conclude it is.\n\n... Thank you for the daisy. With nature in my ruche I shall not miss the spring. What would become of us, dear, but for love to reprieve our blunders?\n\n... I'm afraid that home is 'most done, but do not say I fear so. Perhaps God will be better. They 're happy, you know. That makes it doubtful. Heaven hunts round for those that find itself below, and then it snatches.\n\n... Think Emily lost her wits \u2014 but she found 'em, likely. Don't part with wits long in this neighborhood.\n\n... Your letters are all real, just the tangled road children walked before you, some of them to the end, and others but a little way, even as far as the fork in the road. That Mrs. Browning fainted, we need not read _Aurora Leigh_ to know, when she lived with her English aunt; and George Sand 'must make no noise in her grandmother's bedroom.' Poor children! Women, now, queens, now! And one in the Eden of God. I guess they both forget that now, so who knows but we, little stars from the same night, stop twinkling at last? Take heart, little sister, twilight is but the short bridge, and the moon stands at the end. If we can only get to her! Yet, if she sees us fainting, she will put out her yellow hands....\n\n_[December, 1861.]_\n\nDEAR PEACOCK, \u2014 I received your feather with profound emotion. It has already surmounted a work, and crossed the Delaware. Doubtless you are moulting _\u00e0 la_ canary bird \u2014 hope you will not suffer from the reduction of plumage these December days. The latitude is quite stiff for a few nights, and gentlemen and ladies who go barefoot in our large cities must find the climate uncomfortable. A land of frosts and zeros is not precisely the land for me; hope you find it congenial. I believe it is several hundred years since I met you and F \u2014 , yet I am pleased to say, you do not become dim; I think you rather brighten as the hours fly. I should love to see you dearly, girls; perhaps I may, before south winds, but I feel rather confused to-day, and the future looks 'higglety-pigglety.'\n\nYou seem to take a smiling view of my finery. If you knew how solemn it was to me, you might be induced to curtail your jests. My sphere is doubtless calicoes, nevertheless I thought it meet to sport a little wool. The mirth it has occasioned will deter me from further exhibitions! Won't you tell 'the public' that at present I wear a brown dress with a cape if possible browner, and carry a parasol of the same! We have at present one cat, and twenty-four hens, who do nothing so vulgar as lay an egg, which checks the ice-cream tendency.\n\nI miss the grasshoppers much, but suppose it is all for the best. I should become too much attached to a trotting world.\n\nMy garden is all covered up by snow; picked gilliflower Tuesday, now gilliflowers are asleep. The hills take off their purple frocks, and dress in long white nightgowns.\n\nThere is something fine and something sad in the year's toilet....\n\nWe often talk of you and your father these new winter days. Write, dear, when you feel like it.\n\nLovingly, EMILY.\n\n_[December 29, 1861.]_\n\n... Your letter didn't surprise me, L \u2014 ; I brushed away the sleet from eyes familiar with it \u2014 looked again to be sure I read it right \u2014 and then took up my work hemming strings for mother's gown. I think I hemmed them faster for knowing you weren't coming, my fingers had nothing else to do.... Odd, that I, who say 'no 'so much, cannot bear it from others. Odd, that I, who run from so many, cannot brook that one turn from me. Come when you will, L \u2014 , the hearts are never shut here.\n\nI don't remember 'May.' Is that the one that stands next April? And is that the month for the river-pink?\n\nMrs. Adams had news of the death of her boy to-day, from a wound at Annapolis. Telegram signed by Frazer Stearns. You remember him. Another one died in October \u2014 from fever caught in the camp. Mrs. Adams herself has not risen from bed since then. 'Happy new year' step softly over such doors as these! 'Dead! Both her boys! One of them shot by the sea in the East, and one of them shot in the West by the sea.'... Christ be merciful! Frazer Stearns is just leaving Annapolis. His father has gone to see him to-day. I hope that ruddy face won't be brought home frozen. Poor little widow's boy, riding to-night in the mad wind, back to the village burying-ground where he never dreamed of sleeping! Ah! the dreamless sleep!\n\nDid you get the letter I sent a week from Monday? You did not say, and it makes me anxious, and I sent a scrap for Saturday last, that too? L \u2014 , I wanted you very much, and I put you by with sharper tears than I give to many. Won't you tell me about the chills \u2014 what the doctor says? I must not lose you, sweet. Tell me if I could send a tuft to keep the cousin warm, a blanket of a thistle, say, or something!\n\nMuch love and Christmas, and sweet year, for you and F \u2014 and papa.\n\nEMILIE.\n\nDear little F \u2014 's note received, and shall write her soon.\n\nMeanwhile, we wrap her in our heart to keep her tight and warm.\n\n... Uncle told us you were too busy. Fold your little hands \u2014 the heart is the only workman we cannot excuse.\n\n... Gratitude is not the mention of a tenderness, but its mute appreciation, deeper than we reach \u2014 all our LORD demands, who sizes better knows than we. Willing unto death, if only we perceive He die.\n\n_[February, 1862.]_\n\nDEAR F \u2014 , \u2014 I fear you are getting as driven as Vinnie. We consider her standard for superhuman effort erroneously applied. Dear L \u2014 remembers the basket Vinnie 'never got to.' But we must blame with lenience. Poor Vinnie has been very sick, and so have we all, and I feared one day our little brothers would see us no more, but God was not so hard. Now health looks so beautiful, the tritest 'How do you do 'is living with meaning. No doubt you 'heard a bird,' but which route did he take? Hasn't reached here yet. Are you sure it wasn't a 'down brakes '? Best of ears will blunder! Unless he come by the first of April, I sha'n't countenance him. We have had fatal weather \u2014 thermometer two below zero all day, without a word of apology. Summer was always dear, but such a kiss as she'll get from me if I ever see her again, will make her cry, I know....\n\n_[April, 1862.]_\n\nDEAR CHILDREN, \u2014 You have done more for me \u2014 \u2014 't is least that I can do, to tell you of brave Frazer \u2014 \u2014 ' killed at Newbern,' darlings. His big heart shot away by a 'Minie ball.'\n\nI had read of those \u2014 I didn't think that Frazer would carry one to Eden with him. Just as he fell, in his soldier's cap, with his sword at his side, Frazer rode through Amherst. Classmates to the right of him, and classmates to the left of him, to guard his narrow face! He fell by the side of Professor Clark, his superior officer \u2014 lived ten minutes in a soldier's arms, asked twice for water \u2014 murmured just, 'My God!' and passed! Sanderson, his classmate, made a box of boards in the night, put the brave boy in, covered with a blanket, rowed six miles to reach the boat, \u2014 so poor Frazer came. They tell that Colonel Clark cried like a little child when he missed his pet, and could hardly resume his post. They loved each other very much. Nobody here could look on Frazer \u2014 not even his father. The doctors would not allow it.\n\nThe bed on which he came was enclosed in a large casket shut entirely, and covered from head to foot with the sweetest flowers. He went to sleep from the village church. Crowds came to tell him goodnight, choirs sang to him, pastors told how brave he was \u2014 early-soldier heart. And the family bowed their heads, as the reeds the wind shakes.\n\nSo our part in Frazer is done, but you must come next summer, and we will mind ourselves of this young crusader \u2014 too brave that he could fear to die. We will play his tunes \u2014 maybe he can hear them; we will try to comfort his broken-hearted Ella, who, as the clergyman said, 'gave him peculiar confidence.'... Austin is stunned completely. Let us love better, children, it's most that's left to do.\n\nLove from\n\nEMILY.\n\n... Sorrow seems more general than it did, and not the estate of a few persons, since the war began; and if the anguish of others helped one with one's own, now would be many medicines.\n\n'T is dangerous to value, for only the precious can alarm. I noticed that Robert Browning had made another poem, and was astonished \u2014 till I remembered that I, myself, in my smaller way, sang off charnel steps. Every day life feels mightier, and what we have the power to be, more stupendous.\n\n_[May, 1862.]_\n\nWhen you can leave your little children, L \u2014 , you must tell us all you know about dear Myra's going, so sudden, and shocking to us all, we are only bewildered and cannot believe the telegrams. I want so much to see you, and ask you what it means, and why this young life's sacrifice should come so soon, and not far off. I wake in the morning saying 'Myra, no more Myra in this world,' and the thought of that young face in the dark, makes the whole so sorrowful, I cover my face with the blanket, so the robins' singing cannot get through \u2014 I had rather not hear it. Was Myra willing to leave us all? I want so much to know if it was very hard, husband and babies and big life and sweet home by the sea. I should think she would rather have stayed.... She came to see us first in May. I remember her frock, and how prettily she fixed her hair, and she and Vinnie took long walks, and got home to tea at sundown; and now remembering is all there is, and no more Myra. I wish't was plainer, L \u2014 , the anguish in this world.\n\nI wish one could be sure the suffering had a loving side. The thought to look down some day, and see the crooked steps we came, from a safer place, must be a precious thing....\n\nL \u2014 , you are a dear child to go to Uncle J \u2014 , and all will thank you, who love him. We will remember you every day, and the little children, and make a picture to ourself, of the small mamma.... Father and Vinnie would have gone immediately to Lynn, but got the telegram too late. Tell Uncle they wanted to. But what can Emily say? Their Father in Heaven remember them and her.\n\nMy little girls have alarmed me so that notwithstanding the comfort of Austin's assurance that 'they will come,' I am still hopeless and scared, and regard Commencement as some vast anthropic bear, ordained to eat me up. What made 'em scare 'em so? Didn't they know Cousin Aspen couldn't stand alone? I remember a tree in McLean Street, when you and we were a little girl, whose leaves went topsy-turvy as often as a wind, and showed an ashen side \u2014 that's fright, that's Emily. L \u2014 and F \u2014 were that wind, and the poor leaf, who?\n\nWon't they stop a' blowing?... Commencement would be a dreary spot without my double flower, that sows itself, and just comes up, when Emily seeks it most. Austin gives excellent account, I trust not overdrawn. 'Health and aspect admirable, and lodgings very fine.' Says the rooms were marble, even to the flies. Do they dwell in Carrara? Did they find the garden in the gown? Should have sent a farm, but feared for our button-hole. Hope to hear favorable news on receipt of this. Please give date of coming, so we might prepare our heart.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[July, 1862?]_\n\n... Just a word for my children, before the mails shut. L \u2014 left a tumbler of sweet-peas on the green room bureau. I am going to leave them there till they make pods and sow themselves in the upper drawer, and then I guess they'll blossom about Thanksgiving time. There was a thunder-shower here Saturday at car-time, and Emily was glad her little ones had gone before the hail and rain, lest it frighten them.... We wish the visit had just begun instead of ending now; next time we'll leave 'the mountains 'out, and tell good Dr Gregg to recommend the orchards. I defrauded L \u2014 of I spool of thread; we will 'settle,' however \u2014 and F \u2014 's ruff is set high in my book of remembrance.\n\nThey must be good children and recollect, as they agreed, and grow so strong in health that Emily won't know them when they show again.... Such a purple morning \u2014 even to the morning-glory that climbs the cherry-tree. The cats desire love to F \u2014 .\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[About May 30, 1863.]_\n\nI said I should come 'in a day.' Emily never fails except for a cause; that you know, dear L \u2014 .\n\nThe nights turned hot, when Vinnie had gone, and I must keep no window raised for fear of prowling 'booger,' and I must shut my door for fear front door slide open on me at the 'dead of night,' and I must keep 'gas' burning to light the danger up, so I could distinguish it \u2014 these gave me a snarl in the brain which don't unravel yet, and that old nail in my breast pricked me; these, dear, were my cause. Truth is so best of all I wanted you to know. Vinnie will tell of her visit....\n\nAbout Commencement, children, I can have no doubt, if you should fail me then, my little life would fail of itself. Could you only lie in your little bed and smile at me, that would be support. Tell the doctor I am inexorable, besides I shall heal you quicker than he. You need the balsam word. And who is to cut the cake, ask F \u2014 , and chirp to those trustees? Tell me, dears, by the coming mail, that you will not fail me....\n\nJennie Hitchcock's mother was buried yesterday, so there is one orphan more, and her father is very sick besides. My father and mother went to the service, and mother said while the minister prayed, a hen with her chickens came up, and tried to fly into the window. I suppose the dead lady used to feed them, and they wanted to bid her good-by.\n\nLife is death we 're lengthy at, Death the hinge to life.\n\nLove from all, [Autumn, 1863.]\n\n_Wednesday._\n\nDEAR CHILDREN, \u2014 Nothing has happened but loneliness, perhaps too daily to relate. Carlo is consistent, has asked for nothing to eat or drink, since you went away. Mother thinks him a model dog, and conjectures what he might have been, had not Vinnie 'demoralized 'him. Margaret objects to furnace heat on account of bone decrepitudes, so I dwell in my bonnet and suffer comfortably....\n\nMiss Kingman called last evening to inspect your garden; I gave her a lanthorn, and she went out, and thanks you very much. No one has called so far, but one old lady to look at a house. I directed her to the cemetery to spare\u00bb expense of moving..\n\nI got down before father this morning, and spent a few moments profitably with the South Sea rose. Father detecting me, advised wiser employment, and read at devotions the chapter of the gentleman with one talent. I think he thought my conscience would adjust the gender.\n\nMargaret washed to-day, and accused Vinnie of calicoes. I put her shoe and bonnet in to have them nice when she got home. I found a milliner's case in Miss N \u2014 's wardrobe, and have opened business. I have removed a geranium leaf, and supplied a lily in Vinnie's parlor vase. The sweet-peas are unchanged. Cattle-show is to-morrow. The coops and committees are passing now.... They are picking the Baldwin apples. Be good children, and mind the vicar. Tell me precisely how Wakefield looks, since I go not myself.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Autumn, 1863.]_\n\n... I should be wild with joy to see my little lovers. The writing them is not so sweet as their two faces that seem so small way off, and yet have been two weeks from me \u2014 two wishful, wandering weeks. Now, I begin to doubt if they ever came.\n\nI bid the stiff 'good-night 'and the square 'good-morning' to the lingering guest, I finish mamma's sack, all but the overcasting \u2014 that fatal sack, you recollect. I pick up tufts of mignonette, and sweet alyssum for winter, dim as winter seems these red, and gold, and ribbon days.\n\nI am sure I feel as Noah did, docile, but somewhat sceptic, under the satinet.\n\nNo frost at our house yet. Thermometer frost, I mean. Mother had a new tooth Saturday. You know Dr S \u2014 had promised her one for a long time. 'Teething 'didn't agree with her, and she kept her bed, Sunday, with a face that would take a premium at any cattle-show in the land. Came to town next morning with slightly reduced features, but no eye on the left side. Doubtless we are 'fearfully and wonderfully made,' and occasionally grotesquely.\n\nL \u2014 goes to Sunderland, Wednesday, for a minute or two; leaves here at half-past six \u2014 what a fitting hour \u2014 and will breakfast the night before; such a smart atmosphere! The trees stand right up straight when they hear her boots, and will bear crockery wares instead of fruit, I fear. She hasn't starched the geraniums yet, but will have ample time, unless she leaves before April. Emily is very mean, and her children in dark mustn't remember what she says about damsel.\n\nGrateful for little notes, and shall ask for longer when my birds locate. Would it were here. Three sisters are prettier than one.... Tabby is a continual shrine, and her jaunty ribbons put me in mind of fingers far out at sea. F \u2014 's admonition made me laugh and cry too. In the hugest haste, and the engine waiting.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[After the death of the Misses \u2014 's father, Jan. 1864.]_\n\nWhat shall I tell these darlings except that my father and mother are half their father and mother, and my home half theirs, whenever, and for as long as, they will. And sometimes a dearer thought than that creeps into my mind, but it is not for to-night. Wasn't dear papa so tired always after mamma went, and wasn't it almost sweet to think of the two together these new winter nights? The grief is our side, darlings, and the glad is theirs. Vinnie and I sit down to-night, while mother tells what makes us cry, though we know it is well and easy with uncle and papa, and only our part hurts. Mother tells how gently he looked on all who looked at him \u2014 how he held his bouquet sweet, as he were a guest in a friend's parlor and must still do honor. The meek, mild gentleman who thought no harm, but peace toward all.\n\nVinnie intended to go, but the day was cold, and she wanted to keep Uncle L \u2014 as she talked with him, always, instead of this new way. She thought too, for the crowd, she could not see you, children, and she would be another one to give others care.\n\nMother said Mr. V \u2014 , yes, dears, even Mr. V \u2014 , at whom we sometimes smile, talked about 'Lorin' and Laviny 'and his friendship towards them, to your father's guests. We won't smile at him any more now, will we? Perhaps he'll live to tell some gentleness of us, who made merry of him.\n\nBut never mind that now. When you have strength, tell us how it is, and what we may do for you, of comfort, or of service. Be sure you crowd all others out, precious little cousins. Good-night. Let Emily sing for you because she cannot pray: \u2014\n\nIt is not dying hurts us so, \u2014\n\n'T is living hurts us more;\n\nBut dying is a different way,\n\nA kind, behind the door, \u2014\n\nThe southern custom of the bird\n\nThat soon as frosts are due\n\nAdopts a better latitude.\n\nWe are the birds that stay,\n\nThe shiverers round farmers' doors,\n\nFor whose reluctant crumb\n\nWe stipulate, till pitying snows\n\nPersuade our feathers home.\n\nSo many ask for the children that I must make a separate letter to tell them what they say, and leave my kisses till next time.\n\nEliza wrote last week, faint note in pencil \u2014 dressed in blankets, and propped up, having been so sick \u2014 and yet too weak to talk much, even with her slate. She said this of you, I give it in her own word, 'Make them know I love them,' and added, should have written immediately herself, except for weakness.\n\nMr. Dwight asks for you in the phrase 'Of your sweet cousins.' He does not yet know papa is asleep \u2014 only very weary.\n\nThe milliner at the head of the street wipes her eye for F \u2014 and L \u2014 , and a tear rumples her ribbons. Mr. and Mrs. Sweetser care \u2014 Mrs. Sweetser most tenderly.\n\n... Even Dick's wife, simple dame, with a kitchen full, and the grave besides, of little ragged ones, wants to know 'more about 'you, and follows mother to the door, who has called with bundle.\n\nDick says, in his wise way, he 'shall always be interested in them young ladies.' One little young lady of his own, you know, is in Paradise. That makes him tenderer-minded.\n\nBe sure you don't doubt about the sparrow.\n\nPoor \u2014 and \u2014 , in their genteel, antique way, express their sympathy, mixing admiring anecdotes of your father and mother's youth, when they, God help them, were not so sere. Besides these others, children, shall we tell them who else cherishes, every day the same, the bright one and the black one too? Could it be Emily?\n\nWould it interest the children to know that crocuses come up, in the garden off the dining-room, and a fuchsia, that pussy partook, mistaking it for strawberries? And that we have primroses, like the little pattern sent in last winter's note, and heliotrope by the aprons full \u2014 the mountain colored one \u2014 and a jasmine bud, you know the little odor like Lubin \u2014 and gilliflowers, magenta, and few mignonette, and sweet alyssum bountiful, and carnation buds?\n\nWill it please them to know that the ice-house is filled, to make their tumblers cool next summer, and once in a while a cream?\n\nAnd that father has built a new road round the pile of trees between our house and Mr. S \u2014 's, where they can take the soldier's shirt to make, or a sweet poem, and no man find them but the fly, and he such a little man?\n\nLove, dears, from us all, and won't you tell us how you are?\n\nWe seem to hear so little.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[January, 1865.]_\n\n... I am glad my little girl is at peace. Peace is a deep place. Some, too faint to push, are assisted by angels.\n\nI have more to say to you all than March has to the maples, but then I cannot write in bed. I read a few words since I came home \u2014 John Talbot's parting with his son, and Margaret's with Suffolk. I read them in the garret, and the rafters wept.\n\nRemember me to your company, their Bedouin guest.\n\nEvery day in the desert, Ishmael counts his tents. New heart makes new health, dear.\n\nHappiness is haleness. I dreamed last night I heard bees fight for pond-lily stamens, and waked with a fly in my room.\n\nShall you be strong enough to lift me by the first of April? I won't be half as heavy as I was before. I will be good and chase my spools.\n\nI shall think of my little Eve going away from Eden. Bring me a jacinth for every finger, and an onyx shoe. \u2014 EMILY.\n\n_[I865.]_\n\nDEAR SISTER, \u2014 Brother has visited, and the night is falling, so I must close with a little hymn.\n\nI had hoped to express more. Love more I never can, sweet D \u2014 or yourself.\n\nThis was in the white of the year,\n\nThat was in the green.\n\nDrifts were as difficult then to think,\n\nAs daisies now to be seen.\n\nLooking back is best that is left,\n\nOr if it be before,\n\nRetrospection is prospect's half,\n\nSometimes almost more.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[February, 1865.]_\n\nAll that my eyes will let me shall be said for L \u2014 , dear little solid gold girl. I am glad to the foot of my heart that you will go to M \u2014 . It will make you warm. Touches 'from home,' tell Gungl, are better than 'sounds.' (Referring to an old piece of piano-forte music.)\n\nYou persuade me to speak of my eyes, which I shunned doing, because I wanted you to rest. I could not bear a single sigh should tarnish your vacation, but, lest through me one bird delay a change of latitude, I will tell you, dear.\n\nThe eyes are as with you, sometimes easy, sometimes sad. I think they are not worse, nor do I think them better than when I came home.\n\nThe snow-light offends them, and the house is bright; notwithstanding, they hope some. For the first few weeks I did nothing but comfort my plants, till now their small green cheeks are covered with smiles. I chop the chicken centres when we have roast fowl, frequent now, for the hens contend and the Cain is slain.... Then I make the yellow to the pies, and bang the spice for cake, and knit the soles to the stockings I knit the bodies to last June. They say I am a 'help.' Partly because it is true, I suppose, and the rest applause. Mother and Margaret are so kind, father as gentle as he knows how, and Vinnie good to me, but 'cannot see why I don't get well.' This makes me think I am long sick, and this takes the ache to my eyes. I shall try to stay with them a few weeks more before going to Boston, though what it would be to see you and have the doctor's care \u2014 that cannot be told. You will not wait for me. Go to M \u2014 now.\n\nI wish I were there, myself, to start your little feet 'lest they seem to come short of it.' I have so much to tell I can tell nothing, except a sand of love. When I dare I shall ask if I may go, but that will not be now.\n\nGive my love to my lamp and spoon, and the small lantana. Kindest remembrance for all the house, and write next from M \u2014 . Go, little girl, to M \u2014 . Life is so fast it will run away, notwithstanding our sweetest _whoa._\n\nAlready they love you. Be but the maid you are to me, and they will love you more.\n\nCarry your heart and your curls, and nothing more but your fingers. Mr. D \u2014 will ask for these every candle-light. How I miss ten robins that never flew from the rosewood nest!\n\nDEAR L \u2014 , \u2014 This is my letter \u2014 an ill and peevish thing, but when my eyes get well I'll send you thoughts like daisies, and sentences could hold the bees....\n\n... Oh, L \u2014 , why were the children sent too faint to stand alone?... Every hour is anxious now, and heaven protect the lamb who shared her fleece with a timider, even Emily.\n\nDEAR CHILDREN, \u2014 The little notes shall go as fast as steam can take them.\n\nOur hearts already went. Would we could mail our faces for your dear encouragement.\n\nRemember\n\nThe longest day that God appoints\n\nWill finish with the sun.\n\nAnguish can travel to its stake,\n\nAnd then it must return.\n\nI am in bed to-day \u2014 a curious place for me, and cannot write as well as if I was firmer, but love as well, and long more. Tell us all the load. Amherst's little basket is never so full but it holds more. That's a basket's cause. Not a flake assaults my birds but it freezes me. Comfort, little creatures \u2014 whatever befall us, this world is but this world. Think of that great courageous place we have never seen!\n\nWrite at once, please, I am so full of grief and surprise and physical weakness. I cannot speak until I know.\n\nLovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\nOf this letter her cousin writes, 'All this trouble has become only a myth now; it must have been some illness, or other forgotten calamity.'\n\n_[Autumn, 1869.]_\n\nVinnie was 'gone 'indeed and is due to-day, and before the tumult that even the best bring we will take hold of hands. It was sweet and antique as birds to hear L \u2014 's voice, worth the lying awake from five o'clock summer mornings to hear. I rejoice that my wren can rise and touch the sky again. We all have moments with the dust, but the dew is given. Do you wish you heard 'A \u2014 talk '? Then I would you did, for then you would be here always, a sweet premium. Would you like to 'step in the kitchen '? Then you shall by faith, which is the first sight. Mr. C \u2014 is not in the tree, because the rooks won't let him, but I ate a pear as pink as a plum that he made last spring, when he was ogling you. Mother has on the petticoat you so gallantly gathered while he sighed and grafted.\n\nTabby is eating a stone dinner from a stone plate,... Tim is washing Dick's feet, and talking to him now and then in an intimate way. Poor fellow, how he warmed when I gave him your message! The red reached clear to his beard, he was so gratified; and Maggie stood as still for hers as a puss for patting. The hearts of these poor people lie so unconcealed you bare them with a smile.\n\nThank you for recollecting my weakness. I am not so well as to forget I was ever ill, but better and working. I suppose we must all 'ail till evening.'\n\nRead Mr. Lowell's _Winter._ One does not often meet anything so perfect.\n\nIn many little corners how much of L \u2014 I have.\n\nMaggie 'dragged 'the garden for this bud for you. You have heard of the 'last rose of summer.' This is that rose's son.\n\nInto the little port you cannot sail unwelcome at any hour of day or night. Love for F \u2014 , and stay close to\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Spring, 1870.]_\n\nDEAR CHILDREN, \u2014 I think the bluebirds do their work exactly like me. They dart around just so, with little dodging feet, and look so agitated. I really feel for them, they seem to be so tried.\n\nThe mud is very deep \u2014 up to the wagons' stomachs \u2014 arbutus making pink clothes, and everything alive.\n\nEven the hens are touched with the things of Bourbon, and make republicans like me feel strangely out of scene.\n\nMother went rambling, and came in with a burdock on her shawl, so we know that the snow has perished from the earth. Noah would have liked mother.\n\nI am glad you are with Eliza. It is next to shade to know that those we love are cool on a parched day.\n\nBring my love to \u2014 and Mr. \u2014 . You will not need a hod. C \u2014 writes often, full of joy and liberty. I guess it is a case of peace....\n\nPussy has a daughter in the shavings barrel.\n\nFather steps like Cromwell when he gets the kindlings.\n\nMrs. \u2014 gets bigger, and rolls down the lane to church like a reverend marble. Did you know little Mrs. Holland was in Berlin for her eyes?...\n\nDid you know about Mrs. J \u2014 ? She fledged her antique wings. 'T is said that 'nothing in her life became her like the leaving it.'\n\n'Great streets of silence led away,' etc.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[May.]_\n\nThis little sheet of paper has lain for several years in my Shakespeare, and though it is blotted and antiquated is endeared by its resting-place.\n\nI always think of you peculiarly in May, as it is the peculiar anniversary of your loving kindness to me, though you have always been dear cousins, and blessed me all you could.\n\nI cooked the peaches as you told me, and they swelled to beautiful fleshy halves and tasted quite magic. The beans we fricasseed and they made a savory cream in cooking that 'Aunt Emily 'liked to sip. She was always fonder of julep food than of more substantial. Your remembrance of her is very sweetly touching.\n\nMaggie is ironing, and a cotton and linen and ruffle heat makes the pussy's cheeks red. It is lonely without the birds to-day, for it rains badly, and the little poets have no umbrellas....\n\n... Fly from Emily's window for L \u2014 . Botanical name unknown.\n\n_[Enclosing a pressed insect.]_\n\n_[September, 1870.]_\n\nLITTLE SISTERS, \u2014 I wish you were with me, not precisely here, but in those sweet mansions the mind likes to suppose. Do they exist or nay? We believe they may, but do they, how know we? 'The light that never was on sea or land 'might just as soon be had for the knocking.\n\nF \u2014 's rustic note was as sweet as fern; L \u2014 's token also tenderly estimated. Maggie and I are fighting which shall give L \u2014 the 'plant,' though it is quite a pleasant war.... A \u2014 : \u2014 went this morning, after a happy egg and toast provided by Maggie, whom he promised to leave his sole heir.\n\nThe 'pussum' is found. 'Two dollars reward 'would return John Franklin....\n\nLove for Aunt O \u2014 . Tell her I think to instruct flowers will be her labor in heaven....\n\nNearly October, sisters! No one can keep a sumach and keep a secret too. That was my 'pipe' F \u2014 found in the woods.\n\nAffectionately,\n\nUNTIRING LITTLE SISTERS, \u2014 What will I ever do for you, yet have done the most, for love is that one perfect labor nought can supersede. I suppose the pain is still there, for pain that is worthy does not go so soon. The small can crush the great, however, only temporarily. In a few days we examine, muster our forces, and cast it away. Put it out of your hearts, children. Faith is too fair to taint it so. There are those in the morgue that bewitch us with sweetness, but that which is dead must go with the ground. There is a verse in the Bible that says there are those who shall not see death. I suppose them to be the faithful. Love will not expire. There was never the instant when it was lifeless in the world, though the quicker deceit dies, the better for the truth, who is indeed our dear friend.\n\nI am sure you will gain, even from this wormwood. The martyrs may not choose their food.\n\nGod made no act without a cause,\n\nNor heart without an aim,\n\nOur inference is premature,\n\nOur premises to blame.\n\n... Sweetest of Christmas to you both, and a better year.\n\nEMILY.\n\nDEAR CHILDREN, \u2014 When I think of your little faces I feel as the band does before it makes its first shout....\n\nEMILY.\n\n... Mother drives with Tim to carry pears to settlers. Sugar pears with hips like hams, and the flesh of bonbons. Vinnie fastens flowers from the frosts....\n\nLifetime is for two, never for committee.\n\nI saw your Mrs. H \u2014 . She looks a little tart, but Vinnie says makes excellent pies after one gets acquainted.\n\n_[Spring, 1871.]_\n\nThe will is always near, dear, though the feet vary. The terror of the winter has made a little creature of me, who thought myself so bold.\n\nFather was very sick. I presumed he would die, and the sight of his lonesome face all day was harder than personal trouble. He is growing better, though physically reluctantly. I hope I am mistaken, but I think his physical life don't want to live any longer. You know he never played, and the straightest engine has its leaning hour. Vinnie was not here. Now we will turn the corner. All this while I was with you all, much of every hour, wishing we were near enough to assist each other. Would you have felt more at home, to know we were both in extremity? That would be my only regret that I had not told you.\n\nAs regards the 'pine' and the 'jay,' it is a long tryst, but I think they are able. I have spoken with them.\n\nOf the 'thorn,' dear, give it to me, for I am strongest. Never carry what I can carry, for though I think I bend, something straightens me. Go to the 'wine-press,' dear, and come back and say has the number altered. I descry but one. What I would, I cannot say in so small a place.\n\nInterview is acres, while the broadest letter feels a bandaged place....\n\nTell F \u2014 we hold her tight. Tell L \u2014 love is oldest and takes care of us, though just now in a piercing place.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Written to Milwaukee, just after the Chicago fire, 1871]_\n\nWe have the little note and are in part relieved, but have been too alarmed and grieved to hush immediately. The heart keeps sobbing in its sleep. It is the speck that makes the cloud that wrecks the vessel, children, yet no one fears a speck. I hope what is not lost is saved. Were any angel present, I feel it could not be allowed. So grateful that our little girls are not on fire too. Amherst would have quenched them. Thank you for comforting innocent blamed creatures. We are trying, too. The mayor of Milwaukee cuts and you and L \u2014 sew, don't you?\n\nThe _New York Times_ said so. Sorrow is the 'funds 'never quite spent, always a little left to be loaned kindly. We have a new cow. I wish I could give Wisconsin a little pail of milk. Dick's Maggie is wilting. Awkward little flower, but transplanting makes it fair. How are the long days that made the fresh afraid?\n\nBROTHER EMILY.\n\n_[March, 1872.]_\n\nThank you, own little girls, for the sweet remembrance \u2014 sweet specifically. Be sure it was pondered with loving thoughts not unmixed with palates.\n\nBut love, like literature, is 'its exceeding great reward.'... I am glad you heard 'Little Em'ly.' I would go far to hear her, except I have lost the run of the roads.... Infinite March is here, and I 'hered 'a bluebird. Of course I am standing on my head!\n\nGo slow, my soul, to feed thyself Upon his rare approach. Go rapid, lest competing death Prevail upon the coach. Go timid, should his testing eye Determine thee amiss, Go boldly, for thou paidst the price, Redemption for a kiss.\n\nTabby is singing _Old Hundred,_ which, by the way, is her maiden name. Would they address and mail the note to their friend J \u2014 W \u2014 ?\n\nTidings of a book.\n\nEMILY.\n\nI like to thank you, dear, for the annual candy. Though you make no answer, I have no letter from the dead, yet daily love them more. No part of mind is permanent. This startles the happy, but it assists the sad.\n\nThis is a mighty morning. I trust that L \u2014 is with it, on hill or pond or wheel. Too few the mornings be, too scant the nights. No lodging can be had for the delights that come to earth to stay, but no. apartment find and ride away. F \u2014 was brave and dear, and helped as much by counsel as by actual team. Whether we missed L \u2014 we will let her guess; riddles are healthful food.\n\nEliza was not with us, but it was owing to the trains. We know she meant to come.\n\nOh! Cruel Paradise! We have a chime of bells given for brave Frazer. You'll stop and hear them, won't you?\n\n'We conquered, but Bozzaris fell.' That sentence always chokes me.\n\nEMILY.\n\nThe new College church was given in 1870 by Mr. William French Stearns, brother of the Frazer so mourned; and its chime of bells was a memorial to the Amherst students who were killed in the war.\n\n(Following is the inscription on the fundamental bell: \u2014\n\nTHESE BELLS ARE PLACED HERE BY GEORGE HOWE OF BOSTON AND ARE TO BE MADE TO CHIME ON ALL SUITABLE OCCASIONS IN COMMEMORATION OF THE BRAVE PATRIOTS CONNECTED WITH AMHERST COLLEGE WHO LOST THEIR LIVES IN THE WAR AGAINST THE GREAT REBELLION OF 1861)\n\nA cannon, now in Williston Hall, Amherst College, was given by General Burnside at the request of Colonel Clark, in loving memory of Frazer Stearns, the first of all the Amherst students who enlisted, nearly two hundred and fifty in number.\n\nAn ill heart, like a body, has its more comfortable days, and then its days of pain, its long relapse, when rallying, requires more effort than to dissolve life, and death looks choiceless.\n\nOf Miss P \u2014 I know but this, dear. She wrote me in October, requesting me to aid the world by my chirrup more. Perhaps she stated it as my duty, I don't distinctly remember, and always burn such letters, so I cannot obtain it now. I replied declining. She did not write to me again \u2014 she might have been offended, or perhaps is extricating humanity from some hopeless ditch....\n\nEmily was often besieged by different persons, literary and otherwise, to benefit the world by her 'chirrup,' but she steadily refused to publish during her lifetime. In all these years she was constantly writing verses; and while, as already apparent, she frequently enclosed poems in letters to friends, the fact that scores in addition were being written every year was her own secret. Her literary methods were also her own, \u2014 she must frequently have tossed off, many times daily, the stray thoughts which came to her. The box of 'scraps' found by her sister after her death proves this conclusively, as some of Emily's rarest flashes were caught upon the margins of newspapers, backs of envelopes, or whatever bit of paper was nearest at hand, in the midst of other occupations. In the more carefully copied poems are many alterations, but it is a curious fact that not one change has reference to improvement in rhyme or rhythm. Every suggestion for a different word or phrase was in the evident hope that by some one of them the thought might be made clearer, and not in a single instance merely to smooth the form.\n\nWhether Emily Dickinson had any idea that her work would ever be published cannot be known. Except when a friend occasionally 'turned love to larceny 'as some one has aptly said, nothing was printed before her death. One of the poems, indeed, begins, \u2014\n\nPublication is the auction\n\nOf the mind of man.\n\nBut the _Prelude_ to the _Poems,_ First Series, almost seems to indicate the thought of a possible future public, when she herself should be beyond the reach of the praise or criticism which her writing might call forth.\n\n_[Early Summer, 1872.]_\n\nDEAR CHILDREN, \u2014 We received the news of your loving kindness through Uncle J \u2014 last evening, and Vinnie is negotiating with neighbor Gray, who goes to a wedding in Boston next week, for the procuring of the nest. Vinnie's views of expressage do not abate with time. The crocuses are with \"s and several other colored friends. Cousin H \u2014 broke her hip, and is in a polite bed, surrounded by mint juleps. I think she will hate to leave it as badly as _Marian Erie_ did. Vinnie says there is a tree in Mr. Sweetser's woods that shivers. I am afraid it is cold. I am going to make it a little coat. I must make several, because it is tall as the barn, and put them on as the circus men stand on each other's shoulders.... There is to be a 'show' next week, and little Maggie's bed is to be moved to the door so she can see the tents. Folding her own like the Arabs gives her no apprehension. While I write, dear children, the colors Eliza loved quiver on the pastures, and day goes gay to the northwest, innocent as she.\n\nEMILY.\n\n... Thank you for the passage. How long to live the truth is! A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day.\n\n_[July 27,1872.]_\n\nLittle Irish Maggie went to sleep this morning at six o'clock, just the time grandpa rises, and will rest in the grass at Northampton to-morrow. She has had a hard sickness, but her awkward little life is saved and gallant now. Our Maggie is helping her mother put her in the cradle....\n\nMonth after this \u2014 after that is October, isn't it? That isn't much long. Joy to enfold our little girls in so close a future. That was a lovely letter of F \u2014 's. It put the cat to playing and the kettle to purring, and two or three birds in plush teams reined nearer to the window.... You will miss the nasturtiums, but you will meet the chestnuts. You also will miss the south wind, but I will save the west....\n\nOf course we shall have a telegram that you have left for Nebraska....\n\nEMILY.\n\n... J \u2014 is coming to put away her black hair on the children's pillow. I hoped she'd come while you were here, to help me with the starch, but Satan's ways are not as our ways. I'm straightening all the property, and making things erect and smart, and to-morrow, at twilight, her little heel boots will thump into Amherst. It being summer season she will omit the sleigh-bell gown, and that's a palliative. Vinnie is all disgust, and I shall have to smirk for two to make the manners even.\n\n_[1872, or 1873.]_\n\nThank you, dear, for the love. I am progressing timidly.\n\nExperiment has a stimulus which withers its fear.\n\nThis is the place they hoped before,\n\nWhere I am hoping now.\n\nThe seed of disappointment grew\n\nWithin a capsule gay,\n\nToo distant to arrest the feet\n\nThat walk this plank of balm \u2014\n\nBefore them lies escapeless sea \u2014\n\nThe way is closed they came.\n\nSince you so gently ask, I have had but one serious adventure \u2014 getting a nail in my foot, but Maggie pulled it out. It only kept me awake one night, and the birds insisted on sitting up, so it became an occasion instead of a misfortune. There was a circus, too, and I watched it away at half-past three that morning. They said 'hoy, hoy' to their horses.\n\nGlad you heard Rubinstein. Grieved L \u2014 could not hear him. He makes me think of polar nights Captain Hall could tell! Going from ice to ice! What an exchange of awe!\n\nI am troubled for L \u2014 's eye. Poor little girl!\n\nCan I help her? She has so many times saved me. Do take her to Arlington Street. (To the physician who had already done so much for Emily's eyes.) Xerxes must go now and see to her worlds. You shall 'taste,' dear. \u2014 Lovingly.\n\n_[Winter, 1873.]_\n\n... I know I love my friends \u2014 I feel it far in here where neither blue nor black eye goes, and fingers cannot reach. I know 'tis love for them that sets the blister in my throat, many a time a day, when winds go sweeter than their wont, or a different cloud puts my brain from home.\n\nI cannot see my soul, but know't is there,\n\nNor ever saw his house nor furniture,\n\nWho has invited me with him to dwell;\n\nBut a confiding guest consult as well.\n\nWhat raiment honor him the most,\n\nThat I be adequately dressed,\n\nFor he insures to none\n\nLest men specifical adorn\n\nProcuring him perpetual drest\n\nBy dating it a sudden feast.\n\nLove for the glad if you know them, for the sad if they know you.\n\n_[March, 1873.]_\n\n... I open my window, and it fills the chamber with white dirt. I think God must be dusting; and the wind blows so I expect to read in _The Republican_ 'Cautionary signals for Amherst,' or, 'No ships ventured out from Phoenix Row.'... Life is so rotatory that the wilderness falls to each, sometime. It is safe to remember that....\n\n_[Autumn, 1873.]_\n\n... I think of your little parlor as the poets once thought of Windermere, \u2014 peace, sunshine, and books.\n\nThere is no frigate like a book\n\nTo take us lands away.\n\nNor any coursers like a page\n\nOf prancing poetry.\n\nThis traverse may the poorest take,\n\nWithout oppress of toll;\n\nHow frugal is the chariot\n\nThat bears the human soul!\n\nWhat words could more vividly express the uplift, the expansion, the wider horizon which books bring! To Emily Dickinson, they were always solace and delight, \u2014 'frigates 'and 'coursers' indeed, to her quiet life, taking her over the world and into the infinite spaces, bringing Cathay and Brazil, Cashmere and Teneriffe, into an intimacy as near and familiar as the summer bees and butterflies of her own home noon. Without the help of books even, her nimble fancy leaped intervening leagues as if it commanded the magic carpet of Prince Houssain; but her love for books and indebtedness to them are many times expressed in the poems, both published and unpublished.\n\n_[Autumn, 1873.]_\n\nDEAR BERKELEYS, \u2014 I should feel it my duty to lay my 'net 'on the national altar, would it appease finance, but as Jay Cooke can't wear it, I suppose it won't. I believe he opened the scare. M--says D \u2014 pulled her hair, and D \u2014 says M \u2014 pulled her hair, but the issue at court will be, which pulled the preliminary hair. I am not yet 'thrown out of employment,' nor ever receiving 'wages' find them materially reduced,' though when bread may be a 'tradition 'Mr. C \u2014 alone knows. I am deeply indebted to F \u2014 , also to her sweet sister _Mrs._ _Ladislaw;_ add the funds to the funds, please. Keep the cap till I send \u2014 I could not insult my country by incurring expressage now.... Buff sings like a nankeen bumble-bee, and a bird's nest on the syringa is just in a line with the conservatory fence, so I have fitted a geranium to it and the effect is deceitful.\n\nI see by the paper that father spends the winter with you. Will you be glad to see him?... Tell L \u2014 when I was a baby father used to take me to mill for my health. I was then in consumption! While he obtained the 'grist,' the horse looked round at me, as if to say '\"eye hath not seen nor ear heard the things that \"I would do to you if I weren't tied! 'That is the way I feel toward her....\n\nMaggie will write soon, says it was Mount Holyoke, and not sweet-brier she gave you! Thanks for the little 'news.' Did get F \u2014 's note and thank it.\n\nHave thousands of things to say as also ten thousands, but must abate now.\n\nLovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\nDEAR CHILDREN, \u2014 Father is ill at home. I think it is the 'Legislature 'reacting on an otherwise obliging constitution. Maggie is ill at Tom's \u2014 a combination of cold and superstition of fever \u2014 of which her enemy is ill \u2014 and longing for the promised land, of which there is no surplus. 'Apollyon 'and the 'Devil 'fade in martial lustre beside Lavinia and myself. 'As thy day is so shall thy 'stem 'be.' We can all of us sympathize with the man who wanted the roan horse to ride to execution, because he said 'twas a nimble hue, and 'twould be over sooner....\n\nDear L \u2014 , shall I enclose the slips, or delay till father? Vinnie advises the latter. I usually prefer formers, latters seeming to me like Dickens's hero's dead mamma, 'too some weeks off' to risk. Do you remember the 'sometimes 'of childhood, which invariably never occurred?...\n\nBe pleased you have no cat to detain from justice. Ours have taken meats, and the wife of the 'general court 'is trying to lay them out, but as she has but two wheels and they have four, I would accept their chances. Kitties eat kindlings now. Vinnie thinks they are 'cribbers.' I wish I could make you as long a call as De Quincey made North, but that morning cannot be advanced.\n\nEMILY.\n\n... I was sick, little sister, and write you the first that I am able.\n\nThe loveliest sermon I ever heard was the disappointment of Jesus in Judas. It was told like a mortal story of intimate young men. I suppose no surprise we can ever have will be so sick as that. The last 'I never knew you 'may resemble it. I would your hearts could have rested from the first severity before you received this other one, but 'not as I will.' I suppose the wild flowers encourage themselves in the dim woods, and the bird that is bruised limps to his house in silence, but we have human natures, and these are different. It is lovely that Mrs. W \u2014 did not disappoint you; not that I thought it possible, but you were so much grieved.... A finite life, little sister, is that peculiar garment that were it optional with us we might decline to wear. Tender words to L \u2014 , not most, I trust, in need of them.\n\nLovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n... How short it takes to go, dear, but afterward to come so many weary years \u2014 and yet 't is done as cool as a general trifle. Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it, when every urchin in the street has more than he can eat. We turn not older with years, but newer every day.\n\nOf all these things we tried to talk, but the time refused us. Longing, it may be, is the gift no other gift supplies. Do you remember what you said the night you came to me? I secure that sentence. If I should see your face no more it will be your portrait, and if I should, more vivid than your mortal face. We must be careful what we say. No bird resumes its egg.\n\nA word left careless on a page\n\nMay consecrate an eye,\n\nWhen folded in perpetual seam\n\nThe wrinkled author lie.\n\nEMILY.\n\n... A tone from the old bells, perhaps, might wake the children.\n\nWe send the wave to find the wave,\n\nAn errand so divine\n\nThe messenger enamored too,\n\nForgetting to return,\n\nWe make the sage decision still\n\nSoever made in vain,\n\nThe only time to dam the sea\n\nIs when the sea is gone.\n\nEMILY, with love.\n\n_[Spring, 1874.]_\n\nSISTERS, \u2014 I hear robins a great way off, and wagons a great way off, and rivers a great way off, and all appear to be hurrying somewhere undisclosed to me. Remoteness is the founder of sweetness; could we see all we hope, or hear the whole we fear told tranquil, like another tale, there would be madness near. Each of us gives or takes heaven in corporeal person, for each of us has the skill of life. I am pleased by your sweet acquaintance. It is not recorded of any rose that it failed of its bee, though obtained in specific instances through scarlet experience. The career of flowers differs from ours only in inaudibleness. I feel more reverence as I grow for these mute creatures whose suspense or transport may surpass my own. Pussy remembered the judgment, and remained with Vinnie. Maggie preferred her home to 'Miggles' and 'Oakhurst,' so with a few spring touches, nature remains unchanged.\n\nThe most triumphant bird\n\nI ever knew or met,\n\nEmbarked upon a twig to-day, \u2014\n\nAnd till dominion set I perish to behold\n\nSo competent a sight \u2014\n\nAnd sang for nothing scrutable\n\nBut impudent delight.\n\nRetired and resumed\n\nHis transitive estate;\n\nTo what delicious accident\n\nDoes finest glory fit!\n\nEMILY.\n\n... There is that which is called an 'awakening 'in the church, and I know of no choicer ecstasy than to see Mrs. \u2014 roll out in crape every morning, I suppose to intimidate antichrist; at least it would have that effect on me. It reminds me of Don Quixote demanding the surrender of the wind-mill, and of Sir Stephen Toplift, and of Sir Alexander Cockburn.\n\nSpring is a happiness so beautiful, so unique, so unexpected, that I don't know what to do with my heart. I dare not take it, I dare not leave it \u2014 what do you advise?\n\nLife is a spell so exquisite that everything conspires to break it.\n\n'What do I think of _Middlemarch? '_ What do I think of glory \u2014 except that in a few instances this 'mortal has already put on immortality.'\n\nGeorge Eliot is one. The mysteries of human nature surpass the 'mysteries of redemption,' for the infinite we only suppose, while we see the finite.... I launch Vinnie on Wednesday; it will require the combined efforts of Maggie, Providence and myself, for whatever advances Vinnie makes in nature and art, she has not reduced departure to a science....\n\nYour loving EMILY.\n\nWhen, in June of 1874, Emily's father died suddenly in Boston, \u2014 taken ill, indeed, while making a speech in the Legislature, and dying within a few hours, \u2014 the effect upon her was as if the foundations of her world had given way. She gathered herself together in a measure, and after a few days wrote to her cousins: \u2014\n\nYou might not remember me, dears. I cannot recall myself. I thought I was strongly built, but this stronger has undermined me.\n\nWe were eating our supper the fifteenth of June, and Austin came in. He had a despatch in his hand, and I saw by his face we were all lost, though I didn't know how. He said that father was very sick, and he and Vinnie must go. The train had already gone. While horses were dressing, news came he was dead.\n\nFather does not live with us now \u2014 he lives in a new house. Though it was built in an hour it is better than this. He hasn't any garden because he moved after gardens were made, so we take him the best flowers, and if we only knew he knew, perhaps we could stop crying.... The grass begins after Pat has stopped it.\n\nI cannot write any more, dears. Though it is many nights, my mind never comes home. Thank you each for the love, though I could not notice it. Almost the last tune that he heard was, 'Rest from thy loved employ.'\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[April, 1875.]_\n\nI have only a buttercup to offer for the centennial, as an 'embattled farmer 'has but little time.\n\nBegging you not to smile at my limited meadows, I am modestly Yours.\n\n_[Summer, 1875.]_\n\nDEAR CHILDREN, \u2014 I decide to give you one more package of lemon drops, as they only come once a year. It is fair that the bonbons should change hands, you have so often fed me. This is the very weather that I lived with you those amazing years that I had a father. W. D \u2014 's wife came in last week for a day and a night, saying her heart drove her. I am glad that you loved Miss W \u2014 on knowing her nearer. Charlotte Bront\u00eb said 'Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, match the expectation.'\n\nThe birds that father rescued are trifling in his trees. How flippant are the saved! They were even frolicking at his grave, when Vinnie went there yesterday. Nature must be too young to feel, or many years too old.\n\nNow children, when you are cutting the loaf, a crumb, peradventure a crust, of love for the sparrows' table....\n\n_[August, 1876.]_\n\nDEAR COUSINS, \u2014 Mr. S \u2014 had spoken with pleasure of you, before you spoke of him. Good times are always mutual; that is what makes good times. I am glad it cheered you.\n\nWe have had no rain for six weeks except one thunder shower, and that so terrible that we locked the doors, and the clock stopped \u2014 which made it like Judgment day. The heat is very great, and the grass so still that the flies speck it. I fear L \u2014 will despair. The notices of the 'fall trade 'in the hurrying dailies, have a whiff of coolness.\n\nVinnie has a new pussy the color of Branwell Bronte's hair. She thinks it a little 'lower than the angels,' and I concur with her. You remember my ideal cat has always a huge rat in its mouth, just going out of sight \u2014 though going out of sight in itself has a peculiar charm. It is true that the unknown is the largest need of the intellect, though for it, no one thinks to thank God.... Mother is worn with the heat, but otherwise not altering. I dream about father every night, always a different dream, and forget what I am doing daytimes, wondering where he is. Without anybody, I keep thinking. What kind can that be?\n\nDr Stearns died homelike, asked Eliza for a saucer of strawberries, which she brought him, but he had no hands. 'In such an hour as ye think not 'means something when you try it.\n\nLovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[November.]_\n\n... Oh that beloved witch-hazel which would not reach me till part of the stems were a gentle brown, though one loved stalk as hearty as if just placed in the mail by the woods. It looked like tinsel fringe combined with staider fringes, witch and witching too, to my joyful mind.\n\nI never had seen it but once before, and it haunted me like childhood's Indian pipe, or ecstatic puff-balls, or that mysterious apple that sometimes comes on river-pinks; and is there not a dim suggestion of a dandelion, if her hair were ravelled and she grew on a twig instead of a tube, \u2014 though this is timidly submitted. For taking Nature's hand to lead her to me, I am softly grateful \u2014 was she willing to come? Though her reluctances are sweeter than other ones' avowals.\n\nTrusty as the stars\n\nWho quit their shining working\n\nPrompt as when I lit them\n\nIn Genesis' new house,\n\nDurable as dawn\n\nWhose antiquated blossom\n\nMakes a world's suspense\n\nPerish and rejoice.\n\nLove for the cousin sisters, and the lovely alien....\n\nLovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[About July 4, 1879.]_\n\nDEAR COUSINS, \u2014 Did you know there had been a fire here, and that but for a whim of the wind Austin and Vinnie and Emily would have all been homeless? But perhaps you saw _The Republican._\n\nWe were waked by the ticking of the bells, \u2014 the bells tick in Amherst for a fire, to tell the firemen.\n\nI sprang to the window, and each side of the curtain saw that awful sun. The moon was shining high at the time, and the birds singing like trumpets.\n\nVinnie came soft as a moccasin, 'Don't be afraid, Emily, it is only the fourth of July.'\n\nI did not tell that I saw it, for I thought if she felt it best to deceive, it must be that it was.\n\nShe took hold of my hand and led me into mother's room. Mother had not waked, and Maggie was sitting by her. Vinnie left us a moment, and I whispered to Maggie, and asked her what it was.\n\n'Only Stebbins's barn, Emily; 'but I knew that the right and left of the village was on the arm of Stebbins's barn. I could hear buildings falling, and oil exploding, and people walking and talking gayly, and cannon soft as velvet from parishes that did not know that we were burning up.\n\nAnd so much lighter than day was it, that I saw a caterpillar measure a leaf far down in the orchard; and Vinnie kept saying bravely, 'It's only the fourth of July.'\n\nIt seemed like a theatre, or a night in London, or perhaps like chaos. The innocent dew falling 'as if it thought no evil,'... and sweet frogs prattling in the pools as if there were no earth.\n\nAt seven people came to tell us that the fire was stopped, stopped by throwing sound houses in as one fills a well.\n\nMother never waked, and we were all grateful; we knew she would never buy needle and thread at Mr. Cutler's store, and if it were Pompeii nobody could tell her.\n\nThe post-office is in the old meeting-house where L \u2014 and I went early to avoid the crowd, and \u2014 fell asleep with the bumble-bees and the Lord God of Elijah.\n\nVinnie's 'only the fourth of July 'I shall always remember. I think she will tell us so when we die, to keep us from being afraid.\n\nFootlights cannot improve the grave, only immortality.\n\nForgive me the personality; but I knew, I thought, our peril was yours.\n\nLove for you each.\n\nEMILY.\n\n... Did the 'stars differ 'from each other in anything but 'glory,' there would be often envy. The competitions of the sky corrodeless ply.\n\n... We asked Vinnie to say in the rear of one of her mental products that we had neuralgia, but evidently her theme or her time did not admit of trifles.... I forget no part of that sweet, smarting visit, not even the nettle that stung my rose.\n\nWhen Macbeth asked the physician what could be done for his wife, he made the mighty answer, 'That sort must heal itself; 'but, sister, that was guilt, and 'love, you know, is God, who certainly 'gave the love to reward the love,' even were there no Browning.\n\n... The slips of the last rose of summer repose in kindred soil with waning bees for mates. How softly summer shuts, without the creaking of a door, abroad for evermore.\n\n... Vinnie has also added a pilgrim kitten to her flock, which besides being jet black, is, I think, a lineal descendant of the 'beautiful hearse horse 'recommended to Austin.\n\n_[December, 1880.]_\n\n... The look of the words [stating the death of George Eliot] as they lay in the print I shall never forget. Not their face in the casket could have had the eternity to me. Now, _my_ George Eliot. The gift of belief which her greatness denied her, I trust she receives in the childhood of the kingdom of heaven. As childhood is earth's confiding time, perhaps having no childhood, she lost her way to the early trust, and no later came. Amazing human heart, a syllable can make to quake like jostled tree, what infinite for thee?...\n\n_[February, 1881.]_\n\n... God is rather stern with his 'little ones.\" A cup of cold water in my name 'is a shivering legacy February mornings.\n\n... Maggie's brother is killed in the mine, and Maggie wants to die, but Death goes far around to those that want to see him. If the little cousins would give her a note \u2014 she does not know I ask it \u2014 I think it would help her begin, that bleeding beginning that every mourner knows.\n\n_[Spring, 1881.]_\n\nThe divine deposit came safely in the little bank. We have heard of the 'deeds of the spirit,' but are his acts gamboge and pink? A morning call from Gabriel is always a surprise. Were we more fresh from Eden we were expecting him \u2014 but Genesis is a 'far journey.' Thank you for the loveliness.\n\nWe have had two hurricanes within as many hours, one of which came near enough to untie my apron \u2014 but this moment the sun shines, Maggie's hens are warbling, and a man of anonymous wits is making a garden in the lane to set out slips of bluebird. The moon grows from the seed.... Vinnie's pussy slept in grass Wednesday \u2014 a Sicilian symptom \u2014 the sails are set for summer, East India wharf. Sage and saucy ones talk of an equinoctial, and are trying the chimneys, but I am 'short of hearing,' as the deaf say. Blessed are they that play, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Love like a rose from each one, and Maggie's a Burgundy one she ardently asks.\n\nEMILY.\n\nMY DEAR LITTLE COUSINS, \u2014 I bring you a robin who is eating a remnant oat on the sill of the barn. The horse was not as hungry as usual, leaving an ample meal for his dulcet friend....\n\nMaggie was charmed with her donkeys, and has long been talking of writing, but has not quite culminated. They stand on the dining-room side-board, by the side of an orange, and a _Springfield Republican._ It will please you to know that the clover in the bill of the brown one is fresh as at first, notwithstanding the time, though the only 'pastures 'I know gifted with that duration, are far off as the psalms.\n\nMr. C \u2014 called with a twilight of you. It reminded me of a supper I took, with the pictures on Dresden china. Vinnie asked him 'what he had for supper,' and he said he 'could easier describe the nectar of the gods.'... We read in a tremendous Book about 'an enemy,' and armed a confidential fort to scatter him away. The time has passed, and years have come, and yet not any 'Satan.' I think he must be making war upon some other nation.\n\nEMILY.\n\nThe dear ones will excuse \u2014 they knew there was a cause. Emily was sick, and Vinnie's middle name restrained her loving pen.\n\nThese are my first words since I left my pillow \u2014 that will make them faithful, although so long withheld. We had another fire \u2014 it was in Phoenix Row, Monday a week ago, at two in the night. The horses were harnessed to move the office \u2014 Austin's office, I mean. After a night of terror, we went to sleep for a few moments, and I could not rise. The others bore it better. The brook from Pelham saved the town. The wind was blowing so, it carried the burning shingles as far as Tom's piazza. We are weak and grateful. The fire-bells are oftener now, almost, than the church-bells. Thoreau would wonder which did the most harm.\n\nThe little gifts came sweetly. The bulbs are in the sod \u2014 the seeds in homes of paper till the sun calls them. It is snowing now.... 'Fine sleighing we have this summer,' says Austin with a scoff. The box of dainty ones \u2014 I don't know what they were, buttons of spice for coats of honey \u2014 pleased the weary mother. Thank you each for all.\n\nThe beautiful words for which L \u2014 asked were that genius is the ignition of affection \u2014 not intellect, as is supposed, \u2014 the exaltation of devotion, and in proportion to our capacity for that, is our experience of genius. Precisely as they were uttered I cannot give them, they were in a letter that I do not find, but the suggestion was this.\n\nIt is startling to think that the lips, which are keepers of thoughts so magical, yet at any moment are subject to the seclusion of death.\n\n... I must leave you, dear, to come perhaps again, \u2014\n\nWe never know we go \u2014 when we are going\n\nWe jest and shut the door \u2014\n\nFate following behind us bolts it\n\nAnd we accost no more.\n\nI give you my parting love.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Autumn, 1881.]_\n\n_Saturday._\n\nDEAR ONES, \u2014 If I linger, this will not reach you before Sunday; if I do not, I must write you much less than I would love. 'Do unto others as ye would that they should do unto you.' I would rather they would do unto me _so._\n\nAfter infinite wanderings the little note has reached us. It was mailed the twelfth \u2014 we received it the twenty-third. The address 'Misses Dickinson' misled the rustic eyes \u2014 the postmaster knows Vinnie, also by faith who Emily is, because his little girl was hurt, and Emily sent her juleps \u2014 but he failed of the intellectual grasp to combine the names. So after sending it to all the _Mrs._ Dickinsons he could discover, he consigned it to us, with the request that we would speedily return it if not ours, that he might renew his research. Almost any one under the circumstances would have doubted if it were theirs, or indeed if they were themself \u2014 but to us it was clear. Next time, dears, direct Vinnie, or Emily, and perhaps Mr. \u2014 's astuteness may be adequate. I enclose the battered remains for your Sabbath perusal, and tell you we think of you tenderly, which I trust you often believe.\n\nMaggie is making a flying visit to cattle-show, on her very robust wings \u2014 for Maggie is getting corpulent. Vinnie is picking a few seeds \u2014 for if a pod 'die, shall he not live again '; and with the shutting mail I go to read to mother about the President. When we think of the lone effort to live, and its bleak reward, the mind turns to the myth 'for His mercy endureth forever,' with confiding revulsion. Still, when Professor Fisk died on Mount Zion, Dr Humphrey prayed 'to whom shall we turn but thee? \"I have finished,' said Paul, 'the faith.' We rejoice that he did not say discarded it.\n\nThe little postman has come \u2014 Thomas's 'second oldest,' and I close with reluctant and hurrying love.\n\nEMILY.\n\nWhat is it that instructs a hand lightly created, to impel shapes to eyes at a distance, which for them have the whole area of life or of death? Yet not a pencil in the street but has this awful power, though nobody arrests it. An earnest letter is or should be life-warrant or death-warrant, for what is each instant but a gun, harmless because 'unloaded,' but that touched 'goes off'?\n\nMen are picking up the apples to-day, and the pretty boarders are leaving the trees, birds and ants and bees. I have heard a chipper say 'dee 'six times in disapprobation. How should we like to have our privileges wheeled away in a barrel?...\n\nThe Essex visit was lovely. Mr. L \u2014 remained a week. Mrs. \u2014 re-decided to come with her son Elizabeth. Aunt L \u2014 shouldered arms. I think they lie in my memory, a muffin and a bomb. Now they are all gone, and the crickets are pleased. Their bombazine reproof still falls upon the twilight, and checks the softer uproars of the departing day.\n\nEarnest love to F \u2014 . This is but a fragment, but wholes are not below.\n\nEMILY.\n\nDEAR L \u2014 , \u2014 Thank you, with love, for the kindness; it would be very sweet to claim if we needed it, but we are quite strong, and mother well as usual, and Vinnie spectacular as Disraeli and sincere as Gladstone, \u2014 was only sighing in fun. When she sighs in earnest, Emily's throne will tremble, and she will need both L \u2014 and F \u2014 ; but Vinnie 'still prevails.' When one or all of us are lain on _'Marian Erie's_ dim pallet,' so cool that she deplored to live because that she must leave it, L \u2014 and the ferns, and F \u2014 and her fan shall supplement the angels, if they have not already joined them.\n\nLovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[October, 1881.]_\n\nDid the little sisters know that Dr Holland had died \u2014 the dark man with the doll-wife, whom they used to see at 'Uncle Edward's 'before 'Uncle Edward 'went too?\n\nDo they know any of the circumstances?\n\nDid they know that the weary life in the second story had mourned to hear from them, and whether they were 'comfortable '? 'Comfortable 'seems to comprise the whole to those whose days are weak. 'Happiness 'is for birds and other foreign nations, in their faint esteem.\n\nMother heard F \u2014 telling Vinnie about her graham bread. She would like to taste it. Will F \u2014 please write Emily how, and not too inconvenient? Every particular, for Emily is dull, and she will pay in gratitude, which, though not canned like quinces, is fragrantest of all we know.\n\nTell us just how and where they are, and if October sunshine is thoughtful of their heads.\n\nEMILY.\n\n... Thank you, dear, for the quickness which is the blossom of request, and for the definiteness \u2014 for a new rule is a chance. The bread resulted charmingly, and such pretty little proportions, quaint as a druggist's formula \u2014 'I do remember an apothecary.' Mother and Vinnie think it the nicest they have ever known, and Maggie so extols it.\n\nMr. Lathrop's poem was piteously sweet. (This reference is to the pathetic verses to his little boy, by Mr. George Parsons Lathrop, beginning, \u2014\n\n'Do you remember, my sweet absent son.')\n\nTo know of your homes is comforting. I trust they are both peace. Home is the riddle of the wise \u2014 the booty of the dove. God bless the sunshine in L \u2014 's room, and could he find a sweeter task than to 'temper the wind 'to her curls?...\n\nTell us when you are happy, but be sure and tell us when you are sad, for Emily's heart is the edifice where the 'wicked cease from troubling.'\n\n_[January, 1882.]_\n\nI have only a moment, exiles, but you shall have the largest half. Mother's dear little wants so engross the time, \u2014 to read to her, to fan her, to tell her health will come to-morrow, to explain to her _why_ the grasshopper is a burden, because he is not so new a grasshopper as he was, \u2014 this is so ensuing, I hardly have said 'Good-morning, mother,' when I hear myself saying 'Mother, good-night.'\n\n_[November, 1882.]_\n\nDEAR COUSINS, \u2014 I hoped to write you before, but mother's dying almost stunned my spirit.\n\nI have answered a few inquiries of love, but written little intuitively. She was scarcely the aunt you knew. The great mission of pain had been ratified \u2014 cultivated to tenderness by persistent sorrow, so that a larger mother died than had she died before. There was no earthly parting. She slipped from our fingers like a flake gathered by the wind, and is now part of the drift called 'the infinite.'\n\nWe don't know where she is, though so many tell us.\n\nI believe we shall in some manner be cherished by our Maker \u2014 that the One who gave us this remarkable earth has the power still farther to surprise that which He has caused. Beyond that all is silence....\n\nMother was very beautiful when she had died. Seraphs are solemn artists. The illumination that comes but once paused upon her features, and it seemed like hiding a picture to lay her in the grave; but the grass that received my father will suffice his guest, the one he asked at the altar to visit him all his life.\n\nI cannot tell how Eternity seems. It sweeps around me like a sea.... Thank you for remembering me. Remembrance \u2014 mighty word.\n\n'Thou gavest it to me from the foundation of the world.'\n\nLovingly, EMILY.\n\n_[Spring, 1883.]_\n\nThank you, dears, for the sympathy. I hardly dare to know that I have lost another friend, but anguish finds it out.\n\nEach that we lose takes part of us;\n\nA crescent still abides,\n\nWhich like the moon, some turbid night,\n\nIs summoned by the tides.\n\n... I work to drive the awe away, yet awe impels the work.\n\nI almost picked the crocuses, you told them so sincerely. Spring's first conviction is a wealth beyond its whole experience.\n\nThe sweetest way I think of you is when the day is done, and L \u2014 sets the 'sunset tree 'for the little sisters. Dear F \u2014 has had many stormy mornings;... I hope they have not chilled her feet, nor dampened her heart. I am glad the little visit rested you. Rest and water are most we want.\n\nI know each moment of Miss W \u2014 is a gleam of boundlessness. 'Miles and miles away,' said Browning, 'there's a girl; 'but 'the colored end of evening smiles 'on but few so rare.\n\nThank you once more for being sorry. Till the first friend dies, we think ecstasy impersonal, but then discover that he was the cup from which we drank it, itself as yet unknown. Sweetest love for each, and a kiss besides for Miss W \u2014 's cheek, should you again meet her.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[July, 1884.]_\n\nDEAR COUSINS, \u2014 I hope you heard Mr. Sanborn's lecture. My _Republican_ was borrowed before I waked, to read till my own dawn, which is rather tardy, for I have been quite sick, and could claim the immortal reprimand, 'Mr. Lamb, you come down very late in the morning.' Eight Saturday noons ago, I was making a loaf of cake with Maggie, when I saw a great darkness coming and knew no more until late at night. I woke to find Austin and Vinnie and a strange physician bending over me, and supposed I was dying, or had died, all was so kind and hallowed. I had fainted and lain unconscious for the first time in my life. Then I grew very sick and gave the others much alarm, but am now staying. The doctor calls it 'revenge of the nerves; 'but who but Death had wronged them?\n\nF \u2014 's dear note has lain unanswered for this long season, though its 'Good-night, my dear,' warmed me to the core. I have all to say, but little strength to say it; so we must talk by degrees. I do want to know about L \u2014 , what pleases her most, book or tune or friend.\n\nI am glad the housekeeping is kinder; it is a prickly art. Maggie is with us still, warm and wild and mighty, and we have a gracious boy at the barn. We remember you always, and one or the other often comes down with a 'we dreamed of F \u2014 and L, \u2014 last night; 'then that day we think we shall hear from you, for dreams are couriers.\n\nThe little boy we laid away never fluctuates, and his dim society is companion still. But it is growing damp and I must go in. Memory's fog is rising.\n\nThe going from a world we know\n\nTo one a wonder still\n\nIs like the child's adversity\n\nWhose vista is a hill,\n\nBehind the hill is sorcery\n\nAnd everything unknown,\n\nBut will the secret compensate\n\nFor climbing it alone?\n\nVinnie's love and Maggie's, and mine is presupposed. \u2014\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[January 14, 1885.]_\n\nHad we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener, but the attempt comes, then the inundation, then it is all over, as is said of the dead.\n\nVinnie dreamed about F \u2014 last night, and designing for days to write dear L \u2014 , \u2014 dear, both of you, \u2014 indeed, with the astounding nearness which a dream brings, I must speak this morning.\n\nI do hope you are well, and that the last enchanting days have refreshed your spirits, and I hope the poor little girl is better, and the sorrow at least adjourned.\n\nL \u2014 asked 'what books 'we were wooing now \u2014 watching like a vulture for Walter Cross's life of his wife. A friend sent me _Called Back._ It is a haunting story, and as loved Mr. Bowles used to say, 'greatly impressive to me.' Do you remember the little picture with his deep face in the centre, and Governor Bross on one side, and Colfax on the other? The third of the group died yesterday, so somewhere they are again together.\n\nMoving to Cambridge seems to me like moving to Westminster Abbey, as hallowed and as unbelieved, or moving to Ephesus with Paul for a next-door neighbor.\n\nHolmes's _Life of Emerson_ is sweetly commended, but you, I know, have tasted that.... But the whistle calls me \u2014 I have not begun \u2014 so with a moan, and a kiss, and a promise of more, and love from Vinnie and Maggie, and the half-blown carnation, and the western sky, I stop.\n\nThat we are permanent temporarily, it is warm to know, though we know no more.\n\nEMILY.\n**CHAPTER VII**\n\n_To Mr. Thomas Wentworth Higginson_\n\nIN his article upon Emily Dickinson in _The Atlantic Monthly_ for October, 1891, Colonel Higginson has already given many of her letters to himself. The rest are here added.\n\nThe first one, enclosing four of her now widely known poems for his criticism, was without signature, but accompanied by a card bearing her name. Her wish for an impartial and extrinsic judgment from a stranger may, perhaps, illustrate Mrs. Ford's suggestion that 'she was longing for poetic sympathy.' At a time when she was but newly trying her own wings, she must have felt something warmly and essentially human in Colonel Higginson's writing to be thus led to ask his help rather than another's, \u2014 an intuition most happily justified.\n\nHe received the first of her unique letters at the beginning of 'war time.' Unfortunately his answers cannot now be found:\n\n_[April 16,1862.]_\n\nMR HIGGINSON, \u2014 Are you too deeply occupied to say if my verse is alive?\n\nThe mind is so near itself it cannot see distinctly, and I have none to ask.\n\nShould you think it breathed, and had you the leisure to tell me, I should feel quick gratitude.\n\nIf I make the mistake, that you dared to tell me would give me sincerer honor toward you.\n\nI enclose my name, asking you, if you please, sir, to tell me what is true?\n\nThat you will not betray me it is needless to ask, since honor is its own pawn.\n\n_[April 26,1862.]_\n\nMR HIGGINSON, \u2014 Your kindness claimed earlier gratitude, but I was ill, and write to-day from my pillow.\n\nThank you for the surgery; it was not so painful as I supposed. I bring you others, as you ask, though they might not differ. While my thought is undressed, I can make the distinction; but when I put them in the gown, they look alike and numb.\n\nYou asked how old I was? I made no verse, but one or two, until this winter, sir.\n\nI had a terror since September, I could tell to none; and so I sing, as the boy does of the burying ground, because I am afraid.\n\nYou inquire my books. For poets, I have Keats, and Mr. and Mrs. Browning. For prose, Mr. Ruskin, Sir Thomas Browne, and the _Revelations._ I went to school, but in your manner of the phrase had no education. When a little girl, I had a friend who taught me Immortality; but venturing too near, himself, he never returned. Soon after my tutor died, and for several years my lexicon was my only companion. Then I found one more, but he was not contented I be his scholar, so he left the land.\n\nYou ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog large as myself, that my father bought me. They are better than beings because they know, but do not tell; and the noise in the pool at noon excels my piano.\n\nI have a brother and sister; my mother does not care for thought, and father, too busy with his briefs to notice what we do. He buys me many books, but begs me not to read them, because he fears they joggle the mind. They are religious, except me, and address an eclipse, every morning, whom they call their \u00ab Father.'\n\nBut I fear my story fatigues you. I would like to learn. Could you tell me how to grow, or is it unconveyed, like melody or witchcraft?\n\nYou speak of Mr. Whitman. I never read his book, but was told that it was disgraceful.\n\nI read Miss Prescott's _Circumstance,_ but it followed me in the dark, so I avoided her.\n\nTwo editors of journals came to my father's house this winter, and asked me for my mind, and when I asked them 'why 'they said I was penurious, and they would use it for the world.\n\nI could not weigh myself, myself. My size felt small to me. I read your chapters in _The Atlantic,_ and experienced honor for you. I was sure you would not reject a confiding question.\n\nIs this, sir, what you asked me to tell you?\n\nYour friend,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_[June 8, 1862.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Your letter gave no drunkenness, because I tasted rum before. Domingo comes but once; yet I have had few pleasures so deep as your opinion, and if I tried to thank you, my tears would block my tongue.\n\nMy dying tutor told me that he would like to live till I had been a poet, but Death was much of mob as I could master, then. And when, far afterward, a sudden light on orchards, or a new fashion in the wind troubled my attention, I felt a palsy, here, the verses just relieve.\n\nYour second letter surprised me, and for a moment, swung. I had not supposed it. Your first gave no dishonor, because the true are not ashamed. I thanked you for your justice, but could not drop the bells whose jingling cooled my tramp. Perhaps the balm seemed better, because you bled me first. I smile when you suggest that I delay 'to publish,' that being foreign to my thought as firmament to fin.\n\nIf fame belonged to me, I could not escape her; if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me then. My barefoot rank is better.\n\nYou think my gait 'spasmodic.' I am in danger, sir. You think me 'uncontrolled.' I have no tribunal.\n\nWould you have time to be the 'friend 'you should think I need? I have a little shape: it would not crowd your desk, nor make much racket as the mouse that dents your galleries.\n\nIf I might bring you what I do \u2014 not so frequent to trouble you \u2014 and ask you if I told it clear, 't would be control to me. The sailor cannot see the north, but knows the needle can. The 'hand you stretch me in the dark 'I put mine in, and turn away. I have no Saxon now: \u2014\n\nAs if I asked a common alms,\n\nAnd in my wondering hand\n\nA stranger pressed a kingdom,\n\nAnd I, bewildered, stand;\n\nAs if I asked the Orient Had it for me a morn,\n\nAnd it should lift its purple dikes\n\nAnd shatter me with dawn!\n\nBut, will you be my preceptor, Mr. Higginson?\n\nAfter these startling letters it was but natural that Mr. Higginson should have asked to see a photograph of his 'enigmatical correspondent.' But there was none. She had an unconquerable aversion to seeing herself reproduced in any sort of 'mould.' The frontispiece to the first volume of these _Letters_ is taken from an oil painting of Emily, when she was but eight years old, in a group with her brother and sister. The only other known representation of her face is a daguerreotype made a few years later; but it is entirely unsatisfactory, both in expression and individuality. Instead of her photograph, she sent this verbal portrait. Her coy avoidance of Mr. Higginson's request was as characteristically piquant as her answer to his question of her age: \u2014\n\n_[July, 1862.]_\n\nCould you believe me without? I had no portrait, now, but am small, like the wren; and my hair is bold, like the chestnut burr; and my eyes, like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves. Would this do just as well?\n\nIt often alarms father. He says death might occur, and he has moulds of all the rest, but has no mould of me; but I noticed the quick wore off those things in a few days, and forestall the dishonor. You will think no caprice of me.\n\nYou said 'dark.' I know the butterfly, and the lizard, and the orchis. Are not those _your_ countrymen?\n\nI am happy to be your scholar, and will deserve the kindness I cannot repay.\n\nIf you truly consent, I recite now. Will you tell me my fault, frankly, as to yourself, for I had rather wince than die. Men do not call the surgeon to commend the bone, but to set it, sir, and fracture within is more critical. And for this, preceptor, I shall bring you obedience, the blossom from my garden, and every gratitude I know.\n\nPerhaps you smile at me. I could not stop for that. My business is circumference. An ignorance, not of customs, but if caught with the dawn, or the sunset see me, myself the only kangaroo among the beauty, sir, if you please, it afflicts me, and I thought that instruction would take it away.\n\nBecause you have much business, beside the growth of me, you will appoint, yourself, how often I shall come without your inconvenience.\n\nAnd if at any time you regret you received me, or I prove a different fabric to that you supposed, you must banish me.\n\nWhen I state myself, as the representative of the verse, it does not mean me, but a supposed person.\n\nYou are true about the 'perfection.' To-day makes yesterday mean.\n\nYou spoke of _Pippa Passes._ I never heard anybody speak of _Pippa Passes_ before. You see my posture is benighted.\n\nTo thank you baffles me. Are you perfectly powerful? Had I a pleasure you had not, I could delight to bring it.\n\nYOUR SCHOLAR.\n\nColonel Higginson wrote, 'It would seem that at first I tried a little \u2014 a very little \u2014 to lead her in the direction of rules and traditions; but I fear it was only perfunctory, and that she interested me more in her \u2014 so to speak \u2014 unregenerate condition. Still, she recognizes the endeavor. In this case, as will be seen, I called her attention to the fact that while she took pains to correct the spelling of a word, she was utterly careless of greater irregularities. It will be seen by her answer that with her usual na\u00efve adroitness she turns my point ': \u2014\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Are these more orderly? I thank you for the truth.\n\nI had no monarch in my life, and cannot rule myself; and when I try to organize, my little force explodes and leaves me bare and charred.\n\nI think you called me 'wayward.' Will you help me improve?\n\nI suppose the pride that stops the breath, in the core of woods, is not of ourself.\n\nYou say I confess the little mistake, and omit the large. Because I can see orthography; but the ignorance out of sight is my preceptor's charge.\n\nOf 'shunning men and women,' \u2014 they talk of hallowed things, aloud, and embarrass my dog. He and I don't object to them, if they'll exist their side. I think Carl would please you. He is dumb, and brave. I think you would like the chestnut-tree I met in my walk. It hit my notice suddenly, and I thought the skies were in blossom.\n\nThen there 's a noiseless noise in the orchard that I let persons hear.\n\nYou told me in one letter you could not come to see me 'now,' and I made no answer; not because I had none, but did not think myself the price that you should come so far.\n\nI do not ask so large a pleasure, lest you might deny me.\n\nYou say, 'Beyond your knowledge.' You would not jest with me, because I believe you; but, preceptor, you cannot mean it?\n\nAll men say 'What 'to me, but I thought it a fashion.\n\nWhen much in the woods, as a little girl, I was told that the snake would bite me, that I might pick a poisonous flower, or goblins kidnap me; but I went along and met no one but angels, who were far shyer of me than I could be of them, so I haven't that confidence in fraud which many exercise.\n\nI shall observe your precept, though I don't understand it, always.\n\nI marked a line in one verse, because I met it after I made it, and never consciously touch a paint mixed by another person. I do not let go it, because it is mine.\n\nHave you the portrait of Mrs. Browning? Persons sent me three. If you had none, will you have mine?\n\nYOUR SCHOLAR.\n\nAfter entering the volunteer army of the Civil War, Colonel Higginson received the following letter while in camp in South Carolina, early in 1863: \u2014\n\nAMHERST.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I did not deem that planetary forces annulled, but suffered an exchange of territory, or world.\n\nI should have liked to see you before you became improbable. War feels to me an oblique place. Should there be other summers, would you perhaps come?\n\nI found you were gone, by accident, as I find systems are, or seasons of the year, and obtain no cause, but suppose it a treason of progress that dissolves as it goes. Carlo still remained, and I told him Best gains must have the losses' test, To constitute them gains.\n\nMy shaggy ally assented.\n\nPerhaps death gave me awe for friends, striking sharp and early, for I held them since in a brittle love, of more alarm than peace. I trust you may pass the limit of war; and though not reared to prayer, when service is had in church for our arms, [ include yourself.... I was thinking to-day, as I noticed, that the 'supernatural' was only the natural disclosed.\n\nNot 'Revelation' 'tis that waits,\n\nBut our unfurnished eyes.\n\nBut I fear I detain you. Should you, before this reaches you, experience Immortality, who will inform me of the exchange? Could you, with honor, avoid death, I entreat you, sir. It would bereave YOUR GNOME.\n\nI trust the _Procession of Flowers_ was not a premonition.\n\nOf this curious letter Colonel Higginson wrote: 'Mr. Howells reminds me that Swedenborg somewhere has an image akin to her \"oblique place,\" where he symbolizes evil as simply an oblique angle.'\n\nIn the summer of 1863 Colonel Higginson was wounded; in September of the same year began Emily's trouble with her eyes, frequently referred to. In the April following she went to Boston, \u2014 her mention of Hawthorne's death (May, 1864) of itself placing the date: \u2014\n\n_[Summer, 1864.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Are you in danger? I did not know that you were hurt. Will you tell me more? Mr. Hawthorne died.\n\nI was ill since September, and since April in Boston for a physician s care. He does not let me go, yet I work in my prison, and make guests for myself.\n\nCarlo did not come, because that he would die in jail; and the mountains I could not hold now, so I brought but the Gods.\n\nI wish to see you more than before I failed. Will you tell me your health? I am surprised and anxious since receiving your note.\n\nThe only news I know Is bulletins all day From Immortality.\n\nCan you render my pencil? The physician has taken away my pen.\n\nI inclose the address from a letter, lest my figures fail.\n\nKnowledge of your recovery would excel my own.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\nAMHERST.\n\nDear friend\n\nYou were so generous to me, that if possible I offended you, I could not too deeply apologize.\n\nTo doubt my High Behavior, is a new pain - I could be honorable no more - till I asked you about it. I know not what to deem myself - Yesterday \"Your Scholar\" - but might I be the one you tonight, forgave, 'tis a Better Honor - Mine is but just the Thief's Request - Please, Sir, Hear.\n\n'BARABBAS.'\n\nThe possibility to pass\n\nWithout a moment's bell\n\nInto conjecture's presence,\n\nIs like a face of steel\n\nThat suddenly looks into ours\n\nWith a metallic grin;\n\nThe cordiality of Death\n\nWho drills his welcome in.\n\nAMHERST.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Whom my dog understood could not elude others.\n\nI should be so glad to see you, but think it an apparitional pleasure, not to be fulfilled. I am uncertain of Boston.\n\nI had promised to visit my physician for a few days in May, but father objects because he is in the habit of me.\n\nIs it more far to Amherst?\n\nYou will find a minute host, but a spacious welcome....\n\nIf I still entreat you to teach me, are you much displeased? I will be patient, constant, never reject your knife, and should my slowness goad you, you knew before myself that\n\nExcept the smaller size\n\nNo lives are round.\n\nThese hurry to a sphere\n\nAnd show and end.\n\nThe larger slower grow\n\nAnd later hang;\n\nThe summers of Hesperides\n\nAre long.\n\nAMHERST.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 A letter always feels to me like Immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend. Indebted in our talk to attitude and accent, there seems a spectral power in thought that walks alone. I would like to thank you for four great kindness, but never try to lift the words which I cannot hold.\n\nShould you come to Amherst, I might then succeed, though gratitude is the timid wealth of those who have nothing. I am sure that you speak the truth, because the noble do, but your letters always surprise me.\n\nMy life has been too simple and stern to embarrass any. 'Seen of angels,' scarcely my responsibility.\n\nIt is difficult not to be fictitious in so fair a place, but tests' severe repairs are permitted all.\n\nWhen a little girl I remember hearing that remarkable passage and preferring the 'power,' not knowing at the time that 'kingdom' and 'glory' were included.\n\nYou noticed my dwelling alone. To an emigrant, country is idle except it be his own. You speak kindly of seeing me; could it please your convenanence to come so far as Amherst, I should be very glad, but I do not cross my father's ground to any house or town.\n\nOf our greatest acts we are ignorant. You were not aware that you saved my life. To thank you in person has been since then one of my few requests]... You will excuse each that I say, because no one taught me.\n\n_[August, 1870.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I will be at home and glad.\n\nI think you said the 15th. The incredible never surprises us, because it is the incredible.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\nOf his meeting Emily Dickinson in her own home, and of his first impressions of her, Colonel Higginson has told in the pages of _The Atlantic._\n\nWithdrawing more and more constantly from accumulated humanity, no thought of the possibility of a lack of congenial occupation ever crossed her mind. During their first interview, indeed, Colonel Higginson asked her 'if she never felt any want of employment, not going off the grounds, and rarely seeing a visitor; 'to which she replied, 'I never thought of conceiving that I could ever have the slightest approach to such a want in all future time.'\n\nAmong the strong and remarkable things she said to him are several sentences which it seems not irrelevant to insert here: \u2014\n\n'Is it oblivion or absorption when things pass from our minds?'\n\n'Truth is such a rare thing, it is delightful to tell it.'\n\n'I find ecstasy in living; the mere sense of living is joy enough.'\n\nOne or two others Colonel Higginson has called 'the very wantonness of over-statement,' as, \u2014\n\n'How do most people live without any thoughts? There are many people in the world, \u2014 you must have noticed them in the street, \u2014 how do they live? How do they get strength to put on their clothes in the morning?'\n\nAnd this, 'a crowning extravaganza,' \u2014\n\n'If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?'\n\nAfter the visit she wrote: \u2014\n\n_[August, 1870.]_\n\nEnough is so vast a sweetness, I suppose it never occurs, only pathetic counterfeits.\n\nFabulous to me as the men of the _Revelations_ who 'shall not hunger any more.' Even the possible has its insoluble particle.\n\nAfter you went, I took Macbeth and turned to 'Birnam Wood.' Came _twice '_ to Dunsinane.' I thought and went about my work....\n\nThe vein cannot thank the artery, but her solemn indebtedness to him, even the stolidest admit, and so of me who try, whose effort leaves no sound.\n\nYou ask great questions accidentally. To answer them would be events. I trust that you are safe.\n\nI ask you to forgive me for all the ignorance I had. I find no nomination sweet as your low opinion.\n\nSpeak, if but to blame your obedient child.\n\nYou told me of Mrs. Lowell's poems. Would you tell me where I could find them, or are they not for sight? An article of yours, too, perhaps the only one you wrote that I never knew. It was about a 'Latch.' Are you willing to tell me? (Perhaps _A Shadow.)_\n\nIf I ask too much, you could please refuse. Shortness to live has made me bold.\n\nAbroad is close to-night and I have but to lift my hands to touch the 'Heights of Abraham.'\n\nDICKINSON.\n\n_[Winter, 1871.]_\n\nTo live is so startling, it leaves but little room for other occupations, though friends are, if possible, an event more fair.\n\nI am happy you have the travel you so long desire, and chastened that my master met neither accident nor Death.\n\nOur own possessions, though our own, 'tis well to hoard anew, remembering the dimensions of possibility. I often saw your name in illustrious mention, and envied an occasion so abstinent to me. Thank you for having been to Amherst. Could you come again that would be far better, though the finest wish is the futile one.\n\nWhen I saw you last, it was mighty summer \u2014 now the grass is glass, and the meadow stucco, and 'still waters 'in the pool where the frog drinks.\n\nThese behaviors of the year hurt almost like music, shifting when it ease us most. Thank you for the 'lesson.'\n\nI will study it, though hitherto, \u2014\n\nMenagerie to me My neighbor be.\n\nYOUR SCHOLAR.\n\nHer father's death (June 16) swept away all her landmarks. To this friend she wrote: \u2014\n\n_[July, 1874]_\n\nThe last afternoon that my father lived, though with no premonition, I preferred to be with him, and invented an absence for mother, Vinnie being asleep. He seemed peculiarly pleased, as I oftenest stayed with myself; and remarked, as the afternoon withdrew, he 'would like it to not end.'\n\nHis pleasure almost embarrassed me, and my brother coming, I suggested they walk. Next morning I woke him for the train, and saw him no more.\n\nHis heart was pure and terrible, and I think no other like it exists.\n\nI am glad there is Immortality, but would have tested it myself, before intrusting him. Mr. Bowles was with us. With that exception, I saw none. I have wished for you, since my father died, and had you an hour unengrossed, it would be almost priceless. Thank you for each kindness.... Your beautiful hymn, was it not prophetic? It has assisted that pause of space which I call 'father.'\n\n_[August, 1874]_\n\nWhen I think of my father's lonely life and lonelier death, there is this redress, \u2014\n\nTake all away;\n\nThe only thing worth larceny\n\nIs left \u2014 the Immortality.\n\nMy earliest friend wrote me the week before he died, 'If I live, I will go to Amherst; if I die, I certainly will.'\n\nIs your house deeper off?\n\nYOUR SCHOLAR.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I find you with dusk, for day is tired, and lays her antediluvian cheek to the hill like a child.\n\nNature confides now.\n\nI hope you are joyful frequently, these beloved days, and the health of your friend bolder.\n\nI remember her with my blossoms and wish they were hers\n\nWhose pink career may have a close\n\nPortentous as our own, who knows?\n\nTo imitate these neighbors fleet,\n\nIn awe and innocence, were meet.\n\nSummer is so kind I had hoped you might come. Since my father's dying, everything sacred enlarged so it was dim to own. When a few years old, I was taken to a funeral which I now know was of peculiar distress, and the clergyman asked, 'Is the arm of the Lord shortened, that it cannot save?'\n\nHe italicised the 'cannot.' I mistook the accent for a doubt of Immortality, and not daring to ask, it besets me still, though we know that the mind of the heart must live if its clerical part do not. Would you explain it to me?... It comforts an instinct if another have felt it too. I was re-reading your _Decoration._ You may have forgotten it.\n\n_[June, 1875.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Mother was paralyzed Tuesday, a year from the evening father died. I thought perhaps you would care.\n\nYOUR SCHOLAR.\n\nA death-blow is a life-blow to some\n\nWho, till they died, did not alive become;\n\nWho, had they lived, had died, but when\n\nThey died, vitality begun.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The flower was jasmine. I am glad if it pleased your friend. It is next dearest to daphne, except wild-flowers \u2014 those are dearer.\n\nI have a friend in Dresden, who thinks the love of the field a misplaced affection \u2014 and says he will send me a meadow that is better than summer's. If he does, I will send it to you.\n\nI have read nothing of Tourgu\u00e9neff's, but thank you for telling me \u2014 and will seek him immediately. I did not read Mr. Miller because I could not care about him.\n\nMrs. Hunt's poems are stronger than any written by women since Mrs. Browning, with the exception of Mrs. Lewes's; but truth like ancestors' brocades can stand alone. You speak of _Men and Women._ That is a broad book.\n\n_Bells and Pomegranates_ I never saw, but have Mrs. Browning's endorsement. While Shakespeare remains, literature is firm.\n\nAn insect cannot run away with Achilles's head. Thank you for having written the _Atlantic Essays._ They are a fine joy, though to possess the ingredient for congratulation renders congratulation superfluous.\n\nDear friend, I trust you as you ask. If I exceed permission, excuse the bleak simplicity that knew no tutor but the north. Would you but guide\n\nDICKINSON?\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I am sorry your brother is dead. I fear he was dear to you. I should be glad to know you were painlessly grieved.\n\nOf Heaven above the firmest proof We fundamental know \u2014 Except for its marauding hand It had been heaven below.\n\nDICKINSON.\n\nAs already shown, Emily had effectively resisted all importunity to publish. Even the eloquent pleading of her long-time friend 'H. H.' was of no avail; but apparently reinforcement in her decision was sometimes sought: \u2014\n\n_[Early in 1876 ]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Are you willing to tell me what is right? Mrs. Jackson, of Colorado, was with me a few moments this week, and wished me to write for this. (A circular of the _No Name Series_ was enclosed.) I told her I was unwilling, and she asked me why? I said I was incapable, and she seemed not to believe me and asked me not to decide for a few days. Meantime, she would write to me. She was so sweetly noble, I would regret to estrange her, and if you would be willing to give me a note saying you disapproved it and thought me unfit, she would believe you. I am sorry to flee so often to my safest friend, but hope he permits me.\n\n_[Acknowledging a photograph, 1876.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Except your coming I know no gift so great, and in one extent it exceeds that, \u2014 it is permanent.\n\nYour face is more joyful when you speak, and I miss an almost arrogant look that at times haunts you, but with that exception, it is so real I could think it you.\n\nThank you with delight, and please to thank your friend for the lovely suggestion.\n\nI hope she has no suffering now.\n\nWas it Browning's flower that 'ailed till evening'? I shall think of your 'keeping house 'at night when I close the shutter \u2014 but to be Mrs. Higginson's guest is the boon of birds.\n\nJudge Lord was with us a few days since, and told me that the joy we most revere we profane in taking. I wish that was wrong.\n\nMrs. Jackson has written. It was not stories she asked of me. But may I tell her just the same that you don't prefer it? Thank you if I may, for it almost seems sordid to refuse from myself again.\n\nMy brother and sister speak of you, and covet your remembrance, and perhaps you will not reject my own to Mrs. Higginson?\n\nSummer laid her supple glove\n\nIn its sylvan drawer \u2014\n\nWheresoe'er, or was she\n\nThe demand of awe?\n\nYOUR SCHOLAR.\n\n_[March, 1876.]_\n\n... But two had mentioned the 'spring 'to me \u2014 yourself and the _Revelations._ 'I, Jesus, have sent mine angel.'\n\nI inferred your touch in the papers on Lowell and Emerson. It is delicate that each mind is itself, like a distinct bird.\n\nI was lonely there was an 'or 'in that beautiful 'I would go to Amherst,' though grieved for its cause. I wish your friend had my strength, for I don't care for roving \u2014 she perhaps might, though to remain with you is journey.\n\nTo abstain from _Daniel Deronda_ is hard \u2014 you are very kind to be willing.... I am glad _Immortality_ pleased you. I believed it would. I suppose even God Himself could not withhold that now.\n\nTo disappear enhances,\n\nThe man that runs away\n\nIs tinctured for an instant\n\nWith Immortality.\n\nBut yesterday a vagrant,\n\nTo-day in memory lain\n\nWith superstitious value \u2014\n\nWe tamper with again.\n\nBut 'never 'far as honor\n\nWithdraws the worthless thing,\n\nAnd impotent to cherish\n\nWe hasten to adorn.\n\nOf Death the sternest function\n\nThat just as we discern\n\nThe excellence defies us \u2014\n\nSecurest gathered then\n\nThe fruit perverse to plucking,\n\nBut leaning to the sight\n\nWith the ecstatic limit\n\nOf unobtained delight.\n\nIn sending a volume of George Eliot to Mrs. Higginson, Emily wrote, 'I am bringing you a little granite book to lean on.'\n\n_[Autumn, 1876.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Thank you for permission to write Mrs. Higginson. I hope I have not fatigued her \u2014 also for thinking of my brother, who is slowly better, and rides for an hour, kind days.\n\nI am glad if I did as you would like. The degradation to displease you, I hope I may never incur.\n\nOften, when troubled by entreaty, that paragraph of yours has saved me \u2014 'Such being the majesty of the art you presume to practise, you can at least take time before dishonoring it,' and Enobarbus said, 'Leave that which leaves itself.'\n\nI shall look with joy for the 'little book 'because it is yours, though I seek you in vain in the magazines where you once wrote. I recently found two papers of yours that were unknown to me, and wondered anew at your withdrawing thought so sought by others.\n\nWhen flowers annually died and I was a child, I used to read Dr Hitchcock's book on the _Flowers of North America._ This comforted their absence, assuring me they lived.\n\nYOUR SCHOLAR.\n\nThank you, dear friend, for my 'New Year,' but did you not confer it? Had your scholar permission to fashion yours, it were perhaps too fair. I always ran home to awe when a child, if anything befell me. He was an awful mother, but I liked him better than none.\n\nThere remained this shelter after you left me the other day.\n\nOf your flitting coming it is fair to think, like the bee's coup\u00e9, vanishing in music.\n\nWould you with the bee return,\n\nWhat a firm of noon!\n\nDeath obtains the rose,\n\nBut the news of dying goes\n\nNo further than the breeze.\n\nThe ear is the last face. We hear after we see, which to tell you first is still my destiny.\n\nMeeting a bird this morning, I began to flee. He saw it and sung.\n\nPresuming on that lone result,\n\nHis infinite disdain,\n\nBut vanquished him with my defeat \u2014\n\n'T was victory was slain.\n\nI shall read the book.\n\nThank you for telling me.\n\n_[After Colonel Higginson had met with a bereavement, in 1877.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 We must be less than Death to be lessened by it, for nothing is irrevocable but ourselves.\n\nI am glad you are better. I had feared to follow you, lest you would rather be lonely, which is the will of sorrow; but the papers had spoken of you with affectionate deference, and to know you were deeply remembered might not too intrude.\n\nTo be human is more than to be divine, for when Christ was divine he was uncontented till he had been human.\n\nI remember nothing so strong as to see you....\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I think of you so wholly that I cannot resist to write again, to ask if you are safe? Danger is not at first, for then we are unconscious, but in the after, slower days.\n\nDo not try to be saved, but let redemption find you, as it certainly will. Love is its own rescue, for we, at our supremest, are but its trembling emblems.\n\nYOUR SCHOLAR.\n\nAfter an interval of silence came this letter, in the same year: \u2014\n\nMust I lose the friend that saved my life without inquiring why? Affection gropes through drifts of awe for his tropic door.\n\nThat every bliss we know or guess hourly befall him, is his scholar's prayer.\n\n_[January, 1878.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I felt it shelter to speak to you.\n\nMy brother and sister are with Mr. Bowles, who is buried this afternoon.\n\nThe last song that I heard \u2014 that was, since the birds \u2014 was, 'He leadeth me, he leadeth me; yea, though I walk ' \u2014 then the voices stooped, the arch was so low.\n\n_[Summer, 1878.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 When you wrote you would come in November, it would please me it were November then \u2014 but the time has moved. You went with the coming of the birds \u2014 they will go with your coming, but to see you is so much sweeter than birds, I could excuse the spring.\n\nWith the bloom of the flower your friend loved, I have wished for her, but God cannot discontinue Himself.\n\nMr. Bowles was not willing to die.\n\nWhen you have lost a friend, Master, you remember you could not begin again, because there was no world. I have thought of you often since the darkness, though we cannot assist another's night.\n\nI have hoped you were saved.\n\nThat those have immortality with whom we talked about it, makes it no more mighty but perhaps more sudden....\n\nHow brittle are the piers\n\nOn which our faith doth tread \u2014\n\nNo bridge below doth totter so,\n\nYet none hath such a crowd.\n\nIt is as old as God \u2014\n\nIndeed, 't was built by Him \u2014\n\nHe sent His son to test the plank,\n\nAnd he pronounced it firm.\n\nI hope you have been well. I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious.\n\nTo have seen Stratford on Avon, and the Dresden Madonna, must be almost peace.\n\nAnd perhaps you have spoken with George Eliot. Will you 'tell me about it'? Will you come in November, and will November come, or is this the hope that opens and shuts, like the eye of the wax doll?\n\nYOUR SCHOLAR.\n\n_[In acknowledgment of his Short Studies of American Authors, 1879.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Brabantio's gift was not more fair than yours, though I trust without his pathetic inscription, 'Which but thou hast already, with all my heart I would keep from thee.'\n\nOf Poe, I know too little to think \u2014 Hawthorne appalls \u2014 entices.\n\nMrs. Jackson soars to your estimate lawfully as a bird, but of Howells and James, one hesitates. Your relentless music dooms as it redeems.\n\nRemorse for the brevity of a book is a rare emotion, though fair as Lowell's 'sweet despair 'in the 'slipper hymn.'\n\nOne thing of it we borrow\n\nAnd promise to return,\n\nThe booty and the sorrow\n\nIts sweetness to have known.\n\nOne thing of it we covet \u2014\n\nThe power to forget,\n\nThe anguish of the avarice\n\nDefrays the dross of it\n\nHad I tried before reading your gift to thank you, it had perhaps been possible, but I waited, and now it disables my lips.\n\nMagic, as it electrifies, also makes decrepit. Thank you for thinking of me.\n\nYOUR SCHOLAR.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 You were once so kind as to say you would advise me. Could I ask it now?\n\nI have promised three hymns to a charity, but without your approval could not give them.\n\nThey are short, and I could write them quite plainly, and if you felt it convenient to tell me if they were faithful, I should be very grateful, though if public cares too far fatigue you, please deny YOUR SCHOLAR.\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Thank you for the advice. I shall implicitly follow it.\n\nThe one who asked me for the lines I had never seen.\n\nHe spoke of 'a charity.' I refused, but did not inquire. He again earnestly urged, on the ground that in that way I might 'aid unfortunate children.' The name of 'child 'was a snare to me, and I hesitated, choosing my most rudimentary, and without criterion.\n\nI inquired of you. You can scarcely estimate the opinion to one utterly guideless. Again thank you.\n\nYOUR SCHOLAR.\n\n_[Early Summer, 1880.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I was touchingly reminded of [a child who had died] this morning by an Indian woman with gay baskets and a dazzling baby, at the kitchen door. Her little boy 'once died,' she said, death to her dispelling him. I asked her what the baby liked, and she said 'to step.' The prairie before the door was gay with flowers of hay, and I led her in. She argued with the birds, she leaned on clover walls and they fell, and dropped her. With jargon sweeter than a bell, she grappled buttercups, and they sank together, the buttercups the heaviest. What sweetest use of days! 'T was noting some such scene made Vaughan humbly say, \u2014\n\n'My days that are at best but dim and hoary.' I think it was Vaughan....\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 May I ask the delight in advance, of sending you the _Life of Mrs. Cross_ by her husband, which the papers promise for publication?\n\nI feared some other pupil might usurp my privilege.\n\nEmblem is immeasurable \u2014 that is why it is better than fulfilment, which can be drained.\n**CHAPTER VIII**\n\n_To Mr. Perez D. Cowan, Miss Maria Whitney, Mr. Bowles, Mr. J. D. Clark, and Mr. C. H. Clark_\n\nMR COWAN graduated at Amherst College in 1866, and 'Peter' was Emily Dickinson's especial appellation for this favorite cousin. The first letter was written upon the occasion of his marriage to Miss Margaret Elizabeth Rhea.\n\n_To the Rev. Perez D. Cowan_\n\n_[October 26, 1870.]_\n\nDEAR PETER, \u2014 It is indeed sweet news. I am proud of your happiness. To Peter, and Peter's, let me give both hands. Delight has no competitor, so it is always most. 'Maggie 'is a warm name. I shall like to take it. Home is the definition of God.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nIt is long since I knew of you, Peter, and much may have happened to both; but that is the rarest book, which, opened at whatever page, equally enchants us.\n\nI hope that you have power, and as much of peace as in our deep existence may be possible.\n\nTo multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.\n\nWe learn, through cousin Montague, that you have lost your sister through that sweeter loss which we call gain.\n\nI am glad she is glad.\n\nHer early pain had seemed to me peculiarly cruel.\n\nTell her how tenderly we are pleased.\n\nRecall me too to your other sisters, who though they may have mislaid me, I can always find; and include me to your sweet wife. We are daily reminded of you by the clergyman, Mr. Jenkins, whom you strongly resemble.\n\nThank you for the paper. It is homelike to know where you are.\n\nWe can almost hear you announce the text, when the air is clear; and how social if you should preach us a note some Sunday in recess!\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\n_[After the death of Mr. Cowan's little daughter Margie.]_\n\n[November 8, 1879.]\n\nWill it comfort my grieved cousin to know that Emily and Vinnie are among the ones this moment thinking of him with peculiar tenderness, and is his sweet wife too faint to remember to Whom her loved one is consigned?\n\n'Come unto me 'could not alarm those minute feet \u2014 how sweet to remember.\n\nIf you feel able, write a few words; if you do not \u2014 remember forgetting is a guile unknown to your faithful cousin EMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\n_[Upon receiving an account of little Margie's life and death.] [October, 1880.]_\n\nDEAR COUSIN, \u2014 The sweet book found me on my pillow, where I was detained, or I should have thanked you immediately.\n\nThe little creature must have been priceless \u2014 yours and not yours \u2014 how hallowed!\n\nIt may have been she came to show you Immortality. Her startling little flight would imply she did.\n\nMay I remind you what Paul said, or do you think of nothing else, these October nights, without her crib to visit?\n\nThe little furniture of loss has lips of dirks to stab us. I hope Heaven is warm, there are so many barefoot ones. I hope it is near \u2014 the little tourist was so small. I hope it is not so unlike earth that we shall miss the peculiar form \u2014 the mould of the bird. 'And with what body do they come? 'Then they _do_ come! Rejoice! What door? What hour? Run, run, my soul! Illuminate the house!\n\n'Body! 'then real, \u2014 a face and eyes, \u2014 to know that it is them 1 Paul knew the Man that knew the news, He passed through Bethlehem.\n\nWith love for you, and your sweet wife, 'whom seeing not, we 'trust.\n\nCOUSIN EMILY.\n\n_To Miss Maria Whitney_\n\nHow well I know her not\n\nWhom not to know has been\n\nA bounty in prospective, now\n\nNext door to mine the pain.\n\nEMILY.\n\nThe handwriting of this first little stanza sent to Miss Whitney is that of the early middle period, and is too indefinite to be safely dated; but before the next letter, a long interval seems to have elapsed.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nVinnie and her sister thank Miss Whitney for the delicate kindness, and remember her with peculiar love these acuter days....\n\nI fear we think too lightly of the gift of mortality, which, too gigantic to comprehend, certainly cannot be estimated.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I have thought of you often since the darkness, \u2014 though we cannot assist another's night. I have hoped you were saved. That he has received Immortality who so often conferred it, invests it with a more sudden charm....\n\nI hope you have the power of hope, and that every bliss we know or guess hourly befalls you.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\n... To relieve the irreparable degrades it.\n\nBrabantio's resignation is the only one \u2014 'I here do give thee that with all my heart, which but thou hast already, with all my heart I would keep from thee.'\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I am constantly more astonished that the body contains the spirit \u2014 except for overmastering work it could not be borne.\n\nI shall miss saying to Vinnie when we hear the Northampton bell \u2014 as in subtle states of the west we do \u2014 'Miss Whitney is going to church,' though must not everywhere be church to hearts that have, or have had, a friend?\n\nCould that sweet darkness where they dwell\n\nBe once disclosed to us,\n\nThe clamor for their loveliness\n\nWould burst the loneliness.\n\nI trust you may have the dearest summer possible to loss. One sweet, sweet more, one liquid more, of that Arabian presence!\n\nYou spoke very sweetly to both of us, and your sewing and recollecting is a haunting picture, a sweet, spectral protection. Your name is taken as tenderly as the names of our birds, or the flower, for some mysterious cause, sundered from its dew.-...\n\nIn a brief memoir of Parepa, in which she was likened to a rose, \u2014 'thornless until she died,' some bereaved one added. To miss him is his only stab, but that he never gave!\n\nA word from you would be sacred. \u2014\n\nEMILY.\n\n... The crucifix requires no glove.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nIntrusiveness of flowers is brooked by even troubled hearts.\n\nThey enter and then knock \u2014 then chide their ruthless sweetness, and then remain forgiven. May these molest as fondly!\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nThan Heaven more remote,\n\nFor Heaven is the root,\n\nBut these the flitted seed,\n\nMore flown indeed\n\nThan ones that never were,\n\nOr those that hide, and are.\n\nWhat madness, by their side,\n\nA vision to provide\n\nOf future days\n\nThey cannot praise.\n\nMy soul, to find them, come,\n\nThey cannot call, they're dumb,\n\nNor prove, nor woo,\n\nBut that they have abode\n\nIs absolute as God,\n\nAnd instant, too.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nThe face in evanescence lain\n\nIs more distinct than ours,\n\nAnd ours, considered for its sake,\n\nAs capsules are for flowers.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Your touching suggestion... is a tender permission....\n\nWe cannot believe for each other \u2014 thought is too sacred a despot, but I hope that God, in whatever form, is true to our friend.... Consciousness is the only home of which we _now_ know. That sunny adverb had been enough, were it not foreclosed.\n\nWhen not inconvenient to your heart, please remember us, and let us help you carry it, if you grow tired. Though we are each unknown to ourself and each other, 't is not what well conferred it, the dying soldier asks, it is only the water.\n\nWe knew not that we were to live,\n\nNor when we are to die\n\nOur ignorance our cuirass is;\n\nWe wear mortality\n\nAs lightly as an option gown\n\nTill asked to take it off.\n\nBy His intrusion God is known \u2014\n\nIt is the same with life.\n\n_To the Same_\n\n_[November, 1882.]_\n\n_Tuesday._\n\nSWEET FRIEND, \u2014 Our mother ceased. While we bear her dear form through the wilderness, I am sure you are with us.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The guilt of having sent the note had so much oppressed me that I hardly dared to read the reply, and delayed my heart almost to its stifling, sure you would never receive us again. To come unto our own and our own fail to receive us, is a sere response.\n\nI hope you may forgive us.\n\nAll is faint indeed without our vanished mother, who achieved in sweetness what she lost in strength, though grief of wonder at her fate made the winter short, and each night I reach finds my lungs more breathless, seeking what it means.\n\nTo the bright east she flies,\n\nBrothers of Paradise Remit her home,\n\nWithout a change of wings,\n\nOr Love's convenient things,\n\nEnticed to come.\n\nFashioning what she is,\n\nFathoming what she was,\n\nWe deem we dream \u2014\n\nAnd that dissolves the days\n\nThrough which existence strays\n\nHomeless at home.\n\nThe sunshine almost speaks, this morning, redoubling the division, and Paul's remark grows graphic, 'the _weight_ of glory.'\n\nI am glad you have an hour for books, those enthralling friends, the immortalities, perhaps, each may pre-receive. 'And I saw the Heavens opened.'\n\nI hope that nothing pains you except the pang of life, sweeter to bear than to omit.\n\nWith love and wonder, EMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Is not an absent friend as mysterious as a bulb in the ground, and is not a bulb the most captivating floral form? Must it not have enthralled the Bible, if we may infer from its selection? 'The lily of the field!'\n\nI never pass one without being chagrined for Solomon, and so in love with 'the lily' anew, that were I sure no one saw me, I might make those advances of which in after life I should repent.\n\nThe apple-blossoms were slightly disheartened, yesterday, by a snow-storm, but the birds encouraged them all that they could \u2014 and how fortunate that the little ones had come to cheer their damask brethren!\n\nYou spoke of coming 'with the apple-blossoms ' \u2014 which occasioned our solicitude.\n\nThe ravenousness of fondness is best disclosed by children....\n\nIs there not a sweet wolf within us that demands its food?\n\nI can easily imagine your fondness for the little life so mysteriously committed to your care. The bird that asks our crumb has a plaintive distinction. I rejoice that it was possible for you to be with it, for I think the early spiritual influences about a child are more hallowing than we know. The angel begins in the morning in every human life. How small the furniture of bliss! How scant the heavenly fabric!\n\nNo ladder needs the bird but skies\n\nTo situate its wings,\n\nNor any leader's grim baton\n\nArraigns it as it sings.\n\nThe implements of bliss are few \u2014\n\nAs Jesus says of _Him,_\n\n'Come unto me' the moiety\n\nThat wafts the cherubim.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 You are like God. We pray to Him, and he answers 'No.' Then we pray to Him to rescind the 'no,' and He don't answer at all, yet 'Seek and ye shall find 'is the boon of faith.\n\nYou failed to keep your appointment with the apple-blossoms \u2014 the japonica, even, bore an apple to elicit you, but that must be a silver bell which calls the human heart.\n\nI still hope that you live, and in lands of consciousness.\n\nIt is Commencement now. Pathos is very busy.\n\nThe past is not a package one can lay away. I see my father's eyes, and those of Mr. Bowles \u2014 those isolated comets. If the future is mighty as the past, what may vista be?\n\nWith my foot in a sling from a vicious sprain, and reminded of you almost to tears by the week and its witness, I send this sombre word.\n\nThe vane defines the wind.\n\nWhere we thought you were, Austin says you are not. How strange to change one's sky, unless one's star go with it, but yours has left an astral wake.\n\nVinnie gives her hand.\n\nAlways with love,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Your sweet self-reprehension makes us look within, which is so wild a place we are soon dismayed, but the seed sown in the lake bears the liquid flower, and so of all your words.\n\nI am glad you accept rest.\n\nToo many disdain it. I am glad you go to the Adirondacks.\n\nTo me the name is homelike, for one of my lost went every year with an Indian guide, before the woods were broken. Had you been here it would be sweet, but that, like the peach, is later. With a to-morrow in its cupboard, who would be 'an hungered '?\n\nThank you for thinking of Dick. He is now the horse of association.\n\nMen are picking the grass from father's meadow to lay it away for winter, and it takes them a long time. They bring three horses of their own, but Dick, ever gallant, offers to help, and bears a little machine like a top, which spins the grass away.\n\nIt seems very much like a gentleman getting his own supper \u2014 for what is his supper winter nights but tumblers of clover?\n\nYou speak of 'disillusion.' That is one of the few subjects on which I am an infidel. Life is so strong a vision, not one of it shall fail.\n\nNot what the stars have done, but what they are to do, is what detains the sky.\n\nWe shall watch for the promised words from the Adirondacks, and hope the recess will all be joy. To have been made alive is so chief a thing, all else inevitably adds. Were it not riddled by partings, it were too divine.\n\nI was never certain that mother had died, except while the students were singing. The voices came from another life....\n\nGood-night, dear. Excuse me for staying so long. I love to come to you. To one who creates, or consoles, thought, what an obligation!\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Has the journey ceased, or is it still progressing, and has Nature won you away from us, as we feared she would?\n\nOthello is uneasy, but then Othellos always are, they hold such mighty stakes.\n\nAustin brought me the picture of Salvini when he was last in Boston.\n\nThe brow is that of Deity \u2014 the eyes, those of the lost, but the power lies in the _throat_ \u2014 pleading, sovereign, savage \u2014 the panther and the dove!\n\nEach, how innocent!\n\nI hope you found the mountains cordial \u2014 followed your meeting with the lakes with affecting sympathy.\n\nChangelessness is Nature's change.\n\nThe plants went into camp last night, their tender armor insufficient for the crafty nights.\n\nThat is one of the parting acts of the year, and has an emerald pathos \u2014 and Austin hangs bouquets of corn in the piazza's ceiling, also an omen, for Austin believes.\n\nThe 'golden bowl 'breaks soundlessly, but it will not be whole again till another year.\n\nDid you read Emily Bront\u00eb's marvellous verse?\n\n'Though earth and man were gone,\n\nAnd suns and universes ceased to be,\n\nAnd Thou wert left alone,\n\nEvery existence would exist in Thee.'\n\nWe are pining to know of you, and Vinnie thinks to see you would be the opening of the burr..., EMILY, with love.\n\n_To the Same [Probably 1884.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The little package of Ceylon arrived in fragrant safety, and Caliban's 'clust'ring filberds 'were not so luscious nor so brown.\n\nHoney in March is blissful as inopportune, and to caress the bee a severe temptation, but was not temptation the first zest?\n\nWe shall seek to be frugal with our sweet possessions, though their enticingness quite leads us astray, and shall endow Austin, as we often do, after a parched day.\n\nFor how much we thank you.\n\nDear arrears of tenderness we can never repay till the will's great ores are finally sifted; but bullion is better than minted things, for it has no alloy.\n\nThinking of you with fresher love, as the Bible boyishly says, 'New every morning and fresh every evening,'\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same [Probably 1884.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I cannot depict a friend to my mind till I know what he is doing, and three of us want to depict you. I inquire your avocation of Austin, and he says you are 'engaged in a great work '! That is momentous but not defining. The thought of you in the great city has a halo of wilderness.\n\nConsole us by dispelling it....\n\nVinnie is happy with her duties, her pussies, and her posies, for the little garden within, though tiny, is triumphant.\n\nThere are scarlet carnations, with a witching suggestion, and hyacinths covered with promises which I know they will keep.\n\nHow precious to hear you ring at the door, and Vinnie ushering you to those melodious moments of which friends are composed.\n\nThis also is fiction.\n\nI fear we shall care very little for the technical resurrection, when to behold the one face that to us comprised it is too much for us, and I dare not think of the voraciousness of that only gaze and its only return.\n\nRemembrance is the great tempter.\n\nEMILY.\n\nEmily Dickinson's first letter to the son of her old friend, Mr. Bowles, was written four years after his father's death, and contained a spray of pressed jasmine.\n\n_To Mr. Samuel Bowles_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 A tree your father gave me bore this priceless flower.\n\nWould you accept it because of him \u2014\n\nWho abdicated ambush\n\nAnd went the way of dusk,\n\nAnd now, against his subtle name,\n\nThere stands an asterisk\n\nAs confident of him as we;\n\nImpregnable we are \u2014\n\nThe whole of Immortality\n\nSecreted in a star.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 My mother and sister hoped to see you, and I, to have heard the voice in the house that recalls the strange music of your father's. A little bin of blossoms I designed for your breakfast also went astray.\n\nI hope you are in strength, and that the passengers of peace exalt, not rend, your memory. Heaven may give them rank, it could not give them grandeur, for that they carried with themselves.\n\nWith fresh remembrance,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[August 2, 1882.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Our friend your father was so beautifully and intimately recalled to-day that it seemed impossible he had experienced the secret of death.\n\nA servant who had been with us a long time, and had often opened the door for him, asked me how to spell 'genius' yesterday. I told her and she said no more. To-day she asked me what 'genius' meant. I told her none had known.\n\nShe said she read in a Catholic paper that Mr. Bowles was 'the genius of Hampshire,' and thought it might be that past gentleman. His look could not be extinguished to any who had seen him, for 'because I live, ye shall live also,' was his physiognomy.\n\nI congratulate you upon his immortality, which is a constant stimulus to my household, and upon your noble perpetuation of his cherished _Republican._\n\nPlease remember me tenderly to your mother.\n\nWith honor,\n\nEMILY DICKINSON.\n\nThis is the only letter I have found, written since early girlhood, in which Emily Dickinson signed her name in this way.\n\nAbout 1882 she wrote of the elder Mr. Bowles to another friend, 'I dreamed Saturday night of precious Mr. Bowles. One glance of his would light a world.' Upon learning of his son's engagement, Emily sent her unique congratulation: \u2014\n\n_[October, 1883.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014\n\nThe clock strikes one that just struck two \u2014 Some schism in the sum; A sorcerer from Genesis Has wrecked the pendulum.\n\nWith warmest congratulation, E. DICKINSON.\n\nAfter the birth of Samuel Bowles the Fifth:\n\n_To the Same_\n\n_[August, 1885.] DEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I did not know. God bless you indeed!_\n\nExtend to that small hand my own 'right hand of fellowship,' and guide the woman of your heart softly to my own.\n\nI give 'his angels charge ' \u2014 well-remembered angels, whose absence only dims our eyes. The magnanimity I asked, you how freely gave!\n\nIf ever of any act of mine you should be in need, let me reply with the laureate, 'Speak that I live to hear.'\n\nVitally,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\n_[August 19, 1885.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 May I ask a service so sacred as that you will address and mail a note to the friend of my friend Mrs. Jackson? I do not know Mr. Jackson's address, and desire to write him.\n\nThat your loved confederate and yourself are in ceaseless peace is my happy faith.\n\nThe sweet-peas you hallowed stand in carmine sheaves. Would that you could plunder them.\n\nGratefully,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[On receiving some flowers.]_\n\nDEAR FRIENDS, \u2014 Had I not known I was not asleep, I should have feared I dreamed, so blissful was their beauty, but day and they demurred....\n\nWith joyous thanks,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\nIn the dim and early dawn of a fragrant summer morning soon after, Emily caused a large cluster of sweet-peas to be gathered from her dewy, old-fashioned garden, that they might be put on the very first train to Springfield, taking the freshness of summer itself to her friends. This note accompanied them: \u2014\n\nDawn and dew my bearers be.\n\nEver,\n\nBUTTERFLY.\n\nAnd the old garden still overflows with annual fragrance and color. Its armies of many-hued hyacinths run riot in the spring sunshine, while crocuses and daffodils peer above the fresh grass under the apple-trees; a large magnolia holds its pink cups toward the blue sky, and scarlet hawthorn lights a greenly dusky corner.\n\nAnd then the roses, and the hedges of sweet-peas; the masses of nasturtiums, and the stately procession of hollyhocks, in happy association with huge bushes of lemon verbena! Still later comes the autumn glory, with salvia and brilliant zinnias and marigolds and clustering chrysanthemums, until 'ranks of seeds their witness bear,' and November folds her brown mantle over sleeping flowers.\n\nThis sweet garden, with its whiffs of long ago, needs only borders of box and a sun-dial to be the ideally imagined pleasure-spot of vanished generations. 'And Emily seems its presiding genius; it is instinct with her presence still, though even before her death years had passed since her footsteps pressed its paths, or her fingers gathered its riches.\n\nIn different mood from the cheerful letters to Mr. Bowles are these more sombre ones to Mr. Clark. Begun by association through the death of a mutual friend, they continued to be tinged with the sadness of other and following deaths, until his own, when letters to his brother took their place until almost her own flitting.\n\n_To Mr. J. D. Clark_\n\n... He never spoke of himself, and encroachment I know would have slain him.... He was a dusk gem, born of troubled waters, astray in any crest below. Heaven might give him peace, it could not give him grandeur, for that he carried with himself to whatever scene....\n\nObtaining but his own extent\n\nIn whatsoever realm,\n\n'T was Christ's own personal expanse\n\nThat bore him from the tomb.\n\n_To the Same_\n\n_[Late Autumn, 1882.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 It pains us very much that you have been more ill. We hope you may not be suffering now. Thank you for speaking so earnestly when our mother died. We have spoken daily of writing you, but have felt unable. The great attempt to save her life had it been successful would have been fatigueless, but failing, strength forsook us.\n\nNo verse in the Bible has frightened me so much from a child as 'from him that hath not, shall be taken even that he hath.1 Was it because its dark menace deepened our own door? You speak as if you still missed your mother. I wish we might speak with you. As we bore her dear form through the wilderness, light seemed to have stopped.\n\nHer dying feels to me like many kinds of cold \u2014 at times electric, at times benumbing, \u2014 then a trackless waste love has never trod....\n\nThe letter from the skies, which accompanied yours, was indeed a boon. A letter always seemed to me like Immortality, for is it not the mind alone, without corporeal friend?\n\nI hope you may tell us that you are better.\n\nThank you for much kindness. The friend anguish reveals is the slowest forgot.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[March, 1883.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 In these few weeks of ignorance of you, we trust that you are growing stronger, and drawing near that sweet physician, an approaching spring, for the ear of the heart hears bluebirds already, those enthralling signals.... The great confidences of life are first disclosed by their departure, and I feel that I ceaselessly ought to thank you.... Our household is scarcely larger than yours \u2014 Vinnie and I and two servants composing our simple realm, though my brother is with us often each day. I wish I could show you the hyacinths that embarrass us by their loveliness, though to cower before a flower is perhaps unwise, but beauty is often timidity \u2014 perhaps oftener pain.\n\nA soft 'Where is she? 'is all that is left of our loved mother, and thank you for all you told us of yours....\n\nFaithfully,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 To thank you is impossible, because your gifts are from the sky, more precious than the birds, because more disembodied. I can only express my rejoiced surprise by the phrase in the Scripture, 'And I saw the Heavens opened.'...\n\nFathoms are sudden neighbors.\n\nIgnorant till your note that our President's dying had defrauded you, we are grieved anew, and hasten to offer you our sorrow.\n\nWe shall make Mrs. Chadbourne's acquaintance in flowers after a few days. 'Displeasure 'would be a morose word toward a friend so earnest, and we only fear when you delay, that you feel more ill. Allow us to hear the birds for you, should they indeed come.\n\nE. D.\n\nThis is the last letter to Mr. Clark, and upon hearing of his farther illness, she wrote his brother: \u2014\n\n_To Mr. C. H. Clark_\n\n_[April 18, 1883.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Would it be possible you would excuse me if I once more inquire for the health of the brother whom association has made sacred?\n\nWith the trust that your own is impairless, and that fear for your brother has not too much depressed you, please accept the solicitude of myself and my sister.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[April 22, 1883.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The sorrowful tidings of your note almost dissuade reply, lest I for one moment take you from your brother's bedside. I have delayed to tell my sister till I hear again, fearing to newly grieve her, and hoping an encouraging word by another mail.\n\nPlease be sure we are with you in sorrowing thought, and take your brother's hand for me, if it is still with you. Perhaps the one has called him of whom we have so often talked during this grieved year.\n\nWith sympathy,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[May 1, 1883.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The temptation to inquire every morning for your sufferer is almost irresistible, but our own invalid taught us that a sick room is at times too sacred a place for a friend's knock, timid as that is.\n\nI trust this sweet May morning is not without its peace to your brother and you, though the richest peace is of sorrow.\n\nWith constant and fervent anxiousness, and the hope of an early word, please be sure we share your suspense.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[May 21,1883.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 We have much fear, both for your own strength and the health of your brother, having heard nothing since we last asked, many days ago. Will you not, when possible, give us but a syllable, even a cheering accent, if no more be true? We think of you and your sufferer with intense anxiety, wishing some act or word of ours might be hope or help. The humming-birds and orioles fly by me as I write, and I long to guide their enchanted feet to your brother's chamber.\n\nExcuse me for knocking. Please also excuse me for staying so long. Spring is a strange land when our friends are ill.\n\nWith my sister's tenderest alarm, as also my own, E. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[June 7,1883.]_\n\nI had, dear friend, the deep hope that I might see your brother before he passed from life, or rather life we know, and can scarcely express the pang I feel at its last denial.\n\nHis rare and hallowed kindness had strangely endeared him, and I cannot be comforted not to thank him before he went so far.\n\nI never had met your brother but once. An unforgotten once \u2014 to have seen him but once more would have been almost like an interview with my 'Heavenly Father 'whom he loved and knew. I hope he was able to speak with you in his closing moment. One accent of courage as he took his flight would assist your heart. I am eager to know all you may tell me of those final days. We asked for him every morning, in heart, but feared to disturb you by inquiry aloud. I hope you are not too far exhausted from your 'loved employ.'\n\nTo know of you when possible would console us much, and every circumstance of him we had hoped to see....\n\nE. D.\n\n_To the Same_ _[June 16, 1883.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Thank you for the paper. I felt it almost a bliss of sorrow that the name so long in Heaven on earth, should be on earth in Heaven.\n\nDo you know if either of his sons have his mysterious face or his momentous nature?\n\nThe stars are not hereditary. I hope your brother and himself resumed the tie above, so dear to each below. Your bond to your brother reminds me of mine to my sister \u2014 early, earnest, indissoluble. Without her life were fear, and Paradise a cowardice, except for her inciting voice.\n\nShould you have any picture of your brother, I should rejoice to see it at some convenient hour \u2014 and though we cannot know the last, would you sometime tell me as near the last as your grieved voice is able?...\n\nAre you certain there is another life? When overwhelmed to know, I fear that few are sure.\n\nMy sister gives her grief with mine. Had we known in time, your brother would have borne our flowers in his mute hand. With tears,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[July 9,1883.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 While I thank you immediately for the invaluable gift, I cannot express the bereavement that I am no more to behold it. Believing that we are to have no face in a farther life, makes the look of a friend a boon almost too precious.\n\nThe resemblance is faithful \u2014 the scholarly gentleness \u2014 the noble modesty \u2014 the absence of every dross, quite there. What a consoling prize to you, his mate through years of anguish so much sharper to see because endured so willingly.\n\nChastening would seem unneeded by so supreme a spirit.\n\nI feel great grief for you \u2014 I hope his memory may help you, so recently a life. I wish I might say one liquid word to make your sorrow less. Is not the devotion that you gave him an acute balm? Had you not been with him how solitary the will of God!\n\nThank you for every word of his pure career. I hope it is nearer us than we are aware. Will you not still tell us of yourself and your home \u2014 from which this patient guest has flown? I am glad he lies near us \u2014 and thank you for the tidings of our other fugitive, whom to know was life. I can scarcely tell you how deeply I cherish your thoughtfulness. To still know of the dead is a great permission, and you have almost enabled that. With the ceaseless sympathy of myself and my sister, and the trust that our sufferer rests,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[January 4, 1884.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I have been very ill since early October, and unable to thank you for the sacred kindness, but treasured it each day, and hasten with my first steps, and my fullest gratitude.... I never can thank you as I feel. That would be impossible. The effort ends in tears. You seem, by some deep accident, to be the only tie between the Heaven that evanesced, and the Heaven that stays. I hope the winged days that bear you to your brother are not too destitute of song, and wish that we might speak with you of him and of yourself, and of the third member of that sundered trio. Perhaps another spring would call you to Northampton, and memory might invite you here....\n\nWith a deep New Year,\n\nYour friend,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_[Enclosing pressed flowers, February 22, 1884.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I hoped it might gratify you to meet the little flower which was my final ministry to your brother, and which even in that faint hour, I trust he recognized, though the thronged spirit had not access to words.\n\nThese are my first out, and their golden trifles are too full of association to remain unshared.\n\nWith faithful thought of yourself and your brother, brothers in bereavement even as myself, E. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[April 21, 1884.]_\n\nNever unmindful of your anxiety for your father, dear friend, I refrained from asking, lest even the moment engrossed by reply, might take you from him.\n\nThe peril of a parent is a peculiar pang, and one which my sister and myself so long experienced, \u2014 oh, would it were longer, for even fear for them were dearer than their absence, \u2014 that we cannot resist to offer you our earnest sympathy. I most sincerely trust that the sight is redeemed, so precious to you both, more than vicariously to you \u2014 even filially \u2014 and that the added fear has not exhausted you beyond the art of spring to cheer.\n\nI have lost, since writing you, another cherished friend, a word of whom I enclose \u2014 and how to repair my shattered ranks is a besetting pain. Be sure that my sister and myself never forget your brother, nor his bereaved comrade.\n\nTo be certain we were to meet our lost would be a vista of reunion who of us could bear?...\n\nFaithfully,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[April 22, 1884.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 These thoughts disquiet me, and the great friend is gone who could solace them. Do they disturb you?\n\nThe spirit lasts, but in what mode \u2014 Below, the body speaks, But as the spirit furnishes \u2014 Apart it never talks.\n\nThe music in the violin\n\nDoes not emerge alone\n\nBut arm in arm with touch, yet touch\n\nAlone is not a tune.\n\nThe spirit lurks within the flesh\n\nLike tides within the sea\n\nThat make the water live; estranged\n\nWhat would the either be?\n\nDoes that know now, or does it cease,\n\nThat which to this is done,\n\nResuming at a mutual date\n\nWith every future one?\n\nInstinct pursues the adamant\n\nExacting this reply \u2014\n\nAdversity, if it may be,\n\nOr wild prosperity,\n\nThe rumor's gate was shut so tight\n\nBefore my mind was sown.\n\nNot even a prognostic's push\n\nCould make a dent thereon.\n\nWith the trust you live,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same [January 18, 1885.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Though no New Year be old, to wish yourself and your honored father a new and happy one is involuntary, and I am sure we are both reminded of that sacred past which has forever hallowed us.\n\nI trust the years which they behold are also new and happy, or is it a joyous expanse of year, without bisecting months \u2014 untiring Anno Domini? Had we but one assuring word, but a letter is a joy of earth \u2014 it is denied the gods. Vivid in our immortal group we still behold your brother, and never hear Northampton bells without saluting him....\n\nHave you blossoms and books, those solaces of sorrow? That, I would also love to know, and receive for yourself and your father the forgetless sympathy of\n\nYour friend,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[April 21, 1885.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The flower for which your brother cared resumes its siren circuit, and choosing a few for his name's sake, I enclose them to you. Perhaps from some far site he overlooks their transit, and smiles at the beatitudes so recently his own. Ephemeral, eternal heart!\n\nI hope you are in health, and that the fragile father has every peace that years possess....\n\nWe think of your small mansion with unabated warmth, though is not any mansion vast that contains a father?\n\nThat this beloved spring inspirit both yourself and him, is our exceeding wish.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\nThe final letter to Mr. Clark was written a year later, and will be found in the last chapter.\n**CHAPTER IX**\n\n_To Mr. and Mrs. J. L. Jenkins, Mrs. Hanson Read, Mrs. W. A. Stearns, Mrs. Edward Tuckerman, Mrs. J. S. Cooper, Mrs. A. B. H. Davis, Mrs. H. F. Hills, Mrs. Jameson, Mr. F. F. Emerson, Maggie Maher, Mr. and Mrs. George Montague, Mrs. W. F. Stearns, Mr. J. K. Chickering, Mrs. Joseph Sweetser, Mr. Thomas Niles, Mrs. Carmickael, Dr and Mrs. Thomas P. Field, Mr. Theodore Holland, 1 H. H.,' Miss Eugenia Hall, Mrs. E. P. Crowell, and Mrs. J. C. Greenough_\n\nTHE characteristic notes in this chapter were, with few exceptions, written to friends in Amherst, accompanying flowers or other dainties, or acknowledging those sent to herself, \u2014 not infrequently a sentence of consolation for some pain, or a few words of cheering appreciation for a new happiness.\n\nThe first may be dated as early as 1872; but the largest number are, undoubtedly, to be assigned to the last six or seven years of Emily Dickinson's life.\n\nAfter her father's death, her retirement from ordinary forms of human intercourse became almost complete; and these notes were the sole link still binding her to the world, \u2014 and to only such part of the world as might be represented by those for whom she cared.\n\nEmily's prose style had developed its incisiveness, \u2014 like her own thought, it went straight to the essence of things; and while still dressed in language sufficiently to pass in conventional places, it had gradually become divested of everything superfluous.\n\nWhile the meaning of certain phrases has sometimes puzzled those who received the notes, there is invariably an original, sparkling interpretation for every sentence, clear to any soul possessing even slight accord with hers. Because frequently couched in the form of apparently mysterious oracles, the meaning is sometimes looked for too deeply, \u2014 often it is singularly obvious. The remarkable character of these notes seems to have increased as she lived farther and farther away from the years when she had seen and conversed with her friends; and her life was full of thought and occupation during these introspective days. It is impossible to conceive that any sense of personal isolation, or real loneliness of spirit, because of the absence of humanity from her daily life, could have oppressed a nature so richly endowed.\n\nMost of us would require some sudden blow, some fierce crisis, to produce such a result, \u2014 a hidden and unusual life like hers. And we love to believe striking and theatrical things of our neighbors; it panders to that romantic element latent in the plainest. But Emily Dickinson's method of living was so simple and natural an outcome of her increasingly shy nature, a development so perfectly in the line of her whole constitution that no far-away and dramatic explanation of her quiet life is necessary to those who are capable of apprehending her.\n\nThat sentence alone would reveal the key wherein she wrote with regret for her longtime maid Margaret: 'I winced at her loss, for I am in the habit of her, and even a new rolling-pin has an embarrassing element.'\n\nEmerson somewhere says, 'Now and then a man exquisitely made can live alone; 'and Lord Bacon puts the thought with even greater force and directness, \u2014 'Whosoever is delighted in Solitude is either a Wilde Beast or a God.'\n\nTo some natures, introspection is a necessity for expression. 'Why should I feel lonely? 'exclaimed Thoreau, in his temporary isolation at Walden, 'Is not our planet in the Milky Way?' He was, indeed, 'no more lonely than the North Star,' nor, I believe, was Emily Dickinson, although congenial companionship had, in a sense, been very dear to her.\n\nShe has herself written: \u2014\n\nNever for society\n\nHe shall seek in vain\n\nWho his own acquaintance\n\nCultivates; of men\n\nWiser men may weary,\n\nBut the man within\n\nNever knew satiety, \u2014\n\nBetter entertain\n\nThan could Border Ballad,\n\nOr Biscayan Hymn;\n\nNeither introduction\n\nNeed you \u2014 unto him.\n\nGeorg Ebers once wrote: 'Sheep and geese become restless when separated from the flock; the eagle and lion seek isolation,' \u2014 a picturesque and perhaps not less strong presentation of a nearly identical thought.\n\nBut although invisible for years, even to life-long friends, Emily never denied herself to children. To them she was always accessible, always delightful, and in their eyes a sort of fairy guardian. Stories are yet told of her roguishly lowering baskets of 'goodies 'out of her window by a string to little ones waiting below. Mr. MacGregor Jenkins, in a sketch of his recollections of Emily Dickinson, ( _The Christian Union,_ October 24, 1891.) has shown this gracious and womanly side of her nature in a very charming way, quoting a number of her notes to himself and his sister, two members of a quartette of children admitted to her intimacy. Many of Emily Dickinson's daintiest verses are for children, \u2014 among them _The Sleeping Flowers_ and _Out of the Morning._\n\nThe notes written during their childhood to Mr. Jenkins and his sister follow, with others to their father and mother: \u2014\n\nHAPPY _'_ DID' AND MAC, \u2014 We can offer you nothing so charming as your own hearts, which we would seek to possess, had we the requisite wiles.\n\nDEAR BOYS, \u2014 Please never grow up, which is 'far better.' Please never 'improve ' \u2014 you are perfect now.\n\nEMILY.\n\nLITTLE WOMEN, \u2014 Which shall it be, geraniums or tulips?\n\nThe butterfly upon the sky, who doesn't know its name, And hasn't any tax to pay, and hasn't any home, Is just as high as you and I, and higher, I believe \u2014 So soar away and never sigh, for that's the way to grieve.\n\nKATIE 'DID 'FROM KATIE 'DIDN'T.'\n\nWill the sweet child who sent me the butterflies, herself a member of the same ethereal nation, accept a rustic kiss, flavored, we trust, with clover?\n\nAMHERST.\n\n_[Christmas, 1874.]_\n\n... Atmospherically it was the most beautiful Christmas on record. The hens came to the door with Santa Claus, the pussies washed themselves in the open air without chilling their tongues, and Santa Claus \u2014 sweet old gentleman \u2014 was even gallanter than usual. Visitors from the chimney were a new dismay, but all of them brought their hands so full and behaved so sweetly, only a churl could have turned them away. And then the ones at the barn were so happy! Maggie gave the hens a check for potatoes, each of the cats had a gilt-edged bone, and the horse had new blankets from Boston.\n\nDo you remember dark-eyed Mr. Dickinson who used to shake your hand when it was so little it had hardly a stem? He, too, had a beautiful gift of roses from a friend away. It was a lovely Christmas. But what made you remember me? Tell me with a kiss \u2014 or is it a secret?\n\nEMILY.\n\nTo a niece of her father's, who had sent for his grave the roses alluded to, she wrote: \u2014\n\n_[December, 1874.]_\n\nI am sure you must have remembered that father had 'become as little children,' or you would never have dared send him a Christmas gift, for you know how he frowned upon Santa Claus, and all such prowling gentlemen.\n\n_To the Rev. J. L. Jenkins and Mrs. Jenkins, enclosing some sprays of rowen tied with white ribbon_\n\n_[Autumn, 187-.]_\n\nDEAR MR AND MRS PASTOR, \u2014 Mrs. Holland pleased us and grieved us, by telling us your triumphs.\n\nWe want you to conquer, but we want you to conquer here.\n\n'Marathon 'is me. Is there nothing but glow in the new horizon?\n\nYou see we keep a jealous heart. That is Love's alloy.\n\nVinnie is full of wrath, and vicious as Saul toward the Holy Ghost, in whatever form. I heard her declaiming the other night, to a foe that called \u2014 and sent Maggie to part them.\n\nVinnie lives on the hope that you will return. Is it quite fictitious? You are gone too long.\n\nThe red leaves take the green leaves' place, and the landscape yields. We go to sleep with the peach in our hands and wake with the stone, but the stone is the pledge of summers to come.\n\nLove for each of you, always, and if there are lands longer than 'always,' love also for those.\n\nThese are sticks of rowen for your stove. It was chopped by bees, and butterflies piled it, Saturday afternoons.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\n... There would have been no smile on Amherst's face, had she believed her clergyman's sweet wife to be suffering, but the paper spoke so obligingly, we thought it an accident that endeared, rather than endangered. That sorrow dare to touch the loved is a mournful insult \u2014 we are all avenging it all the time, though as Lowell quotes from the stranger 'Live \u2014 live even to be unkind.'\n\nIt is hard to think of our 'little friend 'as a sufferer \u2014 we, peculiarly, know how hard, through our suffering mother \u2014 but the tiniest ones are the mightiest \u2014 the wren will prevail...\n\n'Bruised for our iniquities 'I had almost feared. Amherst, tell her, suggests her \u2014 each of you, my shepherd, and will, while will remains.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nWould you feel more at home with a flower from home in your hand, dear?\n\n_To the Same_\n\nMay the love that occasioned the first Easter shelter a few, this bereaved day.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 It was pathetic to see your voice, instead of hearing it, for it had grown sweetly familiar in the house, as a bird's.\n\nFather left us in June \u2014 you leave us in May. I am glad there will be no April till another year....\n\nSorrow is unsafe, when it is real sorrow \u2014 I am glad so many are counterfeits \u2014 guileless because they believe themselves.\n\nKiss 'Diddie' and Mac for us \u2014 precious refugees, with love for our brother, whom with yourself, we follow the peculiar distance, 'even unto the end.'\n\nPerhaps it is 'the end' now \u2014 I think the _bell_ thought so, because it bade us all good-by when you stood in the door.\n\nYou concealed that you heard it. Thank you.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[June, 1878.]_\n\nYou deserved a tiding before, dear.\n\nYour little punctualities are generous and precious....\n\nThere is a circus here, and farmers' Commencement, and boys and girls from Tripoli, and Governors and swords parade the summer streets. They lean upon the fence that guards the quiet church ground, and jar the grass, now warm and soft as a tropic nest.\n\nMany people call, and wish for you with tears, and Vinnie beats her wings like a maddened bird, whose home has been invaded.\n\nSo much has been sorrow, that to fall asleep in Tennyson's verse, seems almost a pillow. 'To where beyond these voices there is Peace.'\n\nI hope you are each safe. It is homeless without you, and we think of others possessing you with the throe of Othello.\n\nMother gives her love \u2014 Maggie pleads her own. Austin smiles when you mention him....\n\nDaisies and ferns are with us, and he whose meadow they magnify, is always linked with you.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To Mrs. Hanson Read, accompanying flowers for the funeral of her two little boys [December 27, 1873.]_\n\nVinnie says your martyrs were fond of flowers.\n\nWould these profane their vase?\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ _[Upon a subsequent anniversary.]_\n\nMy DEAR MRS READ, \u2014 We have often thought of you to-day, and almost spoken with you, but thought you might like to be alone \u2014 if one can be alone with so thronged a Heaven.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To Mrs. W. A. Stearns [Autumn, 1874.]_\n\nWill the dear ones who eased the grieved days spurn the fading orchard?\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ _[Upon receiving an Easter card, probably 1875.]_\n\nIt is possible, dear friend, that the rising of the one we lost would have engrossed me to the exclusion of Christ's \u2014 but for your lovely admonition.\n\nSabbath morning was peculiarly dear to my father, and his unsuspecting last earthly day with his family was that heavenly one.\n\nVinnie and I were talking of you as we went to sleep Saturday night, which makes your beautiful gift of to-day almost apparitional.\n\nPlease believe how sweetly I thank you.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nWhat tenements of clover\n\nAre fitting for the bee,\n\nWhat edifices azure\n\nFor butterflies and me \u2014\n\nWhat residences nimble\n\nArise and evanesce\n\nWithout a rhythmic rumor\n\nOr an assaulting guess.\n\nWith love,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 That a pansy is transitive, is its only pang.\n\nThis, precluding that, is indeed divine.\n\nBringing you handfuls in prospective, thank you for the love. Many an angel, with its needle, toils beneath the snow.\n\nWith tenderness for your mate,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_[Spring, 1876.]_\n\nDEAR FRIENDS, \u2014 Might these be among the fabrics which the Bible designates as beyond rubies?\n\nCertainly they are more accessible to the fingers of your thief EMILY.\n\nWhen President Stearns died, this stanza came to Mrs. Stearns: \u2014\n\n_[June 8, 1876.]_\n\nLove's stricken 'why'\n\nIs all that love can speak \u2014\n\nBuilt of but just a syllable\n\nThe hugest hearts that break.\n\nAt the death of Professor Snell, September 18, 1876, Emily sent to his family a beautiful mass of flowers, purple and white; and with them, this single line: \u2014\n\nI had a father once.\n\n_To Mrs. Stearns, in response to a box of strawberries received early in March_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The little package of nectar mother opened herself, though her hands are frail as a child's.\n\nShe could not believe them real till I had hidden one in her mouth, which somewhat convinced her. She asks me to thank you tenderly. The love of her friends is the only remnant of her grieved life, and she clings to it timidly.\n\nI hope you are quite well, and am sure we sometimes think of each other, endeared by that most hallowed thorn, a mutual loss.\n\nWith sweet remembrance for your niece, of whom my sister speaks,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIENDS, \u2014 The seraphic shame generosity causes is perhaps its most heavenly result.\n\nTo make even Heaven more heavenly, is within the aim of us all.\n\nI was much touched by the little fence dividing the devotions, though devotion should always wear a fence, to pre-empt its claim.\n\nWhy the full heart is speechless, is one of the great wherefores.\n\nEMILY, with love.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIENDS, \u2014 I hope no bolder lover brought you the first pond lilies. The water is deeper than the land. The swimmer never stagnates.\n\nI shall bring you a handful of lotus next, but do not tell the Nile.\n\nHe is a jealous brook.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ 'A little flower, a faded flower, the gift of one who cared for me.'\n\nPlease usurp the pronoun.\n\nEMILY.\n\nThe first of the following notes, accompanied with a box of flowers, was an apology for tardy congratulations upon Mrs. Tuckerman's safe return from a long visit in Europe:\n\n_To Mrs. Edward Tuckerman_\n\n_[January, 1874.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I fear my congratulation, like repentance according to Calvin, is too late to be plausible, but might there not be an exception, were the delight or the penitence found to be durable?\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same [March, 1875.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 It was so long my custom to seek you with the birds, they would scarcely feel at home should I do otherwise, though as home itself is far from home since my father died, why should custom tire?\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same, sent with yellow flowers when the country was drenched in rain [May. 1875.]_\n\nI send you inland buttercups as out-door flowers are still at sea.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same [Accompanying a box of the delicious chocolate caramels she sent her friends at New Year's, with the recipe.]_\n\nVinnie says the dear friend would like the rule. We have no statutes here, but each does as it will, which is the sweetest jurisprudence.\n\nWith it, I enclose Love's 'remainder biscuit,' somewhat scorched perhaps in baking, but 'Love's oven is warm.' Forgive the base proportions.\n\nThe fairer ones were borne away. The canna was a privilege, the little box a bliss, and the blossoms so real that a fly waylaid them, but I lured him away.\n\nAgain receive the love which comes without aspect, and without herald goes.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same [About 1877.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Accept my timid happiness.\n\nNo joy can be in vain, but adds to some bright total, whose dwelling is unknown.\n\nThe immortality of flowers must enrich our own, and we certainly should resent a redemption that excluded them.\n\nWas not the 1 breath of fragrance 'designed for your cheek solely?\n\nThe fear that it was crimsons my own, though to divide its Heaven is Heaven's highest half.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[June, 1878.]_\n\nIs it that words are suddenly small, or that we are suddenly large, that they cease to suffice us to thank a friend?\n\nPerhaps it is chiefly both.\n\n_To the Same_ _[July, 1878.]_\n\nWould it be prudent to subject an apparitional interview to a grosser test?\n\nThe Bible portentously says 'that which is spirit is spirit.'\n\nGo not too near a house of rose,\n\nThe depredation of a breeze\n\nOr inundation of a dew\n\nAlarm its walls away;\n\nNor try to tie the butterfly,\n\nNor climb the bars of ecstasy.\n\nIn insecurity to lie\n\nIs joy's insuring quality.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[August, 1878.]_\n\nTo see is perhaps never quite the sorcery that it is to surmise, though the obligation to enchantment is always binding.\n\nIt is sweet to recall that we need not retrench, as magic is our most frugal meal.\n\nI fear you have much happiness, because you spend so much.\n\nWould adding to it take it away, or is that a penurious question?\n\nTo cherish you is intuitive.\n\nAs we take Nature, without permission, let us covet you.\n\n_To the Same [January, 1879]_\n\nYour coming is a symptom of summer. The symptom excels the malady.\n\n_To the Same [September, 1879.]_\n\nShould dear Mrs. Tuckerman have no pears like mine, I should never cease to be harrowed. Should she, that also would be dismay. I incur the peril.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same [January 5, 1880.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Your sweetness intimidates. Had it been a mastiff that guarded Eden, we should have feared him less than we do the angel.\n\nI read your little letter. It had, like bliss, the minute length.\n\nIt were dearer had you protracted it; but the sparrow must not propound his crumb.\n\nWe shall find the cube of the rainbow.\n\nOf that there is no doubt;\n\nBut the arc of a lover's conjecture\n\nEludes the finding out.\n\nConfidingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\n_[March, 1880.]_\n\nThe robin is a Gabriel\n\nIn humble circumstances,\n\nHis dress denotes him socially\n\nOf transport's working classes.\n\nHe has the punctuality\n\nOf the New England farmer \u2014\n\nThe same oblique integrity,\n\nA vista vastly wanner.\n\nA small but sturdy residence,\n\nA self-denying household,\n\nThe guests of perspicacity\n\nAre all that cross his threshold.\n\nAs covert as a fugitive,\n\nCajoling consternation\n\nBy ditties to the enemy,\n\nAnd sylvan punctuation.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nWill the little hands that have brought me so much tenderness, the sweet hands in which a bird would love to lie, the fingers that knew no estrangement except the gulf of down, \u2014 will such enfold a daphne?\n\nAlmost I trust they will, yet trust is such a shelving word; part of our treasures are denied us, part of them provisoed, like bequests available far hence, part of them we partake. Which, dear, are divinest?\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same [November, 1880.]_\n\nThank you, sweet friend, I am quite better. Were I not, your dainty redemption would save me.\n\nWith love and a happy flower,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nLove is done when love's begun,\n\nSages say.\n\nBut have sages known?\n\nTruth adjourn your boon\n\nWithout day.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ _[After Professor Root's death, December, 1880.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I thought of you, although I never saw your friend.\n\nBrother of Ophir,\n\nBright adieu,\n\nHonor the shortest\n\nRoute to you.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ _[New Year's Day, 1881.]_\n\n_Saturday._\n\nMy bird, who is 'to-day'? 'Yesterday' was a year ago, and yet\n\nThe stem of a departed flower\n\nHas still a silent rank,\n\nThe bearer from an emerald court\n\nOf a despatch of pink.\n\nThank you for the lovely love.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nTo find my sweet friend is more difficult than to bless her, though I trust both are slightly possible this dearest afternoon.\n\nEMILY.\n\nThe following little poem-note contained a pressed dandelion tied with scarlet ribbon.\n\n_To the Same_ _[November 8, 1881.]_\n\nThe dandelion's pallid tube\n\nAstonishes the grass,\n\nAnd winter instantly becomes\n\nAn infinite _Alas._\n\nThe tube uplifts a signal bud,\n\nAnd then a shouting flower;\n\nThe proclamation of the suns\n\nThat sepulture is o'er.\n\nVinnie told me, dear friend, you were speaking of Mr. Root.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same [December, 1881.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Vinnie asked me if I had any message for you, and while I was picking it, you ran away.\n\nNot seeing, still we know, Not knowing, guess; Not guessing, smile and hide And half caress, And quake and turn away; Seraphic fear 1 Is Eden's innuendo 1 If you dare '?\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same [January, 1882.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The gray afternoon \u2014 the sweet knock, and the ebbing voice of the boys are a pictorial memory; and then the little bins and the purple kernels \u2014 't was like the larder of a doll. To the inditing heart we wish no sigh had come.\n\nSweet pirate of the heart, Not pirate of the sea, What wrecketh thee? Some spice's mutiny \u2014 Some attar's perfidy? Confide in me.\n\n_To the Same_ _[January, 1883 ]_\n\nThe presence in life of so sweet an one is of itself fortune \u2014 a covert wealth of spirit I shall not disclose.\n\nI have taken all the naughty boys, and Vinnie the navy.\n\nWhat lovely conceits!\n\nThen the little Smyrna in the dish \u2014 how tiny, how affecting \u2014 though the heart in the rear _not_ tiny. Oh, no, vast as the sea.\n\nTo caress its billows is our liquid aim.\n\nEMILY, with love.\n\n_To the Same_ _[June, 1883.]_\n\nSweet foot, that comes when we call it! I can go but a step a century, now.\n\nHow slow the wind, how slow the sea,\n\nHow late their feathers be!\n\nLovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same [August, 1883]_\n\nWe wear our sober dresses when we die, But summer, frilled as for a holiday, Adjourns her sigh.\n\n_To the Same_ _[January, 1884.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND: \u2014\n\nTo try to speak, and miss the way,\n\nAnd ask it of the tears,\n\nIs gratitude's sweet poverty,\n\nThe tatters that he wears.\n\nA better coat, if he possessed,\n\nWould help him to conceal,\n\nNot subjugate, the mutineer\n\nWhose title is 'the soul.'\n\nEMILY, with love.\n\n_To the Same_ _[February, 1884.]_\n\nDo 'men gather grapes of thorns'? No, but they do of _roses,_ and even the classic fox hushed his innuendo, as we unclasped the little box.\n\nSherbets untold, and recollection more sparkling than sherbets!\n\nHow wondrous is a friend, the gift of neither Heaven nor earth, yet coveted of both!\n\nIf the 'archangels veil their faces,' is not the sacred diffidence on this sweet behalf?\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ _[April, 1884.]_\n\nBe encouraged, sweet friend! How cruel we did not know! But the battles of those we love are often unseen.\n\n'If Thou hadst been here,' Mary said, 'our brother had not died.' Hanging my head and my heart with it, that you sorrowed alone, Late, but lovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same [April, 1885.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 We want you to wake \u2014 Easter has come and gone.\n\nMorning without you is a dwindled dawn.\n\nQuickened toward all celestial things by crows I heard this morning, accept a loving caw from a Nameless friend.\n\n'SELAH.'\n\n_To the Same_ _[May, 1885.]_\n\nWe trust the repairs of the little friend are progressing swiftly, though shall we love her as well, revamped?\n\nAnatomical dishabille is sweet to those who prize us.\n\nA chastened grace is twice a grace. Nay, 't is a holiness.\n\nWith a sweet May day,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same [October, 1885.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I thought of you on your lonely journey, certain the hallowed heroine was gratified, though mute. I trust you return in safety and with closer clutch for that which remains, for dying whets the grasp.\n\nOctober is a mighty month, for in it little Gilbert died. 'Open the door,' was his last cry, 'the boys are waiting for me.' Quite used to his commandment, his little aunt obeyed, and still two years and many days, and he does not return.\n\nWhere makes my lark his nest?\n\nBut Corinthians' bugle obliterates the birds', so covering your loved heart to keep it from another shot,\n\nTenderly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To Mrs. J. S. Cooper [June, 1874.]_\n\nThough a stranger, I am unwilling not to thank you personally for the delicate attention to my family.\n\nFor the comprehension of suffering, one must one's self have suffered.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ _[Later Summer, 1874.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 It was my first impulse to take them to my father, whom I cannot resist the grief to expect.\n\nThank you.\n\nVINNIE'S SISTER.\n\nAnd to another friend, about the same time, she wrote: \u2014\n\nShould it be possible for me to speak of my father before I behold him, I shall try to do so to you, whom he always remembered.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To Mrs. J. S. Cooper [January, 1875.]_\n\nIs it too late to express my sorrow for my grieved friend?\n\nThough the first moment of loss is eternity, other eternities remain.\n\nThough the great waters sleep\n\nThat they are still the deep\n\nWe cannot doubt.\n\nNo vacillating\n\nGod Ignited this abode\n\nTo put it out.\n\n_To the Same [On the anniversary of her father's death, June 16, 1875.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 You thought of it. How dear, how delicate!\n\nWith peculiar love, YOUR STRANGER.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nHow can one be fatherless who has a father's friend within confiding reach?\n\n_To the Same_\n\n'My country, 't is of thee,'\n\nhas always meant the woods to me.\n\n'Sweet land of liberty,' I trust is your own.\n\n_To the Same_ _[After a fire, in 1876.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I congratulate you.\n\nDisaster endears beyond fortune.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ The keeper of golden flowers need have no fear of the 'Silver Bill.'\n\nAn Indies in the hand, at all times fortifying, is peculiarly so, perhaps, to-day.\n\nMidas was a rogue.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Mother thanks you through me, as she does not use her hand for writing. I hope the vicariousness may not impair the fervor.\n\nMother is very fond of flowers and of recollection, that sweetest flower.\n\nPlease accept her happiness, and ours for causing hers.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nTrusting an April flower may not curtail your February, that month of fleetest sweetness.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Maggie was taking you a flower as you were going out.\n\nPlease accept the design, and bewail the flower, that sank of chagrin last evening.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ The founders of honey have no names.\n\n_To the Same_ My family of apparitions is select, though dim.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nVinnie suggests these little friends. Would they be too grovelling? And I add a face from my garden.\n\nThough you met it before, it might not be charmless.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nIs sickness pathos or infamy? While you forget to decide, please confirm this trifle.\n\n_To the Same_ DEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I shall deem the little tumblers forever consecrated by the 'unseemliness.'\n\nWith affection,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ Please accept the progeny of the pinks you so kindly brought mother in winter, with the hope that 'wisdom is justified of her children.'\n\n_To the Same_ How strange that Nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!\n\n_To the Same_ 'Give me thine heart' is too peremptory a courtship for earth, however irresistible in Heaven.\n\n_To the Same_ DEAR FRIEND, \u2014 So valiant is the intimacy between Nature and her children, she addresses them as 'comrades in arms.'\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ DEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Nothing inclusive of a human heart could be 'trivial.' That appalling boon makes all things paltry but itself.\n\nTo thank you would profane you \u2014 there are moments when even gratitude is a desecration.\n\nGo thy great way!\n\nThe stars thou meetest\n\nAre even as thyself.\n\nFor what are stars but asterisks\n\nTo point a human life?\n\nE. DICKINSON, with love.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 In a world too fall of beauty for peace, I have met nothing more beautiful.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The thoughtfulness was picturesque and the glimpse delightful. The residence of Vinnie's friends could but be fair to me.\n\nAnd will you, in exchange, accept a view of _my_ house, which Nature painted white without consulting me? But Nature is 'old-fashioned,' perhaps a Puritan.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 It distressed us that you were pained.\n\nAre you easier now?\n\nYou have sheltered our tears too often that yours should fall unsolaced.\n\nGive us half the thorn \u2014 then it will tear you less. To divulge itself is sorrow's right, never its presumption.\n\nFaithfully,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Is not the sweet resentment of friends that we are not strong, more inspiriting even than the strength itself?\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_[On sending flowers and apples to Mrs. A. B. H. Davis and her daughter.]_\n\nDEAR FRIENDS, \u2014 We are snatching our jewels from the frost, and ask you to help us wear them, as also the trinkets more rotund, which serve a baser need.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To Mrs. Henry Bills_ _[Christmas, 1878?]_\n\nWith sweet Christmas for the 'little brethren and sisters of the mystic tie.'\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ _[January, 1879?]_\n\nOur gentle neighbor must have known that we did not know she was ill, or we should immediately have inquired for her.\n\n_To the Same_ _[February, 1879.]_\n\nWe are much grieved for the sufferings of the little one, which are so artlessly undeserved, and beg her mama to assure her of our tender sympathy.\n\nThe odor of the flower might please her, as these little beings are only 'on a furlough 'from Paradise.\n\nWith love for the mama, and sorrow for her weariness,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ _[February 23, 1879.]_\n\n'Come unto me.'\n\nBeloved commandment! The darling obeyed it.\n\n_To the Same_ _[February, 1879.]_\n\nThe power to console is not within corporeal reach \u2014 though its attempt is precious.\n\nTo die before it feared to die, may have been a boon.\n\n_To the Same [March, 1879.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The only balmless wound is the departed human life we had learned to need.\n\nFor that, even Immortality is a slow solace. All other peace has many roots and will spring again.\n\nWith cheer from one who knows.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The gift was sadly exquisite \u2014 were the actual 'cross' so divinely adorned, we should covet it.\n\nThank you for the sacred 'flowers ' \u2014 typical, both of them.\n\nGethsemane and Cana are still a travelled route.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\n_[Christmas, 1879.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I think Heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is the staple of Heaven here.\n\nHow can we thank each other when omnipotent?\n\nYou, who endear our mortal Christmas, will perhaps assure us. \u2014\n\nE.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nWe are ignorant of the dear friends, and eager to know how they are, and assure them that we are near them in these grieved hours.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The heavenly flowers were brought to my room.\n\nI had lain awake with the gale and overslept this morning.\n\nThat you may wake in Eden, as you enabled me to do, is my happy wish.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nWithout the hope of requiting the Sabbath morning blossoms, still sweetly remembered, please allow me to try.\n\nE.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nWith untold thanks, and the little dish, founded while she was here, too late to overtake her, too small for her to sip, but her large heart will excuse.\n\nEMILY, with love.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nVocal is but one form of remembrance, dear friend \u2014 the cherishing that is speechless is equally warm.\n\n_To the Same_ _[With Christmas delicacies, 1880]_\n\nThe little annual creatures solicit your regard.\n\nMrs. Hills often sent dainties from New York, per\n\nhaps Florida oranges, confectionery, or hothouse flowers. Upon one of these occasions the reply came: \u2014\n\nTropics, and dairies, and fairies! Thank the _Arabian Nights._\n\n_EMILY._\n\n_To the Same_\n\nWith a kiss and a flower, one of which will endure, I am whom you infer.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nOnly a pond lily that I tilled myself.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIENDS, \u2014 Even the simplest solace, with a loved aim, has a heavenly quality.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ _[January, 1883.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 We often say 'how beautiful!' But when we mean it, we can mean no more.\n\nA dream personified.\n\nE.\n\n_To the Same_ _[With red lilies, Spring, 1883 ]_\n\nPersian hues for my dark-eyed neighbor.\n\n_To Mrs. Jameson_ Many and sweet birthdays to our thoughtful neighbor, whom we have learned to cherish, though ourself unknown.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nHow dare a tear intrude on so sweet a cheek? Gentlest of neighbors, recall the 'sparrows 'and the great Logician.\n\nTenderly,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nArthur forgot to set a trap for Santa Claus, but that industrious mouse will excuse him, if he will steal the cakes instead. And Annie.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To \u2014_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 No 'sonnet 'had George Eliot. The sweet acclamation of Death is forever bounded.\n\nThere is no trumpet like the tomb \u2014 The Immortality she gave We borrowed at her grave. For just one plaudit famishing, The might of human love.\n\nBeautiful as it is, its criminal shortness maims it.\n\n_To Maggie Maker, ill with Typhoid Fever at her own Home_\n\n_[Autumn, 1880.]_\n\nThe missing Maggie is much mourned, and I am going out for 'black 'to the nearest store.\n\nAll are very naughty, and I am naughtiest of all.\n\nThe pussies dine on sherry now, and hummingbird cutlets.\n\nThe invalid hen took dinner with me, but a hen like Dr T \u2014 's horse soon drove her away. I am very busy picking up stems and stamens as the hollyhocks leave their clothes around.\n\nWhat shall I send my weary Maggie? Pillows or fresh brooks?\n\nHER GRIEVED MISTRESS.\n\n_To the Rev. F. F. Emerson_\n\nA blossom, perhaps, is an introduction, to whom, none can infer.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nThough tendered by a stranger, the fruit will be forgiven.\n\nValor in the dark is my Maker's code.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nMother congratulates Mr. Emerson on the discovery of the 'philosopher's stone.' She will never divulge it. It lay just where she thought it did \u2014 in making others happy.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nAny gift but spring seems a counterfeit, but the birds are such sweet neighbors they rebuke us all.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nMother was much touched by dear Mrs. Emerson's thoughtfulness, and thanks her exceedingly sweetly. She also asks a remembrance to Mr. Emerson, whom she trusts is well.\n\nEarnestly, E. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nShould Mr. Emerson ever become ill and idle, mother hopes his clergyman will be as delicately thoughtful of him as he has been of her.\n\nGratefully, E. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I step from my pillow to your hand to thank its sacred contents, to hoard, not to partake, for I am still weak.\n\nThe little package has lain by my side, not daring to venture, or Vinnie daring to have me \u2014 a hallowed denial I shall not forget.\n\nI fear you may need the papers, and ask you to claim them immediately, would you desire them.\n\nI trust you are sharing this most sweet climate with Mrs. Emerson and yourself, than which remembrance only is more Arabian.\n\nVinnie brings her love, and her sister what gratitude.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To-_ DEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The little book will be subtly cherished. All we secure of beauty is its evanescence. Thank you for recalling us.\n\nEarnestly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To Mr. and Mrs. George Montague_\n\nDEAR COUSIN, \u2014 Thank you for the delightful cake, and the heart adjacent.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ Delicate as bread of flowers. How sweetly we thank you!\n\n_To the Same_\n\nWe trust the dear friend is convalescing.\n\nThese loveliest of days are certainly with that design.\n\nDEAR COUSIN, \u2014 The 'Golden Rule 'is so lovely, it needs no police to enforce it.\n\nCOUSIN.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nTo have 'been faithful in a few things 'was the delicate compliment paid one by God. Could I not commend a rarer candidate for his approval in my loyal Cousin?\n\n_To the Same_\n\nWhich will I thank \u2014 the perpetrator, the propagator, or the almoner of the delightful bread \u2014 or may I compromise and thank them all?\n\nI for the first time appreciate the exultation of the robin toward a crumb, though he must be a seductive robin, with whom I would share my own.\n\nWith the hope to requite the loveliness in a future way, Gratefully,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To Mrs. W. F. Stearns [May, 1881.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I hope you may know with what unspeakable tenderness we think of you and of your dear child.\n\nWere it any kingdom but the 'Kingdom of Heaven,' how distant!\n\nBut my heart breaks \u2014 I can say no more.\n\nE. D.\n\n_To the Same_ _[October, 1882.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Affection wants you to know it is here. Demand it to the utmost.\n\nTenderly, E. DICKINSON.\n\nOne friend writes from New York of her regret that many of Emily's notes to herself have been destroyed. But she adds: 'One little welcome of Emily's to me became a household word; and I can quote it for you, though it should have the setting of her wide, pure margins, and her most dainty penmanship. Here it is: \u2014\n\n'Sweet Mrs. Nellie comes with the robins. Robins have wings. Mrs. Nellie has wings. A society for the prevention of wings would be a benefit to us all.\n\n'It tells its own story, you see, of a flitting visit to the Grove in the spring, and of her interest in her neighbors and her information as to their interests, though so invisible herself.'\n\n_To Mrs. Joseph Sweetser [Autumn, 1879?]_\n\nAunt Katie and the sultans have left the garden now, and parting with my own recalls their sweet companionship.\n\nMine were not, I think, as exuberant as in other years, \u2014 perhaps the Pelham water shocked their stately tastes, \u2014 but cherished avariciously because less numerous. I trust your garden was willing to die. I do not think that mine was \u2014 it perished with beautiful reluctance, like an evening star.\n\nI hope you were well since we knew of you, and as happy as sorrow would allow.\n\nThere are sweets of pathos, when sweets of mirth have passed away.\n\nMother has had a weary cold, and suffers much from neuralgia since the changing airs, though I trust is no feebler than when you were here. She has her little pleasures as the patient have \u2014 the voices of friends, and devotion of home.\n\nThe ravens must 'cry,' to be ministered to; she need only sigh.... Perhaps it is quite the home it was when you last beheld it. I hope your few are safe, and your flowers encouraging.\n\nNews of your sultans and yourself would be equally lovely, when you feel inclined. Blossoms have their leisures.\n\nLovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ _[December, 1881.]_\n\nIt was the unanimous opinion of the household that Aunt Katie never wrote so lovely a letter, and that it should be immediately replied to by each member of the family, from the geraniums down to the pussies, but unforeseen malignities prevented. Vinnie lost her sultans too \u2014 it was 'Guiteau' year \u2014 \u2014 Presidents and Sultans were alike doomed.\n\nOne might possibly come up, having sown itself \u2014 \u2014 if it should, you shall share \u2014 it is an Eastern creature, and does not like this soil. I think its first exuberance was purely accidental. Last was a fatal season. An 'envious worm' attacked them; then in early autumn we had midwinter frost. 'When God is with us, who shall be against us,' but when He is against us, other allies are useless.\n\nWe were much amused at your 'gardener.' You portrayed his treason so wittily it was more effective than loyalty. He knew that flowers had no tongues.\n\nWe trust you are safe this Norwegian weather, and 'desire your prayers 'for another snow-storm, just over our heads, the snows already repealing the fences.\n\nWith love for your health, and the promise of sultans, and viziers too, if the monarchs come,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR AUNT, \u2014 Thank you for 'considering the lilies.'\n\nThe Bible must have had us in mind, when it gave that liquid commandment. Were all its advice so enchanting as that, we should probably heed it.\n\nThank you for promptness, explicitness, sweetness. Your account of the lilies was so fresh I could almost pick them, and the hope to meet them in person, in autumn, through your loving hand, is a fragrant future.\n\nI hope you are well as you deserve, which is a blest circumference, and give my love to each.\n\nAunt L \u2014 just looked in on us, and I go to make her dish of homestead Charlotte Russe.\n\nAlways,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ _[November, 1884.]_\n\nSWEET AND GRACIOUS AUNT KATIE, \u2014 The beloved lilies have come, and my heart is so high it overflows, as this was mother's week, Easter in November.\n\nFather rose in June, and a little more than a year since, those fair words were fulfilled, 'and a little child shall lead them ' \u2014 but boundlessness forbids me....\n\nIt is very wrong that you were ill, and whom shall I accuse? The enemy, 'eternal, invisible, and full of glory ' \u2014 but He declares himself a friend! It is sweet you are better.\n\nMore beating that brave heart has to do before the emerald recess.\n\nWith sorrow for Emma's accident, and love for all who cherish you, including the roses, your velvet allies, Tenderly, \u2014\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nCousin T \u2014 and Cousin O \u2014 little thought when they were paying their antiquated respects to Aunt Katie that they were defrauding Emily of that last moment \u2014 but they needed it most \u2014 new moments will grow.\n\nWhen I found it beyond my power to see you, I designed to write you, immediately, but the Lords came as you went, and Judge Lord was my father's closest friend, so I shared my moments with them till they left us last Monday; then seeing directly after, the death of your loved Dr A \u2014 , I felt you might like to be alone \u2014 though Death is perhaps an intimate friend, not an enemy. Beloved Shakespeare says, 'He that is robbed and smiles, steals something from the thief.'...\n\nMaggie said you asked should you 'eat the flower.' Please consult the bees \u2014 they are the only authority on Etruscan matters. Vinnie said the sherry I sent you was brandy \u2014 a vital misapprehension. Please also forgive it. I did not intend to be so base to the aunt who showed me the first mignonette, and listened with me to the great wheel, from Uncle Underwood's 'study,' and won me in 'divers other ways 'too lovely to mention. Of all this we will talk when you come again.\n\nMeanwhile accept your\n\nTRIFLING NIECE.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nAunt Katie's rose had many thorns, but it is still a rose, and has borne the extremities of a flower with ethereal patience \u2014 and every deference to her is so sweetly deserved, we do not call it courtesy, but only recognition. It is sweeter that noon should be fair, than that morning should, because noon is the latest, and yet your morning had its dew you would not exchange. Thank you for telling us of your triumphs.\n\n'Peace hath her victories, no less than War.'\n\nThank you for speaking so tenderly of our latest lost. We had hoped the persuasions of the spring, added to our own, might delay his going, but they came too late. 'I met,' said he in his last note, 'a crocus and a snowdrop in my yesterday's walk,' but the sweet beings outlived him. I thought the churchyard Tarrytown, when I was a child, but now I trust 't is Trans \u2014\n\nIn this place of shafts, I hope you may remain unharmed.\n\nI congratulate you upon your children, and themselves upon you.\n\nTo have had such daughters is sanctity \u2014 to have had such a mother, divine. To still have her \u2014 but tears forbid me. My own is in the grave. 'So loved her that he died for her,' says the explaining Jesus.\n\nWith love, \u2014\n\nYOUR EMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nAunt Katie never forgets to be lovely, and the sweet clusters of yesterday only perpetuate a heart warm so many years.\n\nTropic, indeed, a memory that adheres so long. They were still vivid and fragrant when they reached my fingers, and were the wrist that bears them bolder, it would give reply. As it is, only a kiss and a gratitude, and every grace of being, from your loving niece. 'I give his angels charge!'\n\nShould I say his \"flowers, for qualified as saints they are.\n\nVinnie's and my transport.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR AUNT, \u2014 I have found and give it in love, but reluctant to entrust anything so sacred to my father as my grandfather's Bible to a public messenger, will wait till Mr. Howard comes, whom Mrs. Nellie tells us is due this week. Thank you for loving my father and mother. I hope they are with the Source of love. You did not tell me of your health \u2014 I trust because confirmed. Thank you too for sorrow, the one you truly knew.\n\nWith Vinnie's affection, in haste and fondness,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To Professor J. K. Chickering [Autumn, 1882.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I do not know the depth of my indebtedness. Sorrow, benighted with fathoms, cannot find its mind.\n\nThank you for assisting us.\n\nWe were timidly grateful.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ DEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Thank you. for being willing to see me, but may I defer so rare a pleasure till you come again? Grief is a sable introduction, but a vital one, and I deem that I knew you long since through your shielding thought.\n\nI hope you may have an electrical absence, as life never loses its startlingness, however assailed. 'Seen of angels 'only, an enthralling aim.\n\nThank you for the kindness, the fervor of a stranger the latest forgot.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_ DEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I had hoped to see you, but have no grace to talk, and my own words so chill and burn me that the temperature of other minds is too new an awe.\n\nWe shun it ere it comes, Afraid of joy, Then sue it to delay, And lest it fly\n\nBeguile it more and more.\n\nMay not this be,\n\nOld suitor Heaven,\n\nLike our dismay at thee?\n\nEarnestly,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 The Amherst heart is plain and whole and permanent and warm.\n\nIn childhood I never sowed a seed unless it was perennial \u2014 and that is why my garden lasts.\n\nWe dare not trust ourselves to know that you indeed have left us.\n\nThe fiction is sufficient pain. To know you better as you flee, may be our recompense.\n\nI hope that you are well, and nothing mars your peace but its divinity \u2014 for ecstasy is peril.\n\nWith earnest recollection,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nHow charming the magnanimity which conferring a favor on others, by some mirage of valor considers itself receiving one!\n\nOf such is the kingdom of knights!\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\nIt is hard for many persons to believe, even now, that Emily Dickinson had nothing to do with the Saxe Holm stories, and certainly some of their incidental poetry bears strong evidence of her unique touch. The little mystery of those remarkable tales was so carefully guarded that after a time people lost interest in surmising, and are now content to accept them as they are. The _No Name_ series of Roberts Brothers was not so long a secret, and in the volume of its verse, _A Masque of Poets,_ appeared, probably through the efforts of her old friend 'H. H.,' Emily Dickinson's _Success,_ afterward the opening poem in the first of her published volumes. However obtained, it formed the beginning of an occasional and pleasant correspondence between herself and Mr. Niles, always the genial, helpful, and generous friend of writers. She often sent him poems, which, contrary to her usual custom, she had named herself.\n\n_To Mr. Thomas Niles_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I bring you a chill gift \u2014 _My Cricket_ and _The Snow_ A base return, indeed, for the delightful book which I infer from you, but an earnest one.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nThank you, Mr. Niles.\n\nI am very grateful for the mistake. I should think it irreparable deprivation to know no farther of her here, with the impregnable chances.\n\nThe kind but incredible opinion of 'H. H.' and yourself I would like to deserve.\n\nWould you accept a pebble I think I gave to her, though I am not sure.\n\nWith thanks,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\nThe 'pebble' was that wonderful stanza,\n\nHow happy is the little stone\n\nThat rambles in the road alone,\n\nAnd doesn't care about careers,\n\nAnd exigencies never fears;\n\nWhose coat of elemental brown\n\nA passing universe put on;\n\nAnd independent as the sun,\n\nAssociates, or glows alone,\n\nFulfilling absolute decree\n\nIn casual simplicity.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Thank you for the kindness. I am glad if the bird seemed true to you.\n\nPlease efface the others, and receive these three, which are more like him \u2014 _A Thunder Storm A Humming Bird,_ and _A Country Burial._\n\nThe life of Marian Evans had much I never knew \u2014 \u2014 a doom of fruit without the bloom, like the Niger fig:\n\nHer losses make our gains ashamed \u2014\n\nShe bore life's empty pack\n\nAs gallantly as if the East\n\nWere swinging at her back.\n\nLife's empty pack is heaviest,\n\nAs every porter knows \u2014\n\nIn vain to punish honey, It only sweeter grows.\n\n_To Mrs. Carmichael_\n\n... I fear Vinnie gave my message as John Alden did the one from Miles Standish', which resulted delightfully for John, but not as well for his friend.\n\nHad you seen the delighted crowd that gathered round the box \u2014 did you ever see a crowd of three?\n\n\u2014 \u2014 you would have felt requited. Your presenting smile was alone wanting.\n\n'Dear Mrs. Carmichael,' said one; 'The one that never forgets,' said another; and a tear or two in the eyes of the third, and the reception was over. Can you guess which the third was?\n\nThe candy was enchanting, and is closeted in a deep pail, pending Vinnie's division, and the little box, like Heaven and mice, far too high to find.\n\nFailure be my witness that I have sought them faithfully.\n\nWe often think of your evening circle \u2014 Mr. Skeel presiding at the piano, and Mrs. Skeel and yourself taking mutual lessons.\n\nI am studying music now with the jays, and find them charming artists.\n\nVinnie and Gilbert have pretty battles on the pussy question, and you are needed for umpire, oftener than you think.\n\n'Weren't you chasing pussy?' said Vinnie to Gilbert. 'No, she was chasing herself.'\n\n'But wasn't she running pretty fast? 'said pussy's Nemesis. 'Well, some slow and some fast,' said the beguiling villain.\n\nWith the little kiss he gave me last, and a pair of my own, and love for Mr. and Mrs. Skeel,\n\nWarmly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nLOVED MRS CARMICHAEL AND MRS SKEEL, \u2014 I heard long since at school that Diogenes went to sea in a tub. Though I did not believe it, it is credible now.\n\nAgainst the peril of ocean steamers I am sweetly provided, and am sure you had my safety in mind, in your lovely gifts.\n\nI have taken the passengers from the hold \u2014 passengers of honey \u2014 and the deck of silk is just promenaded by a bold fly, greedy for its sweets. The little tub with the surcingle I shall keep till the birds, filling it then with nectars, in Mrs. Skeel's sweet honor.\n\nWill each of the lovely friends present my thanks to the other, as Vinnie's correspondence with them is too impressive for what dear Dickens calls 'the likes of me' to invade.\n\nTheir sweet intercession with Santa Claus in my behalf, I shall long remember.\n\nAlways,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nMy consoleless Vinnie convinces me of the misfortune of having known dear Mrs. Carmichael, whom 'to name is to praise,' for indeed, were we both intelligent mourners, I fear delight would close; but the 'fair uncertainty 'aids me, which is denied Vinnie.\n\nOf her noble loss it is needless to speak \u2014 that is incalculable.\n\nOf her sweet power to us when we were overwhelmed, that, too, shall be mute. She has 'borne our grief and carried our sorrow,' that is the criterion....\n\nLet me hope she is well to-day, and sheltered by every love she deserves, which were indeed countless.\n\nWe congratulate sweet Mrs. Skeel on her beloved booty, and ask a remembrance in her prayer for those of us bereaved.\n\nLovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To Dr and Mrs. Field, who had sent flowers_\n\nExpulsion from Eden grows indistinct in the presence of flowers so blissful, and with no disrespect to Genesis, Paradise remains.\n\nBeaconsfield says 'the time has now come when it must be decided forever, who possesses the great gates to India.'\n\nI think it must be my neighbor.\n\nWith delicate gratitude,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nI was much chagrined by the delayed flower \u2014 please accept its apology.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To the Same_\n\nShould you not have this flower, the first of spring with me, I should regret not sending it. Your azaleas are still vivid, though the frailer flowers are flitted away.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To \u2014_\n\nI send a violet, for L \u2014 . I should have sent a stem, but was overtaken by snow-drifts. I regret deeply not to add a butterfly, but have lost my hat, which precludes my catching one.\n\n_To \u2014 , with flowers_\n\nWith the leave of the bluebirds, without whose approval we do nothing.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To Mr. Theodore Holland_\n\nDEAR SIR, \u2014 Your request to 'remain sincerely' mine demands investigation, and if after synopsis of your career all should seem correct, I am tersely yours. I shall try to wear the unmerited honor with becoming volume.\n\nCommend me to your kindred, for whom, although a stranger, I entertain esteem.\n\nI approve the paint \u2014 a study of the Soudan, I take it, but the Scripture assures us our hearts are all Dongola.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To \u2014_\n\n... If you saw a bullet hit a bird, and he told you he wasn't shot, you might weep at his courtesy, but you would certainly doubt his word. Thomas's faith in anatomy was stronger than his faith in faith.... Vesuvius don't talk \u2014 Aetna don't. One of them said a syllable, a thousand years ago, and Pompeii heard it and hid forever. She couldn't look the world in the face afterward, I suppose. Bashful Pompeii!...\n\n_To \u2014_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I thank you with wonder. Should you ask me my comprehension of a starlight night, awe were my only reply, and so of the mighty book. It stills, incites, infatuates, blesses and blames in one. Like human affection, we dare not touch it, yet flee, what else remains?\n\nBut excuse me \u2014 I know but little. Please tell me how it might seem to you.\n\nHow vast is the chastisement of beauty, given us by our Maker! A word is inundation, when it comes from the sea.\n\nPeter took the marine walk at the great risk.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\nWhat book may be thus described is, unhappily, not known, as I have been unable to discover even to whom the note was written.\n\nA severe disappointment in the preparation of these volumes is the fact that Emily's letters to 'H. H.' cannot be found.\n\nEntertained delightfully during the summer of 1893 at Mr. Jackson's lovely home in Colorado Springs, I was very happy to learn that these letters had certainly not been destroyed. During the months before her death Mrs. Jackson had herself arranged her mass of papers, letters, and manuscripts, each marked for its fate; and Emily's letters were especially reserved in a package apart, as unique and too valuable to share the fate of much other correspondence. But though careful search has been most kindly made by her family, the letters still remain in hiding, and the inference is that they must have been accidentally destroyed in flames intended for other things.\n\nAmong Emily's own papers I have found this draft of a letter to Mrs. Jackson, discarded on account of a number of substituted words; and I give it just as it is, with both erasures and substitutes, as an interesting study of her afterthoughts: \u2014\n\n_To 'H.H.'_\n\n_[March, 1885]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 To reproach my own foot in behalf of yours is involuntary, and finding meagre solace in 'whom He loveth He chasteneth,' your valor' astounds me. It was only a small wasp, said the French physician, repairing the sting, but the strength to perish is sometimes withheld \u2014 though who but you can tell a foot.\n\nTake all away from me\n\nBut leave me ecstasy,\n\nAnd I am richer then\n\nThan all my fellow-men.\n\nIs it becoming me\n\nTo dwell so wealthily,\n\nWhen at my very door\n\nAre those possessing more,\n\nIn abject poverty?\n\nThat you glance at Japan as you breakfast, not in the least surprises me, thronged only with music, like the decks of birds.\n\nThank you for hoping I am well. Who could be ill in March, that month of proclamation? Sleigh-bells and jays contend in my matin\u00e9e, and the north surrenders instead of the south, a reverse of bugles.\n\nPity me, however, I have finished _Ramona._ Would that like Shakespeare it were just published!\n\nKnew I how to pray, to intercede for your foot were intuitive, but I am but a pagan.\n\nOf God we ask one favor, that we may be forgiven. For what, He is presumed to know. The crime, from us, is hidden.\n\nImmured the whole of life\n\nWithin a magic prison,\n\nWe reprimand the happiness\n\nThat too competes with Heaven.\n\nMay I once more know, and that you are saved?\n\nYours,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\nAfter Mrs. Jackson's death, August 12, 1885, Emily wrote of her: \u2014\n\nHelen of Troy will die, but Helen of Colorado, never. Dear friend, can you walk, were the last words that I wrote her.\n\nDear friend,\n\nI can fly \u2014 Her immortal reply.\n\n_To \u2014_\n\nSWEET FRIENDS, \u2014 I send a message by a mouth that cannot speak.\n\nThe ecstasy to guess Were a receipted bliss If grace could talk.\n\nWith love.\n\n_To \u2014_\n\n... What a hazard an accent is! When I think of the hearts it has scuttled or sunk, I almost fear to lift my hand to so much as a punctuation.\n\n_To Mrs. E. P. Crowell, when about to sail for Europe [March 2, 1885.]_\n\nIs it too late to touch you, dear?\n\nWe this moment knew.\n\nLove marine and love terrene, Love celestial too.\n\nI give his angels charge.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To Miss Eugenia Hall_\n\nLet me thank the little cousin in flowers, which, without lips, have language.\n\nSomewhat cousin, EMILY.\n\n_To the Same_ DEAR 'GENIE,' \u2014 The lovely flower you sent me is like a little vase of spice, and fills the hall with cinnamon.\n\nYou must have skilful hands to make such sweet carnations. Perhaps your doll taught you. I know that dolls are sometimes wise. Robins are my dolls. I am glad you love the blossoms so well. I hope you love birds, too. It is economical. It saves going to Heaven.\n\nLovingly,\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To the Same, with a Wedding Gift, October 20,_ 1885\n\nWill the sweet cousin who is about to make the Etruscan experiment, accept a smile which will last a life, if ripened in the sun?\n\nCOUSIN EMILY.\n\nThree notes were sent at different times, with flowers, to Mrs. J. C. Greenough: \u2014\n\nLest any bee should boast.\n\nTrusting the happy flower will meet you at the door where spring will soon be knocking, we challenge your 'come in.'\n\nEMILY.\n\nThe flower keeps its appointment \u2014 should the heart be tardy?\n\nWhen Memory rings her bell, let all the thoughts run in.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To Mrs. Greenough, after her Mother's Death, October,_ 1885\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I had the luxury of a mother a month longer than you, for my own mother died in November, but the anguish also was granted me to see the first snow upon her grave the following day, which, dear friend, you were spared.\n\nBut Remembrance engulfs pie, and I must cease.\n\nI wish I could speak a word of courage, though that love has already done. Who could be motherless who has a mother's grave within confiding reach?\n\nLet me enclose the tenderness born of bereavement.\n\nTo have had a mother \u2014 how mighty!\n\nEMILY.\n**CHAPTER X**\n\n_To Mrs. Todd, Mrs. Tuckerman, the Misses, Mr. Clark, and Mrs. Currier_\n\nFROM the many notes sent me by Emily Dickinson during the last four years of her life, it was a difficult matter to select those best fitted for publication. But the first one available was probably this response to a small panel which I had painted for her, \u2014 a group of Indian pipes, those weird white flowers of shade and silence: \u2014\n\n_To Mrs. Todd_ _[Winter, 1882.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 That without suspecting it you should send me the preferred flower of life, seems almost supernatural, and the sweet glee that I felt at meeting it I could confide to none. I still cherish the clutch with which I bore it from the ground when a wondering child, an unearthly booty, and maturity only enhances mystery, never decreases it. To duplicate the vision is even more amazing, for God's unique capacity is too surprising to surprise. I know not how to thank you. We do not thank the rainbow, although its trophy is a snare.\n\nTo give delight is hallowed \u2014 perhaps the toil of angels, whose avocations are concealed.\n\nI trust that you are well, and the quaint little girl with the deep eyes, every day more fathomless.\n\nWith joy,\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\nA few days later came another, enclosing that brilliant, meteoric flash in words, her 'humming-bird,' printed at page 130 in the second volume of the _Poems: \u2014_\n\n_To the Same_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 I cannot make an Indian pipe, but please accept a humming-bird, \u2014\n\nA route of evanescence\n\nWith a revolving wheel;\n\nA resonance of emerald,\n\nA rush of cochineal;\n\nAnd every blossom on the bush\n\nAdjusts its tumbled head, \u2014\n\nThe mail from Tunis, probably,\n\nAn easy morning's ride.\n\nWhen, after her death, the great mass of Emily Dickinson's verses had been collated and an appropriate drawing for the cover was desired, there seemed a peculiar fitness in this ethereal flower; and the design was cut from the little panel which stood so long in her room.\n\nMany of her most beautiful verses came to me, in the following years; and one autumn day this: \u2014\n\nHow martial the apology of nature! We 3ie, said the deathless of Thermopylae, in obedience to law.\n\nNot sickness stains the brave,\n\nNor any dart,\n\nNor doubt of scenes to come,\n\nBut an adjourning heart.\n\nAfter I had sent her a painting of the gorgeous blossoms of the trumpet vine, which, on first seeing, she had called 'the Soudan,' she wrote: \u2014\n\n_[March 21, 1885.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Nature forgot. The circus reminded her.\n\nThanks for the Ethiopian face.\n\nThe Orient is in the west.\n\n'You knew, oh Egypt,' said the entangled Antony.\n\nAnd later, \u2014\n\n_[September, 1885.]_\n\nWhy should we censure Othello, when the criterion Lover says, 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me '?\n\nMusic had always charm for Emily Dickinson. Frequently, when I had been singing, or playing upon the piano at her request, a dainty note would come in to me, with a glass of wine, or a rare rose; in one instance a cream whip, with the single line, 'Whom He loveth He chasteneth,' \u2014 of which the application might have been taken in various ways.\n\nI can never forget the twilight seclusion of the old drawing-room, the square piano in its corner, the ancient mahogany furniture, and Emily just outside the door, her dress a spot of white in the dim hall. With the waning afternoon, I would play one thing and another, or sing melodies which often sounded too light and modern and sunshiny for surroundings so like a dreamy corner of the past At first it seemed to me as if a visitor from another world had alighted for a time, wishing, for some inscrutable reason, to be entertained on a foreign planet Later, it became not only entirely natural, but so much a habit that I should have missed my solitary recitals quite as much as my often invisible auditor.\n\nOther notes to me, having especial reference to particular persons or occasions, are not of sufficient general interest to be given here.\n\nAs her unique life drew toward its close, she became, for the last two years, a semi-invalid, \u2014 she who had always rejoiced in strength and bravery enough for her own need, and that of all her friends.\n\nOnly a handful of notes remains, written during the final weeks while Emily brightened the old house with her airy, yet forceful and brilliant personality, for, even ill, she was a pervasive presence.\n\nUpon the death of Professor Tuckerman, March 15, 1886, she wrote: \u2014\n\n_To Mrs. Tuckerman_\n\nDEAR ONE, \u2014 _'_ Eye hath not seen nor ear heard.' What a recompense! The enthusiasm of God at the reception of His sons! How ecstatic! How infinite! Says the blissful voice, not yet a voice, but a vision, 'I will not let thee go, except I bless thee.'\n\nEMILY.\n\nSometime during this month, also, she wrote her cousins: \u2014\n\n_To the Misses \u2014_\n\n_[March, 1886.]_\n\nI scarcely know where to begin, but love is always a safe place. I have twice been very sick, dears, with a little recess of convalescence, then to be more sick, and have lain in my bed since November, many years, for me, stirring as the arbutus does, a pink and russet hope; but that we will leave with our pillow. When your dear hearts are quite convenient, tell us of their contents, the fabric cared for most, not a fondness wanting.\n\nDo you keep musk, as you used to, like Mrs. Morene of Mexico? Or cassia carnations so big they split their fringes of berry? Was your winter a tender shelter \u2014 perhaps like Keats's bird, 'and hops and hops in little journeys'?\n\nAre you reading and well, and the W \u2014 s near and warm? When you see Mrs. French and Dan give them a tear from us.\n\nVinnie would have written, but could not leave my side. Maggie gives her love. Mine more sweetly still.\n\nEMILY.\n\n_To Mr. C. H. Clark [April 5, 1886.]_\n\nDEAR FRIEND, \u2014 Are you living and well, and your father in peace, and the home in \u2014 Street without effacing change? I received your very kind message, I think in November, since which I have been very ill, and begin to roam in my room a little, an hour at a time.\n\nDo you, as time steals on, know anything of the W \u2014 whom Mr. \u2014 so loved, and of whom he said with a smile, 'Should he find a gold watch in the street he would not pick it up, so unsullied was he'?...\n\nMy sister gives her faithful remembrance to yourself and your father, the brother so cherished never once forgot.\n\nYou will recall the flower sacred to your brother.\n\nNo sloth has memory.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\n_To Mrs. Currier_ _[April 10, 1886.]_\n\n... Mr. Hunt was tinning a post this morning, and told us L \u2014 didn't feel quite as well as usual, and I haven't felt quite as well as usual since the chestnuts were ripe, though it wasn't the chestnuts' fault, but the crocuses are so martial and the daffodils to the second joint, let us join hands and recover.\n\n'I do remember an apothecary,' said that sweeter robin than Shakespeare, was a loved paragraph which has lain on my pillow all winter, but perhaps Shakespeare has been 'up street' oftener than I have, this winter.\n\nWould father's youngest sister believe that in the 'Shire town' where he and Blackstone went to school, a man was hung yesterday, for the murder of a man by the name of Dickinson, and that Miss M \u2014 was poisoned by a strolling juggler to be tried in the Supreme Court next week?\n\nDon't you think fumigation ceased when father died?\n\nPoor, romantic Miss M \u2014 ! But perhaps a _Police Gazette_ was better for you than an essay.\n\nI hope you are both stronger, and ask a word of gain with these ecstatic days. I give my anxious love, and Vinnie's faithfulness with mine.\n\nYour EMILY.\n\n_To Mr. C. H. Clark [April 15, 1886.]_\n\nThank you, dear friend, I am better. The velocity of the ill, however, is like that of the snail. I am glad of your father's tranquillity, and of your own courage. Fear makes us all martial.\n\nI could hardly have thought it possible that the scholarly stranger to whom my father introduced me, could have mentioned my friend, almost itself a vision, or have still left a legend to relate his name. With the exception of \u2014 ... your name alone remains.\n\n'Going home,' was he not an aborigine of the sky?\n\nThe last time he came in life I was with my lilies and heliotropes. Said my sister to me, 'The gentleman with the deep voice wants to see you, Emily' \u2014 hearing him ask of the servant.\n\n'Where did you come from? 'I said, for he spoke like an apparition. 'I stepped from my pulpit to the train,' was his simple reply; and, when I asked, 'how long? ' \u2014 'twenty years,' said he, with inscrutable roguery.\n\nBut the loved voice has ceased; and to some one who heard him 'going home 'it was sweet to speak.... Thank you for each circumstance, and tell me all you love to say....\n\nExcuse me for the voice, this moment immortal.\n\nE. DICKINSON.\n\nThis letter, in her bold, clear, detached hand (to an accustomed eye slightly less firm than usual), is the last one, so far as known, which Emily Dickinson wrote. Afterward, she continued to be delicate, though hardly alarmingly so; but just before the fifteenth of May, 1886, she sent two words to her cousins, freighted with startling import, \u2014\n\nLITTLE COUSINS, \u2014 Called back.\n\nEMILY.\n\nAlmost immediately she fell asleep, and never woke again to earthly sunshine.\n\nIn the quiet of leafy Amherst, in the old brick mansion behind its hedges and pines, she lived and wrote, and there she\n\n'Ascended, from our vision\n\nTo countenances new.'\n\nWe can be only grateful that she was moved to crystallize in words her thronging visions of blossom, and bird, and 'blue, beloved air,' \u2014 of 'life, death, and that vast forever' which was her nearest companion.\n\nThis is hardly the place to speak in detail of Emily Dickinson's verses, their electrical quality, or their impressive effect upon the public, four years after her death. They are pervaded by a singular cadence of hidden rhythmical music, which becomes sympathetically familiar upon intimate acquaintance.\n\nDr Holmes somewhere says that rhymes 'are iron fetters: it is dragging a chain and a ball to march under their encumbrance;' and if in Emily Dickinson's work there is frequently no rhyme where rhyme should be, a subtle something, welcome and satisfying, takes its place. An orchid among every-day, sweet-smelling flowers, strangeness and irregularity seem but to enhance her fascination.\n\nA striking characteristic of her verse is its epigrammatic quality; terseness and vigor predominate, rather than feminine grace and smoothness. Homely experiences which all recognize, but few record, were to her texts for profound generalization. When the unmeaning mass of much modern poetry is compared with Emily Dickinson's swift revelations, the operation suggests comparing distilled water with richest Burgundy. And as such water is no less insipid if served in cut-glass flagons, so we cannot care in what kind of bottle has been stored for years the condensed sweetness of tropic suns.\n\nThe eighteenth of May, 1886, Emily Dickinson was carried lovingly over the threshold she had not passed beyond in years.\n\n'She went as softly as the dew\n\nFrom a familiar flower.\n\nNot like the dew did she return\n\nAt the accustomed hour.'\n\nTo the few who gathered, that sunny afternoon, her friend, fellow-poet, and 'master' read Emily Bronte's noble _Last Lines,_ with their lofty voicing of an unchangeable belief in the soul's immortality, \u2014 'a favorite,' as Colonel Higginson so fitly said, 'with our friend, who has now put on that Immortality which she seemed never to have laid off.'\n\nShe had lived in voluntary retirement from outside eyes; and now, in the sweet May sunshine, tender hands bore her through meadows starry with daisies into a silence and seclusion but little deeper.\n\n(The Hon. Henry M. Spofford, Justice of the Supreme Court of Louisiana, a graduate of Amherst College in the Class of 1840, and brother of Mr. Ainsworth R. Spofford, the Librarian of Congress.)\n\n(The poems enclosed in letters to friends are often slightly different from her own copies preserved in the manuscript volumes. This line, for instance, in another place reads 'Eclipses suns imply.')\n\n_West Amherst Cemetery, Massachusetts \u2014 Dickinson's final resting place_\n\n_Dickinson's grave (centre) with her family_\n\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n\nCopyright \u00a9 2006 by the CSL.  \nAll rights reserved.\n\nFirst Edition 2006.\n\nThe Clay Sanskrit Library is co-published by  \nNew York University Press  \nand the JJC Foundation.\n\nFurther information about this volume  \nand the rest of the Clay Sanskrit Library  \nis available on the following websites:  \nwww.claysanskritlibrary.com  \nwww.nyupress.org.\n\nISBN-13: 978-0-8147-6723-8 (cloth : alk. paper)  \nISBN-10: 0-8147-6723-0 (cloth : alk. paper)\n\nArtwork by Robert Beer.  \nTypeset in Adobe Garamond at 10.25 : 12.3+pt.  \nXML-development by Stuart Brown.  \nEditorial input by Daniel Balogh, Tomoyuki Kono,  \nEszter Somogyi & Peter Szanto.  \nPrinted in Great Britain by St Edmundsbury Press Ltd,  \nBury St Edmunds, Suffolk, on acid-free paper.  \nBound by Hunter & Foulis, Edinburgh, Scotland.\n\nLibrary of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data\n\nMahabharata. Dronaparvan. English & Sanskrit.\n\nMahabharata. Book seven, Drona \/\n\ntranslated by Vaughan Pilikian. \u2013 1st ed.\n\np. cm. \u2013 (The Clay Sanskrit library)\n\nIncludes bibliographical references and index.\n\nEpic poetry.\n\nIn English and Sanskrit (romanized) on facing pages;\n\nincludes translation from Sanskrit.\n\nISBN-13: 978-0-8147-6723-8 (cloth : alk. paper)\n\nISBN-10: 0-8147-6723-0 (cloth : alk. paper)\n\nI. Title. II. Title: Drona.\n\nBL1138.242.D76E5 2006\n\n294.5'92304521\u2013dc22 2006022412\nContents\n\nSanskrit alphabetical order\n\nCSL conventions\n\nMAHA\u00b7BHARATA VII \u2013 DRONA I\n\nIntroduction\n\n1\u201315\n\nThe Anointing of Drona\n\n16\u201332\n\nThe Death of the Beholden\n\n33\u201354\n\nThe Death of Abhimanyu\n\nNotes\n\nProper Names and Epithets\n\nIndex\n\nA sandhi grid is printed on the inside of the back cover\n\ncsl conventions\n\n7\n\nsanskrit alphabetical order\n\nVowels:\n\nGutturals:\n\nPalatals:\n\nRetroflex:\n\nDentals:\n\nLabials:\n\nSemivowels:\n\nSpirants:\n\nguide to sanskrit pronunciation\n\nbut\n\nfather\n\nsit\n\nfee\n\nput\n\nboo\n\nvocalic r, American purdy or English pretty\n\nlengthened r\n\nvocalic l, able\n\nmade, esp. in Welsh pronunciation\n\nbite\n\nrope, esp. Welsh pronun- ciation; Italian solo\n\nsound\n\nanusvara nasalizes the preceding vowel\n\nvisarga, a voiceless aspiration (resembling English h), or like Scottish loch, or an aspiration with a faint echoing of the preceding ________\n\nvowel so that taih is pronounced taihi\n\nluck\n\nblockhead\n\ngo\n\nbighead\n\nanger\n\nchill\n\nmatchhead\n\njog\n\naspirated j, hedgehog\n\ncanyon\n\nretroflex t ,try (with the tip of tongue turned up to touch the hard palate)\n\nsame as the preceding but aspirated\n\nretroflex d of tongue turned up to touch the hard palate)\n\nsame as the preceding but aspirated\n\nretroflex n (with the tip\nMAHA\u00b7BHARATA VII \u2013 DRONA I\n\nof tongue turned up to touch the hard palate)\n\nFrench tout\n\ntent hook\n\ndinner\n\nguildhall\n\nnow\n\npill\n\nupheaval\n\nbefore\n\nabhorrent\n\nmind\n\nyes\n\ntrilled, resembling the Italian pronunciation of r\n\nlinger\n\nword\n\nshore\n\nretroflex sh (with the tip of the tongue turned up to touch the hard palate)\n\nhiss\n\nhood\n\ncsl punctuation of english\n\nThe acute accent on Sanskrit words when they occur outside of the Sanskrit text itself, marks stress, e.g. Ramayana. It is not part of traditional Sanskrit orthography, transliteration or transcription, but we supply it here to guide readers in the pronunciation of these unfamiliar words. Since no Sanskrit word is accented on the last syllable it is not necessary to accent disyllables, e.g. Rama.\n\nThe second CSL innovation designed to assist the reader in the pronunciation of lengthy unfamiliar words is to insert an unobtrusive middle dot between semantic word breaks in compound names (provided the word break does not fall on a vowel resulting from the fusion of two vowels), e.g. Maha\u00b7bharata, but Ramayana (not Rama\u00b7ayana). Our dot echoes the punctuating middle dot (\u00b7) found in the oldest surviving forms of written Indic, the Ashokan inscriptions of the third century bce.\n\nThe deep layering of Sanskrit narrative has also dictated that we use quotation marks only to announce the beginning and end of every direct speech, and not at the beginning of every paragraph.\n\ncsl punctuation of sanskrit\n\nThe Sanskrit text is also punctuated, in accordance with the punctuation of the English translation. In mid-verse, the punctuation will _________\n\n8\ncsl conventions\n\nnot alter the sandhi or the scansion. Proper names are capitalized. Most Sanskrit metres have four \"feet\" (pada): where possible we print the common sloka metre on two lines. In the Sanskrit text, we use French Guillemets (e.g. \u00abkva samcicirsuh?\u00bb) instead of English quotation marks (e.g. \"Where are you off to?\") to avoid confusion with the apostrophes used for vowel elision in sandhi.\n\nSanskrit presents the learner with a challenge: sandhi (\"euphonic combination\"). Sandhi means that when two words are joined in connected speech or writing (which in Sanskrit reflects speech), the last letter (or even letters) of the first word often changes; compare the way we pronounce \"the\" in \"the beginning\" and \"the end.\"\n\nIn Sanskrit the first letter of the second word may also change; and if both the last letter of the first word and the first letter of the second are vowels, they may fuse. This has a parallel in English: a nasal consonant is inserted between two vowels that would otherwise coalesce: \"a pear\" and \"an apple.\" Sanskrit vowel fusion may produce ambiguity. The chart at the back of each book gives the full sandhi system.\n\nFortunately it is not necessary to know these changes in order to start reading Sanskrit. For that, what is important is to know the form of the second word without sandhi (pre-sandhi), so that it can be recognized or looked up in a dictionary. Therefore we are printing Sanskrit with a system of punctuation that will indicate, unambiguously, the original form of the second word, i.e., the form without sandhi. Such sandhi mostly concerns the fusion of two vowels.\n\nIn Sanskrit, vowels may be short or long and are written differently accordingly. We follow the general convention that a vowel with no mark above it is short. Other books mark a long vowel either with a bar called a macron (a) or with a circumflex (a). Our system uses the macron, except that for initial vowels in sandhi we use a circumflex to indicate that originally the vowel was short, or the shorter of two possibilities (e rather than ai, o rather than au).\n\nWhen we print initial a, before sandhi that vowel was a\n\n9\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\n', before sandhi there was a vowel a\n\nfurther help with vowel sandhi\n\nWhen a final short vowel (a, i or u) has merged into a following vowel, we print ' at the end of the word, and when a final long vowel (a, i or u) has merged into a following vowel we print \" at the end of the word. The vast majority of these cases will concern a final a or a.\n\nExamples:\n\nWhat before sandhi was atra asti is represented as atr' asti\n\nFinally, three other points concerning the initial letter of the second word:\n\n(1) A word that before sandhi begins with r (vowel), after sandhi begins with r followed by a consonant: yatha\" rtu represents pre-sandhi yatha rtu.\n\n(2) When before sandhi the previous word ends in t and the following word begins with s, after sandhi the last letter of the previous word is c and the following word begins with ch :syac chastravit represents pre-sandhi syat sastravit.\n\n( 3) Where a word begins with h and the previous word ends with a double consonant, this is our simplified spelling to show the pre-sandhi _________\n\n10\ncsl conventions\n\nform: tad hasati is commonly written as tad dhasati, but we write tadd hasati so that the original initial letter is obvious.\n\ncompounds\n\nWe also punctuate the division of compounds (samasa), simply by inserting a thin vertical line between words. There are words where the decision whether to regard them as compounds is arbitrary. Our principle has been to try to guide readers to the correct dictionary entries.\n\nexample\n\nWhere the Deva\u00b7nagari script reads:\n\nOthers would print:\n\nWe print:\n\nAnd in English:\n\n\"May Ganesha's domed forehead protect you! Streaked with vermilion\n\ndust, it seems to be emitting the spreading rays of the rising sun to\n\npacify the teeming darkness of obstructions.\"\n\n\"Nava\u00b7sahasanka and the Serpent Princess\" I.3 by Padma\u00b7gupta\n\n11\n\nIntroduction\n\nNight is falling.\n\nM. Heidegger, 'Wozu Dichter?'\n\nT\n\nhe 'Maha\u00b7bharata' tells the story of the decline of  \nthe descendants of King Bharata into anarchy and bloodshed. The future calamity is set in motion when the great monarch's last unsullied heir, King Shantanu, falls for Satyavati, the daughter of the chieftain of a lowly tribe of fishermen. Only after Shantanu has persuaded his son Bhishma to abdicate all claim to the throne does the chieftain allow the king to marry his daughter. Shantanu and his new wife have two sons together, but though the younger prince marries twice, both of them die before having children of their own. However, their bereaved mother was no virgin bride: she decides to summon from the wilderness her own illegitimate child, and instructs him to father with the youthful widows an inheritor for the throne. Though they agree to the idea, the women are less than enamored of their husbands' half-brother. In fact, they are both so frightened by the strange eremite that one screws her eyes shut while they have sex, and the other turns white with fear. Both become pregnant; the first gives birth to a blind boy named Dhrita\u00b7rashtra and the second to a pale and sickly child called Pandu. Neither seems naturally suited to the role of king. In time, Pandu becomes monarch, but after a series of wars he decides to move to the forest and leaves Dhrita\u00b7rashtra to take charge of the imperial city. One day, while out hunting, Pandu shoots a deer as it mates with a _________________________________\n\n15\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\ndoe. Little does he realize, the deer is in fact an ascetic in animal form, and as revenge the recluse curses Pandu to die the moment he tries to make love to a woman. Once again the dynasty is threatened. Taking drastic measures, Pandu's two wives decide to use mantras to invoke the gods as lovers, and Kunti gives birth to children fathered by Dharma, Vayu and Indra, and Madri to twins by the Ashvins. Despite their parentage, these children become misleadingly known as \"the Pandavas\" or \"sons of Pandu,\" which biologically, at least, they are not. Pandu himself dies when at long last he finds it impossible to resist the charms of his younger wife.\n\nBy now, Dhrita\u00b7rashtra has also married and his own extraordinary spouse has borne him a hundred sons and one daughter who become known as the Kauravas, \"the descendants of Kuru,\" Shantanu's grandfather. Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's eldest child, Duryodhana, has designs on the throne, while Yudhi\u00b7shthira, the son of Dharma, firstborn to Pandu's first wife, believes himself to be the rightful heir, and there follows a series of murder plots, broken promises and awkward compromises that culminate in the final absurdity of a dice match that will decide which of them takes the kingdom for himself. Yudhi\u00b7shthira proves to be an enthusiastic if unlucky gambler and loses everything, including the Pandavas' shared wife Draupadi. He and his brothers are forced into a lengthy exile. Thirteen years later, the Pandavas return from the forest, determined to wrest their kingdom back from their cousins by force. Alliances are forged across the land and war is at last declared.\n\nAt the beginning of the present volume, we join the action during an uneasy hiatus after ten days of fighting. The war-__________\n\n16\nintroduction\n\nring cousins stand face to face on the battlefield, awestruck by the fall of Bhishma, symbolic patriarch to Kauravas and Pandavas alike. He will spend the rest of the battle a mere spectator, his life ebbing slowly as each day passes. Now it is Drona's turn to take his place as the leader of Duryodhana's armies. Though a brahmin by birth, Drona was once an instructor in the arts of war to both the Pandavas and the Kauravas, and like Bhishma he accepts his post only with a certain reluctance. The fighting begins once more. However, Duryodhana is so desperate to gain ground against the Pandavas that it is not long before he angrily accuses Drona of fighting halfheartedly against his former students. Drona replies that only if the great Pandava warrior Arjuna is removed from the battlefield can he stand any chance of defeating his opponents. The kings of Tri\u00b7garta step forward and challenge Arjuna to a duel he cannot refuse, and Drona sets about destroying the army that Arjuna leaves behind him. In response, Yudhi\u00b7shthira decides to send his nephew Abhimanyu, Arjuna's son, to counter Drona's advance. Eager to please his uncle, Abhimanyu sets off for the Kaurava line and, breaking through it, causes havoc among Duryodhana's troops. But Abhimanyu's achievements take him too far. After a sequence of battles, he finds himself cut off from the rest of the Pandavas, and despite his ferocious determination he is finally overwhelmed by a group of his enemies and killed. Yudhi\u00b7shthira realizes too late that he has sent his nephew to an inevitable doom. He is plunged into despair, and the sun sets on a scene of mourning in the Pandava camp.\n\n17\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nThe children of a blind pretender fighting the sons of a man too frail to risk the act of coition: we seem closer to picaresque than to the hallowed territory of epic. My very compressed account of the narrative from the beginning of the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' up to the end of the present volume might vitiate its subtleties, but it certainly brings out its very modern sense of the absurd. Indeed, the epic is a highly ironic text, a fact rarely remarked upon by its exegetes. Traditionally, the battle scenes that rage without relief through the five books at the heart of the poem have been interpreted as a moral lesson in the incandescently destructive power of worldly greed and desire. This is, in fact, more or less how the dying Bhishma will explain the events of the war in the enormous discourses of Book Twelve. Yet Bhishma will declaim his verdict from a bed of arrows: his words are literally couched in an image whose simple power they cannot, in the end, overcome. Similarly, the 'Bhagavad Gita,' the epic's most famous teaching on action without desire, is recounted moments before the unleashing of a wild and delirious violence inspired by distinctly human passions, an irony further underscored by the fact that it is a figure on one side of this highly partisan conflict who delivers the sacred message of the 'Gita.'\n\nLike all great art, the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' fascinates for reasons we cannot explain. It does not offer simple moral lessons or comforting fables about the world. What it depicts, on a canvas broader than any before or since, is the fecundity and chaos of human life. These may be men and women of legend, but they are figments in a vision that we, as residents of a century millennia after it was first conjured, can still ______\n\n18\nintroduction\n\nrecognize with surprising and perhaps alarming ease. The men and women of the epic are human beings who lie and cheat, deceive one another and themselves, weep, fulminate, scorn and manipulate, and even those supposed exemplars of virtue, Yudhi\u00b7shthira and Krishna, are no less part of this human comedy than any of the characters who surround them. What obsess the protagonists in the epic above all else are their immediate worldly concerns. Once the conflict has begun in earnest, these concerns can be reduced to a singular objective: how to win the war, and Kaurava and Pandava alike twist all of the resources of action and rhetoric to do so. The price each side pays is enormous. Were we to approach the epic as Aristotelians, we would identify the battle books as the tragic center of its narrative, as in their dense passages the flawed splendor of the epic's cast is displayed in all of its light and darkness. And as the war draws on, it is darkness that predominates.\n\nEverything is fading in the world of the 'Maha\u00b7bharata.' With the onset of war, the very structure of the cosmos, its dharma, is giving way. A term such as dharma is difficult to translate into English, for the simple reason that we do not have an equivalent everyday notion that infuses our experience of life, the inkling of a force that conserves or upholds the universe as it is and ought to be. Perhaps modernity abolished the idea from our lexicon: the ancient Egyptian maat has a meaning far closer to dharma than anything in today's English. But what we see in the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' is the dramatization of a\/dharma, what happens when dharma collapses, perhaps what always happens when so vague and ideational a concept comes into contact with human reality. _______\n\n19\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nIn the verbal and physical conflicts of the 'Maha\u00b7bharata,' dharma is demolished and rebuilt again and again. Yudhi\u00b7shthira's name Dharma\u00b7raja even shares its etymology with Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's, a typical example of the game the epic plays with similarity and difference. In this contest of royal inheritance, the very identities of the rivals seem to blur the distinctions between them, just as their birthlines fade or break in the narrative that has brought them to this point of no return, and just as the fratricide that their rivalry has triggered will now build towards the bizarre closing passages of 'Drona,' when the fighting explodes into a nocturnal massacre where it no longer seems to matter who kills whom.\n\nIt is the relentlessness of these scenes that may alienate the reader who comes to them for the first time. The great deluge of blood in the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' is the most prodigious, sustained and devastating vision into the charnel house of human conflict in the history of world literature. The only things remotely like it are the 'Iliad,' the 'Aeneid' and the 'Inferno,' and even their horrors seem almost twee alongside the infinite ferocity of the 'Maha\u00b7bharata'. 'Drona' is in itself a huge text. At first glance, we find scene after scene that seem to blend into one. But there is a definite sequence of events in the book, extending from Drona's accession to the post of commander of the Kaurava forces, through Abhimanyu's tragic death and the demise of Jayad\u00b7ratha and Ghatotkacha, to the cruel deception and beheading of Drona. Concision is not the point; the epic is as much a cultural force as a literary work, and is unencumbered by the niceties of compositional convention that we might expect of it. Yet wound about its events is the undulating texture of the epic's _______________________\n\n20\nintroduction\n\npoetry. The reader will find that a certain synesthesia is the inevitable consequence of close association with it\u2014the text can fruitfully be approached like a piece of music, but one in form much closer to the gathering swell of a raga than to the frozen arc of a symphony. The deeper we delve into the detail of what happens, the more is revealed to our eyes and ears. Verses are never repeated precisely but are inflected, recast or transformed, and all the time, line by line, the tale moves on, riverine and enveloping, occasionally meandering gently, at other times twisting suddenly, like the haunted streams of blood that crisscross the plain of Kuru\u00b7kshetra.\n\nThere is no question in my mind that the battle books yield the finest poetry of the epic. At its best, the language of the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' has a sort of flinty lyricism: notches on a stick rather than the pearls on a necklace of later kavya. One might even go so far as to say that the Indological tradition has suffered a measure of Freudian repression in its need to \"solve\" the problem of the epic's delight in such scenes by pushing its emphasis towards otherworldly concerns and away from the events within which it is steeped. Cultures across the world, particularly the more civilized, have always enjoyed the spectacle of violence, and in the materialist cosmos of the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' it is the moment at which life is turned into death that is fetishized and that fascinates. There is nothing in the epic that demands redemption. Its action all takes place in a cosmos far from the divided world in which we readers of modern English find ourselves, a molten universe where art and science are still interfused, where gods and men mingle, and comic and cosmic destinies are played out as one. For the battle be-\n\n21\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\ntween the Kauravas and Pandavas is also a celestial war\u2014we are told elsewhere in the epic that the gods have been incarnated in human form to save the earth from the ravages of the demons that hold it captive. Thus the cosmological imagery of the battlefield: warriors rise and set like the sun and arrows fall like monsoon rain. But to call such descriptions mere \"similes\" is to underplay their significance. The path traced by the warrior from youth through glory to decline is as elemental here as the track of the sun from dawn through noon to dusk. The sun rises every day until the end of time, just as the violence of the warrior's life continues until violent death brings its conclusion. And so the world as an objective realm, as something beyond the self, is driven back. There are no descriptions of the weather: we don't see the landscape, the rain or the moon, only shields, jewels and swords, mirrors for the sun. What we witness in the battle scenes is as natural as the turning of the earth. Yet at the same time, man's nature condemns itself, and the curse for the epic's actors is that to realize this is not to overcome it. _____\n\nThis is the epic's final irony, and through it we are returned to the familiar pain of being alive and being human. Never very distant is the elegiac regret that no other way seems possible, that the relentless passage of time carries all before it, that the alternatives to this inescapable cycle can be only dimly sensed, like memories from a fading dream. Karna puts it well.\n\nI see it now: this world is swiftly passing.\n\n'Drona' 2.4\n\n22\nintroduction\n\nNote on the Text and Translation\n\nThe recension translated by the Clay Sanskrit Library is Nila\u00b7kantha's, and I have drawn on four sources to construct the text presented herein. These are the 1834\u201339 Calcutta Edition, Kinjawadekar's twentieth-century version of the Bombay Editon, and the two Deva\u00b7nagari Dn manuscripts of the Critical Edition. Some line counts are my own, but adhyaya divisions are all from original sources. A concordance given below should make comparision with the Critical Edition relatively straightforward.\n\nA word on the formal structure of the epic for those who are coming to it for the first time. The narration can best be understood through theatrical conventions; the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' is recounted as a dialogue between characters, and stories are nested within stories in an increasingly intricate fashion as the epic progresses. The prime speaker is the seer Ugra\u00b7shravas, who is retelling to a group of hermits the story he heard being narrated to the king Janam\u00b7ejaya, a descendent of the Pandavas, by Vaishampayana, a pupil of Vyasa. The divine seer Vyasa is credited by the epic, rather fancifully, as its composer. In the battle books, it is Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's charioteer Sanjaya who takes over most of the narration, visiting the blind king at his palace back in the royal city of Hastina\u00b7pura to report on what has happened. Much is made of Vyasa granting Sanjaya some sort of magical sight that enables him to describe the battle in such vivid and telescopic detail, but it seems likely that this is principally an attempt, perhaps late in the epic's composition, to ___________________________________\n\n23\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nexplain a structural device very much in keeping with the mode of the rest of the 'Maha\u00b7bharata.'\n\nThough the topic is a fascinating one, it is unfortunately not possible here to enter into a detailed discussion about how I have set about transposing the structures and shapes of Epic Sanskrit into the very different ones of modern English. If a translation needs a preamble to justify it then it is anyway unlikely to succeed. All the same, a few comments may help to explain why the English text has taken the form that it has. Despite its immensity, and its shifts in colour and tone, the epic's voice maintains a certain register throughout, one born of the strange encounter between an oral, folkloric tradition and a hieratic, literary language. I have tried to preserve the singularity of this register, and rather than naturalism I have sought an idiom in English reflective of the stark and glittering intensity of the original. ________________________________\n\nParticularly in the battle scenes, verses can build into circular and almost incantatory sequences that perhaps are better suited to poetry than to prose. There is no punctuation to speak of in the Sanskrit manuscripts, and any but the sparest intervention into the text with commas and colons does a violence to its subtlety and music. Resisting unnecessary syntax also in my translation I have tried to follow these unbroken sequences as closely as possible, which can create some labyrinthine passages that twist and turn but, one hopes, never lose the reader completely. Any confusion bred in reading the Sanskrit is almost always clarified in recitation; above all I have attempted to write an English text that can be read aloud, and that matches the patterns, quirks and ________________________________\n\n24\nintroduction\n\nexcitements of oral narration so uniquely captured by the Sanskrit scribes of the 'Maha\u00b7bharata.'\n\nConcordance of Canto Numbers  \nwith the Critical Edition\n\nCSL\n\nCE\n\n1.1\n\n1.1\n\n6.1\n\n5.21\n\n7.1\n\n5.34\n\n7.10\n\n6.1\n\n8.1\n\n7.1\n\n49.1\n\n48.38\n\n50.1\n\n48.39\n\n51.1\n\n49.1\n\n52.1\n\n\u2014\n\nNote that Nila\u00b7kantha's text is longer than the Critical Edition. The latter omits verses that are present in the former, and moves several substantial sections to its appendices. The concordance above only notes points where this fact disrupts equivalence between cantos. Greater care has to be taken at the level of the verse. For example, CSL.23.1 has its equivalent at CE.22.1, while CSL.23.74 has its equivalent at CE.23.60, and CSL.23.97 has no equivalent at all in the main body of CE.\n\n25\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nBibliography\n\nthe 'maha\u00b7bharata' in sanskrit\n\nThe Mahabharata. Edited by Siromani, N. and Gopala, N. Calcutta: Baptist Mission Press, 1834\u20139.\n\nThe Mahabharatam. Edited by Kinjawadekar, R. Poona: Chitrasala Prakasana, 1929\u201337.\n\nThe Mahabharata. Critically edited by Sukthankar, V.K., Belvalkar, S.K., Vaidya, P.L. et al. Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 1933\u201366.\n\nthe 'maha\u00b7bharata' in translation\n\nThe Mahabharata of Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa. Ganguli, K.M. (trans.) early editions ascribed to the publisher, P.C. Roy]. Calcutta: [Bharata Press, 1884\u201399.\n\nfurther reading and references\n\nHalliwell, S. (trans.), Aristotle's Poetics. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995.\n\nBrodbeck, S., introduction to The Bhagavad Gita (trans. Mascaro, J.). Harmondsworth: Penguin, 2003.\n\nHeidegger, M., Holzwege. Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann, 1950. [\"Wozu Dichter\" from Holzwege is translated as \"What Are Poets For?\" in Poetry, Language, Thought. trans. Albert Hofstadter, New York: Harper & Row, 1971.]\n\nHopkins, E. W., The Great Epic of India: Its Character and Origin. New York: C. Scribner's Sons, 1901.\n\n26\nintroduction\n\nJamison, S., The Ravenous Hyenas and the Wounded Sun. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991.\n\nOberlies, T., A Grammar of Epic Sanskrit. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2003.\n\nPilikian, V., \"Like Suns Risen at the End of Time: Metaphor and Meaning in the Mahabharata,\" in the Journal of Vaishnava Studies, vol. 14 no. 2. Poquoson: Deepak, 2006.\n\nSorensen, S., An Index to the Names in the Mahabharata. London: Williams and Norgate, 1904\u201325.\n\n27\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\n\nMost of the individuals in the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' are known by their given names and perhaps another indicative of parentage. The glossary at the end of the book will assist in making sense of the huge cast. However, some of its central figures enjoy the prestige of multiple names, patronymics and epithets. This can be confusing, but their use is crucial to the flow and rhythm of the Sanskrit. My decisions regarding which to translate and which to leave in as they are have been motivated by the aim of trying to retain their colorful effect in the text. The list below features all the main characters with more than two names, and is intended as a quick reference for the bewildered reader.\n\nArjuna: the middle Pandava, son of Indra and Kunti also known as Dhanan\u00b7jaya, the Victor \/ Jishnu, the Conquering Sun \/ Kiritin, the Diademed Warrior \/ Kaunteya, son of Kunti \/ Savya\u00b7sachin, the Left Handed Archer \/ Pandava, son of Pandu \/ Partha, son of Pritha \/ Phalguna, the Red Star Fighter \/ Vijaya, the Champion\n\nAbhimanyu: son of Arjuna and Subhadra also known as Arjuni, son of Arjuna \/ Karshni, the Dark One's son \/ Phalguni, son of the Red Star Fighter \/ Saubhadra, son of Subhadra\n\nBhishma: son of Shantanu and great uncle of the Pandavas and Kauravas also known as Apageya, son of Apaga\/Deva\u00b7vrata, the Paragon \/ Shantanava, son of Shantanu\n\n28\nintroduction\n\nBhima\u00b7sena: the second Pandava, son of Vayu and Kunti also known as Bhima \/ Kaunteya, son of Kunti \/ Pandava, son of Pandu \/ Partha, son of Pritha \/ Vrikodara, Dogbelly\n\nDrona: teacher of the Pandavas and Kauravas, and newly-\n\nappointed commander of the Kaurava armies also known as Acharya, the Teacher \/ Bharadvaja, son of Bharad\u00b7vaja \/ Rukma\u00b7ratha, Warrior of the Golden Chariot\n\nDuryodhana: Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's eldest son and Yudhi\u00b7shthira's rival also known as Dhartarashta son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra \/ Suyodhana\n\nIndra: warrior god of the Vedas also known as Maghavan \/ Shakra \/ Vasava\n\nKarna: son of Surya, the sun god, and unacknowledged half-brother to the other Pandavas also known as \/ Radheya, son of Radha \/ Suta\u00b7putra, the Horseman's Son \/ Vaikartana, born of the sun\n\nKrishna: the Vrishni chieftain, Arjuna's driver, and incarnation of Vishnu also known as Achyuta, the-Unfallen \/ Dasharha, lord of the Dasharhas \/ Go\u00b7vinda, the Herdsman \/ Hrishi\u00b7kesha, the Wild Maned \/ Janardana, Stirrer of Hearts \/ Keshava, Longhair \/ Madhava, slayer of Madhu \/ Pundarikaksha, the Lotus Eyed God \/ Shauri, grandson of Shuri \/ Vasudeva, son of Vasu\u00b7deva \/ Vishvak\u00b7sena, the Almighty.\n\nRudra: fierce deity who comes to be known as Shiva also known as Maha\u00b7deva, the Great God \/ Sharva, the God Who Kills With Arrows \/ Sthanu, the Still One \/ __________\n\n29\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nTry\u00b7ambaka, the Three Eyed God \/ Kapalin, the skull-bearer\n\nYudhi\u00b7shthira: the eldest of the Pandavas, son of Dharma and Kunti also known as Ajata\u00b7shatru, the matchless king \/ Dharma\u00b7raja, the righteous king \/ Kaunteya, son of Kunti \/ Partha, son of Pritha \/ Pandava, son of Pandu\n\nnotes\n\nThe term dharma has resurfaced in \"countercultural\" forms in the West, although these bear little if any relation to the idea and its significance in the world of the 'Maha\u00b7bharata.'\n\nThe name \"Krishna,\" literally \"Dark,\" multiples through the epic, and it can be confusing to keep the different characters separate. The principal Krishna is the son of Vasu\u00b7deva and incarnation of Vishnu, and the speaker of the 'Bhagavad Gita.' His sister Draupadi is also known as Krishna, with the feminine ending -a. The third important Krishna is Krishna Dvaipayana, mythical composer of the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' and biological father of Pandu and Dhrita\u00b7rashtra. To make things yet more complicated, Arjuna is sometimes called Krishna, but this mostly happens when they are being referred to in the dual, as \"the Krishnas,\" and so I have not indicated this in the Dramatis Personae. Arjuna as Krishna features most prominently in Abhimanyu's patronymic Karshni, \"son of the Dark One,\" i.e., son of Arjuna. Cf. note to 7.29.\n\n30\n1\u201315  \nThe Anointing of Drona\n\njanam\u00b7ejaya spoke.\n\nS\n\no Bhishma the Paragon* lay dying. His courage and heroism, his power and splendor and soul were without equal on earth, yet somehow the Panchala Shikhandin had overcome him.* I can imagine the sorrow that engulfed Dhrita\u00b7rashtra when he heard of his uncle's fall. What did the mighty king do? His son still yearned to wrest the kingdom from the great Pandava archers and it was Drona and Bhishma whom he thought would lead his chariots to victory. But now the most brilliant of all bowmen was no more. Tell me, o sage, o great ascetic: what did the scion of Kuru* do?\n\n1.1\n\nvaishampayana spoke.\n\nWhen he heard that his father was dying, Dhrita\u00b7rashtra son of Kuru and lord of men was possessed with anxiety and grief and could find no peace. He brooded long over his sorrows. Then puresouled* Sanjaya son of Gavalgana came to see the king. Returning from the royal camp, he arrived in the night at Hastina\u00b7pura, and the son of Ambika asked him what he knew. O great king, Dhrita\u00b7rashtra listened without cheer to Sanjaya's account of Bhishma's violent demise. Though sick at heart with grief, still he dreamt that his sons might win the war.\n\n1.5\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nTell me my boy. What did the Kurus do as they stood beside the body of the great and fearsome Bhishma? Time has ravaged my children, plunged them into an ocean of sorrow. Their hale and hardy champion has been brought down. What did they do? O Sanjaya. Even the massed ranks ___________________\n\n1.10\n\n33\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nof the army of the three worlds would cower when the Pandavas raise their swords. Tell me what the Kuru chieftains* decided now that the Paragon, the bull of their herd, lay dying on the earth.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nO majesty. Listen closely to my words and I will tell you what your children did when the man sworn to the gods was struck down. O lord, brave Bhishma's fall drove all other thoughts from the minds of your sons and of the sons of Pandu. Stunned and solemn and true to the code of their kind, they set aside their own loyalties and bowed their heads before the great man. They first arranged a resting place cushioned by arrows of knotless wood and on it o king they gently laid the body of magnificent Bhishma, muttering to one another as they did. Then they stood reverentially to the left side of Ganges' son and paid him their respects. They glanced at one another and anger burned red in their eyes. Their minds turned once more to war for they are warriors, and time drives warriors on. The armies of both sides rippled to the blare of horns and the thunder of drums.\n\n1.15\n\n35\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nO king of kings, as the day of Bhishma's fall grew long the Kauravas grew wanton. Their minds had been buckled by time. Heedless of the salutary words of the great son of Ganges,* one by one the best of the Bharatas drew their swords and stepped forth. It was first your folly and the folly of your children but now the death of Shantanu's son that delivered the Kauravas and all their allies over to death.\n\n1.20\n\nThe Paragon had been their shepherd and without him they were convulsed with panic like sheep in a forest thronged with beasts. Deprived of the very greatest of their number, the Kuru soldiers were like a starless sky, like a void without air, like a cropless field, like broken speech, like the demon* horde when Bali was in chains. They were pitiful as a widow in her prime, a once deep river run dry, a spotted doe with a dead mate in a wood beset by wolves. They lay open to plunder like a mountain cave when its guardian beast lies slain. O lord of the Bharatas when the son of Jahnavi fell, the army of your Bharata kin were like a splintered and battered ship adrift on the broad and windy ocean. The mighty Pandavas saw that their prize was within reach. Their warriors had devastated the Kaurava force and its lines of elephants, horses and chariots were in disarray. Without the Paragon to lead the Kaurava army even the very mightiest of its wretched number felt his heart sink, and each chieftain and soldier regardless of rank trembled as if hell itself was opening beneath his feet.\n\n1.25\n\n37\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nIt was at that very moment that like the sudden return of a stranger the Kurus recalled the only man who bore compare to Bhishma: Karna, best of all the swordsmen that have lived. Their thoughts turned to him alone as one crushed by calamity reaches out for a friend. Karna, Karna, the chieftains cried. Yet although the humble son of Radha born to a horseman* had set aside his life for our cause, fabled Karna had by then not set foot on the battlefield for ten full days. It was Bhishma himself who then fetched mighty Karna and all of his ministers before us.\n\n1.30\n\nIn the words of warriors of main and courage and even temper, Karna is reckoned a bull in the herd of men,* a man worth twice any of his peers. Heroes celebrate him as the greatest warrior and champion they can name, one who could meet in war the rulers of stars and and sea and sky.* Passion had driven his words to Bhishma: \"While you live o son of Kuru I will not fight. Either you wipe out the Pandavas in this great war and I take my leave of Duryodhana and depart for the forest or the Pandavas will kill you Bhishma and you will ascend to heaven. Then I will mount my chariot and by my own hand destroy every and any warrior whom you can name.\" So it was O majesty that for ten days Karna refused to fight. Your son deferred to the decision that the fabled warrior had made.*\n\n1.35\n\n39\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nMy king. Bhishma's mastery of the art of war had been matched by a courage beyond reckoning. He had killed many of the men who fought for Pandu's son. But now this mighty pillar of truth had been toppled, and as marooned sailors hope for a raft your sons hoped for Karna. Karna, they cried, and the cry was echoed by their fellow kings. The time has come, they said. As lost men seek a friend, all our hearts went out to Parashu\u00b7rama's favorite, to the one whose skill with the bow no man can compass: to Karna. My king we felt that he alone could save us from our terror, as Go\u00b7vinda ever saves the thirty gods from the yet greater terrors that afflict them.\n\n1.40\n\nvaishampayana spoke.\n\nAs he listened to Sanjaya's talk of Karna and of his greatness in war, the old snake Dhrita\u00b7rashtra let out a sigh like a hiss and spoke.\n\n1.45\n\n\"And then? Was the hope in your heart fulfilled? Did you see him come forth, the child of Radha and the horseman, the warrior to whom life is nothing, Karna born of the sun? As you fought on ruined and wild and afraid and desperate for help surely brave and valiant Karna did not come to your aid in vain? Did this greatest of all bearers of the bow close the wound that opened in the Kauravas when Bhishma was brought down? And what of the fear he cast into the enemy's hearts as he did? And of the fruit of my children's victory that through him began to ripen?\"\n\n41\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nNews reached Adhirathi that Bhishma had sunk like a broken boat into the churning deep of the Kurus. Out of brotherhood the horseman's son resolved to rescue Duryodhana's army from its plight. O majesty, when he heard that the godlike and invincible warrior the son of Shantanu had been hewn down, Karna best of bowmen and crusher of foes made straight for his side. Duryodhana's supreme protector had been beaten and as a father to his sons Karna hastened to yours to rescue the breeched vessel of the Kurus before the sea swallowed it whole.\n\n2.1\n\nkarna spoke.\n\nThis is a man of his word. A man of blazing and courageous soul. A man of truth. Every quality of a hero of legend is found within him. He wields weapons from heaven, yet he is blessed with humility, perfect modesty, gentle grace and kindness. Bhishma always knew what had to be done. Scourge of those who would raise arms against the priests, he was as constant as the mark in the moon. If it is so that this great avenger has been tamed, then I can only think that every warrior on earth lies dead.\n\n2.5\n\n43\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nO but there is nothing that man does in this world that lasts for everything fades. A grand ascetic is no more: who then can be sure that the sun will rise again? A soul of power and luster has departed for the bright lands, a regent of the earth now rests with the gods of heaven. Mourn then your children and mourn your wealth in this world, mourn the rich earth, mourn the Kurus. Mourn these multitudes that stand before you.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nKarna gazed at the broken form of our great savior, our matchless master and teacher, whose splendor had known no end in life. Stricken for a moment at the sufferings of the Bharatas he let out a sharp gasp and tears welled up in his eyes. O lord, both riders and soldiers had listened quietly to his words and now they cried out at one another and wept for a time as the pain wrung tears from their eyes. But war was still upon them and the kings stirred their ranks once again. Then the great warrior Karna addressed his peers. These were the bitter words he spoke.\n\n2.10\n\n\"I look upon the whirling blur of this passing world and I see nothing in it that remains. How can the bull of the Kurus be torn from his mountainous height down into this cluttered and changing world? The mighty son of Shantanu lies like a sun fallen to earth. You kings who remain can no more survive the blast of Dhanan\u00b7jaya than trees can survive a hurricane. This army has had its core plucked out, its frame buckled, its might broken by its enemy. The orphan Kurus have lost their father and now it falls to me to protect them as the great Bhishma once did. It is upon my shoulders that this burden has been placed.\n\n45\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nI see it now: this world is swiftly passing. Drunk on destruction, it meets its end in the flames. But what is there to fear in that? Driving with arrows the bulls of our kin down to Death's kingdom I will fight for revenge and I will either shine on earth bathed in glory or be slain by my adversaries and find my final peace upon the ground.\n\n2.15\n\nYudhi\u00b7shthira is the world's pillar to truth, Vrikodara has the strength of a hundred elephants, and young Arjuna is the heir of the thirty gods. Even for the deathless ones victory over our enemy would be hard won. With them fight the twins, mighty as Death, and Satyaki son of Devaki. Against them the weak of heart stand no chance. But nothing that draws breath has ever escaped eternity's repose. The wise say that a fire when kindled can be met only with fire, might only with might. My will is firm as a mountain peak. I will fight off my enemies and protect my own. Driver hear me. _________\n\nI go to meet the Pandavas and repel their onslaught and overcome them. He who fights by your side in the heat of battle is your friend, and I will not forget the violence that has been done to mine. I will do what a good man must. I turn my back on life and walk in Bhishma's footsteps. Every wave of my enemies I will slay, or if they are to slay me I will fly up to the place where dead heroes dwell. Lest Duryodhana is scorned and must watch his wife and children weep while another man is astride all he holds dear I know what I must do. I will destroy the enemies of my king. O Driver. To bloody war I surrender myself, and guarding the Kurus I will cut to pieces the sons of Pandu and wave by wave my adversaries will fall as I return the kingdom to Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's son.\n\n2.20\n\n47\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nSo let me buckle on my spangled armor, shining with gold and lustered in crystals and gems, my helmet, brilliant as the sun, and my bow and my arrows, deadly as fiery-venomed cobras. Muster sixteen quivers, and bring forth my heavenly bows, my swords and spears and stout maces, my conch that glitters patterned in rivergold and my belt like a goldspangled serpent, and bring forth my bright and heavenly standard, the blossom of the blue lotus. Polish them all with fine cloth and bring them to me, with wreaths of many shades delicately woven with sweetsmelling grass. _________\n\nBring out my fine horses, strong and swift and glimmering like pale thunderclouds, groomed and washed in water purified by mantras and decked in forged harnesses of gold. Be quick, my son: roll out my great chariot draped with golden garlands, bright with jewels like pieces of the sun and moon and hung with the trappings of war and yoke it at once to its steeds. The bows are bright and strong, the finest bowstrings ready to be strung. Strap on plate armor and the great arrowfilled quivers. Go, get all the provisions we need, bring gourds of gold and copper full to the neck with milk. Waste no time but raise up garlands and festoon yourselves, beat the drums of victory. Let us ride out to the Diademed Warrior, to Dogbelly,* to Yudhi\u00b7shthira and the twins. We will meet them and fight, and either I will kill them or be killed myself and go forth from their hands to where Bhishma is bound.\n\n2.25\n\n2.30\n\n49\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nMere earthly kings cannot beat an army for whom fight King Yudhi\u00b7shthira the bastion of all that is, Bhima\u00b7sena and Arjuna, Vasudeva, Satyaki and Srinjaya. This I know well. But even if Death himself in his eternal vigilance and with his all-reaching arms protects the Diademed Warrior from harm, I will slay him all the same in the midst of battle or else walk the path to Yama that Bhishma now treads.* Make no mistake. I say to all you champions gathered here: I go with no man who cannot muster his loyalty to a friend. The wretched in spirit are no companions of mine.\"\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nThe finest horses fleet as the wind were yoked to that great and lustrous and wellwrought chariot with its axle banded in gold and its flags raised high. Karna climbed aboard to set forth and claim his triumph. Brandishing his fearsome bow, the great and taurine Bharata chieftain venerated as if he were Indra by Kurus and by heaven's hosts alike headed for the battlefield. Death awaited him there. As his pennant _________\n\n2.35\n\n51\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nflew above him Karna stood ringed in the wooden ribs of his mighty car encrusted with gold pearls gems and crystals and harnessed to steeds of the noblest breed, and in his measureless splendor he was like a sun bound in lightning. Blazing like fire, he was surrounded by fire; in his gleaming chariot he gleamed, wielding his bow. Warrior of warriors, the son of Adhiratha stood there and blazed, a king of heaven in a car of the sky.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nOn his bed of arrows Bhishma lay still. He had been a man of fathomless soul and power. It was as if a hurricane had emptied the ocean. He had been our refuge and bulwark, and the sight of their patriarch and teacher, nemesis of kings and great archer of heaven's arrows laid out by Arjuna to die, shattered your children's hopes. The island to which sailors far out to sea yearning for a glimpse of land had once looked now lay drowned in a cataract of arrows that had poured down upon him like the waters of the Yamuna. For the troops Bhishma's fall in battle was inconceivable. It was easier to believe that the insuperable peak of Mainaka had collapsed or that the sun loosened from the sky had plummeted to earth, or that Vritra had overthrown Indra whose myriad powers surpass thought itself. There he was, the guiding star to all who had studied the bow, the pinnacle above every soldier, your devout uncle stuck full of the arrows of Dhanan\u00b7jaya. Karna son of Adhiratha and glory of the Bharata race looked once more upon the taurine hero prone on a hero's bed and stricken by the sight stepped down from his chariot as tears welled in his eyes. He __________________\n\n3.1\n\n3.5\n\n53\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\ncupped his hands before Bhishma in salute, and addressed him with reverence.\n\n\"O Bharata. It is I, Karna. I beg that you speak to me gentle words and look upon me with kind eyes. You are the proof that in this world no man reaps the reward his deeds deserve. Despite your age and devotion to what is right you lie here on the ground before me. How will we be able to organize ourselves, form mantras, plan our arrays and our attacks? I see no other Kuru to whom we can turn, for you were the best of them. You go now to the land of the forefathers. Your crew is lost to the swells for you alone had the insight and purity to deliver the Kurus from their terrors.\n\n3.10\n\nO best of the Bharatas. Throw deer to tigers and see what will befall the Kurus now. Now they will be given a lesson in power. Now they will shudder at the whisper of Gandiva* in the Left Handed Archer's hands as demons quail before him who wields the thunderbolt. Now the sound of arrows released like forks of lightning from its bowstring will send fear among them and their vassals. My lord as a kindled fire consumes trees in its bright flame the arrows of the Diademed Warrior will tear through the army of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra. When wind drives a fire through a forest, it burns up palms and thickets for league upon league upon league. Mark it well, o tiger: Partha is this fire, and Krishna this wind. Every soldier who hears Panchajanya's blare or Gandiva's hum, every soldier, o Bharata, will feel the touch of fear. Without their champion no chieftain will be able to bear the tremor as the car flying the banner of the monkey and holding the crusher of foes rides closer. Who of these __________________\n\n3.15\n\n3.20\n\n55\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nkings other than you can fight Arjuna? His divine acts are already parables told by seers. The immortal host turned to him and the great Three Eyed God to realize their purpose. How could his soul be less than perfect? Who could defeat someone whom you o master could not? You, who in your might defeated Rama, the bloody annihilator of the warrior caste and tamer of the arrogance of gods and demons both? Yet if o sire you give the command, then I will not hesitate but somehow find the strength in my bow to cut apart this dreadful apparition, this cobra drunk on the venom of war. I will slay the great son of Pandu.\"\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nThe venerable grandfather of the Kurus was touched by Karna's lament. He began to speak, choosing his words with care.\n\n4.1\n\n\"Like the ocean to the river, like the sun to all lights, like good men to the truth, the soil to seeds and the rainclouds to living things is your constancy to your friends. May those close to you live by you as the deathless gods live by thousandeyed Indra. Humble your enemies and bring joy to those close to your heart: lead the way for the Kurus as Vishnu leads the denizens of heaven. Karna, it was for Duryodhana's cause that you traveled to Raja\u00b7pura and struck down the Kambojas with just your valor and the might of your own two arms. Then there were the kings of Giri\u00b7vraja and their overlord Nagnajit, the Ambashthas, the Videhas and the Gandharas: you overcame them all. It was you, Karna, who long ago brought the hardy Kiratas out of their snowclad lair and under Duryodhana's sway. The __________________\n\n4.5\n\n57\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nUtkalas, Mekalas, Paundras, Kalingas and Andhras, the Nishadas, the Tri\u00b7gartas and the Bahlikas: all fell to your sword. Splendored Karna wherever you fought you defeated heroes beyond number and it was all in the service of Duryodhana's cause.\n\nMy son. Duryodhana has been a friend to your family and your kin. In return you must lead the way for all of the Kauravas.* I implore you, go and fight against your enemies. Guide the Kurus in battle and bring victory to Duryodhana. I look upon you as I look upon Duryodhana\u2014as a grandson. I have taken care to treat you in everything as I treat him. O best of men the wise and the good teach that we prove our worth in this world through our ties of blood and friendship. So be resolute in truth and know to whom you belong. Protect the Kaurava army as Duryodhana protects it.\"\n\n4.10\n\nListening closely to his words, Karna born of the sun bent down to touch Bhishma's feet, then went towards the assembled archers. Looking upon the vast array gathered about him, still standing proud with their weapons in their hands, Karna stepped in among their number. As the great warrior of might and majesty took his position alongside them ready for war, Duryodhana and all the Kurus were thrilled at his return and like lions they all roared out their praise, applauding and whooping to the thronging chords plucked on the strings of their bows.\n\n4.15\n\n59\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nMajesty, when Duryodhana saw the tiger Karna standing in his chariot ready to attack, he was delighted and he spoke to him.\n\n5.1\n\n\"My lord, with you as its guardian it seems that our army has found its savior. What, then, do you propose we do? We shall take whatever course you advise.\"\n\nkarna spoke.\n\nO wisest of kings and tiger in the forest of men, it is you who must now speak. Only a man of worldly power can see what must be done. My king, all who stand before you are eager to hear your command. So come, my liege. Speak to the purpose.\n\nduryodhana spoke.\n\nBhishma was our leader, a man equally rich in might, courage, holy lore and every virtue that a warrior could have. Over these ten days he has cut with wild force through the ranks of my enemies and we have been safe beneath his aegis. Great warrior though he was it was an arduous task and now he is bound for heaven. Tell me, Karna. Who do you think should be commander in his stead? An army is like a ship on the ocean. Lacking a leader it cannot survive the bloody fighting in which you o Karna so excel, just as a ship cannot sail without a man at its helm. An army without a commander careers out of control like a rudderless ship,* like a chariot without a driver. Like a caravan lost to fate in a foreign land, a leaderless army is lost to calamity. My lord cast your eyes across my brave soldiers. Choose one fit to follow in the wake of Shantanu's son and take us into battle. _________\n\n5.5\n\n5.10\n\n61\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nBe assured that the man you name for this supreme office we will all join to anoint leader.\n\nkarna spoke.\n\nThere can be no doubt that every one of these brave men is worthy of the post. All of them match warcraft, cunning, bravery and strength with humility and loyalty. None would flee the fray. Of course not all of them can be elevated to this highest of honors. Yet there is one alone whom you should choose, for his virtues are unique. These men are rivals, o son of Bharata. If you were to favor one then those you slight in doing so would never agree to fight. The man I suggest is none other than their wise and steadfast teacher: Drona, the master swordsman. He should be appointed commander. What candidate is there besides the unbreakable and peerless seer, in aspect brilliant as one of the ancient priests? Who would make a better leader than he? O Bharata there is no warrior among all your vassals who would not follow Drona into battle. Come now. Make Duryodhana's own instructor commander of this army as when the gods wanted to defeat the demons it was Skanda to whom they turned.\n\n5.15\n\n5.20\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nKing Duryodhana heard Karna's advice. These were the words he said to Drona while the whole of the army looked on.\n\n6.1\n\n63\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nduryodhana spoke.\n\nYou were born into the highest caste and to a family of noble stock. Your wisdom and power and brilliance of mind are matched in your courage, ingenuity, persistence and prudence. You are a leader and you have known success. You are one of our elders who through discipline has learned the nature of what happens in this world. In you is present all that is good and no man is more fit for the role of guardian of kings than yourself. O protect us now as Indra does the gods. With our eyes on the highest of the twiceborn we will rise to destroy our opponents. As the skullbearer leads the Rudras* and Agni leads the Vasus, as Kubera leads the yakshas and Indra the Maruts, as Vasishtha leads the brahmins and the sun leads all that is bright, as Dharma* leads our forefathers, as the Lord of Waters leads the children of Aditi, the moon the stars and Ushanas the sons of Diti o leader without equal be our commander now.\n\n6.5\n\nO sinless Drona. The eleven battalions all await your command. Draw them up and massacre our enemies as Indra massacred the demons. Lead the charge like Skanda before the gods and let us follow you into battle like a herd behind its bull. Great archer. When in the heart of the fray you loose the enchanted string of your mighty bow, Arjuna will see you and his courage will drain away. With you as my general o tiger in the forest of men I will throw down in battle the steadfast Yudhi\u00b7shthira, and all of his brothers and friends.\n\n6.10\n\n65\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nWhen Duryodhana finished his address, the chieftains sent up a roar. Your son swelled in his breast at their cries. Their hearts set now on a glorious triumph, the troops cheered on the great twiceborn in excited voices and sang out their praises to the king. Then, o majesty, it was the turn of Drona to speak.\n\ndrona spoke.\n\nTrue, Duryodhana: I am well versed in the sixlimbed Veda, I understand the laws of the human world and the lore of Rudra. I know well the bow, and every kind of blade.* All that your majesty ascribes to me in his enthusiasm for winning this struggle I would hope to prove I possess in battle with the Pandavas. My king there is one bull in their army that I will never be able to kill, for the grandson of Prishata has been born to end my life. But I will fight their teeming horde and wipe out all the rest of Drupada's clan.* As for the Pandavas, their courage will fail them when they cross my path.\n\n7.1\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nYour son had made his decision O majesty and with due ceremony he appointed Drona commander. With his brothers the king anointed Drona just as Indra and the gods of old had once anointed Skanda. Elation welled up around their new general to a chorus of drums and flutes and the bellows of men. To the strains of the songs and hymns of the panegyrists and bards and the incantations of the high priests the crowd rippled with expectation. Murmuring benedictions\n\n7.5\n\n67\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nand celebrating the luck of the day his soldiers bowed low to Drona. They thought the Pandavas beaten already.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nKeen to start the attack now that he was commander the mighty descendant of Bharad\u00b7vaja arrayed his troops and prepared to set out with your children. Saindhava, Kalinga and your son Vikarna formed at the right flank a wall of chainmail. At the tip of their wing and with a group of elite horsemen, Shakuni advanced before the Gandharas, warriors of the sacred arrows. Cautiously guarding the left flank were Kripa, Krita\u00b7varman, Chitra\u00b7sena and Vivinshati, all led by Duhshasana, and at their edge King Sudakshina led the Kambojas, mounted on swift steeds alongside the Shakas and the Yavanas. The Madras, the Tri\u00b7gartas, the Ambashthas, the Malavas and the peoples of the North and the West, the Shibis, the Shura\u00b7senas, Shudras and Maladas, the Sauviras and Kitavas and the peoples of the East and the South all took up position behind your son and Suta\u00b7putra. Compounding force with force their greatest warrior and inspiration stood with Duryodhana at the front of the archers: sunborn Karna, a blaze before their wide eyes tipped with the great flag of the tiger flashing like the sky's orb.\n\n7.10\n\n7.15\n\nAll who saw Karna then forgot about the defeat of Bhishma. Kings and Kurus cast aside their despair. Anxious with excitement the soldiers began to whisper to one another. \"The Pandavas will turn and run when they see who has returned to the battlefield. Karna could defeat the gods and the Vasus themselves. How much more easily the sons of Pandu will fail when their courage and strength have deserted _________\n\n7.20\n\n69\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nthem! Bhishma had kept the Parthas from harm with his mighty reach,* but now the biting arrows of Karna will cut them down.\"\n\nO king and lord of the Bharatas, these were the things they said as they went forth, thrilled to the marrow. All the while they praised Radha's son and urged him on. Drona set us out in the array of the spearhead while the mildtempered and righteous king drew up our great enemy in the formation of the curlew. Leading their force were the twin bulls Vishvak\u00b7sena and Dhanan\u00b7jaya. Above them flew the army's pinnacle and the star over every bowman: the banner of the monkey. In the path of the sun the standard of vastsplendored Partha mighty son of Pandu lit up his followers as that same sun had once set alight the earth at the end of the last age. A chariot drawn by white horses bore in dazzling quartet Arjuna the master archer, with Gandiva greatest of bows in his grip and Vasudeva lord of all creatures at his side, the discus Sudarshana* a perfect circle in the god's hands. It hung between us and our enemies like the turning wheel of time.\n\n7.25\n\n7.30\n\n71\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nFace to face in the van were the two greatest warriors: Karna at the head of your troops, Dhanan\u00b7jaya at the head of theirs. For a moment Karna and Pandu's son regarded one another across the battlefield. Each was fired for victory, each bore the other's doom in his eyes. Then all of a sudden as the mighty Drona gave the command the earth lurched with a terrifying and tortured groan and the tumultuous sky and the sun within it were obscured as a hot storm of dust blew upward like a great curtain of silk, and from the cloudless heavens there poured a rain of gore, bones and blood, and flocks of vultures, hawks, cranes, herons and crows wheeled dizzily above the heads of your soldiers, my king, and with eerie, pitiless howls jackals drew deadly circles around us, hungry and thirsty for flesh and blood. Tearing open the air a meteor streaked across the sky and hurtled all the way towards the rearguard before it slammed into the shuddering earth. O majesty, when Drona gave the command the great corona of the sun itself crackled darkly with lightning. Many and dire were the portents we witnessed. All heralded the massacre of heroes in the battle to come.\n\n7.35\n\n7.40\n\nAnd so the welter of violence began again. The whole world filled with the sounds of the armies of the Pandavas and the Kauravas. They crashed together in fury beneath arrows loosed to satisfy the hunger of each to destroy the other. The great brightshining archer of the brave Pandavas plunged towards his foes, cascading a hundred shardlike shafts across them as he went. Then, my king, Drona reared up for the attack and seeing him the Pandavas and the Srinjayas together sent out a tempest of arrows. But __________________\n\n7.45\n\n73\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\non Drona came, harrowing and cleaving and scattering like thunderclouds before the wind a great division of the Pandavas and the Panchalas. Now Drona unleashed his divine arsenal and the Pandavas and the Srinjayas were eclipsed beneath his attacks as he went reaving through them like Indra among the demons. While the Panchalas were quaking behind their leader Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna, the brave warrior Shikhandin who also knew the heavenly weapons burst showers of arrows from every quarter down onto Drona's battalion. Mighty Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna also countered Drona's storms with storms of his own, pouring down ruin upon the heads of the Kurus. Pausing in the thick of combat to gather his wits, the great archer Drona ferocious as Maghavan before the danavas drove his legion on towards Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna's, took aim, and sent forth a dense torrent of shafts.\n\n7.50\n\nThe Pandavas and the Srinjayas were shaken by Drona's attack, shredded again and again in his grip like deer in the jaws of a lion. My king as the mighty Drona sent his great chariot in circles through the Pandavas it became a kind of wonder to behold, a firebrand, decked according to scripture like a dwelling of the spirits of the air, its horses rearing, exultant, its banner dancing like the wind itself and its crest flawless as crystal striking fear into all who beheld it. Standing tall upon his car he closed his enemies in a ring of death.\n\n75\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nDrona tore on through elephants, horses, chariots and their drivers and the Pandavas reeled at the spectacle, unable to check his advance. King Yudhi\u00b7shthira turned to Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna and Dhanan\u00b7jaya and ordered that the brahmin born of clay* be stopped. They were to engage him on every front. Arjuna, Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna and their companions all nodded their assent and the great warriors rushed out towards Drona as one: the Kaikeyas, Bhima\u00b7sena, Saubhadra and Ghatotkacha, Yudhi\u00b7shthira and the twins, the Matsyas, Drupada's eldest and the five ferocious sons of Draupadi, Dhrishta\u00b7ketu, Satyaki and wild Chekitana, mighty Yuyutsu and the numberless other kings O majesty who allied to Pandu had proven their heroism and station with their deeds.\n\n8.1\n\n8.5\n\nDrona watched from his chariot as the Pandavas bore down upon his army and his eyes misted with anger. Berserk with battle frenzy he drove the Pandavas back before him as if they were clouds upon an everblowing wind. O king their cars horses men and elephants flew from him in all directions. Old Drona quick as a man a fraction his age moved now as if possessed. His crimson bloodspattered thoroughbreds swift as the wind charged on and did not seem to tire. The iron holy man fell upon them like merciless Death himself, and when they saw him Yudhi\u00b7shthira's warriors ran for their lives. As they fled or turned on their heels or gawped or froze where they stood, an appalling and deafening clamor to thrill the bold and terrify the weak rose up and filled the vast space between heaven and earth.\n\n8.10\n\n77\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nBecome something monstrous, Drona spread a thick rain of arrows upon his foes and spread his renown abroad once again. My lord, with the vigor of a youth the venerable and mighty Drona wheeled like Time among the reams of Pandu's sons and roaring in wrath plucked off heads and tore away arms still banded in gold and left the chariots in his wake mere empty shells. O highness, cowering before his delighted howls and the volleys from his bow his adversaries in that battle were little more than cattle crushed in the track of a plow. The churning of Drona's chariot, the clash of iron and the thrum of his bowstring built to a crescendo that rang through the air as a thousand arrows flitted in a blur from his bow up to clog the sky and tumbled down upon the throng of infantry, chariots, horses and elephants below.\n\n8.15\n\nThe Pandavas and the Panchalas all streamed towards the great wave of his bow and the bright fire of his arrows and Drona dispatched them and their elephants, soldiers and steeds down to Death's kingdom. Soon he had steeped the earth in gore. As he sent arrows soaring endlessly overhead, a lattice of shafts that he had woven appeared across the sky and his banner flashed among soldiers, horses, chariots and elephants like lightning flashing through clouds.\n\n8.20\n\n79\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nFive paladins of the Kekayas and the Panchala king fell under the hail of shafts, and still Drona came on towards Yudhi\u00b7shthira's army unchecked. They saw him coming, bow and arrow in hand. Bhima\u00b7sena and Dhanan\u00b7jaya, the scion of Shini and son of Drupada, King Shibi of Kashi and his prince together sent up a storm of arrows to a chorus of battle cries, but back on fletchings speckled with gold came the winged shafts from Drona's bow to lodge fast in the bodies of elephantriders and horsemen, sending their bloodweltered steeds crashing to the ground beneath them. There were piles of corpses and cars, horses and elephants riddled in arrows. The dead hid the earth as dark skies engloom the day.\n\n8.25\n\nShaineya, Bhima, Arjuna and Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna, Abhimanyu, the Panchala princes, the king of Kashi and others of their allies all suffered in that battle as Drona defended your sons' cause. O high king of the Kauravas, in his acts that day great Drona was like the sun setting the lands alight when the world is at an end. Now, he is in heaven.\n\nHis victims on the Pandava side were legion but the heroic Rukma\u00b7ratha finally fell, and at Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna's hand. He brought devastation almost without end to that mighty army of valiant warriors but o my king at long last he set foot on the final road. O majesty, after all of Rukma\u00b7ratha's impossible deeds the Pandavas and Panchalas could slay him only through vicious deceit. And when the preceptor did fall dead upon the plain, a mournful cry rose up into _____________________________\n\n8.30\n\n81\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nthe air. And o king it did not come from the armies alone. Echoing in unison through the sky, the earth, the stratosphere, through every quarter of space, was the immense threnody of all living things. Even the gods and the ancestors and the forebears of Bharad\u00b7vaja's son looked down upon the great warrior where he lay. Only the Pandavas roared with glee. And the earth shook once again at this mighty sound.\n\n8.35\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nIt cannot be. The Pandavas and the Srinjayas slew Drona? The greatest warrior to have lived? And in the thick of battle? His chariot must have failed, or his bow split as he drew it. Or did mere carelessness offer him Death's hand? O my son. How did Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna strike him down? His enemies could barely touch him. There was no weapon he had not mastered. He was a twiceborn without peer who without effort cast from his dancing hands glinting clouds of farflying arrows, a vengeful fighter who wielded the weapons of heaven, whose composure even at the heart of the fray was unshakable. And yet a son of the Panchalas slew him.\n\n9.1\n\n9.5\n\nThe power of fate* in the affairs of men is now clear to my eyes. The hero Drona's death at the hand of Prishata's mighty grandson attests to it. You tell me that Rukma\u00b7ratha, a man deeply versed in the fourfold art of combat, teacher to all bearers of arrows and swords, clad as much in the finery of perfection as in the tigerskin wrapped about his shoulders\u2014that this man is dead? No. My grief is too great. O Sanjaya it is true that no one dies from feeling pain for __________________\n\n83\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nanother. But now that I know Drona is no more I feel the pulse of life die in me. One thing is certain. It is that fate alone is supreme, human effort fruitless.\n\nO the man's death blights my own. It is as if I too am no more. My heart must be made of solid stone that it does not shatter into a hundred pieces at such tidings. They all went to him: brahmins and princes, all who wanted to learn the art of war or the nature of the gods. How can death have snatched him from us? Has the ocean dried up? Has Meru slid away? The sun fallen from the sky? I cannot accept that he is dead. He brought the proud low and raised up the just. Though the scourge of his foes, he bore the cruelties of life lightly. In his courage lived my own wretched children's of victory. He was brilliant as Brihas\u00b7pati Ushadreams or nas. How can he be dead? The tall bays yoked to his chariot and mantled in golden mail galloped swift as the wind past every blade. They were stallions from Sindhu, powerful, whinnying, quickdrawing steeds, indomitable but ever gentle for their master, and stoic even when the fighting was fiercest. The heralds' sounds of conch and drum could not disturb them, they were untroubled before swords and before the arrows flowing from the strings of bows, They were horses fleet and nimble, and breathing mild and easy in limb they stopped the breath of any that rode against them. How can it be, my son, that yoked to Drona's golden car and surrounded by the mightiest of men they did not cross through to the far side of the Pandavas?\n\n9.10\n\n9.15\n\n85\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nO tell me my son. With truth as his weapon how fared mighty Drona before his death, mounted in his supernal chariot girt in gold? Tell me of his acts in battle. All in this world who bear the bow live by their knowledge of the truth that dwelled within him. What warrior would dare to go into battle to meet this greatest of archers, this man terrifying and supreme as the heavenly Indra? Did the Pandavas see the great Rukma\u00b7ratha ranging his divine arsenal before them and ride out against him all the same? Did the righteous king enclose him within a circle of his brothers and Panchala friends?\n\n9.20\n\nWas it Partha who with his darts hemmed in the other warriors while the cruel grandson of Prishata advanced towards Drona? I can think of none with the mettle for this murderous act except cruel Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna, the ward of the Diademed Warrior. None but the Panchala bastard. I see him flanked on every side by fighters, by Kekayas and Chedis, Karushas, Matsyas and the other chieftains, all overwhelming Drona like ants crawling on a great snake, trapping him beneath a remorseless onslaught such that Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna could move in to slay his teacher. Drona was revered among brahmins as a master of every limb of the five Vedas,* and they came to study with him as the rivers flow to the sea. He would not suffer any to cross him, warrior or priest. How can a learned man of the book have met his fate at the tip of the sword?\n\n9.25\n\n9.30\n\n87\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nIt was my rash purpose that led to the sufferings of Kunti's children. Drona had sympathy for them throughout\u2014the fate he suffered was undeserved. His wise and truthful example was followed by every man who called himself a warrior. How can men who value majesty have slain him? How can one mighty in soul and arm and great as Indra in heaven be slain by the sons of Pandu, a leviathan devoured by minnows? Perhaps it was because he had a quick hand and strong arms and because before his unbreakable bow his foes knew no quarter. None who came to take Drona's life survived. There are two sounds which a man never lives to forget: the voice of one who knows the Veda and the sigh of a bow in a master's hands. Drona had the bravery of a wild beast, he was a tiger in the forest of men. His force and glory were untrammeled. Dead? It is unthinkable, Sanjaya. __________________\n\n9.35\n\nSo it was Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna who killed Drona while all the other kings watched. But how did he get close enough when no other could approach Drona's splendor and might? Which of Drona's friends at that moment failed to protect him? And after he set foot on that hardest of journeys who took his place? Tell me, who was guarding the right flank of the great man's chariot, who the left? Who was near to him as he fought? And who threw off his own life and met Death early? Which of the heroes around Drona showed the greatest resolve?\n\n9.40\n\n89\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nHow did the measly swordsmen who were his enemies sever him from the bosom of his army? How, indeed, could they fail to finish him when he had none to protect him? His courage was such that whatever disasters befell him or fears beset him he would never have turned his back on his foes. How then did they strike him down? Drona knew well that even in darkest calamity the noble fight on as they can. O my mind is in a whirl. My son, let us cease for a time your tale. I must gather my senses Sanjaya. Then we will talk again.\n\nvaishampayana spoke.\n\nDhrita\u00b7rashtra finished speaking and suddenly heartstricken at the hopelessness of his sons' cause he collapsed in a faint to the floor. His attendants sprinkled cold droplets of perfumed water on his face to revive him. The ladies with him were shocked at the sight and rushed to him and laid their hands upon the great king. Necklaced in tears, they gently lifted his body in their beautiful arms and placed him upon the throne. As they fanned him on all sides he sat there unmoving, still deep in his swoon. At last, the lord of the realm slowly opened his eyes. But when he spoke again to his driver Gavalgani his questions were little changed.\n\n10.1\n\n10.5\n\n91\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nThe matchless king at his zenith is like the rising sun that drives away darkness with its light. Who kept him from Drona? He has the fury, the potency, the fire of an elephant in must that with singular intent would kill any rival that came near the females of the herd. None of the other bulls could beat him. He is a man bound to truth, strong in arm and steadfast in will. His power so much exceeds any of the warriors he might face that with just a terrible glance from his murderous eyes he could reduce the whole of Duryodhana's army to cinders. And somehow he keeps his humility despite the world's veneration. Who looked into his deadly gaze? Who stood in his path as he came cleaving to victory, ringed in the finest archers? And what of Bhima\u00b7sena? He must have been one of the first to rush upon Drona. Who were the warriors who stood in his path? And what happened as that most awesome chariot of them all came into view like a thunderhead or baleful stormcloud forking and crackling with lightningand pouring down wood as Indra pours down hail? How was it for those who watched as Partha approached beneath the banner of the monkey, the air about him thick with arrows? ______________________________________x\n\nAs the wheels of his chariot squealed across the sky, his bow a flashing arc and grim omen above the dense thickets of cars below, his car a tempest driven by wrath and faster than thought or wish and heavy with needles biting to men's marrow? As it came churning with a blood rain and strewing the earth with the dead that now fill it while the wrenching and ghastly noise ever grew and brilliant and victorious and screwed to the purpose Arjuna scattered from the string of __________________\n\n10.10\n\n10.15\n\n93\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nGandiva stonewhetted shafts tied with vulture feathers all across the plain: o how was your heart then?\n\nWho did not flee when the mere sound of Gandiva's string brought terror among you? And who were they whom Dhanan\u00b7jaya's arrows severed from Drona's company as Arjuna rolled like a gust through trembling cloud, a wind through a brake of reeds? What man could stand his ground before the carrier of Gandiva? Whole armies tremble and heroes are filled with dread at his coming. Who stood firm beside Drona? And who were the cowards who fled? Who cast aside his body and went out to meet Death in the shape of Dhanan\u00b7jaya, conqueror of warriors not of this earth? Before the charge of his pale horse and the monsoon thunder of Gandiva my mortal soldiers are finished. A chariot holding Dhanan\u00b7jaya and manned by Krishna is, I fear, a chariot that neither god nor demon could stop.\n\n10.20\n\nThen there is Pandu's youthful fourth son, the handsome Nakula. He is a man in his prime, a man brilliant, wise and brave whose war cry fills the Kauravas with fear. Who fought him back when he rode at Drona? Or when fierce Saha\u00b7deva came angry as a cobra to take his prey? He is a conquerer that few could overcome, a man of grace and noble covenants, unerring and unstoppable. Who parried Saha\u00b7deva's attack? It was Saha\u00b7deva who broke King Sauvira's royal guard and carried off his voluptuous and lovelylimbed queen.\n\n10.25\n\n95\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nAnd the taurine Yuyudhana? All that is eternal rests in him: purity and piety, courage and constancy, harmony itself. He is strong in arm and hale in spirit. None have penetrated his armor of truth. He is Vasudeva's comrade and equal and a devoted peer of Dhanan\u00b7jaya, a true master of the art of sword and bow. Who drove him from Drona's midst?\n\n10.30\n\nWho fought back the great Vrishni Satvata? A hero and paladin, as a warrior he is Rama's equal in valor and fame. In him as the triple world is in Keshava are truth and steadfastness, wisdom, heroism and holiness and a deep knowledge of the sword and the book. His mettle would be too stern even for the gods. Who faced him down? And the baleful Panchala hero Uttamaujas? He is a man beloved of the highborn, whose preternatural might has never failed in war or deed. As loyal and firm in Dhanan\u00b7jaya's cause as he is in my downfall, he strives in his whole being against Drona. Reckoned a mere champion, I know him as the equal of the gods of war and death, a warrior who has surrendered his life to the chaos of battle. And the prodigy Dhrishta\u00b7ketu, the hero who deserted the Chedis and sought refuge with the Pandavas after killing the prince of the western reaches in a mountain pass? Who drove off his attack?\n\n10.35\n\n10.40\n\nWhat of the cause of the great fall of the Paragon, tigerlike Shikhandin? His mind even in the heat of combat is clear as crystal. Born a woman yet become a man, Yajnya\u00b7sena's child knows the troubled nature of both. And great Abhimanyu? Subhadra's son has inherited all his father's high virtues of war and truth and shining purity. Who drove him from Drona's reach? In courage he is like Vasudeva, in might __________________\n\n10.45\n\n97\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nlike Dhanan\u00b7jaya, like Brihas\u00b7pati in intellect, in splendor like the sun, wide-mawed as the Destroyer himself. How did you bear his attack? And Draupadi's tigers? Who could fight them back when they rushed across the battlefield at Drona like rivers to the ocean? Laying aside the toys of childhood they dwelt for twelve years with Bhishma to study the art of combat and follow the strictest vows. And what about the sons of Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna\u2014 Kshatran\u00b7jaya, Kshatra\u00b7deva and noble Kshatra\u00b7dharman? Who kept them at bay? Or the great bowman Chekitana, whom the other Vrishnis decree to be a hundred times greater than themselves? Who stopped him?\n\n10.50\n\nWho protected Drona from the jubilant Kalinga Anadhrishti heir of Vriddha\u00b7kshema? I hear he has claimed a wife from the war. And the five righteous brothers born of Kekaya and the sons of their mother's sister? They are bold and heroic and fervent for a Pandava victory. When they came in cloaks the hue of fireflies and beneath the standard of the redarmored warrior, who stood in their path? And what of the warrior lord and strongarmed hero whom the kings of Varanavata desperate for blood fought for six fruitless months: the best of bowmen and pillar of truth and tiger in the forest of men Yuyutsu? Who forced his mighty arms from Drona? And the great archer charged with the Parthas' mantras who in Varanasi toppled with a barbed arrow the lustful prince of Kashi? As he drove on, scattering soldiers in all directions and fixed on Drona's slaughter and Duryodhana's downfall, who forced Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna back? And the stripling grandson of Drupada? Who fought off the adept in the art of the bow Kshatra\u00b7deva son of Shikhandin?\n\n10.55\n\n99\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nThere was once a great warrior, and the roar of his chariot wheels gathered like a cloak about the earth as he went abroad to destroy his legendary foes. I speak of the bold son of Ushi\u00b7nara, who cared for his subjects as if they were his children. Ten horse sacrifices he offered the gods, and he rewarded his priests with generous gifts of food and drink. He spared nothing. He immolated as many cows as there are grains of sand in the Ganges in a rite so awesome that the gods themselves found it hard to believe. \"This is an act beyond any man who has come before, and any yet to be,\" they said. \"We look upon the three worlds, on all that is and all that fades: there is none born nor to be born nor reborn who wields powers such as Shaibya son of Ushi\u00b7nara.\" None who live on this earth tread his path. Who then could keep his son, the last in Shibi's line, as he rode at Drona, wide-mawed as Death himself? And when Matsya's protector Virata brought his troops to spill Drona's blood who drove them back? And I shudder at the thought of Vrikodara's lastborn and his enormous strength and sorcerous powers. He yearns for the Parthas' triumph. The fiend Ghatotkacha is the wound in my son's side. But someone kept him at bay. Who was it?\n\n10.60\n\n10.65\n\nWhat brief triumph was there for those for whose sake so many others abandoned their lives in battle? How was it that the sons of Pritha suffered any kind of defeat when the tiger that bears the horn bow fights to protect them? And what of the divine lord of battle and the highest teacher and eternal master of all worlds and beings, Narayana? Wise men recount things that he has done that are not of this world. __\n\n10.70\n\n101\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nI will tell you of his deeds now, and of the steadfastness of his heart.*\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nHear me now Sanjaya. I will tell you of Vasudeva's wondrous acts. Go\u00b7vinda has done thing which no normal man could dream of doing.\n\n11.1\n\nHe was born with a lofty soul into a family of herdsmen. While still only a child the strength of his two arms brought him fame across the three worlds. On the wooded banks of the Yamuna he killed the horse king, who had been mighty as Ucchaih\u00b7shravas and swift as the racing wind, and though matched in might he slew the beast. Another time the cruel son of Danu came in the form of a bull and brought death among the cattle, and though a mere child the Lotus Eyed God killed him too, with his bare hands.\n\nHis next victims were Pralamba, Naraka, Jambha, the great demon Pitha and Muru, more god than devil. Then it was powerful Kansa who despite Jara\u00b7sandha's protection fell with his entire army before Krishna's onslaught. The Bhoja chieftain's brother was the legendary Sunaman, a stern and fiery taxiarch and bold king of serried heroes who met his nemesis when the younger brother of Bala\u00b7deva cut him down. Krishna bowed with his first wife before the ferocious seer Durvasas and was rewarded for his humility with gifts.\n\n11.5\n\nWith many of the earth's regents bent to his will, the hero with lotus eyes took the hand of the Gandhara princess, and yoking to the bridal car the kings he had beaten cracked his whip across their backs as if they were so many steeds. With fiendish trickery mighty Krishna brought down the __________\n\n11.10\n\n103\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\ngreat general Jara\u00b7sandha and in return for a slight against his hospitality slaughtered like a goat the fierce king of the Chedis, who had been lord of a legion of chieftains. When the sheerwalled city of the demons named Saubha was prospering under Shalva's dominion, Madhava attacked it and sent it crashing down into the depths of the ocean.\n\nSanjaya I speak of the conquerer of the Angas, the Vangas, the Kalingas and the Magadhas famed for the city of lights, the Karushas, Gargyas and Vatsyas, the Paundras, the Avantyas, the people of the South and the people of the mountains, the Dasherakas, Kashmirakas and Aurasakas, the Pishachas and the peak of Mandara, the Kambojas, Vata\u00b7dhanas, the Cholas and Pandyas, the Tri\u00b7gartas and Malavas, the hardy Daradas, the Khashas and the Shakas and Yavana and all her allies.\n\n11.15\n\nLong ago Hrishi\u00b7kesha entered the sea that teems with monsters and in its surging depths beat down Varuna. He killed Pancha\u00b7jana who dwelt in the plains of hell and took from him the sacred conch that bears the demon's name. With Arjuna the mighty Krishna calmed the great Eater of Cerements* in the forest of Khandava, and in return received his murderous disk, weapon of the fire. Mounted on Garuda the great god terrorized Amaravati, the house of Indra, and tore up from its roots the coral tree that stood in its garden. Shakra knew of his attack and chose not to fight back. How could any king on this earth withstand him? And who could have caused the great miracle* in my throne room? None, o Sanjaya, but the Lotus Eyed God.\n\n11.20\n\n105\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nWhen I went before him and humbled myself and showed him due devotion, the whole universe seemed to hang before my eyes in perfect clarity. Nothing that Hrishi\u00b7kesha does has an end for his every act is born of certainty, of absolute resolve. Gada, Samba, Pradyumna and Vidu\u00b7ratha, Aniruddha, Charu\u00b7deshna and Sarana, Ulmuka, Nishatha, Jhallin, Babhru, Prithu and Viprithu, Samika and Arim\u00b7ejaya and all of the other Vrishni fighters have fallen in among the Pandava legions. They are there because they have been summoned to battle by their ram: the great Keshava himself.*\n\n11.25\n\n11.30\n\nEverything else seems thrown into doubt. The mighty hero strong as a hundred elephants and tall as Kailasa's peak, Rama the dark harvester necklaced in wildflowers, goes where his brother goes. And o Sanjaya it is his brother Janardana the son of Vasu\u00b7deva who fights for the Pandava cause. He is known to the twiceborn as the father of all things. When Keshava girds himself for their victory no champion will rise against him. Even if the Kurus could somehow overcome the Pandavas the tiger Varshneya would wield in their name the ultimate weapon and destroying all the Kaurava regents seize with his might the whole of the world for Kunti's son. Who or what could ride against the chariot driven by Hrishi\u00b7kesha and defended by Dhanan\u00b7jaya? By no means will the Kurus see their day of triumph. I ask only that you tell me all that happened during their struggle.\n\n11.35\n\n107\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nArjuna is Keshava's very soul, Krishna the Diademed Warrior's heart. Infinite glory rests in Krishna, and Arjuna carries with him triumph and eternity. It is simple: Keshava's virtues are transcendent, measureless, his majesty without equal. But delusion stops Duryodhana from knowing that Krishna is Madhava incarnate. Dazed by the power of fate and recognizing neither Krishna of Dasharha Arjuna of nor Pandu he puts his neck in Death's noose. Though before their glory minds fail, men know them as the mighty gods of old, Nara and Narayana. They are one soul split between two bodies. On a whim they could obliterate our troops and it is only their humanity that restrains them.\n\n11.40\n\nO my son. Bhishma's murder, and great Drona's. It seems the age is turning and the worlds are soon to be upended. No one can cheat death: not by a pious life nor by studying the Veda, neither by hand nor by sword. O Sanjaya you tell me that Bhishma and Drona, two master swordsmen hallowed across the earth and full of the frenzy of war, are dead. My days then are numbered. With the deaths of Bhishma and Drona all the wealth I have created will now pass to Yudhi\u00b7shthira and you and I will have to bring him our begging bowls. Disaster overtakes the Kurus because of what I did long ago. O horseman. For dry twigs and old men, a blade of grass can be as deadly as a lightning bolt.* Yudhi\u00b7shthira has attained a magnificence on earth beyond compare and those great archers Bhishma and Drona were victims of his wrath. The world is shaped through its own ordinance and cares not for the efforts of men. Cruel Time destroys everything and then slips away, and it seems that even the wise cannot grasp its secret purpose, that its assignments ___________________\n\n11.45\n\n11.50\n\n109\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nviolate even the will of the gods. Yet if these late days are wretched and remorseless and difficult to comprehend, tell me at least what it was that you saw.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nThen as I saw it with my own eyes I will tell you the whole story of how Drona was broken by the Pandus and the Srinjayas, and fell. When the mighty son of Bharad\u00b7vaja had been appointed commander, he turned to address Duryodhana. The whole army stood and listened.\n\n12.1\n\n\"My king and lord of the earth. You have today done me a great honor in offering me the leadership of your army and making me the successor to the bull of the Kauravas born to Apaga. May you reap a fitting reward for your choice. Say now what it is you would have me do, and I will do it.\"\n\nBefore Karna, Duhshasana and the other heroes, King Duryodhana then told the hardy teacher of conquerors his wish.\n\n12.5\n\n\"Grant me this supreme gift: capture alive their titan Yudhi\u00b7shthira and so prove yourself the rightful leader of my legions.\"\n\nThe teacher of the Kurus heard your son. His reply sent a ripple through the ranks.\n\n\"The king born of Kunti is a lucky man. You want him captured, you say, but not put to death. My intractable sire, tiger in this forest of men, why do you not want him dead? If you do not then Duryodhana you have taken leave of your senses. The righteous king must have no enemies on earth if even you want him alive, want to harbor his dynasty at your bosom. O best of the Bharatas, perhaps once you have ___________________\n\n12.10\n\n111\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\ndefeated the Pandavas you intend to do your brotherly duty and offer them the realm that is rightly theirs? The wise son of Kunti is a fortunate soul. Truly no one wishes him ill.* Even your highness feels such warmth for him.\"\n\nO Bharata, at Drona's words the hope that Duryodhana had long kept hidden in his heart suddenly rushed to his lips. My king, even a great sage could not have hidden the excitement that your son felt then. These were the hot words he spoke.\n\n\"If Kunti's son were to fall to the sword, master, then victory would never be mine. With Yudhi\u00b7shthira gone Arjuna would stop at nothing until every one of us were dead. Even the deathless gods are powerless before him. Even if he were the Pandavas' lone survivor he would spare no man among us. But Yudhi\u00b7shthira is true to his word. If we can bring him here and play dice with him again, his luck will desert him, and he and his brothers will return once more to the forest. Then I will surely have my victory, and it will last long. So no. I do not want the good king to die.\"\n\n12.15\n\nIn his wisdom Drona could penetrate to the heart of things, and he understood the depths of Duryodhana's trickery. He thought for a moment and then offered the king what he wanted. But there was one condition.\n\ndrona spoke.\n\nHero. Consider the eldest of the Pandavas your subject, but only if Arjuna does not fight to protect him. As you say, even the gods and demons with Indra at their head could not rise against him and, my son, I for one will not deign to try. He was my student but without question my __________\n\n12.20\n\n113\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nsuperior in the discipline of combat. Though but a young man he is renowned because he walks a path that none of us can tread and carries an arsenal the like of which neither Indra nor Rudra has known. My king, his wrath for you is such that I will not be able to stop him. But if Partha can somehow be driven off from the battle or subdued then you will overwhelm the righteous king. O bull in the field of men if you think that victory depends on his capture then this is how to ensure that he is caught. Have no doubt my king: if he comes within my reach for just a moment without the tiger Dhanan\u00b7jaya son of Kunti to protect him, I will capture the king who lives for truth and the law, and he will be yours to command. But with the Fighter of the Red Stars* by his side, Yudhi\u00b7shthira the son of Partha would be beyond the reach even of a legion of gods and demons under Indra's command.\n\n12.25\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nWhen they heard Drona's promise to the king, your foolish sons ignored its provision and thought Yudhi\u00b7shthira already their prisoner. Of course Duryodhana knew that Drona's loyalties were conflicted, and to shore up the brahmin's promise he made much of what Drona had said. O tamer of foes, Duryodhana proclaimed the plan to capture the Pandava to all the troops that stood about them.\n\n12.30\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nSo Drona's barbed promise to capture the king was made. And when the soldiers heard of his intention to trap Yudhi\u00b7shthira, horns sounded and arrowshafts clacked and men roared. Before long, spies told the righteous king of the ___________________\n\n13.1\n\n115\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nexchange, and soon he learned all about Drona's design. He summoned his other brothers and turned to Dhanan\u00b7jaya to speak. \"Tiger in the forest of men. You have now heard what Drona intends. We must decide what to do to ensure that his plan does not bear fruit. For Drona's boast has a flaw, and that flaw, o great archer and burner of foes, is you. With your strong arms fight this day close at my side and we can deny Duryodhana the prize Drona has promised him.\" _________________\n\n13.5\n\narjuna spoke.\n\nMy king. It is true. Our old teacher cannot defeat me and for that reason I will never desert you. O son of Pandu, I would lay aside my life first. I will neither oblige our sometime mentor nor leave your side, not for anything. Be assured, my king, that however much he might wish it Duryodhana will never on this living earth achieve his desire of capturing you in battle. As long as I breathe, the heavens and their stars would fall and the ground would break asunder before Drona takes you as his prisoner. Be sure of it. Even if Vishnu flanked by the gods or the wielder of the thunderbolt himself lent a hand Duryodhana would not have you in his grasp. Though he is a great warrior, perhaps the greatest fighter of them all, while I live you need fear nothing from Drona. And o king of kings I tell you this: I always keep a promise. I do not remember a time that I lied. I do not remember a time I have failed. I do not remember making a promise that I did not keep to the letter.\n\n13.10\n\n117\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nO great king. Now it was the Pandavas who sounded their horns. The throb of wardrums began. Wild roars from the men mingled with the spinechilling thrum of bowstrings cutting the air. The echo of trumpets rolled from the mighty Pandava's host and your own forces o Bharata struck up in response a battle dirge. The two armies wheeled heavily towards one another, and so began once more the mad and bloody struggle between the Pandavas and the Kurus, between Drona and the Panchalas.\n\n13.15\n\nAt first the Srinjayas struggled in vain to find a way to approach Drona's defenses and your son's champions could not drive their lofty chariots at the soldiers shielded by the Diademed Warrior. Each swayed back from the other and the two armies settled gently into themselves like two tracts of forest blanketed in flowers whose petals had closed for the night. Then o king like a rising sun the Warrior of the Golden Chariot suddenly went forth and collided with the enemy's defenses and hurtled into their midst. Though but a lone man flying in his tall chariot through the fray, he seemed to the Pandavas and the Srinjayas a manyheaded beast. His fearsome arrows flew in every direction from his bow, my king, forcing the Pandava warriors back. Drona blazed then like the sun at the meridian circled in a hundred rays, and o Bharata like demons before the wrath of mighty Indra all the Pandavas had to avert their gaze. Blinding the troops with his brilliance Bharad\u00b7vaja's son blasted Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna's force with his whetted shafts. He filled the air with trueflying arrows and obscured the whole horizon and ________\n\n13.20\n\n13.25\n\n119\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nflattened the Pandava line where the grandson of Prishata rode.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nPanic spread through the Pandava ranks as Drona tore in among them like brushfire through a forest of dry trees. When they saw Rukma\u00b7ratha scorching a path of rage towards them like a kindled blaze, and heard everywhere like a peal of thunder before lightning the endless whisper against his hand of the string of his quick bow, the Srinjayas began to tremble with fear. Biting arrows flew from his dexterous fingers and ripped into charioteers, riders, elephants, horses, soldiers. He brought terror down upon his enemies like hail pouring from a black cloud churned by howling wind as the hot season turns to rain.\n\n14.1\n\n14.5\n\nMajesty, as he traversed your troops mighty Drona spread chaos in his wake. He instilled within us a kind of inhuman dread. Like lightning in the heavens again and again his gilded bow appeared among the swirling banks of chariots on the plain. Wise and truthful and formidable as he was, that unfailing servant of justice now maddened by the closing of the age poured forth an evil river sprung from the aquifers of wrath and thronged with flesheating ghouls and flowing with blood, deep and teeming with men and swirling with chariots, its banks made of elephants and horses, breastplates bobbing upon its surface like lotuses. It was thick with mud and gore and broken bones, it had lymph and marrow for sand, its waters foamed with ribbons of fine cloth, its course swollen by a deluge of warriors, javelin shoals and the bodies of elephants and horses, ___________________\n\n14.10\n\n121\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nclusters of arrows in its currents and trunks of dead soldiers, cars floating like turtles, human heads washed up like rocks along its shore, its depths fathomed with chariots and elephants and knives like fish, its waves encrusted with detritus of every kind, swordsmen in their hundreds sucked into its whirlpools, its whole length wreathed in earth and dust, its waters fordless to the faint of heart and risked only by the very brave. It flowed with countless corpses, herons and vultures swooping above its lost cargo of warriors in their thousands rolling down to Yama's abode, draw to beasts of prey of feather and fur, lost spears like its predators, broken parasols like swans and crowns like floating birds, wheels for tortoise shells, maces for pearls, flurries of arrowheads for minnows, its banks host to ferocious packs of jackals and flocks of vultures and cranes. Off it bore the legion dead away to their ancestors' shores once Drona had snatched in that bloody reckoning the breath from their throats.\n\n14.15\n\nHow the weak in spirit trembled before that river, my king, its verdant banks of hair and the cadavers that crammed its course. But even as he rose above them those same battalions led by Yudhi\u00b7shthira fought back against Drona's might on every front. And in a burst of excitement your stoutbowed archers rushed from all around forward towards their enemies.\n\n14.20\n\nShakuni of a hundred illusions bore down upon Saha\u00b7deva and fired sharp arrows into his car, banner and driver. Calm in the fray the son of Madri studded with sixty arrows Shakuni's pennant bow charioteer and team and then finally found behind them the body of his uncle. Then Saubala grabbed his mace o king and leapt down from his high car ___________________\n\n123\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nand with it knocked Shakuni's driver from his post. Bereft of their vehicles those strongarmed heroes raised their cudgels and began to sport like horned fish in the game we call battle.\n\nMeanwhile with ten swift shafts Drona pierced the king of the Panchalas and under a hail of reeds the king fired back a hundred and one more. Vivinshati was struck by Bhima\u00b7sena's whetted arrows, and Bhima struck back with his own as miraculously he somehow stood his ground. With awesome speed, o king, Vivinshati felled Bhima's foals and knocked away his standard and bow as he did. But in this contest of wills the great Bhima did not submit and crushed with his mace all of Vivinshati's faithful steeds. His horses dead, the great warrior grabbed a shield and leapt down from his car in a frenzy, and onto mad animal Bhima\u00b7sena standing before him.\n\n14.25\n\n14.30\n\nElsewhere bold Shalya hit with his arrows his own nephew Nakula. He grinned as he did so as if in jest. Nakula blazed up in fury and sounded a note from his conch and brought Shalya's parasol oriflamme driver and bow down into the dirt. And o lord deflecting the volley of arrows from Kripa's bow Dhrishta\u00b7ketu pinned him with seventy of his own and then another three, but enveloping Dhrishta\u00b7ketu in a great storm of arrows the brahmin at once fought back. Satyaki pierced Krita\u00b7varman in the center of his chest with an iron arrow then struck him with seventy more, and all the while wore a mocking smile. When Bhoja struck Shaineya with seventy-seven wellwhetted arrows his target remained calm as a mountain in a swift wind. The commander struck Susharman a savage blow between the joints of his armor, ___________________\n\n14.35\n\n125\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nhitting him with a javelin in the collarbone. Virata and his Matsyas crashed against the child of the cloudsplitting sun and at first somehow drove him back, but with awesome might Karna soon hid them all beneath the mass of his wellwrought shafts.\n\nOn another part of the plain King Drupada met Bhaga\u00b7datta and majesty their struggle was a dazzling show. Knotless arrows flew from taurine Bhaga\u00b7datta's bow towards the chariot bannered in the horsetamer and found Drupada where they stopped. Fired with anger the king struck the great Bhaga\u00b7datta a glancing blow in the chest with a single wellfashioned shaft. The confrontation between the two masters of the bow and best of warriors Soma\u00b7datta's son and Shikhandin set fear in the hearts of any who watched. O royal heir of Bharata and leader of men, heroic Bhuri\u00b7shravas hid the great warrior and son of Yajnya\u00b7sena behind a bulky cloud of missiles, and then with ninety shafts wrathful Shikhandin shook Saumadatti back. Then I saw the two dreadful rakshasas Haidimba and Alambusa fight a battle beyond belief. Each intent on the other's defeat these wild creatures hurled illusion upon illusion and moved about invisible. O king, like mighty Bala and Shakra Chekitana and Anuvinda fought ferocious as god and demon while Lakshmana crashed against Kshatra\u00b7deva like Vishnu grappling with Hiranyaksha.\n\n14.40\n\n14.45\n\n127\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nPaurava snarled and spurred on his horses and drove his ritually adorned chariot straight at Saubhadra. Mighty Abhimanyu the tamer of foes was eager to fight and he rode to meet him and another great battle began. Flocked in arrows from Paurava's bow Arjuna's son sent his foe's banner pole parasol and some of steeds all tumbling down to earth. Then Saubhadra loosed seven more arrows at Paurava and five of the shafts pierced his other horses and driver. Roaring like a lion Abhimanyu notched an arrow that would kill Paurava and strike a great blow for his army's morale. But Hridika's son saw the fatal dart terrible to behold and with two of his own splintered from Abhimanyu's hands the bow and the arrow too. Throwing aside his shattered weapon Saubhadra the slayer of foes drew his pale sword and snatched up his shield and nimble with that starsprent disk and with his blade whirling he cut out his path so all could see how fine a warrior he was. His shield and blade were lost in a blur o king as they rose and flashed and trembled and rose again, and leaping onto the axle of Paurava's car he bellowed and grabbed a fistful of his foe's hair at the side of his head and kicking away his charioteer with his foot he hewed down Paurava's standard with his sword. He had snatched his quarry like Garuda plucking a snake from the churning waves of the sea.\n\n14.50\n\n14.55\n\n14.60\n\nAll the chieftains watched as Paurava stood with his hair hanging down, like a cowed child. He was crushed in Abhimanyu's grip like an ox pinned and insensible in the jaws of a lion. Jayad\u00b7ratha could not bear the sight. Taking a shield decorated in peacocks' plumes and strung with a circlet of a hundred small bells he grabbed his sword and ___________________\n\n129\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nwith a cry leapt down from his car. The Dark One 's son* spied the king of Sindhu and let go of Paurava then stepped lightly from the chariot he stood upon and flew at him like a hawk. Sweeping his sword and blocking with his shield every knife, spear and javelin swung by his foes, his brilliance clear to all who beheld him, the mighty child of Arjuna and hero of heroes raised up his heavy blade and his shield and descended upon the son of Vriddha\u00b7kshatra and sworn enemy of his father like a panther upon an elephant.\n\n14.65\n\nWith blade, tooth and nail they came together and each fiercely struck the other like tiger and lion, and as sword and shield collided and swung and fell those feral creatures seemed to blur into one. Their curses, the sough of their blades and the spaces between their swords with their swings and their feints all became indistinguishable. Back and forth they went as they soared, like mountains borne on wings. Then Jayad\u00b7ratha brought down his sword upon the very edge of the shield of glorious Saubhadra as he whipped it high, and as it caught its golden rim glinting like the sun's with all the force of the Sindhu king behind it the great blade shattered. He barely glanced at the broken weapon and tossed it six paces distant and then in the blink of an eye was back in his car.\n\n14.70\n\nSafe now after his tussle with Abhimanyu, all his fellow kings pressed in about his chariot to protect him. Raising his sword and shield above his head Arjuna's heir glared at Jayad\u00b7ratha and roared with anger. Then the son of Subhadra and killer of heroes abandoned the Sindhu king to rise hot and scorching above other soldiers like the sun above the earth. Shalya flung at him a wroughtiron spear ___________________\n\n14.75\n\n131\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\ninlaid with bdellium that flew balefully over the battlefield like a flaring plume of fire. Like Garuda catching a falling snake Abhimanyu jumped down and caught it and slid his own sword back into its scabbard as he did. The feat was so wondrous and quick that all the chieftains who saw it yelled their delight. Then with a powerful swing Saubhadra the smasher of foes hurled Shalya's spear, and its shaft set with cat's eyes* flew back towards its owner's chariot like a brightskinned serpent, thudding into Shalya's driver and bringing him slumping down to the base of his car. Virata and Drupada, Dhrishta\u00b7ketu and Yudhi\u00b7shthira, Satyaki, the Kaikeyas, Bhima, Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna and Shikhandin, the twins and the Draupadeyas all hollered with excitement at the scene. As the sound of arrows multiplied and the lions' roars surged about him Saubhadra stood tall and drank in their applause. O majesty your children could not bear their enemy's pride and all of them sent their sharp arrows at him like rain bursting on a mountain. Artayani still clove to our cause. Smarting from the death of his horseman he made once more for Abhimanyu to seal the death of his foe. Rage drove him on.\n\n14.80\n\n14.85\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nListening to you describe these myriad duels, I envy those who can see, Sanjaya. One day men will traverse the world telling the wondrous story of the war between the Kurus and the Pandavas as if it were a battle in heaven. But I have yet to hear the end of this great tale. So continue. Tell me of the fight between the sons of Subhadra and Artayani. _________\n\n15.1\n\n133\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nHis driver laid out on the ground, Shalya yelled in anger, raised up his mace of solid iron and leapt down from his high chariot. Bhima saw him flaring up like the fire at the end of time, the weapon in his hand like Death's scepter, and picking up his own heavy mace he was upon him in a moment. Saubhadra too swept up his mace. It was like a lightning bolt in his hand. He taunted Shalya to come to meet him. Bhima struggled to restrain Abhimanyu but when at last he had him under control he turned to do battle with Shalya himself. Bhima towered above his adversary's head majestic as a mountain peak but as soon as he saw him the king of the Madras darted forth as a panther darts at an elephant. Then the blaring trumpets and conches in their hundreds and the lionlike roars and deep throb of drums gathered from the clashing hordes of Kurus and Pandavas into a single sound that seemed to rise in praise as everyone looked on. O Bharata, the lord of the Madras was alone among kings the man who might survive Bhima\u00b7sena's ferocious attack. And who in the world but Dogbelly could withstand a blow from the great Madra king?\n\n15.5\n\n15.10\n\nBhima's huge and beauteous mace was bound with fillets embroidered with Jambu rivergold and it glinted as it swung. Shalya's mace flashed like lightning as he stepped and circled. Bristling with clubs for horns Shalya and Vrikodara bellowed like bulls and traced arcs each around the other. As they paced turned and circled and brandished their weapons there was little to choose between the two lions from the race of men. Then Bhima landed a blow that smashed fragments of iron from the fiery and fearsome orb in Shalya's hands. ___________________\n\n15.15\n\n135\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nRepelled by the shock of his enemy's parry, Bhima\u00b7sena's own weapon glowed like a tree hidden by fireflies in a monsoon dusk. Sparks struck from it spewed forth and scorched the surrounding air. O Bharata as Bhima brought that blow down his mace flashed across the plain like a falling meteor. Their fine weapons found one another and sighed like serpent nymphs and light glanced from them as they locked together. As their clubs crossed the two warriors clawed with their nails like tigers and snapped like elephants with their teeth. With their maces intertwined the bloodflecked shape they made looked for a moment like a flame-of-the-forest in flower, and the crack of their weapons in the hands of those beasts echoed across the whole of the sky as if Indra were knocking together his thunderbolts.\n\n15.20\n\nLeft and right swung Shalya's mace and beneath its blows Bhima was unshaken as stone. The strong Madra king too stood firm as a mountain in a storm. They raised their weapons high and fell upon one another and stood hand to hand, then went in circles, then leapt into the air and came down again. Brutal as elephants they bloodied their clubs on one another until at last, exhausted and crushed beneath each other's pounding blows, they both fell to their knees and hung like flags of Indra. Shalya staggered and slipped and tried to catch his breath, his mace dangling in his hand. _________\n\n15.25\n\n15.30\n\n137\n\nthe anointing of drona\n\nO majesty, mighty Krita\u00b7varman saw the Madra king beaten down and dizzy with weariness and writhing like a snake, and he made quickly for him and pulled him aboard his chariot and accelerated away from the mess of battle. In the winking of an eye Bhima was up again and hefted his weapon in his mighty grip. His eyes rolled as if he were drunk. O father your children all stood among elephants and infantry and horses and cars and watched in fear as Shalya was carried from the fray. Then they too broke up and gave way, driven like shreds of cloud by the rising Pandava wind.\n\n15.35\n\nThe great Pandava warriors had bettered the sons of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra and o king they shone bright in their blazing splendor. Roars and blaring trumpets were the sound of their celebration, and the rumble of countless drums.\n\n139\n\n16\u201332\n\nThe Death of the Beholden\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nG\n\nreat Vrisha\u00b7sena watched the broad army of your sons rent open and began all alone to check the Pandavas with his enchanted bow. Arrows flew over the Pandava horde in ten directions and tore through men, chariots, horses and elephants. Like the sun's rays in the hot season thousands of those burning and heavy shafts from the great man's hand cut through riders and drivers. And pierced through O great king they fell to their knees, trees buckled in the wind. O majesty there were throngs of chariots and horses and elephants in numbers too large to count which he crushed beneath his might.\n\n16.1\n\n16.5\n\nWhen the other kings saw Vrisha\u00b7sena careering fearlessly through the fray they came in around him in a circle. Nakula's boy Shatanika moved in first and struck him with ten razorsharp wroughtiron shafts. But Karna's son splintered his bow and severed the pole of his standard as the children of Draupadi closed keenly in around their brother. Soon Vrisha\u00b7sena disappeared beneath a thick screen of arrows but then came the warriors under Ashvatthaman's command roaring and wheeling and darkening the skies above the mighty Draupadeyas with darts beyond number. They engulfed them as clouds engulf a mountain ridge. Thirsty for Ashvatthaman's blood the Pandavas were upon him in a moment and behind them with weapons held high rode Panchalas, Kekayas, Matsyas, Srinjayas. Loud and bloody and full of horror was the fighting that came next as Pandu's sons met your own like gods meeting demons. Their wrath was now at its height. Eye to eye the Kurus and Pandavas stood, and sin for sin they fought. Such was their passion __________________\n\n16.10\n\n143\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nand so unbound their splendor that it seemed like the warriors' wounded bodies were themselves hungrily plucking the feathered arrows from the sky. Bhima, Karna, Kripa, Drona, Drauni, Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna and Satyaki: the battlefield shone with them as with suns risen at the end of time. In the crash of battle the killing went on between the great demonic legions and a host divine, before roaring like a stormy sea Yudhi\u00b7shthira's army battered the front line of Duryodhana's force. Its champions turned to run.\n\n16.15\n\nDrona saw his army gashed by its foe and breaking apart and he called out to his soldiers.\n\n\"Heroes! Halt your flight!\"\n\nOn a horse drenched in blood Drona rode like the four-tusked Airavata into the army of the Pandavas until he reached Yudhi\u00b7shthira. As the king's sharp arrows fletched in vulture feathers slammed into him Drona drove on, then broke Yudhi\u00b7shthira's bow in two and put him to flight. And then as the coast holds back the tide it was Yudhi\u00b7shthira's wheelguard* Kumara who to the glory of the Panchalas managed briefly to block Drona's progress. A great roar of excitement swelled around him as Kumara braved the brahmin bull and crying out like an enraged beast sent an arrow across the fray and into Drona's chest. But mighty Drona breathed deep, and with a dense flurry of arrows from his dextrous hand the great twiceborn forced Kumara back. Then despite the wheelguard's heroism and high vows and brilliance with the bow, the mighty priest crushed him beneath his attack.\n\n16.20\n\n16.25\n\n145\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nBharad\u00b7vaja's taurine son was proving your army's savior. Reaching the center of foe's troops, he aimed by turns in every direction. Shikhandin he struck with twelve of his arrows then Uttamaujas with twenty then Nakula with five and Saha\u00b7deva with seven. Twelve more pierced Yudhi\u00b7shthira as three hit each of the Draupadeyas and five reached Satyaki and he struck Matsya with ten. He threw the warriors about him into turmoil, all the while making urgently for their leader the son of Kunti. Great Drona was like a tempest-driven sea, and next it was Yugan\u00b7dhara who stepped into his furious path. Sending his trueworked arrows straight at Yudhi\u00b7shthira, Drona knocked Yugan\u00b7dhara from the seat of his car with a single spearheaded shaft.\n\n16.30\n\nYudhi\u00b7shthira was in danger. Together with their comrades Virata, Drupada and the Kaikeyas, Satyaki, Shibi, the Panchala Vyaghra\u00b7datta and hero Sinha\u00b7sena scattered Drona's course with their many missiles and arrows to protect their king from harm. O majesty the Panchala went at Drona with fifty of his biting shafts while his friends spirited Yudhi\u00b7shthira away. Sinha\u00b7sena found his mark with a speedy shot and burst into excited laughter to have grazed the great ascetic. But mighty Drona plucked the string of his own bow and as it sang in the air his spearlike shafts sheared the bejewelled heads of Vyaghra\u00b7datta and Sinha\u00b7sena away from their necks. Unceasing he ravaged the paladins of the Pandavas with his volleys and now he stood near Yudhi\u00b7shthira's chariot like Death come to bear him off. O majesty, cries of alarm went up from Yudhi\u00b7shthira's troops. With sternvowed Drona so close to him the warriors all thought their king dead. As he reared up to Yudhi\u00b7shthira they said ______________________________________\n\n16.35\n\n16.40\n\n147\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nto themselves, \"Now Duryodhana's wish will come to pass and then, as Drona promised Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's son, he will come for us.\"\n\nBut even as such words were on their lips, with the wheels of his chariot grinding, the mighty warrior and son of Kunti was quickly among your own, rising suddenly out of the river rife with shoals of arrows foaming to its surface and all crowded with ghosts and thick with the trunks and bones of dead heroes, the river that fountained from the havoc Drona had brought. The Diademed Warrior scattered Kurus before him and made straight for Drona's guard and cast across them a wide and bewildering net of arrows as he went. Quick and unrelenting flew his missiles as over and over he notched another onto his string. Soon the very shape of the fabled son of Kunti vanished before our eyes. O king the horizon itself could no more been seen, nor could the space near or far above our heads, nor the earth beneath our feet. The last moments of sunset were invisible through the dust and under that wooden darkness spread upon us by the bow Gandiva the battlefield too had disappeared. There were only arrows.\n\n16.45\n\nWe could make out neither friend nor enemy. Drona, Duryodhana and the other Kuru generals signaled the retreat. When he realized that the terror he had whipped up among them had forced them to cease battle, slowly and contemptuously Arjuna drew back his own men. The Pandus, the Srinjayas and the Panchalas were overjoyed. They poured their praise on Partha in beautiful words like sages in thrall to the sun. With his foes defeated and Keshava at his side, Dhanan\u00b7jaya son of Pandu made his way back in high __________________\n\n16.50\n\n149\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nspirits to his tent at the rear of the camp. Atop his chariot spangled in the finest quartz and coral and diamonds interwrought with gold, crystals and sapphires, he shone like the moon among a million stars.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nThe two armies went back to their tents and everyone retired to the different quarters of the camp. But having forced this stalemate with the enemy Drona was plunged into deep despair. He raised his eyes to Duryodhana and his words were tinged with shame.\n\n17.1\n\n\"What I said before has been proven true. As long as Dhanan\u00b7jaya is by his side Yudhi\u00b7shthira can be taken only by the gods. And so all your struggles Partha rendered in vain. Be sure of what I say: Krishna and Arjuna are invincible. But if their white horses can be drawn off somehow, then in a moment, my king, Yudhi\u00b7shthira will be yours. Someone must challenge Arjuna and lure him to somewhere far from the midst of the fray, since the heir born to Kunti will not weaken as long as Arjuna remains unbowed. If the good king were alone for just a brief time then my lord I could break his line and snatch him from Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna's vigilant gaze. As long as he keeps to the field even when bereft of Arjuna, you can be assured that when you see me next I will have Yudhi\u00b7shthira in chains. Believe me great king. I will bring the child of righteousness and all his cohorts under your command, and I will do so soon. If the son of Pandu stays on the plain for just a passing moment then he will leave the war and any hope of victory behind him.\"\n\n17.5\n\n17.10\n\n151\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nO king, the lord of the Tri\u00b7gartas and his brothers heard what Drona said. Susarman turned to address Duryodhana.*\n\n\"O king and bull of the Bharatas. Although we commit no sin, every day we suffer the abuse of that evildoer who bears the bow Gandiva. When we meditate on his many insults in the dead of night we burn in flames of anger that consume our hours of rest. If he raises his bow once more at us then we will surely be the authors of that deed for which we have hoped in the innermost chambers of our hearts. May our promise please you and may it bring us fame. We will kill him and drag his corpse off the plain. This will not be undone: the world will no longer hold both Arjuna and the brothers Tri\u00b7garta.\"\n\n17.15\n\nAnd so it was o Bharata that with these words a sacred vow was sworn between his five brothers Satya\u00b7ratha, Satya\u00b7dharman, Satya\u00b7vrata, Satyeshu and Satya\u00b7karman. They came forth with their thousand chariots. At the head of the Malavas and Tundikeras and his own massive armies the Tri\u00b7garta tiger Susharman lord of Prasthala went in step with brothers. Then came the panoplies of the Mavellakas, the Lalitthas and the Madrakas, and a final great legion made up of folk tatterdemalion. The sealing of the vow in that mighty assembly began. A pyre was built high, and with bunches of sacred grass and bright chips of bark each performed his rite. Their armor was bound with ribbons and anointed with oil. They took bunches of grass in their hands and tied girdles of hemp around their waists. Those heroes of unreckonable gifts were sacrificers with heirs and __________________\n\n17.20\n\n153\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\ndomains, men of duty, warriors who had abandoned life and turned their hearts to glory and triumph. Through pious and solemn rites rich with largesse they prepared for the realms where battle would bring them, and now were eager to fight on. They rewarded their priests with gifts of coins, cows and cloth, and speaking once more among themselves agreed on their oath and set alight the fire that brings all to black.\n\n17.25\n\nWith iron wills they forged their promise in those flames. To make even firmer their resolve to kill Dhanan\u00b7jaya they declaimed these words to all who could hear them.\n\n\"There are men who break the law. Who kill and cast out priests and plunder kings. Drunks who toy with their teachers' wives. Men who turn away the needy, who kill beggars, who slaughter cows and burn down homes, who scorn the gods or lie with their wives when it is forbidden or fornicate at the funerals of their fathers. Men who skirmish with the weak, who hang on the words of idiots, infidels who walk away from their hearths and their elders. There are men who destroy themselves and the rules by which we live. May we share their fate if in fear we turn our backs to our task. But we say this: if in battle we achieve our arduous goal then we will ascend to the places where the blessed dwell.\"\n\n17.30\n\n17.35\n\n155\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nO majesty, with these words the mighty brothers went forth and called out Arjuna's name south across the land. When he heard their tiger's roars Partha the conqueror of cities spoke to the good king these urgent words.\n\n\"My king I have vowed never to refuse a challenge. Beholden* are summoning me. Susharman and his brothers are calling me out to fight. You must grant me leave to crush them and their troops. Bull in the herd of men I cannot resist this challenge, but I can promise that a handful of your foes are as good as dead.\"\n\n17.40\n\nyudhi\u00b7shthira spoke.\n\nBrother. You have heard exactly what it is that Drona intends: make sure that his aim remains a hollow one. You are a great warrior, but Drona is a mighty hero too, a master of the bow who suffers hardship unbending, and he it is who has vowed to capture me.\n\narjuna spoke.\n\nYou have a protector here before you, majesty, in Satyajit. While this son of Panchali lives our teacher's desire will remain unfulfilled. O king, the tiger Satyajit will fall only when no warrior on earth still stands.\n\n17.45\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nThe king granted the Red Star Fighter his leave and then embraced him with deep affection. Equipped with his blessing alone, brave Partha left the king and rode out for the Tri\u00b7gartas like a lion at a herd of deer ravening to quell its hunger. And Duryodhana's army swelled in frenzy, inflamed with the prospect of capturing the good king once Arjuna had been dispatched. The two armies crashed together like __________\n\n157\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nthe Ganges and Sarayu plunging their rainswollen waters into the immensity of the ocean.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nO majesty. The Beholden were drawn up together, their chariots arranged in the figure of the moon. They bristled with anticipation. When those tigers laid their eyes on the Diademed Warrior as he rode near they let out a delirious cry so loud that it filled every quarter of the sky and smothered its own echo. Dhanan\u00b7jaya observed their excitement. He smiled slightly, turned to Krishna and spoke.\n\n18.1\n\n\"Look at them o son of Devaki: the brothers Tri\u00b7garta, so soon to meet their end. Giddy with joy when they should be weeping. Or perhaps it is time for the Tri\u00b7gartas to rejoice, since they are bound for realms beyond the reach of fools.\"\n\n18.5\n\nWith these words to Hrishi\u00b7kesha, strongarmed Arjuna rode into battle against the serried ranks of the Tri\u00b7gartas. Raising the conch Deva\u00b7datta to his lips he blew deep and filled the air with its sound. Its note blared out above the army of the Beholden and fear stole across every one of them. For a moment they froze still on the battlefield as if cast in iron. Their horses rolled their eyes, necks and ears stiffening, motionless but for the bloodcolored piss running down their shanks.\n\n18.10\n\nThen the brothers Tri\u00b7garta gathered their wits. They rallied their troops and as one loosed their heronfeathered arrows at Pandu's son. But before they even reached him Arjuna nimbly split the hundredfold volley with swift shafts of his own. Ten whetted darts then ten again they let fly at Arjuna, and Partha knocked them all away. Back he shot __________\n\n159\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nthree and three again. O majesty, each Tri\u00b7garta struck Partha with five of his arrows but with twin shafts he struck back at each. In a tumult of anger they poured their missiles unrelentingly on Arjuna and on Keshava, rain upon a pool, and hundreds of them plummeted down as when swarms of bees in a forest descend on swaths of openpetalled flowers. Subahu sent thirty arrows of solid iron into the crown Arjuna wore, and with his head studded in those goldfeathered and trueflying shafts Kiritin stood tall like a sacrificial stake capped in ingots of river gold.\n\n18.15\n\nThe son of Pandu fought back. With a barbed missile he cracked apart the very guard protecting Subahu's hand and then let fly a downpour of darts upon his head. Ten arrows flew back at the Diademed Warrior from the five bows of Susharman, Suratha, Sudharman, Subahu and Sudhanus. Yet while the flag of the monkey fluttered over his head one by one with his barbed arrows Arjuna pierced and tattered each of their golden oriflammes, and then he split Sudhanus' bow in two, transfixed his horse and at last tore the warrior's still-helmeted head from his neck.\n\n18.20\n\n161\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nTerror struck his companions as Sudhanus' trunk fell to earth. They turned to fly back beneath Duryodhana's wing. But with his blood aflame the son of Indra sent arrows in unbroken lines through those mighty battalions like rays of the sun cutting through darkness. With their force scattered and broken, horror at the Left Handed Archer's wrath possessed the Tri\u00b7gartas. Harrowed by the wellwhittled arrows from Partha's bow they stumbled about in confusion like a herd of frightened deer. But Satya\u00b7ratha was furious and he called out to his warriors.\n\n18.25\n\n\"Stand your ground! You are heroes. Fear does not become you. We have taken solemn oaths and every member of this army bore witness to them. What words will you find when you face Duryodhana's men? When report of our deeds in this war travels abroad, what will we become but a laughing stock? We must be strong together. We must fight as one.\"\n\nAt their king's words a cry went up, then another. They blew into their shells and rallied a second time. Once more the Beholden attacked. Once more the Narayanas and the Go\u00b7palas chose to make death their final retreat.\n\n18.30\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\n19.1\n\nSeeing the mass of the Beholden wheeling to face him Arjuna addressed great Vasudeva.\n\n\"Spur on the horses, Hrishi\u00b7kesha. It seems the Beholden will not cease from this battle alive. See now the fearsome might of my arm and my bow. It is time that I immolate them as Rudra immolates his flock.\"\n\n163\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nAt this, proud Krishna smiled and assented, loyal as ever to Arjuna. Borne through the fray by its white steeds their chariot glittered like a vessel of the skies and it traced circles that vanished and reappeared, and O majesty it was like the chariot Indra rode in the celestial battle of old. With weapons bristling in their hands the cruel Narayanas pressed in around Dhanan\u00b7jaya, covering him with a canopy of arrows, and for a moment o bull of the Bharatas the fierce son of Kunti and Warrior of the Red Stars Dhanan\u00b7jaya disappeared beneath their attack. In the chaos Pandu's son brandished Gandiva. His brow darkened as a cloud of anger passed across his face. He blew hard into the great conch Deva\u00b7datta, and then he unleashed the smasher of the enemy horde that is men know as the Tvashtri weapon.\n\n19.5\n\n19.10\n\nOut of nowhere stepped a thousand figures, one by one, each a double of Arjuna. Bewildered by these apparations the Narayanas mistook one another for their foe and set upon their own kind, crying out in confusion, It is Arjuna! And there is Go\u00b7vinda! Over there\u2014Pandava and Yadava! With each cry another was slaughtered. Deranged by his spectacular attack warriors perished together in the dance of war, and as they fell they were as beautiful as lilies in flower. The Tvashtri weapon reduced to ash thousands of arrows and sent the archers who fired them away to Yama's abode. Arjuna laughed in disgust as his shafts scattered the Lalitthas and Malavas, the Mavellakas and the Tri\u00b7gartas and the Yaudheyas.\n\n19.15\n\n165\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nBut time drove them on. Despite his crushing blows they brewed another rising storm of arrows and once more Arjuna, Keshava and their chariot disappeared into its squalls. Their enemies felt the thrill of victory within reach, some throwing off their cloaks and crying out to one another that the Krishnas were dead,* others sounding and pounding and hammering a hundred trumpets and drums. They bellowed in triumph, my king. Krishna labored on wearily, sweat pouring from his brow, and called out to his friend.\n\n19.20\n\n\"O son of Pandu where are you? I cannot see you. O deathbringer are you still among the living?\"\n\nArjuna was quickened by his cry, and invoking now the Vayavya weapon he began to blow back the arrow rain that was falling. The holy wind picked up swords, cars, horses, elephants and piles of the Beholden and carried them away like dry leaves. They glittered in the air, my king, like flights of birds leaving the trees when the season has turned. As he gathered speed Arjuna brought disaster down upon them. His iron barbs took off heads and hands still clenching swords and brought the long trunks of the tallest elephants tumbling upon the broad earth. Mashing brokenbacked or legless figures into arms, thighs and eyes he tore his enemies limb from limb. He broke with his arrows each chariot decked to look like a city of spirits and sundered man from elephant and from steed and from car.\n\n19.25\n\nIt was like looking upon a vast forest of palms with their fronds cut away. Everywhere were piles of shattered chariots and ruined standards. Among flags hooks and spears elephants lay resplendent in their armor like wooded mountains blasted by Indra's thunderbolt. Horses lay with their ____________________\n\n19.30\n\n167\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nriders still clad in breastplates, chaplets and chowries, dashed to earth under Partha's shafts, their entrails unwound, their eyes out, their breath departed. Men's daggers were bent, their swords, lances and mail all snapped and crushed. Footsoldiers lay dead in broken armor. A pitiful sight. Dead and dying and falling and fallen they stumbled and moaned. How dark a place that plain was. Clouds of dust rose and fell with the bloody rain and the earth was so thick with the trunks of men that there was nowhere left to stand. Picking one's way across that horror was a feat too gruesome even for men who dwelt in gore. It was like the pleasure grove of Rudra, killer of the flock at the hour of time's passing. Any whom Partha reached were no more. Their chariots, horses and elephants were lost, and they themselves waned away, bound for Indra's halls. All across that land, o best of the Bharatas, across every foot of it, were strewn dead heroes emptied of their souls. But even as the Left Handed Archer's madness was at its height, Drona drove his legions at Yudhi\u00b7shthira, and gathered as one their attack was swift, for they were desperate to have the king in their grasp. Another great battle began.\n\n19.35\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nO king of kings. Now that Arjuna had set forth to destroy the Beholden, the strategy that Drona had hatched with them and Suyodhana during their long discussion the previous night was underway. At the head of his array the son of Bharad\u00b7vaja rode for the great Pandava host. His aim o best of the Bharatas was the capture of the righteous king. _________________\n\n20.1\n\n169\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nYudhi\u00b7shthira had drawn his own troops up in a halfcircle when he had seen Drona's choice of the Garuda configuration. Bharad\u00b7vaja's mighty son formed the bird's beak and in its head rode King Duryodhana with his kith and kin. Krita\u00b7varman and Gautama the sun were its eyes and along its neck marched row upon row of soldiers, cars, horses and elephants, all clad in the finest mail, from Bhuta\u00b7sharman and Kshema\u00b7sharman and valiant Kara\u00b7karsha through the Kalingas and Sinhalas and the people of the East, the brave Abhiras, the Dasherakas and Shakas, the Yavanas and Kambojas and the people from the lands of the swan, and then the Shura\u00b7senas, Daradas, Madras and the Kekayas. ________________\n\nSpanning the one wing with their legions were the heroes Bhuri\u00b7shravas, Shalya, Soma\u00b7datta and Bahlika, and spanning the other with Drona's son at their head were Vinda and Anuvinda of Avanti and the Kamboja king Sudakshina. The bird's back was made of the Kalingas and the Ambashthas, the Magadhas and Paundras and Madrakas, the Gandharas and Shakunas and the peoples of the mountains in the East and those who dwell beyond them. In its tail were Karna born of the sun with his folk and friends, all men of grand and venerable stock from many and distant lands. And in the bird's belly my king stood lords of war clad for paradise and ringed in mighty troops. They were Jayad\u00b7ratha and Bhima\u00b7ratha whose halls rise towards the dawn, and Bhumin\u00b7jaya and Vrisha and Kratha the great Nishadha chieftain.\n\n20.5\n\n20.10\n\n171\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nDrona's rows of men and horses and cars and beasts unfurled like the face of the ocean ruffled by the wind. From shoulder to tip the array of eager warriors rolled on like clouds in hot weather gathering with lightning and thunder across the sky. And o king as if touched by the dawn of a rising sun Prag\u00b7jyotisha sat resplendent at their very center atop his perfectly laden steed. The vast elephant was the color of black antimony and it streamed from its temples like a mountain drenched by a great rain.* It was lit up by its rider, who with his garlands and snowy parasol hung above the creature like the moon cradled in the Pleiades. Meanwhile like Shakra before the Himalayan gods Yudhi\u00b7shthira stood before the great flashing swords and jewels that picked out his own broad army of mighty kings. He gazed upon the unearthly and invincible horde that approached him, and then he turned to Prishata's grandson and spoke. ________\n\n20.15\n\n20.20\n\n\"O rider of the turtledovecolored horses. Whatever course you choose my liege make sure that the priest does not have me in chains by the day's end.\"\n\ndhrishta\u00b7dyumna spoke.\n\nDrona may try but he will not have his way, good king. I will drive Drona back and all his kind with him. As long as I live, o son of Kuru, you have nothing to fear. Drona cannot better me in battle.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nAt this promise Drupada's mighty son drove his turtle-dovecolored steeds at Drona, scattering arrows as he went. The unwelcome sight of Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna swam before the priest's eyes and for just a moment a flicker of dismay fell __________\n\n20.25\n\n173\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nacross them. Your son Durmukha bane of foes also saw Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna's sally and he rode out to meet him in defense of his commander. O Bharata a loud and bloody struggle began between Durmukha and the grandson of Prishata. In moments Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna had cast a net of arrows across him and a great mass of shafts upon Bharad\u00b7vaja's son. Laboring beneath his attack your Durmukha looked across at Drona and saw him vanishing in arrows and sent at Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna a dizzying volley of his own myriad darts. The Kuru and Panchala warriors fought close while Drona pulled away and reaved Yudhi\u00b7shthira's host, and as he opened fissures everywhere in Partha's ranks like banks of cloud split by a gale for a moment my king the battle took on a wild beauty of its own, before madness and chaos engulfed it once again.\n\n20.30\n\nNeither friend nor foe could be told apart O majesty and we could but cry out and guess at who stood before us. Light brighter than rays of the sun flashed from head jewels and medallions and armor and chains. Pennants fluttered among beasts and cars and horses like cranes scattered across a dark sky. Men slew men and horses kicked high and killed horses and cars crushed cars and elephants slew elephants. Bearing their tattered flags the huge beasts filled the fray with blood and noise as they tangled legs and dragged one another behind them and struck tusks that sparked with fire and smoke. Between torn banners and the sparks thrown from their jaws they loomed like crackling thunderheads, and like a dark autumn sky the earth was thick with them roaring and rolling and streaming in musth.\n\n20.35\n\n20.40\n\n175\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nThe cries of those magnificent beasts as spear and javelin and shaft went into them were like the roars of clouds in a storm. I saw elephants tremble as they were pierced through by lances and arrows, others running in pursuit of the death wails of their kind. I saw hides torn open by tusks. The sounds of pain were as chilling as omens in the heavens. Galloping together they crashed against one another and then carried on beneath the sharp bite of the goad as riders struck riders with spear and arrow and toppled to earth with their steeds, weapons and hooks flying from their lifeless hands. Riderless elephants blared and galloped among one another like shredded clouds and the great things dragged the dead and fallen and fallen swords with them as they coursed together across the plain and fell in howls of pain from wounds old or fresh from clubs and spears and lances.\n\n20.45\n\n20.50\n\nThe slaughter was immense. The earth shook and resounded beneath an endless avalanche of bodies, and like a jagged mountain range elephants and riders and flags were heaped up upon it. Elephantriders were struck in the heart by archers' arrows and dropping their hooks or pikes fell from their seats, the elephants beneath them transfixed by irons and screeching like birds and trampling their own and their foes as they galloped away any way they could. O majesty. The earth was a mire of blood and gore full of the corpses of soldiers and bowmen and elephants and horses mangled by foot or tusk, a mire across which the survivors ground their wheels or if their wheels were gone merely dragged the shells of their cars. Everywhere there were chariots without drivers, horses without horsemen, panicked __________\n\n20.55\n\n177\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nelephants with their riders hanging dead in their stirrups. Son felled father and father felled son as the roar of battle drowned out all else. Men black as burnt trees with mud and gore sank ankledeep in the swamp, their armor and silk beblooded and their parasols and flags all the same scarlet. Piles of horses and piles of chariots and the fallen dead were turned over and torn again by the endless rolling of wheels. The battlefield became an ocean that bore in its great tides clumps of beasts and unbreathing men like weeds. Knots of chariots swirled in its currents. Warriors took to its waters in vessels that drew deep and somehow stayed afloat, but instead of the wealth and fame they had sought they found only the madness of war. Noble faces were no more, cut to pieces under the hail of arrows. No one could even recognise himself any more.\n\n20.60\n\nIt was Drona who had caused this pandemonium among his foes. And as the appalling welter of violence went on, he made his way towards Yudhi\u00b7shthira.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nYudhi\u00b7shthira saw Drona approach. He was not afraid and sent at him a torrent of arrows, but a ululation rose above his army like the sound made by an elephant herd when a lion eyes its bull.* Mighty Satyajit set his eyes upon Drona and keen to save his king rode out bravely for his teacher. Two warriors great as Indra and Virochana's son, the Panchala met his master in a contest that we watched with awe.\n\n21.1\n\n179\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nBold beyond bounds the great bowman Satyajit found his target first, with an arrow whetted to a point and loosed with wondrous skill. He followed it with five deadly shafts like snakes' tongues and they found Drona's driver and knocked his senses from him. Without pause with ten swift shafts he pierced Drona's horses and with ten and ten again he vented his fury on Drona's flankriders,* before wheeling furiously in a broad arc through the fray Satyajit punisher of foes cut straight through the pole upon which Drona's oriflamme flew. Drona watched his handiwork and deciding that the moment had come to tame his adversary the Teacher split the bow and arrows he held in his hands and with ten sharp shafts biting to the marrow pierced Satyajit himself. But fiery Satyajit lightly raised another bow my king and sent at Drona thirty vulturefeathered shafts. And Vrika saw Drona in Satyajit's jaws and with his own sharp arrows in myriad the Panchala added to Drona's pain. As the priest disappeared beneath their joint attack the Pandavas watched and whooped and pulled off their armor. Majesty it was difficult to believe one's eyes as Vrika now in an ecstasy of violent rage sent sixty arrows thudding into Drona's chest.\n\n21.5\n\n21.10\n\nShadowed beneath an arrow storm Drona rolled his eyes in fury and with all his power unleashed his attack. He broke Satyajit's bow in two and then did the same to Vrika's and then sent six shafts straight at him and his driver and his horses. With a wild gesture Satyajit swept up another bow and struck back at Drona and his arrows found the brahmin's horses and horseman and the pole of his flag. As Drona felt the force of the Panchala prince, his patience with the battle was gone and he loosed a great volley to finish off __________\n\n21.15\n\n181\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nhis foe. A huge shower of arrows fell onto Satyajit's steeds and standard, bow, quiver and both his flankriders but as bow upon bow broke in his grasp such was the Panchala's skill that again and again he fought back at the red horses of Drona. Yet at last his hubris did prove his undoing. With an arrowtip curved like a halfmoon Drona finally severed the great man's head.\n\n21.20\n\nTerror took Yudhi\u00b7shthira when he saw Drona slay one of the best warriors and greatest leaders that the Panchalas could boast, and he drove his swift steeds into retreat as the Panchalas and Kekayas and Matsyas, the Chedis, Karushas and Kosalas all saw what was happening and rode in to protect him. Making for Yudhi\u00b7shthira the Teacher rode on through his foes and flattened the lines arrayed before him like wind through a meadow's grass. As he plowed through line upon line it was Shatanika, the younger brother of Matsya, who set out to stop him. With six arrows still warm from the blacksmith's forge and bright as rays of the sun he found Drona and his horses and his driver. Eager to try his hand at the highest prize he clove to the deed and seeking Drona's blood sent a shower of arrows down upon the head of Bharad\u00b7vaja's son. But with a single sharp and deadly blow Drona struck from his body the man's head still framed by rings and still roaring. Next came the Matsyas and the Matsyas fell and then came the Chedis and the Chedis fell and the Karushas and the Kekayas, the Panchalas, Srinjayas and the Pandus. On Drona went, burning through the thickets of men like a fire raging through a forest.\n\n21.25\n\n183\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nThe surviving Srinjayas saw what the mighty Warrior of the Golden Chariot was doing, and they were afraid. All about us was the sigh of the string of the fine bow he brandished as his light fingers sent death among his foes. His hands worked quickly and out flew his cruel arrows through elephants and their riders, through horses, horsemen, men. Drona rushed on like a cloud wrapped in wind and roaring at the cold season's end, and fear fell upon us like hailstones. Churning through the men before him the great and merciful and mighty bowman wheeled across the plain. We looked to the horizon and there we saw Drona's goldfiligreed bow like lightning between clouds, and as he flew enveloped in splendor on through the fray we saw the fire altar blazing atop his standard, like snow gleaming on a mountain peak.\n\n21.30\n\n21.35\n\nThe destruction Drona wrought upon the Pandavas was like the ruin that Vishnu reverend to god and demon once brought upon the children of Diti. True in courage and true in word and mighty in his wisdom, he was a warrior of the highest eminence and now as the end of things approached Drona poured forth a river of death. Only the brave could look upon it. In its waves were pieces of armor and in its currents flagpoles bumped against the bodies of men. Not fish but swords swam in its fordless waters, and elephants and horses were where sharks might have been. In its ghastly flow were pebbles of human bone, drums and tambourines like tortoises, and breastplates and greaves were its boats and its evil verdure skeins of hair like weeds. Thick with arrows, sluggish with bows and budding limbs, its hot waves bore Kurus and Srinjayas across the bed of the battlefield __________\n\n21.40\n\n185\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nbetween banks lined with human skulls, while on its surface clubs bobbed like rafts and in its depths spears were its fish. It foamed with the ribbons of turbans and unraveled entrails were its watersnakes and blood and gore formed its gruesome clay. Away went the bodies of dead heroes and beneath the floating staves like felled trees went elephants like gharials and other warriors and riders whose corpses the river's bloody waters had swallowed like so many creepers and crocodiles, while along its distant shores loped eaters of carrion and packs of dogs and jackals and throngs of things awful and strange that hungered for human meat.\n\n21.45\n\nDrona tore his deadly course through their army as the great sons of Kunti tried to stop him. Your own kings and princes all raised their bows and kept close to our valiant and mighty champion as the Pandavas pressed together to meet him. It was like trying to compass the sun that scorches the earth beneath its rays.\n\nThey struck Drona in turn, Shikhandin with five true-worked arrows and Kshatra\u00b7dharman with twenty and Vasu\u00b7dana with five, then Uttamaujas with three of his own and Kshatra\u00b7deva with seven. Satyaki sent a whole volley down upon him and Yudha\u00b7manyu found Drona with seven arrows, while twelve missiles from Yudhi\u00b7shthira's bow struck home, and Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna loosed ten and Chekitana three. But Drona rode on and broke through and fell wild as an elephant upon the densely packed chariot line before him. King Kshema rode forth but Drona pinned him with nine of his arrows and he collapsed dead from his car. Wheeling across the plain Drona was now right at the enemy's center, riding through them as our savior, and he __________\n\n21.50\n\n187\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nneeded no refuge where he stood. Twelve arrows he sent at Shikhandin and twenty at Uttamaujas and with a barbed tip he ushered Vasu\u00b7dana into Death's realm. Eighty found Kshatra\u00b7dharman and six and twenty Sudakshina and with another hooked shaft he knocked Kshatra\u00b7deva from the seat of his car. Four and sixty Rukma\u00b7ratha loosed at Yudha\u00b7manyu and thirty at Satyaki and then he charged straight at his quarry. As he did, the great Panchala chieftain Kitava drove his swift steeds at Drona to protect Yudhi\u00b7shthira. But his bow and horse and driver all fell before the priest's attack and then Kitava himself fell dead from his car like a star falling from the sky.\n\n21.55\n\nThe howl for Drona's blood went up as the glorious prince of the Panchalas crashed down dead. But despite their rage Drona rippled through them, through Matsya and Kekaya and Srinjaya and Pandava. Satyaki and Chekitana and Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna and Shikhandin, Varddhakshemi and Chaitraseni and Sena\u00b7bindu and Suvarchas and all the other countless kings from lands beyond mention all lost to Drona and his Kurus that hour. Grasping at their great triumph your army struck down the stock of Pandu as they ran for their lives. O majesty and scion of Bharata. That hour it was the Panchalas, the Kekayas and the Matsyas who shook like demons beneath mighty Indra's blows.\n\n21.60\n\n21.65\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nA great battle. Did any of the Pandavas or Panchalas broken beneath Bharad\u00b7vaja's attack rise again? The noble glory of war brings warriors their renown. It is hallowed by the mighty and looms above the mean. And great Dro-___________________\n\n22.1\n\n189\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nna was a fighter clad in all the finery of battle. He was a supreme archer feared by his enemies. He was a man of action and a lover of truth and his devotion to Duryodhana was complete, for he had delivered up his life to war. There must have been fighters who saw dauntless Drona before them like a yawning tiger or an elephant in musth and yet still contended against him for fame. Tell me, Sanjaya. Tell me too of those who when the great son of Bharad\u00b7vaja was among them ran for their lives.\n\n22.5\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nThey all quailed and quivered beneath Drona's volleys: the Panchalas and the Pandavas and Matsyas and Srinjayas and the Chedis and Kekayas. On the torrent of lifestealing arrows that poured from Drona's bow they were carried off like driftwood on the high waves of the Sindhu. The Kauravas roared at the sight and with cries and shouts pressed in closer around the Pandava chariots, beasts and men. Surrounded by his guard at the very heart of his host, King Duryodhana looked on and called across to Karna, excitement and delight in his eyes.\n\nduryodhana spoke.\n\nLook at them o son of Radha. The Panchalas crouched in fear beneath the arrows of Drona's bow like forest deer before a lion. I doubt that they will trouble me again soon. They have been broken by our commander like tall trees broken by the wind. They are being crushed beneath the great archer's golden shafts. Look at them, at their disarray, how they twist and turn. We Kauravas and highsouled Drona have raked them up for burning. Look at how they back ______________________\n\n22.10\n\n191\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\ninto a circle like elephants ringed in fire. Drona's sharp arrows swarm among them like bees and each man scrabbles about desperate to save his skin. Look at Bhima quaking with anger. All alone in the thick of my army, no Pandava or Srinjaya in sight. How this in particular amuses me, Karna. Today Bhima must look with sad eyes upon a world remade in Drona's image. And he will have to abandon all hope he might have still for dominion, or for his life.\n\n22.15\n\nkarna spoke.\n\nO tiger in the forest of men. As long as he breathes, strongarmed Bhima will not surrender. Nor will he tolerate these roars he hears about him. None of the Pandavas will simply give way in this battle for they are mighty warriors and there is no weapon they cannot wield. Their minds are warped by bloodlust. They fight in the memory both of their time in the wilderness and of their many sufferings from poison and from fire and from the dice. I tell you this: the Pandavas will never abandon the battlefield. Bhima's valor has never been checked. The strongarmed son of Kunti will not lie down until he has slain hero upon hero. The very greatest fighters that now live will fall. By sword by bow and by spear he will crush them, beneath horse and elephant hooves and chariot wheels and the feet of men and beneath arrows and beneath staves horde upon horde will die. Satyaki's guard is at his side, and so too are the Panchalas, Kekayas and Matsyas. Then there are the other four Pandavas, supreme warriors of bravery and might. They will go forth to kill with Bhima's furious cries in their ears. Vrikodara's will is what they seek to make good and they __________\n\n22.20\n\n193\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nwill gather about Drona like banks of cloud about the sun. They are men bound by a single goal. Like moths that live but a moment in this world they will descend upon the flame that is our noble commander and he will have no one to protect him. Remember this. Their mastery of the arts of war is matched only by their resilience. Something great and terrible hangs over Bharad\u00b7vaja's son. We must stay close to the course that Drona takes, lest like wolves hunting an elephant the Pandavas reach him and tear him apart.\n\n22.25\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nO majesty, King Duryodhana listened to Radha's son and with his brothers rolled up alongside Drona's chariot. Then a great clamor arose and the Pandavas rode out as one behind fine steeds of many shades. And their hearts burned for the death of Drona.\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nTell me, Sanjaya, of all the banners and the chariots that Bhima's wild host brought at Drona.\n\n23.1\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nGlimpsing Vrikodara behind his brindled horses, the mighty son of Shini swung about his silver steeds. Hardy Yudha\u00b7manyu angrily spurred on his dappled horses and wheeled towards Drona's chariot, while behind dovecolored horses fleet of foot and harnessed in gold there appeared Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna, prince of the Panchalas. Kshatra\u00b7dharman turned his bay team and made straight for his old teacher, for he was sworn to the warrior code and clung to his noble calling. On came Shikhandin's son Kshatra\u00b7deva, __________\n\n23.5\n\n195\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\ndriving on wellbedecked horses the colour of lotus petals and with spots white as jasmine flowers around their eyes. The quick Kamboja breeds that bore Nakula down upon us wore harnesses of parrot feathers beautiful to behold. Wrathful Uttamaujas was carried straight into the dense fray o Bharata as if on driven clouds, and into the crash of battle with his sword upraised horses speckled like partridges and quick as squalls bore Saha\u00b7deva. The steeds of the tiger Yudhi\u00b7shthira had black tails and coats white as ivory and they raced on swift as the wind, and swift as the wind were the horses draped in the finest gold that carried the troops around him.\n\n23.10\n\nNext to the king stood another, the mighty bowman Drupada, king of the Panchalas, swathed in gold and ringed by his sentinel troop, borne magisterially into that royal array on gentle steeds, starred palominos mild and nimble however loud the din of battle became. Virata arrived swiftly in their wake, and other champions, the Kaikeyas, Shikhandin, Dhrishta\u00b7ketu, each surrounded by his guard and each drawing up alongside the Matsya lord. The fine steeds that drew the vengeful king blazed like the trumpet flower. His son's fleetfooted team were banded in gold, their coats yellow as sandalwood, and under ruby pennants and behind beasts the color of cochineal those valiant masters of war the brothers Kaikeya glinted in their mail, golden chains festooning their necks. They were stormclouds dense with rain.\n\n23.15\n\n197\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nYoked before his chariot, mild horses coppery red like the dawn or unkilned clay drew the Panchala prince Shikhandin, his splendors untrammeled, and behind him came six of the twelve hundred Panchala champions. The horses belonging to the son of the lion Shishu\u00b7pala were patterned like antelope and they danced, my lord, as they drew his car.\n\n23.20\n\nThe bull of the Chedis fabled for his might, invincible Dhrishta\u00b7ketu, drove dapples from Kamboja, and fine breeds from Sindhu the shade of strawsmoke galloped before Brihat\u00b7kshatra, the young Kekaya prince. Shikhandin's other son brave Riksha\u00b7deva drove roans the color of lotuses born in Balkh with spots of white around their eyes and rich livery about their hides, as brightharnessed gentletempered horses with coats like silk bore through the fray Sena\u00b7bindu, burner of foes, and steeds dotted like curlews took the young and tender son of the king of Kashi, a warrior now but barely a man, deep into the field of battle. Prativindhya's horses were white with black necks, and my king those gorgeous creatures carried their prince along with the swiftness of thought itself.\n\n23.25\n\nStallions white as gram blossom took Suta\u00b7soma into war, the son with the light of a thousand moons whom Bhima\u00b7sena owed to Soma. The boy was born while the soma* roared, in the city of the Kurus known as Udayendu, and thus he got his name. Like rosemallow and the flower of calotropis were the horses so beloved to their master Shatanika son of Nakula. Draupadi's second son the tiger Shruta\u00b7karman answered the call to battle with turquoise roans and charioteers hidden in gold, and her third, Shruta\u00b7kirti, a well of wisdom and __________\n\n23.30\n\n199\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nPartha's likeness, was borne by the finest horses touched by the color of the bluejay's wing. Across the field galloped the bays of Prince Abhimanyu, Krishna and Partha twinned in one man, and tall and powerful were the stallions that drew Yuyutsu, who had left behind his ninety-nine brothers and chosen fight for the Pandava cause.\n\n23.35\n\nInto that welter came brilliant Varddhakshemi, before whom cantered caparisoned steeds strawstalk pale, and the whitefooted warmbloods of Prince Sauchitti went mild into battle in armor pinioned in gold, gold too the armor that plated the silken backs of Shrenimat's tranquil chargers, and gold the chains about their necks. Chestnut horses galloped before Satya\u00b7dhriti, maven of heaven bow and spear, alongside the grays the shade of the turtledove that drew Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna lord of the Panchala army, who had chosen Drona as his share. He it was whom they followed, Satya\u00b7dhriti and wardrunk Sauchitti, Shrenimat, Vasu\u00b7dana and Kashi's son Abhibhu, and with their teams of Kamboja thoroughbreds fleet and ribboned in gold, terrible as the spirits of death and darkness, six thousand noble Kambojas, with swords upraised and their banners and chariots glinting in gold. On they drove their fine steeds of many shades as they rolled behind Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna, and bows bent they were ready to cast arrows upon their foes. They were men for whom death was but a trifle.\n\n23.40\n\n201\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nEncircled in pure gold and with coats like liverbrown silk the great steeds of Chekitana galloped unwearied, and Purujit, chief of the Kuntis and uncle of Arjuna, drove beasts faithful and fine with striae like rainbows, while horses starbright like pieces of the firmament carried King Rochamana into the fray against us. Roans soaring like eagles and with the luster of the blue lotus pulled Sudaman, skewbalds red as hares with streaks white as dhaora blooms bore Sinha\u00b7sena, the son of a Panchala cowherd, and the horses that drew glorious Janam\u00b7ejaya tiger of the Panchalas were the color of mustardseed flowers. The bud of the black gram bloomed in the milkwhite backs and moonpale faces of the strong and swift steeds garlanded in gold that Druta the Panchala drove. Handsome and vigorous were the horses bearing Danda\u00b7dhara, their coats the color of reed stalks touched with the hue of lotus anthers. As if dancing into war, duns brown as donkeys and striped like the trunks of raintrees along their backs drew Vyaghra\u00b7datta, and speckled bright and black were the bays of Sudhanvan, tiger of the Panchalas, and bright the wreaths that decorated them.\n\n23.45\n\n23.50\n\nAglow as with lightning and sparkling like fireflies, the bright shapes of Chitrayudha's steeds dazzled the eye, and the stallions that bore up Sukshatra son of the Kosala king wore glittering chains about hides spotted like sheldrakes, and tall and resplendent beasts, mild dapples with manes and tails braided in rivergold drew the pious Kshemi. In one tone, all white were Shukla's mares, banner, breastplate and bow, white he was as he rode. And horses of the coast aglow like the moon bore up ferocious Chandra\u00b7sena son of Samudra\u00b7sena.\n\n23.55\n\n203\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nBright garlands and wellburnished gold bound the roans the color of the blue lotus that took Chitra\u00b7ratha son of Shibi into the melee, and noble breeds of dark blossom* fretted in white and brown bore battlecrazed Ratha\u00b7sena. Patacchara\u00b7hantri whom men call hero of heroes rode behind steeds versicolored as birds of paradise, and with armor, sword and standard all rainbowbright as the weapons in his hands Chitra\u00b7malya came on behind fine horses vivid as flame-of-the-forest. In one tone, all dark were Nila's team, banner, breastplate and bow, dark he was as he rode. Gemlike burst Chitra's bow, banner and mail with scintillae, bright his horse's livery and drapes, bright he was as he rode. Fine steeds blue as waterlily petals drew Hema\u00b7varna son of Rochamana and whiteballed purebred warhorses the color of hens' eggs and striped like reed stems along their spines bore Danda\u00b7ketu.\n\n23.60\n\n23.65\n\nWhen his father and king of his folk was slain by Keshava and his door hung broken and his friends had all fled, Pandya had gone to study the art of combat with Bhishma, Drona, Rama and Kripa. And when his skill matched the skill of Rukmin, Karna, Arjuna and even Krishna, he yearned to smash the City of Doors and wage a war across the whole of the broad earth. But his elders discouraged him, and out of compassion for his friends he set aside his old animosity and settled down to rule his kingdom. Wealth and power had come to him. Now, carrying the sign of the antelope, he bore down on Drona with his celestial bow drawn in his hands. Horses clad in mail from Vidura glowed before his car with the light of moonbeams, and horses the hue of waterwillow drew fourteen legions in his train.\n\n23.70\n\n205\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nUnder the banner of the chariot wheel there came the legendary Ghatotkacha behind horses of mysterious aspect, their origin arcane. Then there was the man who alone ignored the censure of all the assembled council of Bharatas and who turned his back on his own dreams and came to Yudhi\u00b7shthira on bended knee. That man was Brihanta of the bloodred eyes and mighty arms and now he stood on a golden car yoked to powerful muscled breeds from Aratta. Golden horses massed behind wise Yudhi\u00b7shthira where he stood at the head of his host, rare king among rare creatures. His men rode out for war together, noble and godlike and rippling with the different colors of their fabulous steeds.\n\n23.75\n\nWith their glittering banners Bhima\u00b7sena with his fierce devotees looked my king like Indra and the denizens of heaven. Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna outshone all who rode near him but brighter than even he was Bharad\u00b7vaja's son. The staff of his standard was all dark luster, majesty, wrapped in the skin of a black antelope, and his ascetic's gourd was inlaid intricately with gold. On Bhima\u00b7sena's standard I saw a great lion made of silver* whose eyes were jewels from Vidura. I saw on the chariot pole of the mighty Pandava and overlord of Kurus a brilliant image of the moon ringed in planets and alongside it I saw the two broad drums called Joy and Rejoicing from whose skins terror beat forth. On Nakula's car I saw raised high a great carven goldbacked sharabha, fierce and fell to behold. A silver flamingo trailing pennants and bells crowned Saha\u00b7deva's stout pole and atop the staves of the sons of Draupadi were images of Dharma, Vayu, Indra and the Ashvins. A golden hornbill forged in enchanted __________\n\n23.80\n\n23.85\n\n207\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nflame adorned Abhimanyu's standerd, and atop Ghatotkacha's there roosted a vulture, sign of the car drawn by horses wild as Ravana's were of old.\n\nThen there were the weapons. The righteous King Yudhi\u00b7shthira held the celestial bow of Indra and the celestial bow in Bhima's hands came from the god of the wind. The bow crafted of heaven's stuff that Phalguna held had been fashioned by Brahma for the protection of the three worlds, while Nakula and Saha\u00b7deva received theirs from Vishnu and the Ashvins. The fearsome magic bow that Ghatotkacha held came from Pulastya, and the jewels of archery borne by the Draupadeyas were named Raudra, Agneya, Kaubera, Yamya and Giri\u00b7sha. Subhadra's son had earned the respect of Rama son of Rohini and o king he had given the boy the fine and fearsome weapon that he now held in his hands.\n\n23.90\n\nThese and many like them were the standards and statues whose patterns were bright above the heads of our foes and signed the coming of our sorrows. We too stood beneath our banners and no coward stood among us. Drona's force was as full of color as painted canvas. You could hear the names of the heroes echoing across the plain as they rode at Drona, and my king to hear them you may have thought you were at a wedding rather than a war.\n\n23.95\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nO Sanjaya. Even the army of heaven would grow weak with fear at the sight of Vrikodara and his fellow kings steeled for war. Be certain that this man is well acquainted with destiny. In him are all the myriad enigmas of this life __________\n\n24.1\n\n209\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nforeclosed. His residence in exile was long. His brother Yudhi\u00b7shthira wore a beard and animal skin and dwelt in the wilderness, and there he languished, forgotten by all the world. Now he rides at the head of the great army he has summoned to war. What else could be born of my son's encounter with fate?\n\nIt is true that a man is formed only after he has come up against his destiny. What befalls him is never what he would wish for himself. The dice brought misery and ruin upon Yudhi\u00b7shthira but chance gave him friends again. \"The Kekayas, the men of Kashi, the Kosalas, the Chedis and the kings of Vanga have all taken up my cause. My allies are countless, father. Partha cannot say the same.\" This was what my unhappy son once told me, Sanjaya. If Prishata's grandson reached past the strong defenses before him and into the midst of our massive army and struck Drona dead, then what can we call it but fate? Drona was a great master of every weapon in the world who fought exultant beside kings. How could Death even step close to him? O blackest calamity. My head swims. If Bhishma and Drona are dead then I want no more of life. Sanjaya you are my eyes and my hands. I fear for my sons. O Sanjaya. Vidura* warned me about the dreams I had for my sons. His prophecies have all come true for Duryodhana, and for myself. I have lost Duryodhana to the cruelties of his foes. But if I can still have a father's hope then I pray that a wretched death is not the fate that befalls all of my children.\n\n24.5\n\n24.10\n\n211\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nA man who turns his back on what is right is but a fool grasping at pennies, lost to the world. He makes his bed among the worms. O Sanjaya. What is left of this wide realm now that its lifeblood has been stopped and its great example crushed into the earth? I see nothing. There can be nothing when the two that made it great with their grace and to whose example the rest of us always aspired have departed from it.\n\n24.15\n\nTell me how the battle went. Who fought on? Who was too weak to fight and turned and fled? Tell me how the bull Dhanan\u00b7jaya fared in battle and of the terrors that deadly Vrikodara brought against us. Tell me how my men dwindled in their ranks and collapsed dead upon the dead of the Pandavas. What went through your mind when you stood among the dead? Who of my warriors felled whom?\n\n24.20\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nDisaster loomed before us as the Pandavas gathered themselves together once again. We watched Drona disappearing behind them as if they were clouds rushing to engulf the sun. A hot wind rose up and filled our eyes with dust. Gone from our gaze for a time we thought Drona gone from the earth as well.\n\n25.1\n\nDuryodhana saw the dark intentions of the mighty archers as they rolled towards us and he spoke sharply to his warriors.\n\n\"Rulers of men. I call on all your power and all the will that is in you and which gives you life for as has been ordained the Pandavas are now upon us. Stand your ground.\" ________\n\n213\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nSpying Bhima in the distance Durmarshana raised his bow and fired and rode off to meet him in combat and thus make safe Drona's life. Mad as Death come to this rite of blood, he heaped arrows upon Bhima's head, and as he rushed towards him Bhima stung him back with arrows of his own. So it was that the pandemonium began once again.\n\n25.5\n\nOn each side were heroes mighty and wise and loyal to the wishes of their kings. They stood face to face with their foes and none of them any longer feared for his own fate or feared for the fate of the kingdom.\n\nO majesty. First it was Shini's son who rode bold and ablaze across the plain and while it was Drona whom he sought none but Krita\u00b7varman stood in his path. They met in fury as volley struck volley and the two of them came at one another mad as elephants in must. Kshatra\u00b7dharman bore down upon the prince of Sindhu, but he was ready for him and he raised his mighty bow and drove his great foe back and away from Drona beneath a flock of whetted shafts. Fury blazed up in Kshatra\u00b7dharman. He split the bow held in the prince's hands and tore holes in his banner and sent ten heavy shafts through all the joints in the crafting of his armor. But in the dance of battle Saindhava was still light on his feet and he swept up another bow and the arrows cast in iron that he loosed found their target. On came bold and strong Yuyutsu loyal to the Pandava cause and brother to the warrior Subahu, who stood ready to meet him. Beneath a hail of his kin's shafts Yuyutsu raised high his own fine bow and struck Subahu in both of his arms with twin arrows strong as a gate's bolts and tipped in gleaming burrs. Elsewhere like a barque weathering the stormy sea __________\n\n25.10\n\n25.15\n\n215\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nthe Madra monarch fought with the best of the Pandavas Yudhi\u00b7shthira, whose essence is the order of things. The righteous king buried the lord of the Madras in a flurry of biting shafts, but then with a cry the Madra lord struck him back hard a full four and sixty times. Nonetheless Pandu's will would not be bettered and drawing two barbed darts he let them fly and cut Madra's flag away from its pole and knocked the bow from his hands. His victim's cries redoubled. Those who watched roared their acclaim.\n\nAt the head of his troops came King Drupada and it was Bahlika and his guard whose hail of arrows held him back. These two great men and their soldiers fought a bloody battle. The two kings were like elephants wild and inflamed as they strove to defend their herds. Vinda and Anuvinda born in the land of Avanti brought their legions towards the Matsyas led by King Virata as Bali once led his army against Agni and Indra. And when Kekaya met Matsya the violence was as great as when god ever met demon, for fear rode in that battle with no one, not in saddle nor palanquin nor car.\n\n25.20\n\nDown came Shatanika son of Nakula, weaving nets of arrows across the sky, and it was Bhuta\u00b7karman lord of the halls who stood firm to meet him. But Nakula's heir aimed three of his ironclad arrows with a perfect eye and when he loosed his bowstring they flew and took Bhuta\u00b7karman's head and two arms from his body. Suta\u00b7soma also fought his way towards Drona, dashing forward in a cloud of his arrows. It was his father's brother Vivinshati this time who slowed his valiant assault. His blood fired by the heat of battle, Suta\u00b7soma was poised to strike a death blow, yet when __________\n\n25.25\n\n217\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nhe had found his uncle with his trueflying shafts he chose not to ride in and finish him off. Six of Bhima\u00b7ratha's swift and iron shafts sent Shalva down to lodge at Yama's abode, and his horse and driver followed close behind. Tending steeds bright as peacocks Shruta\u00b7karman rode towards us too and his opponent o my king was none other than your other grandson Chaitraseni. Each of these two of your formidable heirs strove hard, as each sought the other's death and each had the hopes of a father for which to fight.\n\nWhile the battle raged about him Drona's son saw Prativindhya standing near and minded of his own father's will he loosed his arrows. Flaring up in anger Prativindhya sent his own sharp darts against Ashvatthaman where he stood firm in his father's cause beneath the banner of the lion's tail. At the same time o great lord the Draupadeyas scattered their arrows outpouring from their bows like seeds strewn in the spring. As Shruta\u00b7kirti the mighty son of Draupadi and Arjuna made his way towards Drona it was Duhshasana's son who was there to meet him. The Dark One's equal born of the god's sister sent three wellaimed arrows cleaving through Dauhshasani's bow and standard and then rode on ever closer to where Drona would be found. The hero of heroes Patacchara\u00b7hantri whose honor is known by the men of both the armies bore down, o king, upon Lakshmana.\n\n25.30\n\nLakshmana managed to hold him back for a moment. But o Bharata the bow that Lakshmana held was cracked in two as his standard fell and his foe sent a dazzling tide of arrows down upon him. Then youth met youth as Shikhandin son of Yajnya\u00b7sena bore down upon quickwitted Vikarna. The priest's son cast a veil of darts upon your own _______________________\n\n25.35\n\n219\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nbut Vikarna shook it off in a fiery display of might. Angada too made for Drona and Uttamaujas drove him back with the force of his volleys. Two lions they were and they and all their soldiery fought a harsh struggle that was a sight awesome to behold.\n\nValiant Purujit rode at Drona, and it was the might and the hooked darts of the great archer Durmukha that slowed his attack. Purujit fired a single arrow and it landed dead between Durmukha's brows. There his face hung like a lotus atop its stem. Beneath the red flashes of their pennants the five brothers Kaikeya rode for Drona and it was Karna who sent his showers of wood down upon their heads. Blasted by the force of his attack, they sent back showers of their own before Karna hid them all once again behind the torrents flowing from his bow. Those reeds closed over them all, and soon Karna and the brothers disappeared as their arrows heaped up above drivers, flags and chariots. Two trios struck one another as your own sons Durjaya, Jaya and Vijaya came against Nila, the prince of Kashi and Yatsena. Their encounter was a fierce one and we watched in wonder, for it was as if a lion, a tiger and a hyena had met a buffalo, a bull and a bear. Satvata too made for Drona but the brothers Kshema\u00b7dhurti and Brihanta whittled him with their keen darts. It was like two elephants wild with the season finding a lion in the woods and it too was a wondrous sight to see.\n\n25.40\n\n25.45\n\n221\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nThe king of the Chedis fought fiercely and fired high to keep back from Drona Ambashtha, devotee of war. But Ambashtha struck the king with a single marrowpiercing bolt carved from bone and he dropped his bow and quiver and fell from his chariot to the earth. And Kripa of the high stock of Sharadvat firing reeds thin as splinters drove back from Drona's circle the wrathful Vrishni Varddhakshemi. _________\n\nDazzling fighters both, the sight of them locked in combat was a vision to eclipse all others and any who watched were unable to look away. Glory it was that Bhuri\u00b7shravas son of Soma\u00b7datta earnt for Drona as he made his stand against the tireless King Manimat. But Manimat cracked his whip across the backs of his steeds and knocking away his enemy's flashing bow sent his banner, driver and parasol flying clear from his car. With a blow from his tempered sword vengeful Bhuri\u00b7shravas sent Manimat tumbling from his chariot and then hastily despatched his steed and standard and the very planks on which he had stood. Planting his feet firmly he took up another bow, gathered the reins and drove his horses straight, my king, for the Pandava line. Hardy Pandya flew at Vrisha\u00b7sena like Indra flying against the demon horde, but Vrisha\u00b7sena stilled his passage with a cluster of his shafts.\n\n25.50\n\n25.55\n\n223\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nWith blocks and bars and knives and spears and stones and iron and wood, and with daggers and hammers and wheels and sticks and clubs, with sand and wind, fire, water, with piles of ash and clods of earth and palm trees pulled from the soil, Ghatotkacha smashed and blasted and crushed and scattered the terrified army before him.* On he went in search of Drona. But fiend against fiend Alambusa came to meet him and as he came he hurled at him his own vast arsenal of weapons and missiles. These two were the greatest of their strange stock and they fought a battle akin to the contest of old between Shambara and the king of the deathless gods.\n\n25.60\n\nIn tumult and beauty the war raged between the Pandavas and your own. In their hundreds soldiers and riders and elephants and chariots fought duels in a gathering the like of which had been neither known nor seen before. At stake was the survival or death of Drona and it was on his fate that we all hung. O great king. Such were the many battles spread out across the plain. And they were awful and manycolored and cruel.\n\n25.65\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nAs duel after duel played out that day, how did my own bold children fare against the sons of Pritha? O Sanjaya. What befell the Beholden at Arjuna's hands? And him at theirs?\n\n26.1\n\n225\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nSo indeed did hero meet hero. For his part your son Duryodhana led the elephants at his command against Bhima. As when wild beasts spar whether elephants or bulls Bhima heard the king's challenge and rode out to meet his force. O father. The might of Bhima's two arms and the wisdom of his warcraft were too much for those creatures. Almost no time passed before Pritha's son broke through the wall of elephants. In musth they streamed from their mountainous heights as Bhima's iron arrows brought them low and stilled their frenzy. Like a wind whirling through rainclouds Bhima son of fire and air simply blew their ranks apart. Radiating arrows through those beasts he shone like the risen sun that casts its beams upon the living world, _________\n\nand like so many dark clouds hanging veined in light those gray beasts were picked out by his deadly shafts. As the warrior sprung from the wind wrought destruction upon his herd, Duryodhana came in close and fired at him his sharp arrows. But Bhima's eyes twinkled like drops of blood and he barely paused before sending back his own sharpened and feathered darts to drive Duryodhana into Death's arms. Duryodhana was pierced in every limb. But still he burned with anger, and with a grim smile on his face struck Bhima\u00b7sena once again with arrows aglow like rays of the sun. With one shaft Pandu's son tore through the jeweled serpent glittering with gems that adorned Duryodhana's flag, and then with another sliced through the curve of his bow.\n\n26.10\n\n26.5\n\n227\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nO sire, all this time Anga had been watching Duryodhana's travails against Bhima from his perch atop his steed and at that moment rode out to attack. Anga's elephant came towards Bhima\u00b7sena like a thunderous cloud. But as it came the Pandava sank an arrow deep into its skull and on it tore right through its body and sank into the ground behind it. Like a rock knocked from a ridge by a lightning bolt the creature sagged and buckled beneath its rider and before the man's body could strike the earth Dogbelly deftly severed the head of that barbarian king with a single lethal shaft. As soon as the mighty Anga fell, the whole rest of his division of horses and elephants and chariots scattered and fled, and more soldiers lost their lives in the crush of foot wheel and hoof.\n\n26.15\n\nWhile all around him line upon line broke and fell away, one man stood his ground. Prag\u00b7jyotisha spurred his bull at Bhima and it pounded towards him like the creature upon whose back Indra had ridden to victory over the spawn of Diti and Danu. Coiling its truck and rolling its eyes the wild beast leapt at the Pandava and brought its two forelegs down hard upon his car, crushing it to splinters and killing all his horses. Bhima was now on foot and he slipped and disappeared beneath the forequarters of the creature. The Pandava knew full well that another's arrow had wounded the beast and he did not run but darted alongside it and struck it sharply with his hand, riling the vast bloodcrazed beast still further. At his blow the creature suddenly spun its huge and mighty bulk about like a potter's wheel and made straight for Vrikodara. Now unsheltered Bhima stood within inches of its great head and it swung its trunk and _________\n\n26.20\n\n26.25\n\n229\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nstruck him on his knees then wrapped it around his neck and began to strangle him to death. But Bhima\u00b7sena twisted about and slithered from its noose and leapt down once more beneath its body. He waited and watched until his own army's elephant line was near enough, and then he slipped from his hiding place and made quickly for its protection.\n\nIt was at that moment my lord that the cry went up for all to hear. Bhima had died, they said, beneath the feet of an elephant. Panic at the words flew through the Pandava ranks my king, and they all rushed to the place where Dogbelly had stood. King Yudhi\u00b7shthira heard that his brother was dead and brought the Panchalas in a great circle about Bhaga\u00b7datta. Around Bhaga\u00b7datta's chariot there now stood the deadliest and greatest of his enemy. They sent a hundred then a thousand arrows up into the sky.\n\n26.30\n\nSwinging his hooked goad the mountain king gathered up the fleet darts as they fell and then spurred on his bull at the Pandus and Panchalas who stood before him. O lord of these fields, the bravery with which old Bhaga\u00b7datta fought from his steed was awesome to watch. First to meet him was the king of the Land of the Ten Lakes, who cut galloping across the plain towards him on the back of his own wild beast. The two monstrous animals clashed like the mountains mantled in trees and borne on wings in battles of old. King Prag\u00b7jyotisha turned his creature about and it stepped aside as the other came past and it drove its tusk to make a mortal wound through the flank of Dasharnava's steed. The palanquin slipped from the animal's back, and with seven spears like the rays of the sun Bhaga\u00b7datta transfixed the foe that it held.\n\n26.35\n\n231\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nBut as he did so Yudhi\u00b7shthira brought his great division of chariots closer to King Bhaga\u00b7datta, cutting him off entirely from the Kurus. Surrounded by warriors in their chariots Bhaga\u00b7datta blazed atop his steed like a fire dancing in a mountain wood. The beast prowled at the center of that dense and terrible circle of warriors as they raised their bows and sent up showers of arrows. King Prag\u00b7jyotisha gathered in the reins and drove the great elephant straight at the chariot of Yuyudhana. The beast grabbed the car still holding Shini's son and hurled it violently back, sending Yuyudhana spinning into retreat. But his horseman mastered the strong Sindhu steeds and made for Satyaki and there drew to a halt at his side. As he did, Bhaga\u00b7datta's elephant found an opening and rushed through and past the ring of chariots and crashed among the soldiers behind.\n\n26.40\n\n26.45\n\nThey scattered in all directions. Even the mightiest of men felt the pulse of terror and though a single beast thundered at their heels they thought it a hundredhead of soldiers in pursuit. In olden times the king of the gods had mounted his elephant Airavata and beaten back the demons, and now Bhaga\u00b7datta beat back the Pandavas from atop his own steed as a vast and horrible noise gathered from the hooves and feet of the Panchalas' horses and elephants fleeing wherever they could. With the Pandus racing past him Bhima commandeered another chariot and charged once more in a mad attack at Prag\u00b7jyotisha, but when he was close enough the creature doused his steeds in a trumpet of water from its trunk and they pulled him off course in panic. Then it was Ruchi\u00b7parvan son of Kritin who attacked, tall as Death in his car. He let down a shower of arrows. But with a single __________\n\n26.50\n\n233\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nwellfashioned shaft the splendored mountain king sent Ruchi\u00b7parvan away to the broken harbor of the sun.* Another hero dead, and then it was the turn of Saubhadra to attack. He came against the beast with the other sons of Draupadi and with Chekitana, Dhrishta\u00b7ketu and Yuyutsu. Like clouds streaming rain they poured sheets of arrows down upon their quarry and bellowed and bayed for his blood. With his thumbs and his heels and his hook Prag\u00b7jyotisha held his steed fast and drove it on and it went quickly with its ears rigid and its eyes fixed and its trunk winding in the air, and then my king it brought down its foot on Yuyutsu's horses and crushed the life from his driver as Yuyutsu leapt in terror from his car, and still my lord came the baying and the bellowing as once more the Pandava warriors poured arrows flowing down upon that king of beasts.\n\n26.55\n\nI saw your son fly past Saubhadra's car as from his high seat King Bhaga\u00b7datta cast down arrows upon his foes and shone there bright as the sun with its beams fanned through the living world. They struck back at him, Arjuna's son with twelve arrows and Yuyutsu with ten, and with three and three again the Draupadeyas and Dhrishta\u00b7ketu found their target. Thick with the spines driven into him by his foes the elephant shone like a great raincloud woven with the rays of the sun. But with mettle and skill Prag\u00b7jyotisha drove the creature on, and though suffering from their blows still the beast sent its foes flying left and right as it went. For a time Bhaga\u00b7datta drove their army as a cowherd drives with his staff his animals through the woods, and the noise of the progeny of Pandu in desperate flight rang like the cries of a bird snatched in an eagle's talons.\n\n26.60\n\n26.65\n\n235\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nO king. Goaded on by that curved hook the lord of the elephant kingdom like a winged mountain of legend sent fear among his foes. They were like seafarers on a wild ocean. O majesty a great thunder born of the terror and the horses and chariots and elephants and kings that churned the plain in flight spread across the earth and filled all the zones of the sky. A mighty beast had carried one king deep into the fold of his despisers as once long ago Virochana had been enrobed in the protections of his priests and traveled deep in battle into the army of the gods. All across the plain, dust and fire billowed and blew and engulfed the men as they fought, and somewhere among them but a single beast seemed to multiply into a hundred of its kind.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nO illustrious king you asked of Partha's acts in the war. Listen now and I will tell you what he did that day.\n\n27.1\n\nAs Bhaga\u00b7datta flew through the Pandavas' midst the risen dust filled Arjuna's eyes and the cries of men his ears. He turned and spoke to Krishna.\n\n\"O slayer of Madhu. King Bhaga\u00b7datta flies abroad on his steed: this sound presages his work. An elephantrider of the caliber of the gods, he has few if any peers on this earth whom I could name. The tusked beast he rides is one of the strongest of its kind, an animal of war unbowed by fatigue and untamed by any blade raised against it. It heeds neither the bite of swords nor the lick of flame for to be sure o Pure One it could destroy by itself this wide army of Pandu's sons. There are only two who can withstand it and they are you and I. So let us make haste for the King of Lights. He is an arrant believer in his strength and his _________________\n\n27.5\n\n237\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nsteed. Wild though he is I will send him as a welcome guest to the home of Bala's killer.\"\n\nKrishna heard the Left Handed Archer and brought the chariot around to where the Pandavas were being forced asunder beneath Bhaga\u00b7datta's attack. As he did so, from behind they heard the mocking cries of the Beholden riding after in pursuit. Fourteen thousand they were, ten thousand Tri\u00b7gartas and four thousand others who had once followed Vasudeva. Watching his army buckling beneath Bhaga\u00b7datta's onslaught while his challengers jeered at his back Arjuna's heart was pulled in two, my king. He asked himself whether he ought to go to or from his brother's side and his mind raced between the two courses before him, until o sire of the Kurus it was his will to fight the Beholden that proved the sterner. The banner of the monkey fluttered above his head as Indra's son turned briskly about to make for the myriad chariots ranged behind him. This was exactly what Duryodhana had hoped for. Arjuna's confusion had been part of their plan. He had resolved his dilemma and chosen to seek the blood of his great foes, but in doing so he sprung their trap.\n\n27.10\n\n27.15\n\nThe mighty Beholden loosed at Arjuna a seething mass of wellwrought arrows and beneath it the son of Kunti and Krishna the reaver of men and their horses and their chariot all disappeared from view. Then, as panic gripped Janardana and sweat broke out on his brow, Pritha's son invoked the weapon of Brahma and blasted the sky all but clear. His foes began to fall in their hundreds. Severed hands still holding bows, bowstrings and arrows, and poles and horses and drivers fell to the earth. Elephants collapsed beneath dead _________\n\n27.20\n\n239\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nriders and lay upon the ground in their finery in piles of tree green and mountain gray and raincloud blue. Out they breathed their lives and out trailed their harnesses flailing and their reins and caparisons all torn to ribbons as the horses and horsemen cut into pieces by those keen arrows fell down dead to the earth. O my king then upon them came down the broken bodies of soldiers fallen beneath the iron shafts of the Diademed Warrior, and in their death grips were swords and spears, daggers, hammers and battleaxes. Heads the color of the morning sun and of the water lotus and the watery moon were cut away by Arjuna's arrows and tumbled down to the ground. And those fine arrows flashed across the host in a million hues like flames from his rage as they flew on their feathers to sup the breath of his foes. The whole army of the Beholden shook like a lotus pond turned over beneath the hooves of an elephant.\n\n27.25\n\nAll the denizens of heaven and earth sang Dhanan\u00b7jaya's praises that day. Madhava watched Partha son of Indra do his work. He raised his hands in reverence and when he spoke his voice was full of wonder.\n\n\"These are things that would even test the might of Kubera or Yama or Indra. In their hundreds and thousands I have seen the very best of the Beholden fall as one.\"\n\n27.30\n\nIndeed he had killed more of the Beholden than the number that still stood when Partha spoke to Krishna his next command.\n\n\"Make for Bhaga\u00b7datta,\" he said.\n\n241\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nPartha was keen to ride out and Krishna spurred forth the pale steeds swift as thought and mantled in gold and they flew towards Drona's line. As the best of the Kurus sallied forth to save his brothers from the flames of Drona so with his own brothers Susharman followed in his wake. The paladin of the white horses turned then and spoke to his indomitable friend.\n\n28.1\n\n\"Achyuta. Susharman and his brothers have challenged me to fight but our army is crumbling on its northern front. O slayer of Madhu my resolve is divided for the Beholden have riven it in two. Should I go to destroy them once and for all? Or should I help my suffering kin? Such is my dilemma. But you know which course we must take.\"\n\n28.5\n\nWithout a word the chieftain of the Dasharhas brought the chariot about to the place to where the Tri\u00b7garta lord called out his challenge to Pandu's son. Seven swift arrows from Arjuna's hands slammed into Susharman and then two barbed shafts rent apart the warrior's standard and bow and another six tipped in iron hastened the king's brother down to Death's withered kingdom. But Susharman took aim and he flung a spear at Vasudeva and a javelin of iron deadly as a snake straight at Arjuna. Three arrows from Arjuna's bow cut apart the javelin and three more the spear and then he canopied Susharman in a dizzying storm of reeds and my king as he raced on like the Thunderer beneath that gathering roiling mass there were none in your son's ranks who could halt his terrible advance. Like a fire through brushwood Dhanan\u00b7jaya rolled back across the plain and any warrior however great whom his arrows struck fell dead. No __________\n\n28.10\n\n243\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\ncreature can withstand the touch of fire and so it was that none could survive the high son of Kunti as he rushed along, and bearing down on Prag\u00b7jyotisha O majesty he rained arrows in a deluge upon the throngs that he found, flying through the air like broadwinged Garuda.\n\n28.15\n\nArjuna rose above them all. His bow was bent in a curve that brought sanctuary to those tribes of Bharata still without sin and tears to the eyes of his foes. For its aim in that war my king was the ruin of the house of your crooked son. O majesty, as Partha shook the host before him it shattered like a ship smashed against a rock. Ten thousand archers cruel and brave despaired of victory and defeat alike while opposite them without a trace of fear in his heart and now far beyond the bounds of reason Partha shouldered the great burden that was his as he had shouldered all those which had come before in that war, and like a young elephant in must trampling a brake of reeds into the ground he broke the men in his path like twigs.\n\n28.20\n\nYet from out of that ruined horde King Bhaga\u00b7datta came rearing towards Dhanan\u00b7jaya atop his great steed. Dhanan\u00b7jaya stood his ground and elephantrider crashed against chariotwarrior, each bedecked car and beast as scripture dictates. From high upon his elephant, like the supreme king of the gods atop a cloud, Bhaga\u00b7datta poured a sheet of arrows down onto Dhanan\u00b7jaya but arrow for arrow Indra's son matched him and broke up his attack. O Bharata, Prag\u00b7jyotisha blocked Arjuna's wooden rain and struck Partha and Krishna with arrows of his own. He bound them both in a warp of his darts then he drove his heels into the flanks of his steed and rode on to trample them dead. _____________\n\n28.25\n\n245\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nBut the reaver of men saw the elephant bearing down upon them mad as Death and he quickly swung the chariot about and away to its right. As the elephant flew past them Arjuna had it before him. Yet at the last moment he stayed true to what was right and chose not to deliver over the beast and its burden to their end. As it rode on, o father, horses and chariots and others of its kind fell one after another beneath its hooves and down into Death's kingdom. And as Dhanan\u00b7jaya watched, his anger rose.\n\n28.30\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nWhat violence did the wrathful Pandava do next to Bhaga\u00b7datta? Or Prag\u00b7jyotisha to Partha? Tell me all that happened.\n\n29.1\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nAt that moment both Dasharha and Pandu's son were in Prag\u00b7jyotisha's grasp and they seemed to us held fast in death's jaws. My lord and king, from his perch between his steed's shoulders Bhaga\u00b7datta rained down arrows onto the Krishnas' chariot in an endless downpour. He drew back his bow, and arrows of dark iron fletched in gold flew through the air and sank their stonewhetted points into Devaki's son. So sharp were those arrows which Bhaga\u00b7datta loosed that they went right through him like flames and then fell finefeathered to the earth. Then Partha struck back and began almost to toy with Bhaga\u00b7datta as he fought. He destroyed his bow and the quiver that held his arrows. Now fourteen spears like the rays of the sun came flying from the king's hand, but the Left Handed Archer shot back and cut each of them in three. With a torrent of arrows the son of the _______________\n\n29.5\n\n247\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nPunisher of Fools broke up the armor plating Bhaga\u00b7datta's elephant and it clattered down to the ground. Though his own raiment hung tattered and he and his elephant were furrowed deep in wounds Bhaga\u00b7datta stayed solid as the stone sovereign Himalaya, cloudless though drenched in rain. Prag\u00b7jyotisha hurled at Vasudeva an iron javelin inlaid with gold and again Arjuna split it in two. Then as a smile played across his lips Arjuna struck at the mountain king with ten arrows of his own that lodged in his parasol and standard. Bhaga\u00b7datta's anger flared my king. Badly injured by Arjuna's arrows finely fletched in vulture feathers he cried out and cast yet more spears at the head of the warrior of the white horses and they struck and skewed the diadem he wore on his head.\n\n29.10\n\nThe Red Star Fighter steadied his dislodged crown and called across to the king.\n\n\"Take a last look at this world.\"\n\nSo high was Bhaga\u00b7datta's choler raised at this remark that sweeping up a bright bow he poured a deluge of shafts down onto Go\u00b7vinda and Pandava. But once more Partha cracked his bow in two and burst apart his quivers and in only a moment with two and seventy darts Arjuna struck every hole in his mail. Then somehow despite his injuries the king raised up an iron hook and whispering the Vaishnava enchantment across it launched it straight at Pandava's breast. Nothing can survive the Vaishnava's blow. As it made its way through the air Keshava stepped before Partha and took it full in his own chest. And there it bloomed into a garland of triumph. Twined with bright lotus sepals and thick with flowers of every season it glowed like the sun _________\n\n29.15\n\n249\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nmoon or fire and blossomed with tongues of flame. Blue as flax in the field, Shauri shone wrapped in lotuses, their petals trembling in the wind.\n\n29.20\n\nBut Arjuna was troubled, and spoke then to Keshava.\n\n\"O sinless one. Your promise was to drive the horses and not to fight. But Pundarikaksha you broke that promise. If I fall or if I cannot defend myself then perhaps you could help me. But I still stand. And you know well that with my arrows and my bow there is no god demon or man whom I cannot overcome.\"\n\nKeshava replied to Arjuna and his words were full of meaning.\n\n29.25\n\n\"Hear me now o blameless son of Pritha, and I will tell you of a mystery that came to pass long ago. My everlasting task is the protection of the world and for this purpose I split my being apart into four figures and bestowed my graces on its different realms. One of my incarnations arose on this earth and lives a life of burning austerity. Another looks upon the good and evil of men. The third performs the work of men and moves among them. The fourth slumbers through a night that lasts a thousand summers. And when the end of those thousand summers comes near, it is this incarnation which grants wondrous things to those of the time that are worthy of them. Long ago the Earth herself knew that one such time was at hand and she asked me to do something for her future child. She was to be mother of Naraka. Hear now what she said.\n\n29.30\n\n251\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\n'May I be given a son whom neither demon nor divinity can slay. The arrow of Vishnu is yours and you are the one who can grant me this wish.'\n\nI heard Earth's request and so it was that all that time ago I laid upon Earth's son the supreme and unerring arrow of Vishnu.\n\n'I place the arrow of Vishnu before Earth for the sake of Naraka's protection. None will be able to defeat him now. With this arrow as his talisman Earth's son will strike down any blow that is raised against him. He will be invincible in all places and among all things.'\n\nAfter I had spoken wise Earth was pleased and she departed. Naraka her son was indeed invincible and the scourge of all his foes. O Partha, it was from Naraka that Prag\u00b7jyotisha took my weapon. And my son there are none that dwell with Indra or Rudra whom he could not have destroyed with it. It was for you that I broke my promise and drew it from him. The weapon of weapons is no longer his. Strike him dead Partha. He is an archdemon. Enmity is his passion. As I in the end slew Naraka himself for the sake of the good of things so strike dead the cruel warrior and despiser of gods King Bhaga\u00b7datta.\"\n\n29.35\n\nPartha listened to what the great Keshava said. Quickly he began to sow sharp shafts above Bhaga\u00b7datta's head. With his mighty arms and steady heart and hand, Partha sent an arrow to pierce the forehead of Bhaga\u00b7datta's steed and it drove deep as lightning upon a clifftop and disappeared right up to its nock like a serpent into a mound of earth. For a few steps more Bhaga\u00b7datta drove the creature on, but like the words of a poor man in his wife's ears, the ____________\n\n29.40\n\n253\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nking's commands were not heard. The great beast tried for a moment to steady its limbs, then down it came to the ground and it howled as it fell on its tusks and heaved out its final breath.\n\nKeshava spoke to the bearer of Gandiva.\n\n\"Look at this one, Partha. Venerable warrior behind long locks of gray. Awesome champion with lines etched about his eyes. See how he has bound back his hair beneath his turban to keep his eyes clear.\"\n\n29.45\n\nArjuna did not hesitate but at the god's word sent forth an arrow that tore through the king's headdress. Bhaga\u00b7datta could no longer see, his world woven with darkness.\n\nWith a flatjointed shaft shaped like a halfmoon Pandava pierced the king's heart and Bhaga\u00b7datta let fall from his hands his bow and his arrow and, from his heart skewered by Kiritin's arrow, his life. Down fluttered the fine scarf as it came away from his neck, like a petal plucked roughly from the stalk of a lotus, and still garlanded in gold he tumbled from the great height of his elephant's back and its firebeaten harness like a bayur tree in full bloom plucked from a mountain peak by a gust of wind. And so it was that a son of Indra slew in battle one who had been a friend to the lord of the gods, a king of men brave as Indra. And when he had done so he rose through your zealous son's sorry troop as a strong wind rises through the trees.\n\n29.50\n\n255\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nHis might had been measureless and he was Indra's longtreasured friend, but Prag\u00b7jyotisha had been slain. As Arjuna circled his corpse out of respect, the two sons of the Gandhara king, the sackers of cities named Vrishaka and Achala, made across the fray toward him. One of those heroes came from the front and one from behind and as they rode on and raised their bows they struck Arjuna with a sudden gust of arrows sharp and swift. But Partha answered Vrishaka son of Subala with a blast of his own whetted shafts and away went his horses driver bow parasol chariot and banner like seed scattered on the wind. Then with arrows like a thousand hailstones Arjuna rippled the column of Gandharas behind Vrishaka and a full five hundred he hammered into hell, swords still raised high above their heads.\n\n30.1\n\n30.5\n\nBroad Vrishaka leapt quickly from his chariot and its dead steeds and he climbed aboard his brother's and took up another bow. From their single car Vrishaka and Achala poured down upon their sworn foe a heavy arrow rain. With all their might those great kings and brothers of your wife struck at Partha as Vritra and Bala once struck Indra. The Gandharas pinned the Pandava beneath their deadly aim. He was like the earth needled by sunbeams during the months of heat and rain. Yet even as Vrishaka and Achala stood there atop their chariot in a cluster of limbs, a single arrow from Arjuna's bow passed clean through the two mighty kings. Redeyed lions who had shared the same hopes as they had shared the same womb, those heroes tumbled down from their chariot to join those who are no ____________\n\n30.10\n\n257\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nmore. Two bodies so dear to their kin and four strong arms that had hewn glorious fame from the four corners of the earth fell from their car to the soil and rolled and came to rest. Tears flowed from your sons' eyes my lord when they saw their brave uncles struck down thus.\n\nShakuni also watched as they were felled. From his bounty of a hundred tricks he began to bewitch the two Krishnas with his magic. From a hundred directions on Arjuna fell sticks, iron balls, stones and fireballs and spears, clubs, bludgeons, knives, pikes, hammers, tridents, bonebreakers, swords, scimitars, maces and axes, daggers, arrows with barbed heads and jointed in calves' teeth, discuses, javelins and darts and weapons of yet stranger kinds. Camels, donkeys and buffalo, lions, tigers, yaks and insects, jackals, wolves, vultures, monkeys and serpents, all kinds of fiends and flocks of winged things hungry and cruel all rushed upon him then. But Dhanan\u00b7jaya son of Kunti was a hero wise in the weapons of heaven and without waiting he cast his net of arrows and snared them all within it. Pierced by the hero's fine adamantine shafts, everywhere the creatures' screams rose up and they fell down dead.\n\n30.15\n\n30.20\n\nDarkness came next across Arjuna's chariot and from out of that darkness a deathly susurrus. Grim and terrible that darkness was and it struck fear into us all, but with the vast and brilliant weapon named Jyotishka* Arjuna drove it off. Then a terrifying swell of water massed overhead, and Arjuna loosed the arrow of the sun to destroy it. As it cut across it the great cloud turned to vapor, and so the myriad sorcery of Subala's son was dispelled. A smile played across his lips as Arjuna began with the might of his arms to press _________\n\n30.25\n\n259\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nswift and hard upon his foe. His enchantments destroyed, Shakuni suffered beneath Arjuna's arrows and wheeled his galloping horses about and fled away in fear like a fool. Arjuna's mastery was dazzling and quick. He tipped a mass of arrows across the Kaurava line and O great king like the Ganges forking at the foot of a mountain the torrent of your son's army was split in two by the Diademed Partha's attack, some heading after Drona and others after Duryodhana as his blows rained down upon them. O lord we could not even see him through the battlefield's cloak of dust. But I heard the sigh of Gandiva's string somewhere to my right and I could hear the sound of horns and drums and the blare of trumpets and then again on my right I heard the clatter of arms. Arjuna's onslaught went on as I followed Drona. From all around, Yudhi\u00b7shthira's troops pushed towards us while one after another Arjuna cast as under your son's arrays as on a dark day the wind parts the clouds. More tiger than man the great bowman came like Indra aflight, a vast storm pouring out arrows, and no one was able to make him pause.\n\n30.30\n\n30.35\n\nTwisting beneath Partha's onslaught many of your men trampled their own as they escaped any way they could. Those razorsharp shafts fletched in vulture feathers flew from Arjuna's fingers and they billowed like locusts through every inch of the sky. Through horse, rider elephant and soldier they went and then plunged into the earth like snakes into a colony of ants. None did he strike twice, whether elephant, horse or man, but each gasped his last breath and fell transfixed by a single shaft.\n\n261\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nCorpses and dead elephants lay all around and horses with broken forms all quilted in arrows. Our heads filled then with the howls of jackals and dogs intermingling with the caws of the crows, as sick with wounds father abandoned son, son abandoned father, friend deserted friend and riders left their horses to die. Each strove to save himself when Partha struck that day.\n\n30.40\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nSo they fled in disarray, lines broken by Pandu's son. What went through their minds then? And how did they regroup when all about them were the signs of their shattered former shape? Tell me Sanjaya.\n\n31.1\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nO lord of men. Despite what had happened the Kuru paladins came back once more at Drona, for they were loyal to your son and more than that it was their fame on earth that was at stake. With their swords raised high overhead they rode at Yudhi\u00b7shthira, and despite the horror around them they remained noble and fearless. Majesty they attacked the measureless splendor of Bhima and went against valiant Satyaki and Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna. While the savage Panchalas bayed for Drona's blood your sons cried out at the Kuru soldiers to defend their commander. The Pandavas strove for his end and the Kurus for his protection. And so the contest for Drona went on. Wherever Drona rattled the Panchala ranks their prince Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna was there to meet him. Reverse followed reverse as that grim struggle wore on, and grim were the battle cries as hero clashed with hero. But the Pandavas were unshaken. ______\n\n31.5\n\n31.10\n\n263\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nIt was their turn to send ripples through the mass of their foe as the memory of what they had suffered rose up anew, and overcome by the force of their own rage and wild with shame at what had befallen them it was the deepest part of their souls that drove them on to greater violence. They cast down their own lives and staked them on Drona's death. They played at survival with a throw of the dice.\n\nO majesty, in the crash of battle warriors whose splendor knew no end fell to the earth like lumps of iron or stone in a struggle the like of which none old or young had known before. Beneath its teeming freight of the dead the earth itself seemed to tremble in sympathy with the hearts of those heroes. The rumble of the great roiling mass of men filled the sky above and then fell to earth and shook through the columns of the matchless king's army.\n\n31.15\n\nDrona careered across the plain between the serried lines of Pandavas and broke holes in their thousand links with his whetted shafts. As he wrought another miraculous feat of war and ground his victims beneath him the commander of the Pandus himself labored through the fray to meet him. The struggle that followed between Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna and Drona was astonishing and ferocious. Words fail me as I try to tell it.\n\n265\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nElsewhere Nila tore like a fire through the Kuru horde, his bow the flame and arrows the flying sparks, like a fire tearing through dry wood. And as he rolled through the army's avenues Drona's hot son spoke to him with words whose blandishments soon gave way to a crooked smile.\n\n31.20\n\n\"Nila. Enough with all these tindersticks blackened by your burning reeds. I am he whom you must fight now, alone. Bring down all your speed and fury upon me o little one.\"\n\nLike a bunch of lotuses was Ashvatthaman's fair form and his eyes were the shape of lotus leaves and his face a lotus in bloom, and Nila pierced him through each with his arrows. Though marred by those shafts Drauni with three sharp and tearing iron darts of his own cut through his foe's bow and his parasol and tore the flag above his head. Then down fluttered Nila like a bird from his car and sword and shield in hand he strove to sever his opponent's head. But o sinless one there was then a smile on Drauni's lips, and with a single arrow he parted from the knotted shoulders upon which it rested Nila's beringed and nobly formed head. And fine as a lotus calyx, its eyes the shape of lotus leaves and its face bright as the flushed moon, down it fell to the ground.\n\n31.25\n\nDespair rushed through the Pandava army when the dancing flame that was Nila was snuffed out between the fingers of the teacher's son. And there was no Pandava that did not then wonder how even the scion of Indra would protect them from a foe such as this. Indeed Arjuna was not there. He was off to the south, still crushing beneath his main all that was left of the Beholden, and the Narayana phalanxes at their side.\n\n267\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nOur brief ascendance was too much for Bhima to bear. With sixty arrows he struck at his teacher and then fired ten more at Karna. But Drona sent arrows swift and sharp dead through the air at the joints in Bhima's armor, striving to put an end to his disciple's life. Their fiery points bit deep. Then a dozen came from Karna and seven from Ashvatthaman and six more arced and dropped from King Duryodhana's bow. Yet Bhima\u00b7sena struck back at them all. With his cry tearing the air above he loosed a brace of fifty shafts at Drona and ten at Karna, then twelve at Duryodhana and eight more at Drona's son. Even so, Bhima bled out his life and stood then at death's edge. The matchless king ordered his fighters to Bhima's side, and with Yuyudhana and the Pandavas born of Madri at the head of their mighty group they made their way towards him. Bulls in the herd of men driven by their hatred for Drona's army and the archers so great and strong who ringed it, those mighty heroes led by Bhima with their blood up bore down upon their quarries. As their warriors fierce and wild came towards us our very best awaited them: Drona. Peace was in his eyes. Yet any fear of death they may have harbored themselves the Pandavas had driven from their hearts, and thus they were upon us.\n\n32.1\n\n32.5\n\n32.10\n\nWarrior crashed against warrior and car against car and spear fell upon sword and axe locked with axe. The time of battle stretched as long and cruel as the blades drawn from their scabbards. The clash between the elephants was perhaps the most fierce. I saw one man tumbling from an elephant's back and another from his horse and another I saw torn by arrows as he stood in his car. An elephant _________\n\n269\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\ncrossing the slaughter trampled the chest of the crumpled and stripped corpse of a man and then crushed his head beneath its foot. Others trampled other of the dead, and numberless were the fallen that those beasts impaled as they were dragged low to the ground by the ravened entrails that snagged their tusks. Yet more of the beasts wandered aimlessly across the plain toiling among the hundredhigh heaps of the slaughtered, of men and horses and cars and other elephants all fallen and plated in dark iron and all flattened and broken beneath their feet as if nothing more than a field of snapped reeds.\n\n32.15\n\nI saw lords of men humbled by their encounter with time who had taken their final rest upon sorrowing beds decked in the feathers of vultures. Father murdered son and then rode on and son murdered father for in this nightmare nothing of order remained. There a shattered wheel, here a tattered flag or a lone parasol on the broad earth. A horse runs past dragging a buckled halfwheel behind it. A severed hand clutching a sword, a head with gold rings still in its ears, a chariot that had felt the kick of a beast's heavy foot lying mangled in the mud. An elephant transfixed by an iron arrow from some archer's bow crumples lifeless to earth, and another kicks out at a horse and it folds with its rider before the shock.\n\n32.20\n\n271\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nThat day the war became something vast and awful beyond compass. Garbled cries burst out and resounded. Screams for a father, a son, a friend: Where are you? Wait! Where are you going? Stand and fight! Stop! Finish him! Blood of man and horse and beast flowed together and a foul cloud of dust stirred from the earth settled on their wretched forms. On the black path of the dead a warrior slammed his chariot into another's and knocked off his head with a club. They clutched at one another's hair and hammered with fists and used nails and teeth as each sought for solid ground in the sinking morass. A man's arm that held a sword high was cut clean away and then one that held a bow, an arrow, a hook. Someone screamed at someone else and someone fled in terror and someone found another just like himself and tore his head from his shoulders. A man _________\n\nthundered past and another ran from the awful noise and beneath a hail of sharp arrows a man killed his own while another killed his foe. Like a rock in a mountainslide down came an elephant pierced by an iron arrow, and it settled to earth as it might at leisure into the cool waters of a river in the summer heat. Like a falling stone another was pulled over and its foot came down upon a warrior and his car and driver. The sight of all these brilliant warriors drenched in blood with arms flailing filled many who were weak and sick at heart with utter despair. The whole scene was upended and it was impossible in the chaos to make anything out through the dust that rolled before everything.\n\n32.25\n\n32.30\n\n273\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nBut somehow from within it all their commander's voice cried out: \"Now is the time!\"\n\n32.35\n\nAnd so Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna rallied the ever vigorous Pandavas and following his order they raised their mighty arms and like swans on the wind flew without fear upon Drona's chariot to destroy it. The clamor grew about the mighty teacher's car: Grab him! Be quick! Be brave! Cut him to pieces! Drona and Kripa and Karna and Ashvatthaman and King Jayad\u00b7ratha and the two Avantis Vinda and Anuvinda and Shalya all stood their ground, but unstoppable and unreachable and proud in their noble calling the Pandavas and the Panchalas shrugged off their suffering and kept their eyes on their teacher.\n\n32.40\n\nFury blazed in Drona. And he wrought a terrible violence upon the Chedis and the Panchalas and the Pandus as arrows flew from his bow in their hundreds. All across the sky its string crackled like lightning and the sound o father filled frail hearts with fear. Having felled the Beholden in droves high Jishnu made his way to where Drona ravaged the Pandus to stop him. The Warrior of the Red Stars appeared suddenly for he had made his way through the arrowdeep gulfs of bloodred roaring surge that was all that was left of the Beholden and we saw like the searing flame of the sun the glint of his crown and the dazzling colors of the banner of the monkey. The whole ocean of the Beholden the thirsty rays of his arrows had drunk up, and now Arjuna son of Pandu and sun risen at the end of time set the Kurus alight as he sent the flame of his sword's blade blistering through the entire army, and we were like the living world on fire beneath the smokebannered orb when the age turns. Hair wild and _______________\n\n32.45\n\n275\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nbodies torn by arrows, soldiers and chariots and horses and elephants crashed beneath the rolling volleys of his arrows and fell down dead to the earth. Some fell cursing and some just vanished and some arrowed in Partha's shafts were dead before they struck the ground. Others staggered upright or stumbled away from him and Arjuna held to his code and did not strike them down without mercy. Spared for now they wandered bereft of their chariots while yet others scattered from his path and called out in moans formless or shaped in Karna's name.\n\n32.50\n\nAdhiratha's son heard the plaintive wails of these desperate souls and we heard him call out to them: \"Fear not!\" He turned towards Arjuna and rode at him.\n\nAll in the land of Bharata urged on the best warrior the Bharatas had known. Sage of war that he was, he invoked then the Weapon of Fire. But with sorcery of his own Dhanan\u00b7jaya cut through the bind of arrows from the brightburning bowman wreathed in bright shafts. Then attack smothered attack as roaring and arrows flying Adhirathi struck down the shafts that came flamed in splendor from his foes. Three arrows came from Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna and three from Bhima and three from the mighty Satyaki and each of them flew true and found him. He buried Arjuna's arrows in a welter of his own and then with only three slim reeds he split each of the others' three bows in two. Their weapons knocked from their hands for a moment, they were like snakes without tongues, yet in a moment more they raised up spears and as one they rode and roared like animals before sending those great staves long as serpents hurtling through the air with all the power of their arms. __________\n\n32.55\n\n277\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nThey flashed towards Karna. Three shafts and then three again whittled the wind and cut the spars from the arc of their flight as strong Karna bellowed and from his bow sent another volley at Partha.\n\nBut with seven swift shafts Arjuna stuck Radha's son and three slammed hard and deadly sharp into one of Karna's brothers. And down fell Shatrun\u00b7jaya dead beneath six more arrows flying true. In the same second Partha took the head from Vipata's shoulders with an ironclad dart and left his body still standing in its car. Three brothers were slain by the lone hand of the Diademed Warrior, and all before the very eyes of the horseman's son, as the sons of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra looked dumbly on.\n\n32.60\n\nThen Bhima leapt from his chariot up into the air, swept like Garuda upon Karna and struck down fifteen of his guard with his great sword. He climbed onto another car and sweeping up a new bow sent ten arrows at Karna and with five studded his horseman and steeds. king of the Panchalas Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna took up a fine sword and gleaming shield and rained down blow upon blow on Chandra\u00b7varman and Brihat\u00b7kshatra the Nishadha, before he too leapt back onto his car and hefting another bow and roaring exultant sent three and seventy shafts at Karna. Lustered Shini's son raised his bow and bellowing like a wild beast struck the son of the horseman with sixty-four of his arrows and with two more heavy shafts deftly loosed split Karna's bow in his hands, then pierced his arms and chest with three more. As Satyaki's flood threatened to engulf him, Duryodhana and Drona and King Jayad\u00b7ratha all rushed to __________________________\n\n32.65\n\n279\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\ndefend him. A great and fearsome phalanx of your soldiers, chariots and elephants heaved towards Karna while piling forward to save Satyaki came Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna and Bhima and Abhimanyu, and Arjuna, Nakula and Saha\u00b7deva.\n\n32.70\n\nHow the battle was then. A gruesome contest for the theft of the breath and the being of every warrior on your side and on theirs. What stood revealed upon the plain was a vast interlocking of elephants and horses and soldiers and chariots, with more soldiers and more chariots, and warriors with horses and footmen and elephants and footmen and chariots with elephants and cars, and horses with horses and elephants with elephants and warriors with warriors and soldiers with soldiers. Crammed with the dead the conflict between those bold and mighty men had yielded its bounty to carrioneaters and swelled Death's kingdom. The dead were numberless. Horses and soldiers and cars and elephants tangled with elephants and horses and chariots and men in numbers that defied reckoning. There were elephants fallen on elephants and chariots upon warriors with arms still holding weapons to the sky, and horses on horses and soldiers on mounds of soldiers. Raising your eyes you saw more elephants entwined with the debris of chariots, the huge bodies of horses beneath the massive bulk of yet more, and men beneath those horses and horses embracing heroes with eyes and teeth out and tongues in ribbons on the ground and armor and finery all broken up, then more and more countless weapons and wellmade swords shattered and sad to behold, all lying on the earth crushed and buckled beneath foot and hoof and beast and covered with wheels and the shattered ribs of the cars.\n\n32.75\n\n281\n\nthe death of the beholden\n\nAs this terrible vanishment of men brought joy to fiends, birds and wild beasts, still the great warriors who survived were fighting on in rage and violence and the need to destroy one another. They stood face to face deep in the vaults of the surging ocean of blood, until at long last o Bharata the sun set, and night sent the two armies back to their camps.\n\n32.80\n\n283\n\n33\u201354  \nThe Death of Abhimanyu\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nW\n\ne had been crushed beneath the Red Star Fighter's measureless might. Drona's plan had failed and Yudhi\u00b7shthira was safe. We had been defeated. The men stood in tattered armor, caked in grime, eyes glancing wildly about them. With Drona's leave they laid their weapons upon the ground. We had been terribly humiliated by our adversaries. It had been their day. People described with admiration Arjuna's infinite gifts and spoke with wonder of the concern that Keshava had shown towards his friend. Then like condemned men everyone fell into the oblivion of sleep.\n\n33.1\n\n33.5\n\nAt daybreak Duryodhana spoke to Drona. Although almost out of his wits with fury at his enemy's triumphs he spoke with eloquence, tempering his anger with a haughty affection. We listened to what he said.\n\n\"It would seem o greatest of seers that our side is fated to lose. You come close enough to touch Yudhi\u00b7shthira yet you do not. If any foe of yours made the mistake of showing himself to you then I know that even with the help of the deathless gods the Pandavas would not be able to save him from your grasp. If, that is, you truly wanted to capture him. In the past you have done as I have asked, and you are dear to me for that. But a man of honor takes care not to wreck the hopes of one who has entrusted himself to his charge.\"\n\nBharad\u00b7vaja's son listened to the king. There was shame in his voice when he spoke.\n\n33.10\n\n287\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\n\"You might hold me in higher regard for I am struggling to bring your wishes to pass. Even with an army of gods and devils flanked by genies, spirits and demons no man could make something his when Kiritin is its guardian. Where Go\u00b7vinda the creator goes so too does great Arjuna. Tell me my king: who except the Three Eyed God could defeat their combined might? But my son I say this to you, for it will be so nor be denied. I will today hew their high king from their number. I will draw up the army into an array that even the gods could not breach. All the same, o lord, Arjuna must somehow be drawn away from the battlefield because in the reckoning to come nothing is outside the reach of his heart or arm. Piece by piece he has gathered his wisdom in war and now there is nothing that he cannot do.\"\n\n33.15\n\nWhen Drona had spoken the Beholden again hurled out their challenge off to the south where Arjuna was to be found. There took place a battle between Arjuna and his foes the like of which had never been seen nor heard of before. Drona's chosen formation shone blinding as the sun burning along its meridian. But that day o Bharata at his uncle's behest Abhimanyu broke apart the unbreakable strength of the Kaurava wheel. Thousands fell before him as he went about his impossible task. In the end, six of his adversaries surrounded him and he was brought to his knees before Duhshasana's son. O lord of this earth, the son of Subhadra and firebrand to his foes breathed out his last that day. How grave was the sorrow that fell upon the Pandavas then, and how we rejoiced. Yet we too lay down our swords when Abhimanyu died, o king.\n\n33.20\n\n289\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nSanjaya. Your words rend my heart. That the son of so great a man could be cut down in the prime of life, in war. The laws of a warrior's life are harsh. And how grotesque it is to any who strive for the good of things that men who lust for power could bring down a sword upon a child's head. A child rambles through a world free from horror and full of the purest bliss. How could these six swordsmen kill him? Tell me o son of Gavalgana. And tell me too how the brilliant son of Subhadra played with our chariots as if they were toys when he fought his way through our ranks. Come Sanjaya. Speak.\n\n33.25\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nGreat king, you ask me to describe to you Saubhadra's fall. I will tell you the whole story and O majesty I ask that you hear me. Indeed the youth made playthings with the cars through which he battled and on that black day he crushed the most hale of heroes. That day fear came among your men and it seized them as it might villagers in a forest far from anywhere when a great fire comes tearing through the dense palm thickets about them.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nAs they came forth invincible as gods, the five Pandavas and Krishna all bore the signs of the violence that they had done and that had been done to them. First among them was he to whom in wondrousness and greatness and splendor and wisdom and all that suffuses the noble in deed no man who has lived or ever will live can be compared. Virtue and truth are his passion, and his humility hides __________\n\n34.1\n\n291\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nthe nobility of a man who reveres the twiceborn before all others. I speak of King Yudhi\u00b7shthira, who even now has touched the highest realms of heaven. O majesty it is he and the great scion of Jamad\u00b7agni who brings death at the age's end and Bhima\u00b7sena high in his car whom they call the Perfect Three. And never will I meet a man on this earth the measure of the one who carries Gandiva through the fray: Partha, brilliant in mind and hand. His brother Nakula is beholden only to himself. Mildness and modesty, honesty, peace and power, and a total devotion to his elders make six the strictures that bind him. In courage, might, truth and grace, depth of soul and wisdom, the warrior Saha\u00b7deva can stand without shame alongside the twin Horse Gods of heaven. And all the virtues in Krishna and the blessings of the sons of Pandu appear united in the figure of Abhimanyu. In steadfastness he is like Yudhi\u00b7shthira, in speed like Krishna, in deed wild as Bhima\u00b7sena, his discipline he shares with the twins and in form and gait and voice he is the very image of his father.\n\n34.5\n\n34.10\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nO horseman, it is the tale of Abhimanyu the triumphant son of Subhadra that now I wish to hear. How was he slain in battle?\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nSteel yourself great king and dam the flood of your grief. Hear me, for I tell of the death of your brother's grandson.\n\n293\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nO majesty, the Teacher drew the troops into the shape of the wheel and the godlike kings stood arrayed within it. Each Kaurava prince resplendent as the sun had his place as a spoke in that wheel. Their numbers were vast. Their standards all interlocked were picked out in gold, their apparel was bright and bright their finery and fluttering flags, and bright their chains of gold. Their arms and legs were sprinkled with aloe and sandal, and they wore garlands around their necks and cloaks of the finest fabric and all of them rushed as one to do battle with Karshni. Your handsome and fortunate son had the loyalty of ten thousand warriors who raised their stout bows to him and all of them shared the same grievances and the same determination and jostled with one another to show their commitment to the common cause. Flanked by his great fighters Karna, Duhshasana and Kripa, Duryodhana stood among his troops my king like the very equal of the lord of the gods, immaculate in ______________________________\n\nthe circle of shade his white parasol cast. The plumes on his horses' heads quivered as they rode. On he came like the rising sun. Meanwhile at the very head of the host rode its trusted commander Drona, and behind him the Sindhu king noble as Mount Meru. At the king's side were Ashvatthaman and thirty of your sons, great as the everlasting gods. Then came three mighty warriors, blazing at Sindhu's side: Shalya and Bhuri\u00b7shravas and Shakuni, gambler king of the Gandharas.\n\n34.15\n\n34.20\n\nAnd so friend met foe once more in the ghastly crash of battle. Only with death would they rest.\n\n295\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nFour of the sons of Pritha rode out towards the unassailable line of men protected by Bharad\u00b7vaja's son. Bhima\u00b7sena came first, then Satyaki and Chekitana and Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna grandson of Prishata, then the bold chieftain of the Kuntis, the champion Drupada, and Abhimanyu and Kshatra\u00b7dharman and valiant Brihat\u00b7kshatra, then Dhrishta\u00b7ketu prince of the Chedis and the twin sons of Madri and Ghatotkacha and bold Yudha\u00b7manyu and triumphant Shikhandin, and dauntless Uttamaujas and the great Virata. After them rode the five fiery children of Draupadi and Shishu\u00b7pala's fearless son, and then the mighty Kekayas and Srinjayas in their thousands. Still others guarded each by his own plunged forward in the delirium of war to slake his thirst for blood. But mighty Drona stood calm before them, and with a great burst of arrows he drove them back. Like a vast mass of water dammed by solid rock or like the ocean rolling against the coast those warriors broke against Drona. My king, the Pandavas could not even get close to him as their blood was let by the arrows he scattered from his bow. It was a wonder to behold. With but the might of his two arms Drona kept at bay Panchala and Srinjaya alike.\n\n35.1\n\n35.5\n\n35.10\n\nYudhi\u00b7shthira looked upon Drona's furious work and thought desperately about how he might be overcome. Deciding that there was no one who could defeat him, the king nonetheless chose to place this impossible burden upon the shoulders of Abhimanyu son of Subhadra, bane of foes and Vasudeva's equal and a warrior as hymned for his brilliance as his father. These were the words the king spoke.\n\n297\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\n\"My son. You must do as I say or on his return we will face Arjuna's reproach. I can see no way at all to breach the Kaurava wheel. Only you or Arjuna or Krishna or mighty Pradyumna but no fifth beside you could stand a chance in this task. My dear child Abhimanyu. You have to do what I say since it is not just I who ask it of you but all of us, every one of your fathers and uncles and every warrior who fights in this army. If you do not then my son when Dhanan\u00b7jaya makes his way back I will be the one with whom he finds fault. Do not hesitate. Draw a sharp arrow from your quiver and slice apart what Drona has put together.\"\n\n35.15\n\nabhimanyu spoke.\n\nVictory for my fathers is all I desire. It may be sheer and forbidding yet without waiting I will break through the wall of Drona's troops and plunge beyond it. My father has taught me the secret art for destroying the array of the wheel. But I fear that if something should go wrong then I will be unable to escape.\n\nyudhi\u00b7shthira spoke.\n\nBreak through this wall and force open a door for us and we will follow in your wake, my son. You are a warrior beyond compare, Dhanan\u00b7jaya's equal. We will be close behind you, my child, and in your train we will protect you from any and every quarter.\n\n35.20\n\n299\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nbhima spoke.\n\nI will be at your heels, and Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna, Satyaki and all the Panchalas, and the Kekayas, Matsyas and the Prabhadrakas. As soon as you have broken their column it will be our turn\u2014it will be for us to smash and destroy their champions as we choose.\n\nspoke.\n\nThen I will hurl myself at Drona's impenetrable array like a moth on a mad flight into the flickering depths of the fire. I will do what is right for both courses of my blood and in so doing bring happiness to my father and my uncle alike. Today everyone will watch as the horde of our enemies is driven back before a lone young man: before me. I am no child of Partha, no child of Subhadra unless any that breathe who cross my path are today cut free from this world. Alone upon my chariot I will carve this dense circle of warriors into eight pieces or I declare that I am not the son of Arjuna.\n\n35.25\n\nyudhi\u00b7shthira spoke.\n\nO son of Subhadra may these words make you ever stronger as you go to your trying task. The enemy array shaped by Drona is defended by great tigers, mighty bowmen who are like the gods of the tempest and the gods of the wind and the sky, and whose courage is akin to the courage of the Adityas or of the Vasus or of Agni.\n\n35.30\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nAbhimanyu heard these words from the king. Then he called out to his charioteer.\n\n301\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\n\"Drive the horses into battle, Sumitra. We are bound for Drona's army.\"\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nO Bharata. Saubhadra heard the command he had been given by the wise and righteous king. He ordered his driver to make for the vanguard of Drona's host. But when he heard Abhimanyu's order Sumitra spoke to his master. O majesty, this is what he said.\n\n36.1\n\n\"The Pandavas have placed a heavy burden on your shoulders. Think carefully upon it before you see fit to ride into battle. Drona is your teacher. He is a wise man and he has labored long and hard to learn the highest arts of combat. But your upbringing knew no affliction. You lack his experience in war.\"\n\nAbhimanyu smiled then. This was his reply to Sumitra.\n\n36.5\n\n\"Tell me, half-caste. Who is this Drona of whom you speak? Does his power know no bounds? Were Indra to climb upon Airavata and lead the whole throng of the deathless powers against me I would stand to face him and fight my ground. Let there be no cause for surprise at what I can do. This troop of fiends before us is not worthy of the tips of my thumbs.\n\nHorseman's son.* Know this. Were I to meet in war Vishnu my uncle whom none can overcome or come face to face with Arjuna my father, still I would not be afraid.\"\n\nSo Abhimanyu spurned his driver's admonition and ordered him again to make all haste for Drona and his men. With little joy in his heart Sumitra urged on the steeds. Beneath harnesses tooled in gold their strong legs churned as\n\n36.10\n\n303\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nhe set those three-year-old horses to a gallop towards Drona's line. On at Drona they flew. Drona looked up from the midst of the Kauravas as one by one they all turned to face Abhimanyu riding out with the rest of the Pandavas at his heels.\n\nClad in golden armor and with his pennant trailing from Arjuna's a flagpole tall and resplendent as a flowering tree, son was the image and equal of his father. He fell in full frenzy upon the mighty fighters of Drona like a lion cub falling on a herd of elephants. And as he plunged towards them excitement inflamed them and they lurched forward to meet his approach. At the moment they came together it was like the Ganges pouring into the ocean, and with horror and noise the struggle between the two armies of warring clans began o king yet again. Indeed the dread confrontation Arjuni was barely underway when before Drona's very gaze crashed through his front line and split it in two. He drove his way into the heart of the horde while all about him were knotted elephants and horses and chariots and soldiers with swords held high. And all of them rushed at Arjuna's son.\n\n36.15\n\nAs they rolled and galloped towards him, the earth resounded beneath wheel and hoof with the rising peal of bells and laughter, and voices calling across space as one told another where he was, to come closer, to stay and fight, voices that merged with rude ululations and the cacophony of challenge and counter-challenge and a great animal groan and hum swelling with the wail of a thousand clarions and screams and cries and bellows. They piled in upon him, but it was that swiftbowed hero who struck his brothers first, and he did so quickly and hard. He knew their weaknesses __________\n\n36.20\n\n305\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nand there he drove his brutal attack, pinning them beneath his sharp and numberless arrows. They fell powerless upon him in that violence like moths to a flame. Their bodies and the limbs of which those bodies were built Abhimanyu scattered over the soil like so many blades of grass strewn across an altar for olden rites. First it was the arms that he cut cruelly away, arms strapped in armguards with plectrums on the thumbs of their hands, hands that held arrows and the bows from which they flew, hands that held bridles and hooks and shields and swords, that held javelins and maces and spears, morningstars and bludgeons and blades and pikes and tridents, slings and studded clubs, hammers and darts, hands that held whips and great conches and staves and claws and mallets and shot and chains and rods and stones, hands at the ends of arms bound in bracelets and torcs and perfumed in jasmine. They were cut down trembling around him like the fiveheaded serpents that Garuda slew. And the earth shone with their vermilion blood.\n\n36.25\n\nThen came their heads. The Red Star Fighter's son strewed the earth with the oilscented heads of his foes, from whose mouths delicate words once fell, whose countenances were bright as the sun and moon or lotuses plucked from their stalks, so many all wrapped in turbans or framed in crowns or fine garlands or lustered in gemstones or jewels but now pulsing with blood, some with their eyelids and lips dashed by his angry hand but some with their noses still proud and their features and locks of hair still pristine and with the finest of earrings still in their ears.\n\n36.30\n\n307\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nAll across the field you could see him as he went carving into splinters with his arrows every chariot that he found. Bedizened from scripture like the cities of heaven, the planks of those cars were pulled from their brightbannered prows, handles and curlicues wrenched from their stocks and shanks and housings tugged away, spokes punched out of wheels if the wheels still remained, and shafts and ornaments gone and paraphernalia crushed and the warriors they once carried all dead.\n\nWith arrows sharpened at tip and edge he threw down elephants and the men that rode them and pennants and poles, hooks and quivers and armor, girdles and chains and blankets and bells. He lopped off their trunks and tusks and the dried garlands they wore and killed the men that came after them on foot. And he killed their horses, your horses, those fleet and welltrained steeds strong in tail ear and eye and bred in Bahlika and Kamboja and in the mountains and in Vanayu, horses that had carried skilled warriors who had fought with spear and javelin and bow, horses streaming now with shit piss and blood, plate armor and harnesses ripped from dead carcasses become no more than bounty for carrioneaters, their riders dead and the bells that once hung from them dashed in, piles of organs and entrails unraveled from guts, and tongues and eyes pulled from sockets, silk torn in ribbons and the plumes of their headgear like molted feathers across the ground.\n\n36.35\n\n36.40\n\n309\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nAll this wrought by one boy. It would have seemed near impossible but like Vishnu who surpasses our mortal thoughts he had ruined chariots, riders, soldiers, every stratum of your great army. The whole mass of your infantry had been blasted before him. With his sharp shafts the son of Subhadra had singlehandedly crushed an army as if he were Skanda taming the demon horde. Your sons looked about them and wherever they turned their heads it was devastation that they beheld. Their mouths were dry, their eyes danced, sweat broke out on their brows and they felt their hair stand on end. All of their remaining strength they saved for their flight and then they had no more. The day belonged to their enemy. Names were on their sorrowing tongues for it was life that they sought but dead sons, fathers and brothers, friends and kin by blood and law to whom they bade farewell, before they spurred on their horses and elephants and made good their escape.\n\n36.45\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nDuryodhana watched his army collapsing beneath Saubhadra's measureless might and his temper could not bear the sight. He rode out towards him.\n\n37.1\n\nDrona saw the king making for Saubhadra and addressed the lords who were fighting at his side.\n\n\"Keep Duryodhana safe lest Abhimanyu snatches his prize from before our very eyes. Be quick, and be brave.\"\n\nThey knew their duty, and despite their fear drew in around your bold son to show their mettle. There were Drona and Ashvatthaman, Kripa, Karna, Krita\u00b7varman, Saubala, Brihad\u00b7bala and the Madra king, Bhuri, Bhuri\u00b7shravas, __________\n\n37.5\n\n311\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nShala, Paurava and Vrisha\u00b7sena, and loosing whetted shafts they showered Saubhadra in a great deluge of arrows that halted his advance and forced him to let Duryodhana go. For Arjuna's son, it was as if a morsel of food had been struck from his mouth and he could not endure it. With a vast mass of arrows he took off the heads of warriors and drivers and horses and roared a lion's roar as he did. It was the roar of a lion in sight of its prey and, filling the ears of Drona and his warriors it drove them wild once again.\n\nO father they surrounded him with a thicket of cars and together they wove a haze of arrows above his head. Using his own sharp shafts your grandson cut their arrows from the sky and with miraculous skill struck back at them. Now mad with anger and baying for his blood Drona's men covered Subhadra's defenseless child in arrows deadly as vipers. O bull of the Bharatas, as your warriors surged in a tide towards him, Arjuni was the shore that kept them back with only his reeds. They did not hesitate but jostling with one another fought forward to reach him and the battle around him grew bloodier and more fierce.\n\n37.10\n\nDuhsaha struck Abhimanyu with nine of his arrows, Duhshasana found him with a dozen and Kripa son of Sharadvat struck him with three. Seventeen shafts deadly as snakes flew at him from Drona, seventy from Vivinshati and seven from Krita\u00b7varman, and three arrows came from Bhuri\u00b7shravas and six rushed from the Madra king, while Shakuni struck him twice and King Duryodhana thrice. But O majesty he seemed to dance as with three shafts flying true from his bow then three again fiery Abhimanyu __________\n\n37.15\n\n313\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nstruck back. He flared hot with anger from your sons' attacks and revealed then his extraordinary strength so honed by discipline and skill.\n\n37.20\n\nDriving horses that were mild, faithful to the hand that guided them and swift as the wind from Garuda's wings, he rode to meet the heir of Ashmaka as he raced towards him. Striking Abhimanyu with ten of his arrows the prince called at him to stand and fight. Abhimanyu smiled. Ten arrows flew from his bow and first his foe's steeds, driver and standard and then bow, hands and head went tumbling down to the ground. He had been a great lord of his land but when Saubhadra slew him his fellow soldiers shook in doubt and fear. And the rain of arrows poured down again from Karna, Kripa, Drona, Drauni, the Gandhara king and Shala, from Shalya, Bhuri\u00b7shravas, Kratha, Soma\u00b7datta, Vivinshati, Vrisha\u00b7sena, Sushena, Kunda\u00b7bhedin and Pratardana, Vrindaraka, Lalittha, Prabahu, Dirgha\u00b7lochana and Duryodhana, now berserk with rage. Abhimanyu suffered terribly beneath the arrows flying from their mighty bows but notching a single shaft of his own crafted to cut through armor and bone he aimed at Karna and sent it tearing through the warrior's mail and body, and from the force of its flight it flew on and bored into the ground like a snake into a burrow. Struck by that shuddering blow, Karna staggered in his car like a mountain shaken by an earthquake. Sighting Sushena, Dirgha\u00b7lochana and Kunda\u00b7bhedin, Abhimanyu sent with crazed force three sharp arrows at the three of them before Karna struck him once more with twenty-five iron shafts, Ashvatthaman hit him with twenty, and Krita\u00b7varman with seven.\n\n37.25\n\n37.30\n\n315\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nHis limbs were now all needled with arrows and the son of the son of Indra rode madly through the army's lines like Death, noose in hand.* He came past Shalya and raising his great arms sprayed him in arrows, screaming out his hatred for the army around him, and his marrowpiercing shafts flew true from his masterly hands and struck Shalya, who sank in a daze o king to the seat of his car. Drona's battalion saw Shalya overcome by the energy of Saubhadra and they began to crumble. Their commander was powerless to halt them. The sight of one of their champions pinned in bright shafts drove them away in terror like deer before a lion. Abhimanyu's splendor blazed in that battle. The heavenly host of forefathers and gods, of seers saints and spirits, all sang out his praises. The ghosts that walk the earth joined their chorus. And Abhimanyu flared ever higher, like a thirsty fire given a drink of oil.\n\n37.35\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nDid any of my soldiers stand firm before Arjuna's son as he tore through the rows of warriors with his trueflying shafts?\n\n38.1\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nListen o king to how as he strove to breach it the youth sported as if at play with the array that Bharadvaja had shaped. When the younger brother of Shalya saw the king of the Madras stilled by the quick shafts of Saubhadra he went at him in a rage, scattering darts before him as he rode. But arrows from Arjuni's light fingers cut away his foe's head from his neck, cut to pieces his hands and his feet, his horses and bow and parasol, oriflamme, driver, chariot, and then ___________\n\n317\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nthe seat from the car's housing, its wheels, yoke, quivers and axle, its banner pole and wheelguards and every bolt and shaft that remained. And he did it all in a blur that no eye could follow. Trailing chains and tattered rags the broken form of Shalya's brother fell to earth like a tall sacred tree cracked by the immense force of the wind god himself, and his terrified train scattered in every direction. From every soul on his side a roar went at Arjuni's feat. O Bharata they cried out in praise to see Shalya's brother brought down, and they chanted at Abhimanyu in glee the names of his fathers and forefathers.\n\n38.5\n\nBut others were filled with anger. Weapons glittering in their hands, some came on chariot, horse and elephant, some on foot. Bloodlust crazed them all. Above the deafening clatter of arrows and the thunder of hooves and wheels, and bellows rolling through the gathering din and lions' roars and the trumpeting of elephants, and above the snap of bowstring against armguard, still others screamed out their warning to the youth who was Arjuna's joy: \"You will not escape us with your life!\"\n\n38.10\n\nSaubhadra looked back at them when he heard their threat. A smile played across his lips. Any who came upon him he instantly struck aside with his quarrels. His skill so dazzling and swift was clear to us all that day as the son of Arjuna battled with a strength tempered by a curious kind of mildness. Karshni unveiled tricks learned from Vasudeva and from Dhanan\u00b7jaya and each time it was as if both of the Dark Ones fought by his side. Once more he made light of his grave burden and its dangers and as he sent his arrows high they blended into a single mass before which hung ____\n\n38.15\n\n319\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nthe circle of his bow, shimmering in the skies above like the brightburning disk of the autumnal sun. The thrum of his bowstring and the eerie whisper of his hands were like the tremors of a dusk raincloud alive with lightning. Modest and mild and generous as he was, the handsome Saubhadra strove at first to honor his enemies with the arrows and blows he sent at them. But as he fought on, from calm to fearsomeness he turned, my king, as the holy sun at the turning of the year burgeons through the rain. Like rays of the sun, arrows bright and golden and whetted to a gleam flew from his bow in their hundreds. Wrath rose within him. Biting and barbed were the spearlike shafts and splinters curved like halfmoons and iron bolts and darts that Abhimanyu scattered upon the facing line, while Bharad\u00b7vaja's son looked helplessly on. And beneath this torture of arrows the faces of his enemies fell.\n\n38.20\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nO Sanjaya. You tell me of Saubhadra's eclipse of the army of my son and shame and pleasure vie in my heart. Describe everything to me. Spare nothing, Gavalgani. I want to hear how the boy played with us as once Skanda played with the demons.\n\n39.1\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nThen I shall describe to you a bloody contest of one against many and spare no detail of the violent struggle that ensued. Supreme was Abhimanyu's courage and supreme the courage of those who sought to tame him. From his bow came a rain that fell on all the chariots manned by all the warriors in your son's army. Down upon Drona, _______________\n\n39.5\n\n321\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nupon Karna, Kripa and Shalya, upon Ashvatthaman and Lord Brihad\u00b7bala, upon Duryodhana and Saumadatti and mighty Shakuni, upon all the many kings and sons of kings and soldiers of every rank he came wheeling like a ring of burning coals. With weapons not of this world in his hands Saubhadra slew any who came against him and we saw his splendor as he blazed across the skies. O Bharata. How your soldiers shook and trembled at the sight of Saubhadra's awesome course. Bharad\u00b7vaja's wise and brilliant son called out to nimble Kripa, his eyes wide with wonder at the sight of the mastery Abhimanyu was displaying, and he spoke words that seemed, o Bharata, to crush the very bones in Duryodhana's body.\n\n39.10\n\n\"Look at this tender child born to Subhadra who fights in the van of the Parthas, and see what joy he brings to his family, to King Yudhi\u00b7shthira and Nakula, Saha\u00b7deva and Bhima\u00b7sena son of Pandu, and all his kin and allies and friends. None who bear the bow could be said to be his equal. If he wished it he could annihilate this force. And we might ask why he seems minded otherwise.\"\n\nDrona's words betrayed him. Your son heard the affection for Abhimanyu in his voice and anger rose up within him. He looked at Drona with a mocking smile then spoke to them all, to Karna, King Bahlika, Duhshasana, the king of the Madras and the other heroes who were there.\n\n39.15\n\n323\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\n\"Behold the teacher of the whole warrior caste, this wise and holy sage. He has gone into a swoon over Arjuna's child and does not seek his death. If the Destroyer himself stepped out here today and drew his bow upon him, even he could not bear Drona back to his kingdom. And what of a mere mortal? The truth is that Drona is protecting the son of Arjuna because he was his pupil, because disciples and their children and those beloved to them are all as good as kin as far as the virtuous are concerned. It is Drona who protects him yet Abhimanyu dreams that it is his own prowess that he has to thank for his survival. He is just a fool in thrall to his delusion. There is no time to waste. He must be crushed.\"\n\nInspired by what Duryodhana had said, his warriors rode out once more for Abhimanyu, the boy's death in their hearts. All the while Bharad\u00b7vaja merely looked on. Then the tiger of the Kurus Duhshasana spoke these words to his brother.\n\n39.20\n\n\"I say to you my king that I will kill Abhimanyu, and the Pandavas and Panchalas will stand about blinking as I do. I will swallow up Saubhadra like Rahu swallowed the sun.\" This he baldly stated, then after a pause he began to speak once more to the Kuru sovereign. \"Have no doubt. When the proud Dark Ones hear that I have devoured Saubhadra they will both leave the world of the living, bound for the world of the dead. Mark my words. When they hear that the Krishnas are dead the sons sprung from Pandu's soil* will in but a single day give up their craven lives, as will all their kin and kind. With the death of but one of their number __________\n\n39.25\n\n325\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nall of your enemies will fall. So wish me well o majesty. I go to slay your foe.\"\n\nMy king, when he had said these words your son Duhshasana rushed at Saubhadra roaring with anger and unleashed a torrent of arrows as he went. But at his frenzied approach the burner of foes Abhimanyu struck back with six and twenty of his own keen shafts. Like a furious and wounded elephant Duhshasana came at Saubhadra and Abhimanyu at him. They both had great skill in riding and they wheeled right and left, leaving spiraling tracks in their wake. On they fought, while from the men around them there arose a mighty cacophony of drums of war, of tamp and crash and clatter and rumble, the noise mingling with roars such as are heard of beasts and of the briny sea.\n\n39.30\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nArrows in his arms and legs, Abhimanyu stood and faced his foe and smiled. The words he spoke were well chosen.\n\n40.1\n\n\"Behold. A hero upon the field at last. A proud one, too. With rude speech and derelict morals and insults on his tongue. Hail to him. For those vile boasts you made and the twisted insults that in your drunken triumph and before the ears of your lord Dhrita\u00b7rashtra you spoke that day in the hall, and so insulted the good King Yudhi\u00b7shthira and his brother Bhima, and for the theft of what belongs to another, and for your lawless passions and your dizzy greed and treachery and violence and because you stole the kingdom from the dark archers who are my fathers, come o fool from behind the trick of the light that Saubala calls his __________\n\n40.5\n\n327\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\narmy and reap now the terrible reward for your crime, as it is one you have earned by the fury you have kindled in mighty souls. With my arrows I will punish you this day before the eyes of all your comrades and in exacting vengeance for your crime I will lift the polluting fury that dwells in Krishna's pained heart and make good my father's wish.* This day o son of Kuru I will do my duty to Bhima with the swing of my sword. You may surrender. For otherwise you will not escape the coming battle alive.\"\n\nThus spoke the mighty scourge of foes and he let fly a single arrow destined for Duhshasana's heart deadly as the wind from the fire of time. It sank deep into Duhshasana's chest all the way to the nock like a snake into the earth, and lodged beneath his collarbone. Back went Abhimanyu's bowstring to his ear and then five and twenty more sharp as swords took to the air and each one hit its mark. Pierced to the quick, Duhshasana reeled and fell to the floor of his car. A great shadow fell upon your son, my king, but as he slipped into darkness under the bite of Saubhadra's arrows his helmsman quickly bore him from the fray.\n\n40.10\n\nThen up came a wild cry from the Pandavas and Draupadi's sons and from Virata and the Panchalas and Kekayas, for they saw what Abhimanyu had done. They were elated at Saubhadra's feat and the Pandava horde blew into their horns in concert all across the battlefield. Joyously they watched as Saubhadra cast down the vaunting malice and pride of their enemy. Bearing above them the faces of Dharma and Vayu, of Indra and the Ashvins, the mighty Draupadeyas came on with their morale renewed, and with them __________\n\n40.15\n\n329\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\ncame Satyaki and Chekitana and Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna and Shikhandin, the Kekayas and Dhrishta\u00b7ketu, the Matsyas, Panchalas and Srinjayas and Pandavas, all as one behind Yudhi\u00b7shthira, all desperate to destroy Drona's array. But your son too wanted victory. And his warriors fought without turning.\n\n40.20\n\nO majesty. As the battle between the two sides grew more gruesome about him, Duryodhana turned to speak to Karna.\n\n\"Duhshasana was like a blazing sun cutting through our enemies but see how Abhimanyu has brought him low. And the Pandavas are wild as lions in their frenzy. They follow on to protect the boy from harm.\"\n\nFury was in Karna, and ever devoted to your son's weal he sent forth a shower of sharp arrows at the inviolable Abhimanyu. With shafts wellhoned and finely wrought the hero struck with contempt at Saubhadra's guard, but proud Abhimanyu was undeterred and sent back at Radha's son three and seventy stonetipped darts as he made swiftly for Drona, and from Drona O majesty there were none who could keep him as son of the son of the wielder of the thunderbolt he tore on through the knots of men. But Karna whom all knowers of the bow revere wanted blood, and with spectacular skill pinned Saubhadra beneath a hundred of his shafts.\n\n40.25\n\nThe best of bowmen who had been Rama's disciple had fire in him then. Abhimanyu's other enemies could not reach him, but Karna pressed hard upon him in that battle. Yet Saubhadra did not fade from the fight despite the pain of the rain of arrows sent by Radha's son and like a deathless _______________\n\n40.30\n\n331\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\ngod he stood his ground. The smooth shafts of his iron darts bit with their stonesharp tips through the bows of those around him as he made to fight back against Karna. Karna simply smiled. Plummeting down from the curve of his bow, arrows deadly as cobras fell on Abhimanyu's driver, parasol, standard and horses, but the son of the Warrior of the Red Stars fought on unbending and deflected them all. In but a moment and with a single shaft the great fighter split Karna's bow and standard and brought them spinning down to earth. Karna began to struggle. Bow in hand his younger brother saw his plight and wheeled to face indomitable Abhimanyu, while around him the cry went up above a thunder of drums as the Parthas and the men at their side all cheered on Subhadra's child.\n\n40.35\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nKarna's brother raised his bow and called out to Abhimanyu and drew back his bowstring and rode right in between the chariots of the two great warriors with a smile on his face. Ten shafts came quickly upon peerless Abhimanyu and fell across his horses, driver, standard and parasol. After the prodigies he had wrought in his father's name, the sight of Karshni harrowed beneath that attack lifted for a moment your sons' spirits. But his countenance still light, Abhimanyu raised his bow and with a single arrow clove away his foe's head from his body and sent it tumbling down to the ground.\n\n41.1\n\n333\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nO majesty. When Karna saw his brother cut down like a bayur tree plucked by the wind and cast from a mountain peak, how his heart welled with pain. Karna faltered and Saubhadra did not wait and loosing shafts fletched in vulture feathers he rushed at the next row of warriors. Gloried in fire, Abhimanyu began to break apart the warp of elephants and horses and men with the force of his wrath and splendor. Even Karna slid away with his swift steeds beneath the crush of arrows he sent at them, and the vanguard then was broken.\n\n41.5\n\nMajesty, as Abhimanyu's arrows flew it was like the air had been filled with locusts or rain and nothing could be made out. Cut down by those sharp shafts not a single of your fighters o king stood his ground except for the son of Sindhu. O bull of the Bharatas as he blew into his conch Arjuni bull in the world of men flew in a blur at the army of your kin and whirled on deep into the heart of the Bharata horde. Through chariots and through elephants and through horses and through men he plunged, and he studded all he found in biting darts and piled up the limbless dead upon the earth. Transfixed by the fine shafts born of Saubhadra's bow his victims blundered over their own companions as they ran in desperation to save their lives. Awful and honed and deadly were the spearlike shafts that tore through chariots and elephants and horses and then thudded to rest in the bounteous earth. Among the swords, the thumbrings, platemail and torcs that lay strewn across the plain there glittered apparel and ornaments of gold. Arrows and bows and swords and the trunks and heads of the dead came to rest in their hundreds upon the earth, still ___________________\n\n41.10\n\n41.15\n\n335\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nbedecked in earrings and woven wreaths. The ribs of the chariots, their seats and curved handles and crushed axles and buckled wheels and a thousand yokes, and bows and arrows and spears and fallen standards and armor, and more bows and more arrows were scattered as far as the eye could see and o lord of men the earth lost beneath this maze of dead warriors and horses and all their paraphernalia was a passing vision awful to behold.\n\nO best of the Bharatas, as the sons of kings died and cried out to one another a grim chorus gathered to fill the whole world in a rumble that struck terror into our trembling hearts. And on Saubhadra rode on his spree through horse and car and man and on and on he raged through his foes like a fire billowing through a forest of dead trees, on to the very center of this gathering of the Bharatas. For a moment we saw him, but in seconds as he wheeled through every point in the compass and then each in between, the fog of the battle closed around him and we could see him no more. For a moment I glimpsed him once again risen like the midday sun as he stole away the breath from the throats of the creatures that moved about him. Son of the son of Indra, Indra he became. That day in the heat of the fray Abhimanyu blazed, and hot were the fires in which his haters burned.\n\n41.20\n\n41.25\n\n337\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nThough but a boy he was of noble stock and already an adept in the arts of war. I can imagine him exultant and dizzy with the strength of his own two arms, casting aside all fear for his life and plunging on through the lines of men, behind fine horses who young like he had passed but three summers on this earth. Which of Yudhi\u00b7shthira's men followed after the brave child?\n\n42.1\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nTheir champions were close behind him. Yudhi\u00b7shthira, Bhima\u00b7sena, Shikhandin, Satyaki and the twins, Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna and Virata, Drupada and the Kaikeyas and fierce Dhrishta\u00b7ketu, his fathers and his uncles and their drivers all racing together at his heels to defend him. Your children watched them approach and their hearts sank. But one man saw Duryodhana's great army losing its spirit and he rushed forward to restore it. That man O majesty was your son-in-law Jayad\u00b7ratha, the fiery prince of Sindhu. As the Parthas and their men rode to protect their scion it was the great and deadly archer Jayad\u00b7ratha who raised his celestial bow and drove them off as he might elephants from a fragile grove.\n\n42.5\n\n339\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nO Sanjaya. Jayad\u00b7ratha took a great burden upon himself when he went alone against the Pandavas' love and wrath. Such an act of might and daring defies belief. Tell me of this strong fighter and of the valor of his great act. What was the gift or sacrifice or rite or fierce austerity that meant the son of Sindhu could stand alone against the rage of the Parthas?\n\n42.10\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nHumiliated by Bhima\u00b7sena during Draupadi's abduction, it was out of wounded pride and in search of a blessing that the king had burned in meditation. He closed his senses to all the sweet things of the world until, as he wasted away in the flames of hunger and thirst, the veins of his body became like cords beneath his skin. Intoning praises he came before the God Who Kills With Arrows. The great deity was pleased with the king's devotion and took pity on him. At the very end of his dream the Sindhu king heard the Destroyer's voice.\n\n42.15\n\n\"O Jayad\u00b7ratha. Name what it is you seek and I will grant it to you.\"\n\nJayad\u00b7ratha prince of Sindhu heard the God Who Kills With Arrows and raising his hands in reverence he bowed low and spoke with due humility to the fearsome being. And this o Bharata is what he said.\n\n\"When the Pandus mass against me, may it be that I can stand alone on my chariot and withstand their awful bravery and might.\"\n\n341\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nThe lord of the gods addressed Jayad\u00b7ratha in reply. \"My worthy son, I will give you what you ask. And so I say that you will withstand in battle four of Pandu's children. Only Dhanan\u00b7jaya son of Pritha will pass you by.\"\n\nThe lord of the gods finished speaking and the king woke up. And so it was that armed with a gift from the gods and with the force of the weapons of heaven he stood all alone before the Pandava horde. The sigh of his bowstring brought fear among our foe's troops and excitement among our own. The warriors watched Jayad\u00b7ratha shoulder his great burden and whooping as they went they rushed O majesty at Yudhi\u00b7shthira's front line.\n\n42.20\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nDivine king. You asked to hear of the courage of the Sindhu lord. Listen now and I will tell you one by one of his exploits against the Pandus.\n\n43.1\n\nFleet and surefooted and mild of temper were the strong Sindhu steeds that with the force of the rushing wind whirled him on. His chariot was decked by design like a city of the skies and the great banner of the silver boar danced bright above his head. White was the column of his standard and white his parasol, and with his fan in one hand he shone in his majestic trappings like the moon shining in the firmament. Studded in pearls and crystal and in gemstones and gold, his iron shield sparkled like a sky covered in stars. Jayad\u00b7ratha drew back his great bow and with a dense flight of arrows closed the wound in the host that Arjuni had opened.\n\n43.5\n\n343\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nThree shafts struck Satyaki and eight struck Vrikodara, then sixty found Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna and ten Virata. Five sharp points bit into Drupada, seven into Shikhandin, five and twenty pierced the Kaikeyas, the sons of Draupadi he struck with three then three again, and at Yudhi\u00b7shthira he sent a full seventy. Their other companions he drove back with the broad stream flowing from his bow, and what we saw before our eyes was no less than a prodigy. Then, my lord, the brilliant son of Dharma struck back and with a mocking smile aimed a pale yellow shaft at his enemy's bow and letting fly split it in two. In the winking of an eye Jayad\u00b7ratha swept up another and struck Pritha's son ten times before sending three then three again at his brother. Bhima saw how quick he was and with three arrows of his own, my king, he knocked Jayad\u00b7ratha's new bow to the earth and sliced through his pole and parasol. But the hardy fighter took up yet another and strung it and with it felled the steeds of Bhima, struck the bow from his hands and his pennant from its housing. Abandoning his broken bow, Bhima leapt up from his dead horses and his toppled car and like a lion bounding for a rock landed full in the chariot that held Satyaki. All the same, the glory was the Sindhu's.\n\n43.10\n\nYour soldiers watched and cheered in praise for we were all in awe of what he had done. With nothing more than the brilliance of his bow one man had for a moment stemmed the wrath of the Pandava horde. Saubhadra had quickly brought down elephants and their high riders and carved a path through their carcasses, but the Sindhu king had forced it shut. They all struggled, Pandavas and Kekayas and Panchalas and Matsyas, but none of them could withstand __________\n\n43.15\n\n345\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nhim. One by one the enemy strove to widen the breach in Drona's line and blessed by the gods Jayad\u00b7ratha drove them off, one by one.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nDesperate to triumph though they were, the Pandus were held back by the Sindhu king. The battle between the two sides raged fiercely. Arjuna's son had been true to his word and he plunged splendored and unassailable into the Kuru swell and it pitched about him as if it hid a beast of the deep. But as the arrows of their fierce tormentor rained down and churned through their ranks footsoldier to king the mighty Kurus came back against him. Where they clashed the chaos became ever more awful. Archers let loose arrows in floods and a ring of hostile chariots hemmed him about, but with level yet measureless brilliance Arjuni felled the driver of Vrisha\u00b7sena's car then cut in two the warrior's bow and sent arrows straight into his horses' hides. The two steeds that went like the wind bore him from the battlefield, and Abhimanyu's driver let them go for they saw how they were weakened. The more was Abhimanyu's glory and the warriors who watched his mercy cried out their praise, but arrows flying he tore on through his enemies baleful as a lion with barely a pause. As Abhimanyu arced through their ranks Vasatiya was next to swing into his track and charge.\n\nSixty brightfletched arrows he scattered upon Abhimanyu and he called out to him the while.\n\n\"Only one of us will escape this battle alive!\"\n\n44.1\n\n44.5\n\n347\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nAnd so it was that with a farflying shaft Abhimanyu breached the iron about Vasatiya's chest, and pierced to his heart his victim fell lifeless upon the earth. At the sight of his death, anger coursed through his taurine companions and all about they drew their myriad bows as they descended upon your grandson, my king, baying for his life. Now the battle between Saubhadra and his foes took on an aspect yet darker. Abhimanyu's blood was up. He shattered bows and arrows and bodies and severed heads still dangling rings and flowers. Arms clasped in golden circlets we saw lopped from shoulders, and hands whose beringed fingers were still wrapped tight around sword and spear and axe. All about were garlands and bracelets and raiment and fallen poles, armor and shields, pendants and ________________________\n\ndiadems, parasols and chowries and pieces of chariot, and slats and rails and shafts and crowns and staves. The earth was thick with them, with twisted bars and broken wheels, yokes in their hundreds and pennants and axletrees, all lying alongside drivers and steeds, the ribs of chariots, the bodies of elephants. How savage the land looked burdened in the dead. There they lay, warriors and heroes of legend, lords and footsoldiers from every tribe of the world all of whom had once hungered for dominion. And whirling at their heart and across every quarter of the sky went the violent form of Abhimanyu. All that we could see was his armor of gold and his chains and his bow and his arrows. Him we could not glimpse as he went snatching warriors from our midst. Our eyes were blind before the sun that burned among us.\n\n44.10\n\n44.15\n\n44.20\n\n349\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nArjuna's son snatched away the lives of those warriors as Death stills the breath of all creatures when the end of days is at hand. His prowess matched Indra for he was the child of Indra's son. O how he shone as he roiled the army that surrounded him and roamed through those ranks of mighty champions as if come to bear off their souls. He leapt that day upon his everlasting fame and caught it like a lone tiger catching a deer. And with such glory about him, other warrior bulls swept up tempered swords and rushed to be the first to meet him in battle. They thronged around the son of Arjuna and each strove with the other to be the one to claim victory against him. But as they poured towards him in droves, as if he were a whale in the foaming sea he caught them streaming into his jaws and devoured them like minnows. None who came close were safe and as rivers melt into the ocean forever none of them returned. The army trembled in his leviathan's bite and before the dismal threat of his tempests, a ship lost on the spume.\n\n45.1\n\n45.5\n\nBut there was one who tried to rally the Kurus then. Rukma\u00b7ratha* by name, he was the son of the lord of the Madras, and he spoke to his army valiant and unafraid.\n\n\"Heroes! Enough with this weakness. This one is no match for me. Banish your doubt for I will take Abhimanyu and I will take him alive.\"\n\n45.10\n\n351\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nSpeaking thus he came bravely at his foe, borne in a chariot all decked and aglitter. He roared as with three arrows he speared Abhimanyu's chest, with three his right arm and with three sharp shafts his left. But Phalguni was quick and he broke Rukma\u00b7ratha's bow in two and then sliced off both his arms and cut clean away his finebrowed head. Down it fell to the earth. Rukma\u00b7ratha son of Shalya had been slain at Saubhadra's celebrated hand and his boast that he would capture his enemy alive had proved hubris. O majesty, with their brilliant banners seething in the wind above their heads, the warcrazed fighters who were sons of kings and friends of Shalya's heir looked down upon his body as it lay on the ground.\n\n45.15\n\nBack went those warriors' bows tall as palms and they buried Arjuni beneath a welter of arrows. The sight of bold Saubhadra lone and unconquered at the heart of the fray enwoven now in the mesh of darts cast with skill and strength by those young and hotheaded princes filled Duryodhana with excitement. He dreamt indeed that Abhimanyu was bound at last for the solar lodge. For as the princes loosed their bows in but the winking of an eye Arjuni was lost behind a screen of reeds filigreed in gold. Banner, driver and car all disappeared along with the boy himself as a porcupine disappears behind its quills. But those spines were like goads driven into an elephant's hide, and pierced to the quick his fury flared. Then it was o Bharata that he drew forth the weapon that came from the spirits of heaven: magic he wove about his chariot. Arjuna had burned in the flames of meditation and been gifted this weapon by Tumburu and his kind, and now Abhimanyu unleashed its turmoil upon his ________________________\n\n45.20\n\n353\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\ntormentors. Light were his fingers and out fanned his attack and like a circle of embers it seemed that one became a hundred and a hundred became a thousand. Burner of foes he bewildered them with attacks of sorcery along his wheeling path, before in their hundreds he cut down dead the lords of this earth.\n\nO my king. In that reckoning he forced with whetted shafts the very breath from the lungs of the living. Their spirits passed to the world yonder and their bodies went to the soil. Before Phalguni's biting iron fell bows and horses beyond number, drivers and banners in a cascade speckled in gold. A hundred sons of kings fell dead at Saubhadra's hand. It was as though a mango grove bowed by the fruit of five summers had suddenly been razed to the ground. Once they had lived in palaces but now these youths vehement as vipers lay dead at the feet of a solitary fighter. And now it was terror that came upon Duryodhana, as his gaze fell upon warriors, elephants, horses, soldiers, all laid open to the marrow.\n\nUnable to bear what he saw he drew up quickly before the boy, but their battle seemed to last only a moment. Your son's spirit ebbed away beneath the force of a hundred blows.\n\n45.30\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nHorseman. As you tell me your tale of this fierce and terrible struggle between lonely Saubhadra and his many foes, it is this solitary child whose unbeaten courage seems to me most a thing of wonder. Yet such bravery is perhaps less of a prodigy when found in those who cleave to their __________\n\n46.1\n\n355\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nduty in the world. Duryodhana was downcast and princes lay dead in their hundreds. How did my men find the spirit to rally against Subhadra's son?\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nIt was the enemy's day. Disheveled and drenched in sweat, with faces drawn and eyes reeling, your men's only remaining strength was born of the will to run. From their hands had slipped brothers, fathers and sons, friends, family and loved ones, and now they spurred on their steeds to wherever it was they were bound themselves. O majesty, as the ranks caved in about them the group of Drona and Ashvatthaman, Brihad\u00b7bala, Kripa, Duryodhana, Karna, Krita\u00b7varman and Saubala made a last crazed dash for the unbowed son of Subhadra. But the youth drove them back one by one. There was one fearless soul who from inexperience or arrogance bred in the plush palace of his youth came close to Arjuni, and that was the splendored acolyte of the arrow Lakshmana. His father turned back as he passed, anxious for his son, ____________\n\nand then other warriors followed Duryodhana and fell in behind him. They all sprinkled arrows upon Abhimanyu like drops from rainclouds on a mountain peak, but as if he were a whirling wind he tore on alone through their darkening sky. Your grandson Lakshmana was a fighter fierce at arms and fair of visage and he stood beside his father a true warrior, his bow raised to the sky. The wealth in which he had been born would have been no vaster had he been the child of Kubera, yet on the battlefield he ran wild as an elephant. In a madness the Dark One's son descended upon him and they clashed. Lakshmana's sharp and biting shafts _________________\n\n46.5\n\n46.10\n\n357\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\ncut into the arms and chest of Subhadra's vengeful son. Like a snake struck by a stick the mighty warrior reared up in anger, and one child of your wide clan addressed the other.\n\n\"Feast your eyes upon this world, for you are bound for one beyond it. Your fathers and brothers will watch now as I lead you away to where Yama dwells.\"\n\n46.15\n\nSuch were Abhimanyu's words, and from his quiver came an iron arrow like a snake shedding its skin which he notched and then loosed from his hand and which flew and hewed off the head of Lakshmana so fine of feature in nose and brow, its earrings and locks of hair so fair. Lakshmana's death brought a shocked cry from the mass of men. When he saw his dear son felled, wrath filled Duryodhana. \"Kill him!\" screamed the bull to his herd. About Abhimanyu came the six chariots of Drona and Kripa, Karna and Drona's son, and Brihad\u00b7bala and Krita\u00b7varman born to Hridika. But __________\n\nwith sharp shafts Arjuna's son struck them once again and forced them back before he fell with hotheaded violence upon Saindhava's broad host. The valiant son of King Kratha drew up a wall of elephants ridden by mailed Kalingas and Nishadas and cut off his path with their bulk. The battle grew yet more monstrous my lord. Like a tireless wind in a sky of a hundred clouds the son of Arjuna blew through that bold column of beasts and although Kratha's son covered Arjuni in sheets of arrows and the other warriors headed by Drona came rushing in about him and spread above him their high darts, he beat them all back with his own and then struck hard at the child of Kratha. The taste for blood quickened in him and with an edgeless swarm of arrows he sheared off the boy's head from his shoulders still wearing _______________\n\n46.20\n\n46.25\n\n359\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nits crown and his bangled arms from his trunk and then down came quiver and bow, parasol and pole, and finally steeds and driver.\n\nNeither might nor study nor virtue nor nobility nor glory nor the force of a bow could save the prince from his death. And what sorrow came among the warriors at his fall.\n\ndhrita\u00b7rashtra spoke.\n\nSo young Saubhadra stood deep in the throng, unslain and unretreating. The very image of his father. Riding behind his powerful three-year-old nobleblood steeds it must have seemed as if he soared through the sky. Could any of those heroes bring him down?\n\n47.1\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nDeep into the multitudes of your army Abhimanyu joy of the Pandus drove his sharp arrows and all the lords he encountered he sent into retreat. But six chariots pressed in about him, atop them Drona, Kripa, Karna, Drauni, Brihad\u00b7bala and Krita\u00b7varman son of Hridika. My king, most of your men had seen Saindhava shoulder his burdensome task and had ridden out for Yudhi\u00b7shthira. But these six champions had stayed with him, and now they drew back their bows tall as palms and rained arrowed waters down upon the head of brave and brazen Saubhadra. All of them were masters of all their art and yet the arrows that came back from Abhimanyu's deadly fingers pinned each of them where he stood. Fifty stone tips struck Drona and twenty Brihad\u00b7bala, eighty stuck Krita\u00b7varman and sixty found Kripa. Back flew Arjuni's hand to his ear and up surged those golden arrows. Ten more of them bit into Ashvatthaman. All _______________\n\n47.5\n\n47.10\n\n361\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nabout Abhimanyu stood his foes. Yet right through Karna's ear he sent a single perfect sharp and yellowhued arrow and then he brought down Kripa's horse and both his flankriders and struck the brahmin himself right in the chest with ten more of his darts. The mighty champion of the Kurus Vrindaraka, who had brought us such fame, strong Abhimanyu crushed next before the very eyes of his brothers.\n\nAs Arjuni harrowed his enemies with a careless caprice it was Ashvatthaman who sent at him a volley of five and twenty slender darts, but my king the boy's whetted shafts struck him back without a moment passing. Drauni took arrows beveled both sides to fine and deadly points and shot sixty straight at his foe. Yet when they struck Abhimanyu he did not falter, and remained still as Mount Mainaka. With two and seventy trueflying shafts borne on fletchings flecked in gold, strong and splendored Drauni struck at his adversary, then on Abhimanyu's head rained a hundred more arrows from Drona's bow as he strove to protect his progeny, and son answering father, Ashvatthaman fired another eighty presaging two and twenty broad shafts from Karna and from Krita\u00b7varman fourteen, fifty from Brihad\u00b7bala and ten more from Kripa son of Sharadvat. Yet each of their arrows Arjuni matched with ten.\n\n47.15\n\n47.20\n\nThe chief of the Kosalas was next to strike him in the chest but Abhimanyu knocked to the earth his whole panoply of horses, pennant, parasol and driver. Out of the wreckage climbed the prince holding sword and shield, desperate to strike his enemy's goldberinged head from his neck, but it was Prince Brihad\u00b7bala the ward of the Kosalas whom Phalguni turned to and struck in the heart. Pierced to the quick _______________\n\n363\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nhe fell. A full ten thousand of those great kings with curses on their tongues and bows and swords in their hands Abhimanyu had now killed. With Brihad\u00b7bala dead, Saubhadra circled the field and halted your warriors and archers where they stood. Down fell his arrows like drops of rain.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nAnger flashed again in the son of the Red Star Fighter and he sent another single arrow like a ring straight through Karna's ear and then a full volley of fifty more. O Bharata, back came Karna's counterattack shaft for shaft and Abhimanyu's limbs bristled thick with stalks. In wrath still he dug from Karna channels of gore. Cut by his arrowheads mighty Karna glistened and fought on bathed in blood. The bodies of those two fabled warriors were livid with wounds and spotted in scarlet and together they looked like twin flames-of-the-forest in bloom. Six brave and dazzling fighters allied to Karna were the next victims of Subhadra's son and he crushed them away along with their horses, drivers, pennants and cars, and then with arrows in braces of ten he struck down yet more. All the while his aim was immaculate. With six trueflying shafts he finished Ashva\u00b7ketu prince of Magadha, bringing down the youth along with his driver and all his steeds, and then a razorsharp shaft from his bow tore beneath the oriflamme of the elephant into the lord of the people called the Marttikavatakas. And Abhimanyu roared as his arrows flew.\n\n48.1\n\n48.5\n\n365\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nDuhshasana's son fired back at Arjuna's heir, four arrows for four horses, one for his driver and ten for the boy himself. Karshni's eyes flashed red with anger and firing seven shafts he cast out these words. \"Your father ran like a coward from the battlefield. You have my praise, for you at least can fight. But today you will not escape with your life.\" As he spoke, he loosed at his enemy an arrow of iron polished by the blacksmith's cloth, but with three of his own Drona's son cut it out of the air. Three more arrows Abhimanyu shot at Shalya and they cut his banner from its pole. Shalya let fly nine of his vulturefeathered arrows in return. But what came next my king was a true wonder to behold. It was as if Arjuna's son came loose in his own heart.\n\n48.10\n\nWith Shalya's banner down Abhimanyu killed both his flankriders, and pierced by six metal shafts Shalya himself finally leapt away for another car. Abhimanyu's next victims were five. He struck Shatrun\u00b7jaya, Chandra\u00b7ketu, Megha\u00b7vega, Suvarchas and Surya\u00b7bhasa. And then he found Subala's son with his arrows, who in answer fired back a volley of three and then turned to Duryodhana to speak.\n\n48.15\n\n\"Let us move in for the kill together my lord before he slays us one by one. Drona and Kripa and the others must think of some way to stop him.\"\n\nAt the heart of the fray, Karna progeny of the sun shouted across to Drona.\n\n\"For too long now Abhimanyu has been grinding us away to nothing. Speak, Drona! How can we beat him?\"\n\n367\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nAnd the great archer Drona addressed his reply to them all.\n\n\"Do any here see a flaw in this young prince? Do you even see a chink in the sky that he has not darkened as he races about us? Behold the force of life in this lion cub born to the Pandavas. From the courses of our chariots we can see only the shape of his bow for as soon as the groove of one of his arrows touches its string it is gone. As he sets his missiles in flight he snatches the very breath from my throat. I wish that the slayer of foes the son of Subhadra would terrorize us no more just as I wish that his heart would fade as he flies through the fray. But his great vehemence overwhelms all of us, all of these warriors, none of whom for the work of his nimble fingers can see through to the horizon any more. His onslaught I can compare only to the work of one other: he who bears the bow named Gandiva.\"\n\n48.20\n\nAiling beneath Abhimanyu's attack, Karna spoke again. \"I stand my ground only because my will tells me I must, but this youth's fierce arrows are whittling away my resolve. In them burns a fire born of his bright fury.\"\n\n48.25\n\nA slight smile appeared on the teacher's lips and his words came slowly. \"Abhimanyu is young. His hand is quick, his armor inviolable. I am the one who taught the father of this destroyer of cities how to protect himself, and he has passed on every nuance of those lessons to his son. Yet if your aim is true you can destroy his bow, sever its string, strike his horses and their harnesses and riders. O son of Radha your talents as an archer are supreme. Do this if you can and he is distracted by your onslaught strike the fatal blow. With a bow in his hand he can be beaten neither by god nor by __________\n\n48.30\n\n369\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\ndemon. If it is your will to win, deny him his bow and deny him his chariot.\"\n\nHearing his teacher's words Karna born of the sun sent without pause a flock of arrows at the bow that Abhimanyu plucked in his quickfingered hands while the Bhoja Gautama cut down his steeds and their flankriders. Abhimanyu's bow broke in his grasp, and the other warriors poured upon him arrows in sheets. Those archers were fast and merciless and in an instant he was without his chariot, a lone child in a storm of scattered shafts, bow broken and car lost but still true to who he was for then he rose again, brandishing his sword and shield, flying up and cutting across the sky and every grace and all might and speed were his, the son of Arjuna there in the vast air like the king of the birds. _____________________\n\nLooking up from the battle each of the six saw him and each thought that it would be upon him that Abhimanyu's sword would fall. They glimpsed their only chance and struck. Bane of his enemies the mighty Drona broke with a forged arrow the boy's sword, leaving its gemstudded hilt still in his hand, and then with sharp shafts Radha's son shattered his fine shield. Without sword and without shield down came Abhimanyu once more to earth. His body was full of arrows. Getting to his feet he swept up a chariot wheel and ran at Drona in a fury, his body all alight in its spirals of dust, and with the wheel in his hands raised above his head for just a moment Abhimanyu was a fierce image for Vasudeva himself, his mouth a pure stream flowing red, agog with lion's howls, his brows and eyes all twisted up. In the midst of that gathering of kings his might was in that instant without parallel. And there he shone, magnificent.\n\n48.35\n\n48.40\n\n371\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nStarred in the weapons of Vishnu the joy of Vishnu's sister stood resplendent on the plain. Like the stirrer of men's hearts he had no peer. His hair fluttered in the wind and in his upraised hand was the weapon he had won from his foe. The kings beheld that apparition beyond even the ken of the gods and starting in fear they smashed the wheel clean from his fingers. Now Abhimanyu had lost his bow, his sword, and the wheelrim that had been knocked from his hands. Yet the Dark One's child was a great warrior and he lifted in his strong arms a huge mace and lunged with it at Ashvatthaman. Mighty Ashvatthaman saw Abhimanyu's club high above him like a fork of lightning and with three skips leapt from the seat of his chariot, and as he did, the son of Subhadra quilled in arrows like a porcupine crushed Ashvatthaman's horses and both his drivers beneath his club. He thrust aside Kalikeya the son of Subala and wiped out seventy of his Gandhara followers. Ten of the Brahma\u00b7vashatiyas were the next to fall and then seven Kekaya cars and ten of their elephants and swinging his club he hammered apart the steeds and chariot of Duhshasana's son.\n\n49.1\n\n49.5\n\nHot with anger Dauhshasani picked up a club of his own and flew at Saubhadra, my lord, screaming for him to stand and fight. The two fierce warriors each baying for the other's blood swung their maces high and crashed together like Try\u00b7ambaka and Andhaka of old, and trading blow for blow they knocked one another to the ground, two murderous foes like banners of Indra cast down in the midst of the fray. But to the glory of the Kurus it was Dauhshasani who was first to rise, and he brought down his mace on Saubhadra's head _______________\n\n49.10\n\n373\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nas the boy tottered to his feet. He reeled beneath the force of the blow, and then at last the deadly son of Subhadra toppled to the ground. He breathed no more.\n\nO my king. So it was that one died at the hands of many. One warrior who had trampled our whole army as if it were just a lotus beneath his feet but now lay in the splendor of death, a wild elephant killed by his hunters. Your soldiers stood in a circle around him where he fell. He was like a mild blaze set at the end of the cold months that had now burned and burned until it was out, a wind that had bent low the branches at the tops of the trees and now was still, a sun that in the passing day had scorched the river of the Bharatas and had now descended. He was like soma lost from the cup, like an ocean dried to dust. His face glowed like the full moon, his eyes hidden behind dark locks of hair. Your warriors looked upon him, and as they looked they roared with joy, thrilled and delirious at the scene.\n\n49.15\n\nMy lord, we celebrated as tears fell from the eyes of our foes. In the sky above creatures cried out at the sight of that warrior lying on the earth like the moon fallen from the firmament. Six of the fighters from Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's horde, and Drona and Karna chief among them, had cut this lone body to the ground in what I would name a sin. Yet how beautiful the rich earth was as it cradled that dead hero. It was like a night sky at full moon etched in constellations. Heaps of arrowshafts inlaid with gold, the perfect limbs of the dead still clasped by glittering bracelets, the rainbow colors of cloths and flags, the tattered shreds of chowries and livery and all the raiment of battle festooned every inch of the earth. It was awash with blood. Strewn with the dazzling _______________\n\n49.20\n\n49.25\n\n375\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nembroideries that once covered horse, man and elephant, and by swords whose lethal edges had drunk deep as if by snakes that had sloughed their skins, by bows and broken arrows and daggers, spears, javelins, maces and weapons too numerous to count, the surface of the earth shone. Steeds lay drenched red as they sighed their last and fell silent and the earth itself was a jumble of riders, of Saubhadra's victims, of iron hooks and drivers, vestments, blades, poles and elephants like broken crags pierced all over with arrows. Wellmade chariots had been scattered all across the earth, empty now of warriors and drivers, bereft of steeds, upturned in rippling lakes that held dead elephants and the corpses of soldiers in piles with all their daggers and adornments. It was a vision of horror and it struck fear into timid hearts.\n\n49.30\n\nThe Pandus looked upon the broken figure of Abhimanyu who had once been bright as the sun and moon and they were struck down with sorrow. Still only a boy and dead before his prime. But to your side, my king, how sweet a sight was his corpse.\n\nThe whole army of the Pandavas rushed to the feet of the righteous king. The matchless Yudhi\u00b7shthira looked upon them and saw how his men suffered at the youth's death and said to them the following words.\n\n\"Here is a hero bound for heaven. He was one that would die rather than run. Take heart, do not be downcast. We will win this war and overcome our traitors.\"\n\n49.35\n\n377\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nSpeaking thus the mighty and splendored king and best of warriors shone a light into their dark despair, and his words drove away their anguish.\n\nSo it was that in the ecstasy of battle and the tumult of men Abhimanyu fought and killed the serpent princes who were his foes and then passed on. The great lord of Kosala and ten thousand of his men fell before the dark child and equal of the Krishnas before he took the hard road to Indra's home. Thousands of cars and horses and elephants and men all fell before him, and while he departed this earthly confusion insatiate he is not to be mourned. What he did was holy and when he departed he left for the shining lands, lands found only by the pure in deed and soul.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nWe had killed their champion but still we felt the wounds where his arrows had struck us and we returned to camp at the end of the day soaked in blood. My king, as we made our way back weak with exhaustion, we all gazed out across the battlefield insensate and wordless into a dusk alive with strangeness, an uneasy time disjointed from night and day, all full of the cries of jackals. The sun sank down slowly behind the mountains of the west like a lotus crushed in a hand. Its rays struck against the wondrous swords, lances, spears and shields, against the suits of armor and the finery of the dead, and heaven melted into earth where the delicate and gorgeous flame in the sky blazed at the horizon.\n\n50.1\n\n379\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nAmong flags, hooks and the corpses of drivers fallen from their backs a hundred elephants lay dead like cloudcapped peaks of mountains struck down by lightning. They were heaped so high that the paths of the earth were lost beneath them. My lord, the bodies of kings, the crushed limbs of their soldiers and the tattered garments they had worn, the dead drivers and horses and their lost banners and pennants and the trunks of mutilated heroes lay resplendent across the ground. So immense was the slaughter it was as if city upon city had been slain by raiders. Thick with clusters of cars and dead horses and riders, jeweled with dazzling fabrics and ornaments and the torn-out tongues and teeth and bowels and eyes of the dead, the earth bore an appalling bounty of men whose swords, armor, bracelets and clothes had been ripped from them, their followers and chariots and horses and elephants scattered in every direction. Once they had lain on the plush cushions and couches of kings but now they slept on the ground like the kinless dead.\n\n50.5\n\nThen came dogs and jackals, crows, herons, vultures, wolves, hyenas and other beasts of prey all bristling with pleasure. Drinkers of blood and hosts of goblins and a throng of ghosts filled the place with horrors. Peeling back the skins from corpses, they drank up the blood and fat and sank their teeth into flesh and marrow. They twisted out intestines and cackled and sang, dragging body after body behind them. A river flowed from the mighty dead that night and it was as treacherous and as terrifying as the Vaitarani itself. Its weeds were the glinting banks of swords growing in the flesh that was its mud and its pebbles were the heads of the dead. On its surface chariots bobbed like rafts along _______________\n\n50.10\n\n381\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nrocky straits formed by dead elephants, and in its waters of blood sank bodies like vessels of clay. Its rough currents plunged through the whole of the battlefield, swirling with the living and the dead. Its freight was fear itself. The place where we had fought was now awful to behold, packed with ghosts foul and fell that howled and gulped and chewed as all around them flocked hounds, jackals and winged things consuming all that they could in a frenzy that chilled the hearts of those who still drew breath. In the early night it was as if Death's kingdom had risen before our eyes. The living stole away as quietly as they could as around them headless bodies rose up and danced.\n\nAnd still men looked upon that supreme warrior, all his great and worthy decorations now stripped and ruined, Abhimanyu, Indra's equal, lying dead, like a pyre without offerings at the edge of sacrificial ground.\n\n50.15\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nThe great ward of warriors Saubhadra was dead. His companions all descended from their chariots and took off their armor and cast down their fashioned bows. Then they came around their king Yudhi\u00b7shthira and sat before him. Each of them was deep in sorrow, his thoughts fixed on Subhadra's son. King Yudhi\u00b7shthira spoke to them, and his words were choked with sadness.\n\n51.1\n\n\"Abhimanyu is dead. Brave and strong son of my brother. So fervently did he want to help me, and he did: Drona's array has been broken. He plunged into its depths and destroyed it from within like a lion let loose among cattle. He shattered its ranks and drove back its archers nimble __________\n\n51.5\n\n383\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nand wild though they are. His quick arrows left our sworn enemy Duhshasana lost and confused at the head of his column. He boldly crossed the fathomless sea that was Drona's seething array to reach Duhshasana's own child before at last he departed for the broken harbor of the sun.\n\nAbhimanyu is dead. How will I look Arjuna son of Kunti in the eye? Or the flawless Subhadra when she comes looking for her dear son? Will I lie to Hrishi\u00b7kesha and Dhanan\u00b7jaya? Will I speak evasively? With crooked words? I wanted to bring Subhadra joy, I so dearly hoped to seal victory for Keshava and for Arjuna. Yet it is I who have caused this calamity. A desperate fool does not wake from his delusions, for his desire is born of his folly. I yearned, I wanted what was sweet, and I did not foresee how things would end.\n\n51.10\n\nWhat were his due? Love and sleep, the pleasures of the road, jewelers' work. Yet I placed a mere boy at the head of my army. How could I have done such a thing? A young child with no experience of fighting, a foal in a pack of rude stallions. He should have been protected. O but I too should lie down upon the earth at his side before the flames leap from his father's burning eyes and consume me. How my brother will hate me for this. He is no fool. A man of peace and wisdom, of intent and strength and goodness, a hero, someone who is beloved of and cares for others, a man whose highest goal is truth. Sages tell of his deeds for he does things that are beyond the reach of normal men. He it was who crushed beneath his might the Nivata\u00b7kavachas and Kalakeyas, he who came in the winking of an eye to smash the golden city and the foes of great Indra led by __________\n\n51.15\n\n385\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nPuloman who dwelt therein. Such is his generosity that he is merciful even to his foes if it is for mercy that they ask. Yet today I could not even save his son.\n\nThe destruction that Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's great army has brought upon itself will be terrible. The Kauravas will be burnt away to nothing by the fury that the death of his boy will light inside Partha. Petty tyrant in his petty court, Duryodhana will witness the annihilation of his friends and he will give up his life I am sure in a bonfire of sickness and of sorrow. But be it victory or the throne, immortality or the realms of the gods, nothing could bring me joy again. For I have seen life bursting and without limits suddenly stoppered up. I have seen none other than the son of the son of the greatest of gods struck down before me, dead.\"\n\n51.20\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nAnd so Yudhi\u00b7shthira son of Kunti mourned. Then the great sage Krishna Dvaipayana came before him.* When he arrived Yudhi\u00b7shthira paid him due reverence and spoke to him, still burning with grief at the death of his brother's son.\n\n52.1\n\n\"Abhimanyu is dead. His killers were a circle of strong and wicked warriors from among the mighty Kuru bowmen against whom he fought. He may have been a boy but he had a man's heart. He fought alone and without concern for his own safety, burning his foes from his path. 'Open a way through the vanguard for us,' I told him. And on he went, deep among them, but alas our own pursuit of him was hindered by the Sindhu king. His killers fought a crooked battle against him, one that none who live by war could call _______________\n\n52.5\n\n387\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nevenhanded. It burns me without end to think of it. I am full of grief, full of tears. Again and again I return to it and I can find no peace.\"\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nHoly Vyasa addressed Yudhi\u00b7shthira as he sorrowed, his heart aching in grief. These were the words that he said.\n\nvyasa spoke.\n\nO Yudhi\u00b7shthira. Deep is your wisdom and you have studied hard the sacred books. O bull of the Bharatas, men like you do not fade in the face of calamity. A hero slays foe upon foe in war and then goes to dwell in the wards of heaven. Saubhadra achieved things beyond his years. He was a man indeed and one of the best there have been. But Yudhi\u00b7shthira, Death is ordained and it will not be transgressed. Hear me Bharata. Death visits even demon and spirit and god.\n\n52.10\n\nyudhi\u00b7shthira spoke.\n\nIn life kings rule the earth and at life's end when war is done they make their bed upon it. So are these mighty ones acquainted with death. Some have the strength of a hundred elephants and some the power of the winds yet when they die in battle they are men and nothing but men. Nowhere do I see any still standing if he once took the breath of another: these are fighters of main and splendor and written in the heart of each for all time is the will to overcome his other. When their lives have left them and they sleep in death then at last they come to know this thing. Death is a word that gets its meaning from this, from the demise of the bold lords of the earth. Heroes though _________________________\n\n52.15\n\n389\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nthey are in the end these fiery sons of kings die powerless and without pride, and broken by the will of an opponent each sets out for the place of Vaishvanara and his kin. But I wonder to myself. From where does our sense of death arise? From what or from where does Death herself come? Why does she* steal away the living? For steal she does. Tell me o great and godlike father.\n\nsanjaya spoke.\n\nThus did Yudhi\u00b7shthira son of Kunti put his question to the holy sage, and gentle were the words with which Vyasa replied.\n\nvyasa spoke.\n\nThere is an ancient tale told about this question, my king, one that Narada told to Akampana in olden times. It is said that this king too suffered that most terrible loss that any can suffer\u2014the death of his child. I will tell you now of the very origin of Death. When you have heard me you will be free of the pain that comes the love that binds you to it. Listen closely my son to this old story for it is rich in wisdom and it will banish your misery and return you to life. I say that it will not only cleanse your soul, it will drive down those who want to harm you. It is the highest bliss for in profundity this tale matches any to be found in the Vedas. O majesty a king who cares for the longevity of his sons and for his kingdom and wealth would do well to hear this story when he wakes for every day that he lives.\n\n52.20\n\n52.25\n\n391\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nMany years ago, during the era before our own, there was a king by the name of Akampana. He was fighting a war and he had suffered defeat at his enemy's hands. He had a handsome son named Hari who was strong as Narayana. A skilled fighter with a strategist's mind, his bravery bore compare to Indra's. During the king's defeat his son was hemmed in by his foe at the very center of the fray. He sent up from among the warriors and elephants around him a last, huge volley of arrows. O Yudhi\u00b7shthira despite this daring deed and fearsome though the prince was, that day was to be one when his opponents would slay him.\n\nHis griefstricken father performed his son's last rites. By day and by night he mourned the boy's loss and clung ceaselessly to his despair. And the divine seer Narada heard of the misery that his son's death had bred in him and he went to visit the king. When the vaunted king received his guest he bowed down to him as was right and then told him all that had happened. No detail did he leave out, but he recounted to the sage both his enemy's victory and the story of the death of his child.\n\n52.30\n\n\"O mighty one. My son was as glorious as Indra and Vishnu. And as he fought with courage and strength against his adversaries he was struck down in battle by a horde of them. Tell me o holiness: who is this Death? Does he* have the courage or the strength or the mettle of a man? You are the wisest seer who lives. I want to hear the truth.\"\n\n52.35\n\n393\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nNarada was generous and learned. He heard the king's plea and he told this great story to release him from the longing he felt for his departed son.\n\nnarada spoke.\n\nMighty lord listen now to this recondite tale. You will hear it as I once heard it told to me o king of this bounteous earth. At the beginning of things, when the great father Brahma had made the creatures, he looked in his splendor upon the world over which he ruled. O majesty, anxiety took root in him about its burgeoning because he could not see how it would end. A fire born of anger rose up from the spaces of his body and my king every quarter of the world was engulfed in its blaze. Sky and earth and air were all garlanded in dancing flame. The high and holy Lord ignited all in the world that moved and all that was still and destroying every object in this changing universe with the great force of his fury the mighty Brahma sent terror quaking through the quick and the dead.\n\n52.40\n\nThen the Still One* with twisted hair, the lord of the nightwalkers, the ghastly destroyer, came to the abode of Brahma Parameshthin. He feared for the survival of living things. He cast himself down at Brahma's feet. From out of his fires the supreme god and great ascetic addressed his child.\n\n\"Son born of desire what would you have me do? All that you wish will be yours. I will do whatever you want, so tell me now o Still One what it is you came here for.\"\n\n52.45\n\n395\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nthe still one spoke.\n\nO exalted one. The work of the creation of living things was yours and by you the diverse creatures of the spheres are born and grow old. But now all across the world these same beings burn in the pyre of your rage. To watch them suffer brings pity to my heart. O great and venerable sire, I implore you that you overcome your fury.\n\n53.1\n\nbrahma spoke.\n\nNo lust to destroy brought this to pass. Rage possesses me because I fear for the survival of the earth. The goddess is pained by her burden and it is she who drives me to seek the destruction of my creatures. She is too kind o Maha\u00b7deva and she suffers terribly for it. But I can find no way of destroying this manifold and measureless cosmos, and this is why such fury burns within me.\n\n53.5\n\nrudra spoke.\n\nBe at peace for the sake of the flowery sphere that calls you master. Put an end to your fury, lest you destroy all that you have created, all that moves and all that is still, as only by your grace my lord can this triple world survive for in you is what is yet to come, what is past, and what is now upon us. Your rage burns and fire sparks forth from its heat and this fire consumes rocks, hills, trees, rivers. All the sweet pools and all the shrublands and all the meadows and every plant and creature perish from it. Everything is turning to ash. Find peace, my lord. My wish is simply that your fury could be at an end. Your entire creation o celestial one is almost destroyed and before it is too late your splendor must be eclipsed and you must somehow cool your temper for __________\n\n53.10\n\n397\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nyou alone can do so. O heavenly one, behold what you have done and for the survival of your children waste no time. Act before all life is erased. If you do not then all future generations will pass from this world into oblivion hand in hand with their ancestors.\n\nO god of the beginning. In these worlds I am yours to command, for it is you who made them. Avert the catastrophe of this still and swaying world, this world over which you rule.\n\nnarada spoke.\n\nThe god heard Maha\u00b7deva's plea and for the sake of living things stowed his splendor once more within himself. As he buried that fire, the revered and holy lord of the world made clear for the first time what it is to act and what it is to withdraw. Majesty, once he had stilled the flames born of his wrath, from his eyes and ears there stepped a woman deep of soul who was dark and red and whose eyes and face and tongue were of a tawny hue and who was decked in burnt things and wore upon her wrists two blackened bracelets. Emerging from the gaps in his body the woman moved around to his right and with a smile looked across at the two gods of all that is. Then he who marked out the world arraigned her thus.\n\n\"O Death. You are the earth's guardian. Destroy these creatures. You were born of my rage to bring about the end of things. Gather in all these beings from idiot to sage and know that only good can come to you for it will be my command that you obey.\"\n\n53.15\n\n53.20\n\n399\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nShe of the rose eyes heard the god's words. But as she reflected in her heart upon them she began to weep, and her weeping was gentle and plangent. In turn the great father who cares for all the beings of the world comforted her, and in his hands caught her falling tears.\n\nnarada spoke.\n\nSomehow the gentle lady forced her sorrow down into her heart and then, with her hands raised reverentially like slender branches above her head, she spoke to the lord of beings.\n\n54.1\n\ndeath spoke.\n\nO lord. I would know how a woman such as myself who is born of you could perform so dire a task as this in full knowledge of what it is she does. Take pity on me great lord of heaven: I fear that it is wrong. I fear the teardrops falling from the eyes of those who weep in sorrow for the memories of their beloved sons and babies and brothers and mothers and fathers and husbands. I fear what they will say about me among mortals. My lord I ask for your asylum. O greatest of the celestial gods I do not want to set foot in the house of Yama. As my very form is made of your kindness then by the tips of these fingers that I reach out to you now I beg you o generous father of the world, grant me but one wish. O mighty and illustrious ruler of all things, by your grace and your covenant I ask you for a gift most reverend: that I may do penance. If you give me leave I will take myself to Dhenuka's high retreat and there I will burn in the keen heat of meditation and devote myself to your adoration. O __________\n\n54.5\n\n401\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nlord of the gods. I cannot steal the dear breath from the throats of these wretched creatures. Save me from this evil.\n\nbrahma spoke.\n\nAs Death you were born to end the lives of things. Go and gather in all that breathes. Do not hesitate, for this is ordained and it cannot be revoked. No censure will fall on you among men. But you must do as I have told you.\n\n54.10\n\nnarada spoke.\n\nDeath bowed at holy Brahma's command and raised her hands in honor before her. Her compassion for the living meant that she could not resolve the conflict within her. All the same, the heavenly and supernal god and father of beings felt well pleased and was content now in his very soul. He looked gladly upon the realms of his dominion and they lay beneath his untroubled eyes restored to their state before the fire came. Now that the supreme one's wrath had abated, the girl slipped away from his wise audience without any promise to follow through her destroyer's course.\n\n54.15\n\nO majesty, Death hastened to reach Dhenuka. There she undertook the most exalted and most severe of oaths. To begin she stood upon but a single foot for the course of sixteen aeons. Such was her compassion and concern for the creatures that for five aeons more she closed herself away from the delights and pleasures of the senses. Balanced on a single foot she spent the passage of seven and then six more aeons. And then another aeon passed with her standing so. O regent of the earth she then went among the wild beasts as the epochs turned and turned until at last she reached the cold and spirituous waters of holy Nanda. Seven hundred _______________\n\n54.20\n\n403\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nyears she passed in those pools, then a century more. At Nanda she followed her vows in purity and did not falter even once. Bent upon her observances she went next to the ancient precincts of the river Kaushiki and she pursued her strictures further, living only on wind and rain. At the five rivers in the country of the Vetasakas the young girl continued her devotions and dragged her body through transports of pain untold and unreckoned. Then from the Ganges she sought the high and lonely peak of Meru, and there she stood still as stone, closed into the discipline of the breath. So high and pure she was. On snowy Himavat where the gods perform their rites she propped herself for years beyond number upon only the tip of her thumb. Among the flowers of Go\u00b7karna and in Naimisha and Malaya she wore down her body with the vows to which she had bound her soul.\n\n54.25\n\nHer devotion to the great father and to him alone was adamantine and eternal, and the great father was justly pleased to see her so. The beloved and boundless source of all things spoke to her then with a mild temper and gentle countenance for O majesty he was truly moved.\n\n\"Tell me o Death. Why do you scorch yourself like this in penance without end?\"\n\nAnd Death replied to the holy father.\n\n\"O heavenly one. I will not kill creatures who live in peace with one another and for that you have condemned me. High lord of all that is, I ask you to grant me this single wish. I am so afraid of the sin that you demand and that is why I drive myself through this penance. O illustrious and infinite majesty, set me free from my terror. I am a sinless _______________\n\n54.30\n\n405\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nwoman and in despair I beg that you allow me to remain so.\"\n\nHe who knows time past and present and time to come then spoke thus to Death.\n\n\"Your destruction of these beings could in no way be a sin. Fair one, I have commanded you and may it not be in vain. Destroy every member of the four species of created thing and rightness will be at your side everywhere and for all time. The world's guardian Yama will be with you and the plagues* will be with you. And I and the wise will make you a gift. As you perform this task without smear or sin so will you make your fame among us.\"\n\n54.35\n\nDeath heard his words o majesty. She raised her hands in reverence and replied to the king with her eyes downcast.\n\n\"O lord. If it is I who must do this then may it never be done without me. Because you have bestowed upon my head this task I have something to ask you to hear. May it be that greed and rage, malice and envy, falseness and folly and hubris and recrimination in all their forms come from within man and be the things that destroy him.\"\n\nbrahma spoke.\n\nIt will be so. Now o Death go and destroy the creatures, as is fit. There will be no sin in it and I will not revile you, fair one. The teardrops that I have caught in my hands will become the plagues of things that live and will be born from within them. They will be the ones who take life from the dying and do not be afraid for the violence will not be yours to perform nor will any living things do you harm. You will become order incarnate, order's queen. For through your __________\n\n54.40\n\n407\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\njustice order will dwell within you and you will uphold it. Go now and through the whole world still the breath of the living. Set aside any love or passion you feel towards living things and go abroad to gather in their lives for in doing so you will yourself become concord unending. Wrongdoing will bring death upon those whose acts twist from what is right. So immerse yourself in their evil and falsehood and in doing so render yourself pure. Any love or fury that has taken root in you tear out, then go into the world and gather in the lives you find.\n\nnarada spoke.\n\nAfraid of Brahma's curse and afraid that in her very name was stamped the nature of her calling, at last the young woman succumbed. Love and anger were in her but she set them aside. Now when the time comes she takes the breath from the lungs of the living and she does so without passion. Death comes as the plagues that are born within us, and the suffering brought on by affliction is by nature dispelled when the time for the living thing to breathe comes to an end. So release your grief, for it is fruitless. Death is an event even in the lives of gods who pass away as men do when their time is done. Thus it is for all living things. O lion in the world of men, gods are in this no different from mortals. Death is a strong wind that howls in mighty gusts across everything and she smashes apart what things she finds. Her violence is without end and her terrible course is plotted through how we choose to live and what it is we do.\n\n54.45\n\n409\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nLion among kings. Every god is acquainted with Death. Do not feel sorrow for your son. His are the pleasures of heaven and the everlasting delights of the realms of heroes. He has cast off sorrow and rests now in the company of the saints. For Death among mortals is ordained by the highest god. And while she gathers us in each by our turn when our time comes, as must the one whose charge is the breath of things, yet do all things in the end bring ruin upon themselves. It is not Death with his staff* who slays us. Thus the wise do not mourn the dead, as they have understood the nature of Brahma's creation. Understand that the universe was shaped by a power above you and for not one more moment feel the pain of departed children.\n\n54.50\n\nvyasa spoke.\n\nNarada had finished his profound tale and it was the turn of King Akampana to speak to his friend.\n\n\"O high and holy sage, my grief has left me. I have heard your tale and I understand its meaning. I thank you for it.\"\n\nWhen the great sage heard the king's words he was pleased deep in his divine and limitless soul.\n\nThe words of this holy tale are celebrated as the stuff of heaven and of wealth and of life. Hear them. King Akampana grasped their meaning o Yudhi\u00b7shthira and with it he came to understand the tasks of a warrior and the lofty path of the hero. In the midst of the archer horde the mighty and valiant Abhimanyu cast down his enemies and rose up to heaven. Wielder of arrow and sword in the thick of combat, he fought as he died: by sword and by club and by spear and by bow. Soma's son has shed this mortal dust and returned _______________\n\n54.55\n\n411\n\nthe death of abhimanyu\n\nto whence he came. So make firm your resolve, o son of Pandu, cast away your delirium, buckle on your armor and go forth with your four brothers to fight.\n\n413\n\nNotes\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona\n\nBold references are to the English text; bold italic references are to the Sanskrit text. An asterisk (*) in the body of the text marks the word or passage being annotated.\n\n1.1Bhishma began his life as heir to Kuru\u00b7kshetra, but in order that his father could marry Satyavati he revoked his right to accession and became a celibate ascetic, thereby ensuring that he would have no future children of his own who might later have designs on the throne. He becomes the epic's great renunciate, and hence his appellation, an exoteric compound meaning \"he whose vows are of the gods.\"\n\n1.1Shikhandin is born Amba, princess of Kashi, and is abducted by Bhishma along with her two sisters as brides for Vichitra\u00b7virya, Satyavati's second son. Discovering that Amba is betrothed to another king, Bhishma decides to release her, but the king refuses to take her back. Amba becomes a renunciate. She later appeals to Rudra that she may be reborn as a man to take her revenge on Bhishma. He grants her wish, and it is as the male Shikhandin that she joins the Pandava army and so becomes instrumental in the brahmin's fall. Cf. note to 7.22.\n\n1.4Kauravya here is ambiguous, but probably refers to Duryodhana.\n\n1.6Translating \u0101tman is not a simple matter, as the literal meaning, \"self\" or \"soul,\" is often redundant in Sanskrit. The reader will notice that its presence in the English translation is selective.\n\n1.12There is a whole array of words in the epic connoting different kinds of rulership. I use the terms \"king\" and \"chieftain\" more or less interchangeably.\n\n1.21When Bhishma is brought down at the end of Book Six, he makes a final and unsuccessful attempt to persuade Duryodhana to make peace with the Pandavas.\n\n1.25Although I have followed one convention in calling an asura a demon, the Christian connotations of the English term can be misleading. A folk etymology proposes a-sura, \"un-god,\" as _______________\n\n416\nnotes\n\nthe origin of the word: gods and demons in the Vedic tradition are defined principally through their mutual antagonism.\n\n1.32Before Kunti marries Pandu she spends some time in the service of the seer Durvasas, who in return for her devotion gives to her a spell by means of which she can have a son by any god she chooses. With her first attempt she invokes the sun god Surya, and the product of their union is Karna. But she is shocked and disturbed by what she has done, and casts the boy into a river. The charioteer Adhiratha and his wife Radha rescue and adopt the abandoned child. Karna's identity as the elder brother of the five Pandavas remains hidden from almost all the characters in the epic, including Karna himself, until Bhishma reveals the secret to him at the end of Book Six. When he hears that he is Kunti's son, Karna feels that he has already cast in his lot with Duryodhana, and decides not to reveal his true identity.\n\n1.34Literally \"man-bull\" and thus \"bull in the herd of men,\" unfolding with a certain liberty the metaphorical \"herd\" from the more succinct form of the Sanskrit compound. Other compounds with related meanings I treat similarly.\n\n1.35Literally \"the lords of the gods, of the depths, of wealth and of the dead:\" in Vedic cosmology Indra, Varuna, Kubera and Yama.\n\n1.39Discussing tactics just before battle commences, Bhishma belittles Karna's abilities in public, infuriating the great ally of the Kauravas to such an extent that he vows not to fight as long as Bhishma is alive. He criticizes what he perceives with some justification as Bhishma's partiality towards the Pandava cause and urges Duryodhana to cast the commander out as a negative influence on the army's morale. But when Bhishma is finally defeated in Book Six, Karna is moved by his plight, and during a conversation between them Bhishma reveals that his insult was intended to discourage Karna from fighting, as he was well aware of the warrior's capabilities and sought to protect _______________\n\n417\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona\n\nthe Pandavas from their full force. Bhishma then urges Karna to return to the battle, and the two of them are reconciled in the closing chapters of the book.\n\n2.30Bhima\u00b7sena is known for his enormous appetite, and hence his moniker. Although not as derogatory as it might sound, this particular designation is used to refer to Bhima\u00b7sena more often by the Kauravas than by the Pandavas.\n\n2.32Yama is a loka\/pala, a \"guardian of the world,\" and while closely associated with the deity Dharma, his principal identity is as the god of death. Precisely where Yama's abode is to be found is difficult to say. Originally Yama is the guardian of the forefathers dwelling in heaven, but later he descends to rule a kind of underworld similar to the Hades of ancient Greece. Dead heroes have several destinations, and are at other times said to be bound for svarga, \"heaven,\" the wider residence of the celestials; indeed, Karna has earlier spoken of Bhishma's journey post-mortem to svarga (1.38).\n\n3.14Gandiva is the name of Arjuna's bow. Its etymology is obscure, perhaps suggesting the horn of the rhinoceros, or \"diamond-joints.\" I choose to leave it untranslated.\n\n4.10As a youth, Karna arrives one day in the royal city of Hastina\u00b7pura while the Pandavas and Kauravas are showing off their newly acquired martial skills in what begins as a friendly competition. Karna puts himself forward and matches Drona's best student Arjuna trick for trick. Arjuna berates Karna for intruding on the occasion, and the brahmin Kripa questions whether Karna's lineage permits him to compete with the highborn Pandava. At this point in the narrative Karna is unaware of his royal parentage, and in response to Kripa's inquiry he can only hang his head in shame. Duryodhana spots his chance and defends Karna against the abuse coming from Kripa and Arjuna. He and Karna become friends, and in the end Duryodhana gives him the kingdom of Anga. In the light of Bhishma's revelation to Karna at the end of the previous book (cf. note to 1.39), Bhishma's words here have a particular resonance, of which only he and Karna are aware.\n\n418\nnotes\n\n5.9Apart from being the hero's name, a karna is an \"ear,\" but also, perhaps by resemblance, a \"rudder.\" It is upon this meaning that Duryodhana puns here in his appeal to Karna.\n\n6.5The deity known as Rudra in the Vedas and Shiva in later systems is at a transitional phase in the 'Maha\u00b7bharata,' where he goes by several different names, K\u0101p\u0101lin being one of them. The Rudras are a class of storm deities under his command.\n\n6.6Although in the main I translate the term dharma, here it occurs in a list with other deities and seems to refer to the god rather than the abstract noun, although the distinction within Sanskrit is always elided.\n\n7.1The central brahmin characters of the 'Maha\u00b7bharata'\u2014Bhishma, Drona and Kripa\u2014are not just priests, nor do they remain bookishly aloof from the political universe. They are in fact instructors and deadly practitioners within the sphere of activity that properly belongs to the kshatriya, the member of the royal or warrior caste. Indeed, their involvement in the cut and thrust of the power struggle becomes a source of unease and resentment for many of the epic's kshatriya characters.\n\n7.4Drona's emphasis here sheds some light on his motives for fighting with the Kauravas: his archenemy Drupada is an ally of the Pandavas. Friends in childhood, the kshatriya Drupada rejects Drona in later life when the brahmin comes to visit him. After Drona is engaged by Bhishma as instructor to the Pandavas, he sends them on a raid to storm Drupada's palace and imprison him. Drona taunts him a little when he is in his cage, and then releases him and offers him back a piece of his kingdom. The animosity between the two men is perpetuated in their children: Drupada's son Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna is born out a sacrificial fire when the king prays for an avenger, and Drona accurately prophesies his own death at Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna's hand. Later it will be Drona's son Ashvatthaman who kills Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna during the nocturnal massacre of Book Ten.\n\n419\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona\n\n7.11It is common in the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' for the name of a people and the name of its chieftain to be identical. So \"the Kalingas\" designates a particular group, while \"Kalinga\" means one of their number, most likely their king (as here).\n\n7.22Though he agrees to Duryodhana's request that he take up the generalship of the Kaurava forces, Bhishma has been mentor to both the Kauravas and the Pandavas, and he retains an affection towards the latter. In fact he goes so far as to explain to the Pandavas how they will be able to kill him despite his seeming invincibility. The contradictions of Bhishma's position are also present for Drona, and they provide a rich vein of narrative tension during his term as commander.\n\n7.29Sudarshana is the name both of Krishna's discus and of one of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's sons.\n\n8.2Drona is conceived in vitro when his father, the seer Bharad\u00b7vaja, catches a glimpse of the nymph Ghritachi nude, and ejaculates into a trough.\n\n9.6Although I translate daivam as \"fate,\" it designates something quite nebulous which emanates \"from the gods,\" and which acts upon human life without predetermining it. Indeed, the adverb daivavat can mean simply \"by chance.\"\n\n9.29What Dhrita\u00b7rashtra literally says is \"the four Vedas and their limbs, and the fifth Veda of legends.\" The four principal Vedas are the 'Rig Veda,' the 'Yajur Veda,' the 'Sama Veda' and the 'Atharva Veda.' These are the oldest Sanskrit texts and they contain detailed descriptions of myths, rituals, prayers and spells; their \"limbs\" are associated texts of exegesis, grammar and astronomy. It is not clear what Dhrita\u00b7rashtra exactly means by \"legends,\" but the epic poems and Puranas were later accorded the collective status of \"fifth Veda.\"\n\n10.73In a cast of characters with protean identities, Krishna is particularly elusive, and the vexed question of his nature as god and man has been a subject of debate for the better part of three millennia. Born the son of a cowherd, as Dhrita\u00b7rashtra _______________\n\n420\nnotes\n\nhas already told us, he is something of an arriviste among the company of the Pandavas. He is a chieftain of the Vrishni people, whose territory borders on the tract of land over which the Pandavas are briefly granted dominion in an earlier part of the epic, and his first appearance in the narrative is as their ally. But he plays a delicate diplomatic game, and after stating his initial intention to remain neutral in the war, he subsequently becomes Arjuna's charioteer, promising that he will not himself raise arms during the conflict. The main players in the epic's drama are all incarnations of gods or demons, but only Krishna, as Vishnu's avatar on earth, delivers so grand a sermon as the 'Bhagavad Gita.' Although the words of the 'Gita' have attracted the most attention, his behaviour in the rest of the war is equally interesting for the light it sheds on his role within the epic as a whole.\n\n11.21The word hut'\/asana is one of the many terms in Sanskrit for \"fire,\" into which sacrificial offerings are cast during many of the religious rituals of ancient India. The event to which Dhrita\u00b7rashtra here refers occurs at the end of the first book of the epic.\n\n11.24During the gambling match when Yudhi\u00b7shthira stakes Draupadi and loses her to the Kauravas, Duhshasana drags her into the assembly hall by her hair and then sets about stripping her in front of her husbands. But her undergarments keep magically restoring themselves as he tries to tear them away. It is this miracle to which Dhrita\u00b7rashtra refers.\n\n11.30The compound vrsni\/virena could simply mean \"by the Vrishni hero [Krishna],\" but vrsni also means simply \"strong\" or \"powerful,\" and, by extension, \"ram.\" I try here to capture these multiple meanings in my choice of translation.\n\n11.47In the middle of a densely-worded speech Dhrita\u00b7rashtra introduces this very obscure homily. It might be that he is referring to some kind of ritual correspondence between grass and lightning derived from the magical significations of Vedic religion. He is playing somehow on the double meaning of pakva as _______________\n\n421\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona\n\nboth \"cooked\" and \"ripe for death.\" I take him to mean that grass seems harmless, but fire transforms it into a destructive force, and that the weak can easily be finished off. Whatever its precise meaning, and to introduce another metaphor, Dhrita\u00b7rashtra is referring to the \"butterfly effect\" that his loyalties have had: the disastrous repercussions of a critical choice made in the past.\n\n12.12Drona says that Yudhi\u00b7shthira has reached \"enemylessness,\" a\/jata\/satruta, playing on the king's other name Ajata\u00b7shatru, literally \"he whose conqueror has not yet been born.\"\n\n12.28The adjective phalguna means \"red,\" while Phalguna is a derivative from the noun Phalguni, which is the name of a twin-star constellation in ancient Indian astronomy. Both Phalguna and Phalguna are names for Arjuna. In calling him the Red Star Fighter I have tried to combine the resonances of both these words. Abhimanyu is quite frequently identified as Phalguni, \"son of the Red Star Fighter.\"\n\n14.64Literally \"the son of Krishna,\" Krishna in this case being Arjuna. Cf. Introduction, note 1.\n\n14.82The stone rather than the organ: cat's eye is a kind of chalcedony or quartz, occurring naturally in various compositions and colors.\n\n16.21A wheelguard is a sort of attendant charged with the task of protecting the wheels of a royal chariot from attack.\n\n17.11The Tri\u00b7gartas have so far played only a minor role in the 'Maha\u00b7bharata.' Earlier in the epic, their principalities are attacked on separate occasions by Nakula and by his brother Arjuna, which may explain their virulent animosity towards the Pandavas.\n\n17.39From this point on, the Tri\u00b7gartas and those who have taken their vow with them become known as sa\u1e43\u015baptakas, warriors who have \"sworn together\" to conquer their enemies or die.\n\n19.19Cf. Introduction, note 1.\n\n20.19The periodic condition of \"musth\" to which elephant bulls are subject is still not fully understood, although it is linked _______________\n\n422\nnotes\n\nto reproduction. For months at a time, the elephant produces up to sixty times its usual levels of testosterone and becomes wildly aggressive and impossible to control; a symptom of an elephant being in musth is the production of an oily fluid from the temporal glands, in Sanskrit mada, a term with no single-word English equivalent.\n\n21.4 Here and elsewhere I try to make up for the poverty of words in English in comparison with the embarrassment of riches that Sanskrit enjoys when describing pachyderms.\n\n21.7 The front axle of a chariot has a parsni at each end, and the outer horses of the team are yoked to them. A parsni\/sarathi is responsible for controlling one of these horses.\n\n23.34 One of the many lost secrets of Vedic religion, soma was some kind of plant of critical importance in the performance of its rituals. The plant was pressed and its juice extracted to be used as an offering to the gods and as a beverage of the priests, probably hallucinogenic in effect.\n\n23.61 The word kalaya can refer to a species of panic grass, but it seems to have a range of references. I return to its etymology, which is suggestive of some genus of dark bloom.\n\n23.84 Sanjaya now moves from their horses to the adornments of the Pandava cars. The Sanskrit word dhvaja refers primarily to the wooden pole at the back of a chariot, but can also refer what one of these carries: carvings, statues, flags and whatever goodluck charms or trinkets a warrior wanted to take into battle with him. (My thanks to Daniel Balogh for his suggestions to me about a chariot's dashboard furniture.)\n\n24.13 Vidura is the younger half-brother of Pandu and Dhrita\u00b7rashtra, the son by Krishna Dvaipayana of a servant girl. When Duryodhana is born, Vidura immediately sees the danger that he will pose to the dynasty, and he advises Dhrita\u00b7rashtra to abandon the child. Dhrita\u00b7rashta refuses to do so. At the dicing match Vidura again predicts that the outcome of the conflict ___________________\n\n423\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona\n\nwill be a devastating war, and accuses Dhrita\u00b7rashtra of doing nothing to avert the crisis.\n\n25.62Ghatotkacha is Bhima\u00b7sena's half-man half-rakshasa son. A rakshasa is a demonic creature, a kind of imp or goblin associated with the night and capable of various supernatural tricks.\n\n26.53An astonishingly rich term in Sanskrit, it is hard to capture the subtlety of the compound Vaivasvata\/ksayam in translation. Vaivasvata means \"of the Bright One,\" i.e., the sun, and is largely used as a patronymic for Yama, king of the dead, yet here as elsewhere the rest of the verse is illuminated in the word's glimmer. The Sanskrit ksaya means, from separate roots, both \"abode\" and \"decay.\"\n\n30.24This Jyotishka appears only in the Calcutta edition of the text, and I have retained it mainly for its eccentricity. It is clearly related somehow to the word jyotis, \"light, sky, heaven.\"\n\n36.8In the chariot warfare of the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' a horseman is a driver: the term suta describes a caste in the same way as do \"kshatriya\" and \"brahmin\" and one inferior in status to both. In referring baldly to Sumitra's birth, Abhimanyu puts him in his place for the insubordination of suggesting that he reconsider Yudhi\u00b7shthira's demands. As it turns out, Sumitra's hesitancy will be revealed as having been quite justified.\n\n37.34The noose is an accoutrement of Yama, much like the grim reaper's scythe. His noose is not a symbol for hanging, but is rather used by the god to \"bind\" the soul after its extraction from the physical body of the deceased.\n\n39.24Sanskrit ksetra means \"land\" or \"domain,\" but also \"wife\" or even \"womb.\" A few lines earlier Duhshasana referred to the Pandavas as \"sons of Pandu,\" but now he draws sardonic attention to their unorthodox parenthood and hints at their illegitimacy by describing them as born of the \"soil\" rather than the \"seed\" of Pandu.\n\n40.9Abhimanyu is here referring to what could be Duhshasana's most scandalous crime against the Pandavas (cf. note to 11.24). _______________\n\n424\nnotes\n\nDuring the incident, Bhima\u00b7sena vows to kill Duhshasana and drink his blood, and this is why Abhimanyu mentions Bhima\u00b7sena in particular.\n\n45.9This Rukma\u00b7ratha is Shalya' son, not Drona.\n\n52.2One of the epic's many Krishnas, Krishna Dvaipayana, also called Vyasa, is the premarital son of Satyavati by the seer Parashara. Initially his mother abandons her baby on the island (dvipa) of his birth, but later she calls upon him to impregnate her second son's widows and provide the land of the Kurus with heirs. The widows give birth to Pandu and Dhrita\u00b7rashtra. Vyasa is also named as the mythical composer of the epic itself, and it is his student Vaishampayana who recites it for the first time. Otherwise Vyasa takes a relatively low-key, omniscient position in the narrative, appearing at its reflective moments to offer guidance to the main characters and leaving his stepbrother Bhishma to perform a more grandfatherly role towards them.\n\n52.19Yudhi\u00b7shthira's personification of Death leads Vyasa to describe a figure set apart from Yama, who strictly speaking is the ruler of the kingdom of the dead rather than \"death\" itself. The word for \"death\" in Sanskrit can be either masculine or feminine in gender, and it is this duality on which Vyasa plays in the story he is about to tell. In English, grammar forces us to decide when to treat mrtyu as an abstract noun and when as a personification, a distinction which Sanskrit can leave obscure.\n\n52.35Akampana uses the masculine form of the pronoun to refer to Death, unlike Yudhi\u00b7shthira, whose choice of words is not so committed.\n\n52.43One of Rudra-Siva's names. The god is said to remain motionless as a tree trunk during his austerities.\n\n54.36Brahma at last makes explicit the distinction between the female Death and the male deity Yama, here mentioned as a loka\/pala, a guardian of the world and its ordering principles.\n\n425\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona\n\n54.50 Although the predicate danda\/panir could be masculine or feminine, Vyasa has not mentioned a \"staff\" in relation to the female Death until he speaks these lines, while the danda is part of the classical iconography of Yama. I take it that Vyasa here slips back to the conventional figuration of Yama as Death to round off his tale. Either way, what is preserved in the Sanskrit and lost in the English is the subtlety and proximity of the distinctions that his myth has drawn.\n\n426\nProper Names and Epithets\n\nproper names and epithets\n\nAbhibhu Ruler of Kashi.\n\nAbhimanyu Son of Arjuna and Subhadra. Also known as Arjuni, Karshni, Phalguni, Saubhadra.\n\nAbhira A people.\n\nAchala Brother-in-law of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra and brother of Shakuni.\n\nAchyuta Name for many characters in the epic, including Bala\u00b7rama and Yudhi\u00b7shthira, but principally designating Krishna.\n\nAditi One of the daughters of Daksha and the mother of the adityas.\n\naditya Metronymic for a son of Aditi. The adityas are the seven gods of the firmament.\n\nAgavaha A Vrishni warrior.\n\nAgni God of fire.\n\nAiravata Elephant ridden by Indra into battle.\n\nAjata\u00b7shatru Yudhi\u00b7shthira.\n\nAkampana A legendary king in a story told by Vyasa.\n\nAlambusha A demon allied with the Kurus and slain by Ghatotkacha.\n\nAmbashtha A people and their king, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nAmbika Mother of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nAnadhrishti A king allied to the Pandavas.\n\nAndhaka A demon killed by Rudra.\n\nAndhra A people conquered by Karna.\n\nAnga A people and their king, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nAngada A son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nAngiras Born from Brahma's mouth, a divine seer named as the composer of hymns, laws and a treatise on astronomy.\n\nAniruddha Son of Pradyumna and grandson of Krishna.\n\nAnuvinda A prince of Avanti, allied to the Kauravas. Brother of Vinda.\n\nArjuna Third of the five Pandava brothers, son of Pandu and Kunti.\n\n429\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nAlso known as Dhanan\u00b7jaya, Pandava, Partha, Phalguna, Savya\u00b7sachin, Kiritin, Kaunteya, Jishnu.\n\nArjuni Patronymic for Abhimanyu.\n\nArim\u00b7ejaya A Vrishni fighter.\n\nArtayani Patronymic for Shalya.\n\nAshmaka Name of a people and their king, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nAshva\u00b7ketu Son of the Magadha king, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nAshvatthaman Son of Drona and Kripi.\n\nAshvins Twin gods, healers of the devas. Fathers of Saha\u00b7deva and Nakula by Madri.\n\nAurasaka A people conquered by Krishna.\n\nAvanti A people and a place.\n\nAvantya People or king of Avanti.\n\nBahlika A people.\n\nBali A demon, son of Virochana and father of Bana.\n\nBhaga\u00b7datta King of Prag\u00b7jyotisha, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nBharad\u00b7vaja An ancient seer, father of Drona and grandfather of Ashvatthaman.\n\nBharadvaja Patronymic for Drona.\n\nBharata Primordial ruler of North India and ancestor of most of the characters in the 'Maha\u00b7bharata.' Any of his descendents, and thus most of the characters of the epic, can be called a Bharata.\n\nBharata Descendant of Bharata, hence used as often as preceding.\n\nBhima Second of the five Pandava brothers, son of Pandu and Kunti. Also known as Bhima\u00b7sena, Kaunteya, Pandava, Partha, Vrikodara.\n\nBhima\u00b7sena Bhima.\n\nBhishma Son of Shantanu and Ganga, leader of the Kaurava forces until his demise at the end of the book preceding 'Drona.' Also known as Apageya, Deva\u00b7vrata and Shantanava.\n\nBhumin\u00b7jaya A Kaurava warrior.\n\n430\nproper names and epithets\n\nBhuri Son of Soma\u00b7datta, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nBhuta\u00b7karman A warrior allied to the Kauravas.\n\nBhuta\u00b7sharman A Kaurava warrior.\n\nBhuri\u00b7shravas A warrior allied to the Kauravas.\n\nBrahma Creator and supreme deity.\n\nBrahma Parameshthin Brahma.\n\nBrahma\u00b7vashatiya A people.\n\nBrihad\u00b7bala King of Kosala, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nBrihanta A Kuru warrior, brother of Kshema\u00b7dhurti.\n\nBrihat\u00b7kshatra One of the five Kaikeya brothers. Also the name of a Nishadha king.\n\nChaitraseni Patronymic for the son of Chitra\u00b7sena, Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's grandson. Also the name of a Pandava warrior slain by Drona.\n\nChandra\u00b7ketu A Kuru warrior.\n\nChandra\u00b7sena Son of Samudra\u00b7sena, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nChandra\u00b7varman A warrior allied to the Kauravas.\n\nCharu\u00b7deshna Son of Krishna and Rukmini.\n\nChedi A people.\n\nChekitana A Vrishni warrior allied to the Pandavas.\n\nChitra A warrior allied to the Pandavas.\n\nChitra\u00b7malya A warrior allied to the Pandavas.\n\nChitra\u00b7ratha Name of several kings; in 'Drona' the son of Shibi.\n\nChitra\u00b7sena A son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nChitrayudha Name of a hero on the Pandava side, but also of one of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's sons.\n\ndanava A child of Danu, and so a member of a class of beings opposed to the devas.\n\nDanda\u00b7dhara A Pandava warrior.\n\nDanda\u00b7ketu A prince allied to the Pandavas, mentioned only in 'Drona.'\n\n431\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nDarada A people.\n\nDasharha A people; used as a name for Krishna, a chief of the Dasharhas.\n\nDasheraka A people.\n\nDauhshasani Patronymic for Duhshasana's son, killer of Abhimanyu.\n\nDeva\u00b7datta Arjuna's conch.\n\nDevaki Daughter of Devaka, wife of Vasu\u00b7deva and mother of Krishna.\n\nDeva\u00b7vrata Bhishma.\n\nDhanan\u00b7jaya Arjuna.\n\nDharma A god, and Yudhi\u00b7shthira's father.\n\nDharma\u00b7raja Yudhi\u00b7shthira.\n\nDhenuka A devotional site.\n\nDhrishta\u00b7dyumna Son of the Panchala king Drupada, born from a sacrificial fire. Brother of Draupadi and general of the Pandava army.\n\nDhrishta\u00b7ketu A Chedi prince allied to the Pandavas.\n\nDhrita\u00b7rashtra Blind king of the Kurus. Son of Krishna Dvaipayanaand Ambika. Father of Duryodhana and a hundred other children.\n\nDirgha\u00b7lochana A Kaurava warrior.\n\nDrauni Patronymic for Ashvatthaman.\n\nDraupadi Daughter of Drupada and wife of the five Pandava brothers. Also known as Krishna. She has five sons: Prativindhya, Suta\u00b7soma, Shruta\u00b7kirti, Shatanika and Shruta\u00b7sena.\n\nDraupadeya Metronymic for one of the above.\n\nDrona Son of Bharad\u00b7vaja, husband of Kripi and father of Ashvatthaman. Also known as Bharadvaja, and Rukma\u00b7ratha. Drona is the teacher of the sons of Pandu and Dhrita\u00b7rashtra, and general of the Kaurava forces during the course of 'Drona.'\n\nDrupada King of the Panchalas and father of Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna. Sworn\n\n432\nproper names and epithets\n\nenemy of Drona.\n\nDuhsaha A son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nDuhshasana A son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nDurjaya A son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nDurmarshana A son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nDurmukha A son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nDuryodhana Eldest son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra and Gandhari. Also known as Suyodhana and Dhartarashtra.\n\nGada A Vrishni warrior and Krishna's younger brother.\n\nGandhara A people ruled by Shakuni.\n\nGandhari Wife of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra and mother of Duryodhana and a hundred other children.\n\nGandiva Arjuna's bow.\n\nGanga The Ganges river, goddess and mother of Bhishma.\n\nGaruda Bird god.\n\nGautama Patronymic for Kripa, grandson of Gotama. Also the name of a Bhoja warrior.\n\nGavalgana Father of Sanjaya.\n\nGavalgani Patronymic for Sanjaya.\n\nGhatotkacha Semidemonic son of Bhima and Hidimba.\n\nGiri\u00b7vraja Capital of the Magadhas.\n\nGo\u00b7karna A holy site.\n\nGo\u00b7pala A people.\n\nGo\u00b7vinda Krishna.\n\nHaidimba Metronymic for Ghatotkacha.\n\nHari Son of Akampana.\n\nHastina\u00b7pura Capital of the Kurus on the river Ganges.\n\nHema\u00b7varna Son of Rochamana, allied to the Pandavas.\n\nHimalaya Mountain and god.\n\n433\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nHiranyaksha A demon.\n\nHridika Father of Krita\u00b7varman.\n\nHrishi\u00b7kesha Krishna.\n\nIndra King of the gods. Also known as Maghavan, Shakra, Vasava.\n\nJahnavi Ganga, the daughter of Jahnu.\n\nJamad\u00b7agni A seer, father of Parashu\u00b7rama.\n\nJambha A demon slain by Indra.\n\nJambu A mythical river.\n\nJanam\u00b7ejaya Son of Parikshit. At his sacrifice Vaishampayana recites the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' for the first time.\n\nJanardana Krishna.\n\nJara\u00b7sandha King of the Magadhas, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nJayad\u00b7ratha King of the Sindhus, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nJhallin A Vrishni warrior.\n\nJishnu Arjuna.\n\nJyotishka The \"light weapon\" used by Arjuna against Prag\u00b7jyotisha.\n\nKaikeya One of the five brothers who rule the Kekaya people and are allied to the Pandavas. Sometimes Vinda or Anuvinda, Kekaya kings of Avanti allied to the Kauravas.\n\nKailasa A mountain and abode of Kubera.\n\nKalakeya A tribe of demons.\n\nKalikeya A Kuru warrior, son of Subala.\n\nKalinga A people and their king.\n\nKamboja A people and their king, who is also known as Sudakshina.\n\nKansa Son of Ugra\u00b7sena and King of Mathura.\n\nKapalin Rudra-Shiva.\n\nKara\u00b7karsha A warrior allied to the Kurus.\n\nKarna Son of Surya (the sun) and Kunti. Adopted by the charioteer\n\n434\nproper names and epithets\n\nAdhiratha and his wife Radha. Also known as Radheya and Suta\u00b7putra.\n\nKarshni Patronymic for Abhimanyu, \"son of Krishna,\" i.e., Arjuna.\n\nKarusha A people.\n\nKashi A people, a place and its king (cf. Varanasi).\n\nKashmiraka A people, obviously connected to present Kashmir.\n\nKaurava Descendant of Kuru. Often refers to Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's sons and their followers, although the Pandavas are also sometimes called Kauravas.\n\nKauravya As above.\n\nKaushiki A river.\n\nKekaya A people, some of whom (under the leadership of five brothers) are allied to the Pandavas, and some to the Kauravas.\n\nKeshava Krishna.\n\nKirata A people.\n\nKiritin Arjuna.\n\nKritin Father of Ruchi\u00b7parvan.\n\nKosala A people.\n\nKratha A Kuru king.\n\nKripa Son of Sharadvat, grandson of Gotama and brother of Kripi. Allied to the Kauravas.\n\nKrishna Son of Vasu\u00b7deva and Devaki, identified with Vishnu\/Narayana. Also known as Achyuta, Go\u00b7vinda, Hrishi\u00b7kesha, Janardana, Keshava, Vasudeva, Madhava, Shauri, Pundarikaksha. The \"two Krishnas\" are Krishna and Arjuna.\n\nKrishna Draupadi.\n\nKrishna Dvaipayana Son of Satyavati and the seer Parashara. Father of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra, Pandu and Vidura. Also known as Vyasa.\n\nKrita\u00b7varman A Vrishni prince and son of Hridika, allied to the Kauravas.\n\n435\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nKshatran\u00b7jaya A son of Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna.\n\nKshatra\u00b7deva A son of Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna.\n\nKshatra\u00b7dharman A son of Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna, slain by Drona.\n\nKshema\u00b7dhurti Brother of Brihanta, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nKshema\u00b7sharman A Kaurava warrior.\n\nKubera Originally the chief of the spirits of darkness, and in later theology the god of riches.\n\nKumara Name of Yudhi\u00b7shthira's wheelguard.\n\nKunda\u00b7bhedin Son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nKunti A people, but more also and more importantly the wife of Pandu. Mother of the Pandavas and Karna. Also known as Pritha.\n\nKunti\u00b7bhoja Adoptive father of Kunti, allied to the Pandavas. Also called Purujit.\n\nKuru Ancestor of the Bharatas. The Kurus are the descendants of Kuru and include both the Kauravas and the Pandavas, although the name largely refers to Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's sons and their followers.\n\nLakshmana A son of Duryodhana.\n\nLalittha A people linked to the Tri\u00b7gartas.\n\nMadhava A people, and used to refer variously to Krishna, Satyaki and Krita\u00b7varman.\n\nMadra\/Madraka A people.\n\nMadri Second wife of Pandu. Princess of the Madras, sister of Shalya and mother of the twins Nakula and Saha\u00b7deva by the two Ashvin gods.\n\nMagadha A people.\n\nMaghavan Indra.\n\nMaha\u00b7deva Rudra-Shiva.\n\nMainaka A mountain.\n\nMalada A people.\n\nMalava A people and its king.\n\n436\nproper names and epithets\n\nMalaya A mountain.\n\nMandara A mountain used as a staff by the gods to churn the ocean.\n\nManimat A king allied to the Pandavas.\n\nMaruts Storm gods, followers of Indra.\n\nMarttikavataka A people and a country.\n\nMatsya A people, mostly allied to the Pandavas, and their king.\n\nMavellaka A people linked to the Tri\u00b7gartas.\n\nMegha\u00b7vega A Kuru warrior.\n\nMekala A people conquered by Karna.\n\nMeru Mountain at the center of the cosmos.\n\nMuru A demon slain by Krishna.\n\nNagnajit A king overthrown by Karna.\n\nNishatha A Vrishni ruler, son of Bala\u00b7rama.\n\nNaimisha A sacred forest.\n\nNakula One of the Pandava brothers (twin of Saha\u00b7deva).\n\nNakuli Patronymic for Shatanika, Nakula's son.\n\nNanda A river.\n\nNara Primordial Man, often considered a god and paired with Narayana. Identified with Arjuna.\n\nNarada A divine seer.\n\nNaraka A demon, son of the Earth.\n\nNarayana The god Vishnu, often linked with Nara. Identified with Krishna. At the same time the name of a people.\n\nNila King of Mahishmati slain by Ashvatthaman.\n\nNishada A people and their king.\n\nNishadha A people allied to the Kauravas.\n\nNivata\u00b7kavachas A tribe of demons destroyed by Arjuna.\n\nPanchajanya Conch carried by Krishna, obtained from the demon Pancha\u00b7jana.\n\n437\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nPancha\u00b7jana Demon slain by Krishna.\n\nPanchala A people allied to the Pandavas. The king of the Panchalas is Drupada. Sworn enemies of Drona.\n\nPandava A son of Pandu, so Yudhi\u00b7shthira, Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula or Saha\u00b7deva. The \"Pandavas\" as a whole are the sons of Pandu, their relatives and their followers.\n\nPandu Son of Krishna Dvaipayana, half brother of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra and Vidura and \"father\" of the Pandavas. In the plural it refers to the Pandava army as a whole.\n\nPandya A people and their king.\n\nParashu\u00b7rama Son of Jamad\u00b7agni and Renuka, and a hero of legend who once wiped out the warrior caste.\n\nParshata Patronymic for Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna and Drupada.\n\nPartha Son of Pritha, so Yudhi\u00b7shthira, Bhima\u00b7sena or Arjuna. Also refers to the followers of the sons of Pritha.\n\nPatacchara\u00b7hantri A warrior allied to the Pandavas.\n\nPaundra A people.\n\nPaurava Descendant of Puru. Name of a people and king.\n\nPhalguna Arjuna.\n\nPhalguni Patronymic for Abhimanyu.\n\nPishacha Generally a class of demonic beings, but in the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' also the name of a people.\n\nPitha A demon slain by Krishna.\n\nPrabahu A Kuru warrior.\n\nPrabhadraka A warrior from a certain division of the Panchalas.\n\nPradyumna Son of Krishna and Rukmini.\n\nPralamba A demon slain by Krishna.\n\nPrasthala A principality ruled by Susharman, one of the Tri\u00b7gartas.\n\nPratardana A Kuru warrior.\n\nPrativindhya One of the Draupadeyas.\n\n438\nproper names and epithets\n\nPrishata Father of Drupada, grandfather of Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna.\n\nPritha Kunti.\n\nPrithu A Vrishni prince.\n\nPulastya One of the sons of Brahma, from whom Ghatotkacha received his bow.\n\nPuloman A demon.\n\nPundarikaksha The Lotus Eyed One, namely, Krishna.\n\nPurujit A Kunti chieftain.\n\nPushkara Name of a collocation of holy sites.\n\nRadha Adoptive mother of Karna.\n\nRaja\u00b7pura A city of the Kambojas.\n\nRama Parashu\u00b7rama.\n\nRatha\u00b7sena A warrior allied to the Pandavas, mentioned only once in the entire epic.\n\nRavana A king of the demons.\n\nRiksha\u00b7deva Son of Shikhandin.\n\nRochamana A Pandava warrior.\n\nRohini A goddess, daughter of Daksha and wife of the moon.\n\nRudra The fierce deity later known as Shiva. Also called Maha\u00b7deva, Sharva, Sthanu, Try\u00b7ambaka, Kapalin.\n\nRuchi\u00b7parvan A Pandava warrior.\n\nRukmini Wife of Krishna.\n\nSaha\u00b7deva One of the Pandava brothers, twin brother of Nakula.\n\nSaindhava Principally Jayad\u00b7ratha, King of the Sindhus, but also his father Vriddha\u00b7kshatra.\n\nSamba Son of Krishna and Jambavati.\n\nSamika A Vrishni warrior.\n\nSamudra\u00b7sena Father of Chandra\u00b7sena, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nSanjaya Son of Gavalgana and charioteer of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra, to whom\n\n439\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nhe narrates the events of the great battle.\n\nSarana A Vrishni warrior, son of Vasu\u00b7deva.\n\nSarayu A river.\n\nSatya\u00b7dharman One of the Tri\u00b7garta princes.\n\nSatya\u00b7dhriti A Pandava warrior.\n\nSatvata Name of a tribe of the Yadavas, and used in the singular of Krita\u00b7varman and Satyaki.\n\nSatya\u00b7karman One of the Tri\u00b7garta princes.\n\nSatyaki Patronymic for Yuyudhana, a Vrishni king allied to the Pandavas. Satya\u00b7ratha one of the Tri\u00b7garta princes.\n\nSatya\u00b7vrata One of the Tri\u00b7garta princes.\n\nSatya\u00b7dharman One of the Tri\u00b7garta princes.\n\nSatyeshu One of the Tri\u00b7garta princes.\n\nSaubala Patronymic for Shakuni.\n\nSaubhadra Metronymic for Abhimanyu.\n\nSaumadatti Patronymic for Bhuri\u00b7shravas, son of Soma\u00b7datta.\n\nSauvira A people associated with the Sindhus.\n\nSavya\u00b7sachin Arjuna.\n\nSena\u00b7bindu A Panchala fighter killed by Drona, and also a man fighting on the Kaurava side.\n\nShaineya Patronymic for Satyaki, grandson of Shini.\n\nShaka A people.\n\nShakuna A people.\n\nShakuni Son of the Gandhara king Subala and father of Uluka.\n\nShala Son of Soma\u00b7datta, and brother of Bhuri and Bhuri\u00b7shravas. Allied to the Kauravas.\n\nShalva A people and their king.\n\nShalya King of the Madras, brother of Madri. Also known as Artayani.\n\n440\nproper names and epithets\n\nShambara A demon slain by Indra.\n\nShantanu Father of Bhishma.\n\nSharadvat Father of Kripa.\n\nSharadvata Patronymic for Kripa.\n\nSharva Rudra-Shiva.\n\nShatanika Son of Nakula and Draupadi.\n\nShatrun\u00b7jaya A son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nShauri Patronymic for Krishna.\n\nShikhandin Son (originally daughter) of Drupada. Allied to the Pandavas and pivotal in Arjuna's victory over Bhishma.\n\nShini Father of Satyaka and grandfather of Satyaki.\n\nShura\u00b7sena A people.\n\nShrenimat A Pandava warrior.\n\nShruta\u00b7karman Son of Saha\u00b7deva and Draupadi.\n\nShruta\u00b7kirti Son of Arjuna and Draupadi.\n\nSinhala A people.\n\nSinha\u00b7sena A warrior allied to the Pandavas.\n\nSkanda A protean deity, son of Shiva or Agni in the Veda and god of war.\n\nSoma\u00b7datta Father of Bhuri\u00b7shravas, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nSrinjaya A people often grouped with the Panchalas.\n\nSthanu Rudra-Shiva.\n\nSubahu One of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra's sons, and also a Tri\u00b7garta warrior.\n\nSubala Father of Shakuni.\n\nSubhadra Mother of Abhimanyu.\n\nSudakshina King of the Kambojas, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nSudaman A Pandava warrior.\n\nSudarshana A son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra. Also the name of Krishna's discus.\n\n441\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nSudhanus A Tri\u00b7garta warrior.\n\nSudhanvan A Panchala king.\n\nSudharman A Tri\u00b7garta warrior.\n\nSukshatra Son of the Kosala king.\n\nSumitra Abhimanyu's charioteer.\n\nSunaman Brother of Kansa.\n\nSuratha A Tri\u00b7garta warrior.\n\nSurya\u00b7bhasa A Kuru warrior.\n\nSusharman King of the Tri\u00b7gartas.\n\nSushena A warrior allied to the Kauravas.\n\nSuta\u00b7putra \"Driver's son,\" largely used to refer to Karna, but said of various charioteers in the epic.\n\nSuta\u00b7soma One of the Draupadeyas.\n\nSuvarchas Two warriors, one of whom fights for the Kauravas, the other for the Pandavas.\n\nSuyodhana Duryodhana.\n\nTri\u00b7garta A people and the five brothers who are their chieftains.\n\nTry\u00b7ambaka The Three Eyed God, namely Rudra-Shiva.\n\nTundikera A people and their king.\n\nTvashtri A magical attack named after the armorer of the gods.\n\nUcchaih\u00b7shravas Name of a celestial horse.\n\nUdayendu A city of the Kurus, where Suta\u00b7soma was born.\n\nUlmuka A Vrishni warrior.\n\nUshanas An ancient seer.\n\nUttamaujas A Panchala warrior allied to the Pandavas. Brother of Yudha\u00b7manyu.\n\nUtkala A people conquered by Karna.\n\nVanayu A people and a place.\n\nVaikartana Patronymic for Karna, son of the sun.\n\n442\nproper names and epithets\n\nVaishampayana Disciple of Krishna Dvaipayana. Recites the 'Maha\u00b7bharata' at Janam\u00b7ejaya's snake sacrifice.\n\nVaishnava A magical attack wielded by different characters in the epic.\n\nVaishvanara Agni.\n\nVaitarani The river running through the realm of the dead.\n\nVaranavata A city.\n\nVaranasi A city in the country of the Kashis, now known by the same name.\n\nVarddhakshemi Patronymic for Anadhrishti.\n\nVarshneya Principally Krishna, though designating any of Vrishni stock.\n\nVaruna One of the greatest of the Vedic gods.\n\nVasatiya A people and their king.\n\nVasava Indra.\n\nVasishtha A divine seer, son of the god Varuna.\n\nVasu One of a group of Vedic gods.\n\nVasu\u00b7dana A warrior on the Pandava side.\n\nVasu\u00b7deva Father of Krishna.\n\nVasudeva Patronymic for Krishna.\n\nVata\u00b7dhana A people conquered by Krishna and Arjuna.\n\nVayavya The \"weapon of Vayu\" wielded by Arjuna in 'Drona.'\n\nVetasaka A people in whose country Death performs her austerities.\n\nVideha A people.\n\nVidura A place known for its metals and gemstones.\n\nVidura Half brother of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra and Pandu.\n\nVidu\u00b7ratha A prince of the Vrishnis.\n\nVijaya Normally a name for Arjuna, but in 'Drona' also a son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\n443\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nVikarna A son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nVinda Brother of Anuvinda and prince of Avanti, allied to the Kauravas.\n\nVipata Karna's younger brother.\n\nViprithu A Vrishni ruler.\n\nVirata The king of the Matsyas.\n\nVirochana A demon.\n\nVishnu One of the major gods in the Hindu pantheon, incarnated in Krishna.\n\nVivasvat Father of Yama.\n\nVivinshati A son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nVrikodara Bhima.\n\nVriddha\u00b7kshatra King of the Sindhus and father of Jayad\u00b7ratha.\n\nVriddha\u00b7kshema Ancestor of Anadhrishti.\n\nVrika A Pandava warrior.\n\nVrindaraka A son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nVrishaka A Gandhara prince, brother-in-law of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra.\n\nVishvak\u00b7sena Krishna.\n\nVrisha\u00b7sena A son of Karna.\n\nVrishni A Yadava people connected with the Andhakas and the Bhojas. Krishna, Satyaki and Krita\u00b7varman are Vrishnis.\n\nVritra A demon slain by Indra.\n\nVyaghra\u00b7datta A warrior allied to the Pandavas.\n\nVyasa A seer, supposed to have compiled the 'Maha\u00b7bharata.'\n\nYadava A people descended from Yadu and linked with the Vrishnis.\n\nYajnya\u00b7sena Drupada.\n\nYajnyaseni Patronymic for Shikhandin and Dhrishta\u00b7dyumna.\n\nYama God of the dead, son of Vivasvat.\n\nYamuna A river, the present Jamna.\n\n444\nproper names and epithets\n\nYaudheya A people.\n\nYavana A people whom scholars have connected with the ancient Greeks.\n\nYudha\u00b7manyu A Panchala warrior allied to the Pandavas. Brother of Uttamaujas.\n\nYudhi\u00b7shthira Eldest of the Pandava brothers. Also known as Ajata\u00b7shatru, Dharma\u00b7raja, Partha, Pandava, Kaunteya.\n\nYugan\u00b7dhara A Pandava warrior slain by Drona.\n\nYuyudhana Pandava warrior also known as Satyaki.\n\nYuyutsu Son of Dhrita\u00b7rashtra and a woman of the merchant caste. Allied to the Pandavas.\n\n445\n\nIndex\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nSanskrit words are given in the English alphabetical order, according to the accented CSL pronuncuation aid. They are followed by the conventional diacritics in brackets.\n\nAbhibhu (Abhibhu),\n\nAbhimanyu (Abhimanyu), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nAbhira (Abhira),   \nAchala (Acala),   \nAchyuta (Acyuta),   \nAdhiratha (Adhiratha), ,   \nAdhirathi (Adhirathi), ,   \nAditi (Aditi),   \nAditya (Aditya),   \nAgavaha (Agavaha),\n\nage, ,   \nend of an, , , ,   \nturning,\n\nAgneya (Agneya),   \nAgni (Agni), , ,   \nAiravata (Airavata), , ,\n\nAkampana (Akampana), , ,\n\nAlambusa (Alambusa), ,   \nally, , ,\n\naltar,   \nfire,\n\nAmaravati (Amaravati),\n\nAmbashtha (Ambastha), , , ,\n\nAmbika (Ambika),\n\nAnadhrishti (Anadhrsti),\n\nancestors, , ,\n\nAndhaka (Andhaka),\n\nAndhra (Andhra),\n\nAnga (Anga), ,\n\nAngada (Angada),\n\nanger, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nAniruddha (Aniruddha),\n\nannihilator\n\nbloody,\n\nAnuvinda (Anuvinda), , , ,\n\nanxiety, ,\n\nApaga (Apaga),\n\nAratta (Aratta),\n\narcher, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nLeft Handed, , , , ,\n\nmaster,\n\narchery,\n\nArim\u00b7ejaya (Arimejaya),\n\n448\nindex\n\nArjuna (Arjuna), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nArjuni (Arjuni), 305, , , , , , , , , , ,\n\narmor, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nbroken,\n\ngolden,\n\nof gold,\n\nof truth,\n\nplate,\n\ntattered,\n\narmy, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nleaderless,\n\nof gods and devils,\n\nof heaven,\n\nof the gods,\n\narray, , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nof the wheel,\n\nspearhead,\n\narrow, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nbarbed, ,\n\nbiting, ,\n\nbrightfletched,\n\nbroken,\n\ncruel,\n\nfarflying,\n\nfearsome,\n\nfeathered,\n\nforged,\n\ngolden,\n\nheronfeathered,\n\niron, , , , ,\n\nironclad,\n\nkeen,\n\nknotless,\n\n449\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nlifestealing,\n\nnumberless,\n\nquick,\n\nsacred,\n\nsharp, , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nsixty, , ,\n\nswift,\n\nthousand, ,\n\ntrueworked, ,\n\ntwin,\n\nunerring,\n\nunrelenting,\n\nwellaimed,\n\nwellwhittled,\n\nwellwrought,\n\nwhetted,\n\nyellowhued,\n\nArtayani (Artatayani),\n\nascetic, , , , ,\n\ncelibate,\n\nAshmaka (Asmaka),\n\nAshva\u00b7ketu (Asvaketu),\n\nAshvatthaman (Asvatthaman), , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nAshvin (Asvin), , , ,\n\nassault,\n\nassembly,\n\nAurasaka (Aurasaka),\n\nausterity, , ,\n\nAvanti (Avanti), , ,\n\nAvantya (Avantya),\n\navatar,\n\naxe, , ,\n\nBabhru (Babhru),\n\nBahlika (Bahlika),\n\nBahlika (Bahlika), , , ,\n\nBala (Bala), , ,\n\nBala\u00b7deva (Baladeva),\n\nBali (Bali), ,\n\nbanner, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nglittering,\n\ngreat,\n\nlost,\n\nmonkey, , , , ,\n\ntorn,\n\nbattle, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nbloody,\n\ncelestial,\n\ncrooked,\n\ndance of,\n\necstasy of,\n\ngreat,\n\nbattle cries, ,\n\nbattle scenes, , ,\n\n450\nindex\n\nbattle-axe,\n\nbattlefield, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\ncosmological imagery of the,\n\nBeholden, , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nbell, , ,\n\nBhaga\u00b7datta (Bhagadatta), , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nBharadvaja (Bharadvaja),\n\nBharad\u00b7vaja (Bharadvaja), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nBharata (Bharata), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nBharata (Bharata), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nBhima (Bhima), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nBhima\u00b7ratha (Bhimaratha), ,\n\nBhima\u00b7sena (Bhimasena), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , _________\n\n, ,\n\nBhishma (Bhisma), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nBhoja (Bhoja), , ,\n\nBhumin\u00b7jaya (Bhumimjaya),\n\nBhuri (Bhuri),\n\nBhuri\u00b7shravas (Bhurisravas), , , , , , ,\n\nBhuta\u00b7karman (Bhutakarman),\n\nBhuta\u00b7sharman (Bhutasarman),\n\nbirth, , , ,\n\nbirthline,\n\nblood, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nblossom,\n\ndark,\n\ngram,\n\nbooks\n\nsacred,\n\nbow, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , _________\n\n451\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\n, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nart of the,\n\nbroken, ,\n\ncelestial, , ,\n\nenchanted,\n\nfearsome,\n\nfine, ,\n\ngilded,\n\ngoldfiligreed,\n\ngreat,\n\nheavenly,\n\nhorn,\n\nmagic,\n\nmighty, , ,\n\nnew, ,\n\nshattered,\n\nstout,\n\nunbreakable,\n\nbowmen, , , , , , , , , , ,\n\ngreat,\n\nmighty,\n\nBrahma (Brahma), , , , ,\n\nBrahman (Brahman),\n\nBrahma\u00b7vashatiyas (Brahmavasa-  \ntiya),\n\nbrahmin, , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nby birth,\n\nbravery, , , , , , ,\n\nbreath, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\ndear,\n\nlast, ,\n\nBrihad\u00b7bala (Brihadbala), , , , , , ,\n\nBrihanta (Brhanta), ,\n\nBrihas\u00b7pati (Brhaspati), ,\n\nBrihat\u00b7kshatra (Brhatsatra), , ,\n\nbrother, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nelder,\n\nfather's,\n\nhalf-,\n\nson of, ,\n\nstep-,\n\nyounger, , , ,\n\nbrotherhood,\n\nbuffalo, ,\n\nbull, , , , , , , ,\n\nelephant, ,\n\ncamp, ,\n\nroyal,\n\ncar, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , _________\n\n452\nindex\n\n, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nbridal,\n\ngolden,\n\ncaste,\n\nhalf-,\n\nhighest,\n\nwarrior, , ,\n\ncattle, , ,\n\nChaitraseni (Caitraseni) ,\n\nchallenge, , , , ,\n\nchallenger,\n\nchampion, , , , , , , , ,\n\nChandra\u00b7ketu (Candraketu),\n\nChandra\u00b7sena (Candrasena),\n\nChandra\u00b7varman (Candravar-  \nman),\n\ncharge, ,\n\nchariot, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , _________\n\n, , , , , , , ,\n\ncharioteer, , , , , , , ,\n\nCharu\u00b7deshna (Carudsna),\n\nChedi (Cedi), , , , , , , , , ,\n\nChekitana (Cekitana), , , , , , , , ,\n\nchest, , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nchieftain, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nchild, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nabandoned,\n\neldest,\n\nillegitimate,\n\nChitra (Citra),\n\nChitra\u00b7ratha (Citraratha),\n\nChitra\u00b7sena (Citrasena),\n\nChitrayudha (Citrayudha), ,\n\nChola (Cola),\n\ncity, ,\n\ngolden,\n\nimperial,\n\nCity\n\nof Doors,\n\n453\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\ncity\n\nof lights,\n\nof spirits,\n\nof the demons,\n\nof the skies,\n\nroyal, ,\n\nclub, , , , , , , , , ,\n\ncode, ,\n\nwarrior,\n\ncombat, , , , , , ,\n\nart of, , ,\n\ncommander, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 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vii \u2013 drona i\n\n, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nchariot without,\n\nDrona (Drona), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\ndrum, , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nDrupada (Drupada), , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nDruta (Druta),\n\nduel, ,\n\nDuhsaha (Duhsaha),\n\nDuhshasana (Duhsasana), , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nDurjaya (Durjaya),\n\nDurmarshana (Durmarsana),\n\nDurmukha (Durmukha), ,\n\nDurvasas (Durvasas),\n\nDuryodhana (Duryodhana), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\ndust, , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nduty, , , ,\n\nbrotherly,\n\ndynasty,\n\nearrings, , ,\n\nearth, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nfour corners of the,\n\nearthquake,\n\nelders, , ,\n\ndevotion to,\n\nelephant, , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\n456\nindex\n\n, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nenchantment, ,\n\nenemy, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\narch-,\n\nsworn, ,\n\nenvy, ,\n\nfalsehood,\n\nfame, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nfate, , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nfather, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nholy,\n\nof beings,\n\nof the world,\n\nfathers, , , , , ,\n\nfear, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nof death,\n\nfeather, , , ,\n\ngold,\n\nheron,\n\nparrot,\n\nvulture, , , , , , , ,\n\nfiends, , , ,\n\ntroop of,\n\nfighting\n\nbloody,\n\nfire, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nat the end of time,\n\nbrush-,\n\nsacrificial,\n\nflag, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nmonkey,\n\nflame-of-the-forest, , ,\n\nflowers, , , , , , ,\n\nmustardseed,\n\nof every season,\n\nwild,\n\n457\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nfoal, ,\n\nfolly, , ,\n\nfool, , , , , ,\n\ndesperate,\n\nPunisher of,\n\nforefathers, , , ,\n\nland of the,\n\nforest, , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nformation,\n\ncurlew,\n\nfriend, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nfuneral,\n\nfury, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nGada (Gada),\n\nGandhara (Gandhara), , , , , , , ,\n\nGandiva (Gandiva), , , , , , , , , ,\n\nGanges, , , , ,\n\ngarden,\n\nGargya (Gargya),\n\ngarland, , , , , ,\n\ndried,\n\ngolden, , ,\n\nof triumph,\n\nGaruda (Garuda), , , , , , , ,\n\nGautama (Gautama), ,\n\nGavalgana (Gavalgana), ,\n\nGavalgani (Gavalgani), ,\n\ngems, , , , ,\n\ngeneral, , , ,\n\nGhatotkacha (Ghatotkaca), , , , , , ,\n\nghost, , , ,\n\ngift,\n\nGiri\u00b7sha (Girisa),\n\nGiri\u00b7vraja (Girivraja),\n\nglory, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\ngoblin, ,\n\ngods, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\narrogance of,\n\ncelestial,\n\ndeathless, , , ,\n\neverlasting,\n\nHimalayan,\n\nHorse,\n\nlord of the, , , ,\n\nof heaven,\n\nof old, ,\n\nof the tempest,\n\nof the wind,\n\nof war,\n\nthirty, ,\n\nwill of the,\n\nGo\u00b7karna (Gokarna),\n\n458\nindex\n\ngold, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nriver-, , , ,\n\nGo\u00b7pala (Gopala),\n\ngourd\n\nascetic's,\n\ngolden,\n\nGo\u00b7vinda (Govinda), , , ,\n\ngrace, , , , , , , ,\n\ngrandfather, ,\n\ngrandson, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\ngreed, , ,\n\ngrief, , , , , , , ,\n\ngrove,\n\nmango,\n\npleasure,\n\nguardian, , , ,\n\nbeast,\n\nof kings,\n\nof the earth,\n\nof the forefathers,\n\nguest,\n\nwelcome,\n\nHaidimba (Haidimba),\n\nhammer, , , ,\n\nHari (Hari),\n\nHastina\u00b7pura (Hastinapura), ,\n\nheart,\n\nheaven, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\npleasures of,\n\nheir, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nhell, , ,\n\nhelmet, ,\n\nHema\u00b7varna (Hemavarna),\n\nhermits,\n\nhero, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\ndead, , , , , ,\n\ndefeated,\n\nheroism, , , ,\n\nheron, , ,\n\nHimalaya,\n\nHimalaya (Himalaya),\n\nHimavat (Himavat),\n\nHiranyaksha (Hiranyaksa),\n\nhonor, , , ,\n\nhighest,\n\nhope, , , , , , , , ,\n\nhorn, , , , ,\n\nof the rhinoceros,\n\nhorse, , , , , , , ,\n\n459\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\n129, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nbrindled,\n\nchestnut,\n\ndappled,\n\ndovecolored, ,\n\nfine, , , , ,\n\ngolden,\n\nmild,\n\npale,\n\nred,\n\nspeckled,\n\nthree-year-old,\n\nwhite, , , ,\n\nhorseman, , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nHridika (Hrdika), , ,\n\nHrishi\u00b7kesha (Hrsikesa), , , , ,\n\nhumility, , , , , ,\n\nimmortality,\n\nincarnation, ,\n\nIndra (Indra), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\n169, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\ninfantry, , ,\n\ninfidel,\n\njackal, , , , , , , ,\n\nJahnavi (Jahnavi),\n\nJamad\u00b7agni (Jamadagni),\n\nJambha (Jambha),\n\nJambu (Jambu),\n\nJanam\u00b7ejaya (Janamejaya), ,\n\nJanardana (Janardana), ,\n\nJara\u00b7sandha (Jarasamdha), 103,\n\njavelin, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nJaya (Jaya),\n\nJayad\u00b7ratha (Jayadratha), , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nJhallin (Jhallin),\n\nJishnu (Jisnu),\n\njoy, , , , , , , , , , ,\n\njustice, ,\n\nJyot\n\nishka (Jyotiska),\n\nKaikeya (Kaikeya), , , , , , ,\n\nKailasa (Kailasa),\n\nKalakeya (Kalakeya),\n\nKalikeya (Kalikeya),\n\nKalinga (Kalinga), , , , ,\n\n460\nindex\n\n171,\n\nKamboja (Kamboja), , , , ,\n\nKamboja (Kamboja), , , ,\n\nKansa (Kamsa),\n\nKara\u00b7karsha (Karakasa),\n\nKarna (Karn a), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nKarshni (Kasni), , , ,\n\nKarusha (Karusa), , ,\n\nKashi (Kasi), , , , , ,\n\nKashmiraka (Kasmiraka),\n\nKaubera (Kaubera),\n\nKaurava (Kaurava), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nKaushiki (Kausiki),\n\nKekaya (Kekaya), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nKeshava (Kesava), , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nKhandava (Khandava),\n\nKhasha (Khasa),\n\nking, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nbarbarian,\n\nhigh,\n\nmountain, , ,\n\nof beasts,\n\nof heaven,\n\nof the birds,\n\nof the dead,\n\nof the gods, , ,\n\nrighteous, , , , ,\n\nKirata (Kirata),\n\nKiritin (Kiritin), , ,\n\nKitava (Kitava), ,\n\nKosala (Kosala), , , , ,\n\nKratha (Kratha), , ,\n\nKripa (Krpa), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nKrishna (Krsna), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nKrishna (Krsna),\n\nKrishna Dvaipayana (Krsnadvaipayana),\n\nKrita\u00b7varman (Krtavarman), , , , , , , ,\n\n461\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\n, , , ,\n\nKritin (Krtin),\n\nKshatra\u00b7deva (Ksatradeva), , , , ,\n\nKshatra\u00b7dharman (Ksatradharman), , , , , ,\n\nKshatran\u00b7jaya (Ksatramjaya),\n\nkshatriya, ,\n\nKshema (Ksema),\n\nKshema\u00b7dhurti (Ksemadhurti),\n\nKshema\u00b7sharman (Ksemasarman),\n\nKshemi (Ksemi),\n\nKubera (Kubera), , ,\n\nKumara (Kumara),\n\nKunda\u00b7bhedin (Kundabhedin),\n\nKunti (Kunti), , , , , , , , , ,\n\nKunti (Kunti), , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nKuru (Kuru), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nKuru\u00b7kshetra (Kuruksetra),\n\nLakshmana (Laksmana), , , ,\n\nLalittha (Lalittha), , ,\n\nlightning, , , , , , ,\n\n, , , , , , , , ,\n\nlineage,\n\nlion, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nlotus, , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nblue, , ,\n\nlove, , , ,\n\nloyalty, , ,\n\nmace, , , , , , , , ,\n\nMadhava (Madhava), , ,\n\nMadhu (Madhu), ,\n\nmadness\n\nof war,\n\nMadra (Madra), , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nMadraka (Madraka), ,\n\nMadri (Madri), , ,\n\nMagadha (Magadha),\n\nMagadha (Magadha), ,\n\nMaghavan (Maghavan),\n\nMaha\u00b7deva (Mahadeva), ,\n\nmail, , , , , , ,\n\nchain,\n\ngolden,\n\nplate,\n\nMainaka (Mainaka), ,\n\nMalada (Malada),\n\n462\nindex\n\nMalava (Malava), , ,\n\nMalaya (Malaya),\n\nMandara (Mandara),\n\nManimat (Manimat),\n\nmantra, , , ,\n\nMarttikavataka (Marttikavataka),\n\nMarut (Marut),\n\nmaster, , , , , , , , , ,\n\narcher,\n\nof all beings,\n\nof the bow, ,\n\nof the Vedas,\n\nof war,\n\nof weapons, ,\n\nswordsman, ,\n\nMatsya (Matsya), , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nMavellaka (Mavellaka), ,\n\nmeditation, , ,\n\nMegha\u00b7vega (Meghavega),\n\nMekala (Mekala),\n\nMeru (Meru), , ,\n\nmeteor, ,\n\nminister,\n\nmissile, , , , , , ,\n\nbarbed,\n\nmodesty, ,\n\nmonarch, ,\n\nmonkey,\n\nmoon, , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nfull,\n\nhalf-, , ,\n\nmark in the,\n\nmoonbeams,\n\nMuru (Muru),\n\nmusth, , , ,\n\nmystery,\n\nNaimisha (Naimisa),\n\nNakula (Nakula), , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nNanda (Nanda), ,\n\nNara (Nara),\n\nNarada (Narada), , , ,\n\nNaraka (Naraka), , ,\n\nNarayana (Narayana), , , , , ,\n\nnight, , , , , , , , ,\n\ndead of,\n\nearly,\n\nnightmare,\n\nnightwalker,\n\nNila (Nila), , ,\n\nNishada (Nisada), ,\n\nNishadha (Nisadha), ,\n\nNishatha (Nisatha),\n\nNivata\u00b7kavacha (Nivatakavaca),\n\noath,\n\nsevere,\n\nsolemn,\n\nocean, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\n463\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nomen, ,\n\nordinance,\n\nornament, ,\n\ngolden,\n\npain, , , , , , , , , ,\n\npalace, , ,\n\npaladin, , , , ,\n\npalm, , , ,\n\nPancha\u00b7jana (Pancajana),\n\nPanchajanya (Pancajanya),\n\nPanchala (Pancala), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nPanchali (Pancali),\n\nPandava (Pandava), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nPandu (Pandu), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\n, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nPandya (Pandya), , ,\n\nParagon, , , ,\n\nParashu\u00b7rama (Parasurama),\n\nparasol, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nbroken,\n\nwhite, , ,\n\nparentage\n\nroyal,\n\nPartha (Partha), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\npassion, , , , ,\n\nhuman,\n\nlawless,\n\nPatacchara\u00b7hantri (Pataccaraha-  \nntr), ,\n\nPaundra (Paundra), , ,\n\nPaurava (Paurava), , ,\n\npeace, , , , , , , , ,\n\npenance, ,\n\npennant,\n\nPhalguni (Phalguni), , ,\n\npiety,\n\nPishacha (Pisaca),\n\nPitha (Pitha),\n\n464\nindex\n\npity, , ,\n\npoison,\n\nportent,\n\nPrabahu (Prabahu),\n\nPrabhadraka (Prabhadraka),\n\nPradyumna (Pradyumna), ,\n\nPrag\u00b7jyotisha (Pragjyotisa), , , , , , , , , ,\n\nPrasthala (Prasthala),\n\nPratardana (Pratardana),\n\nPrativindhya (Prativindhya), ,\n\npride, , ,\n\nwounded,\n\npriest, , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nancient,\n\nhigh,\n\nprince, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nserpent,\n\nyoung,\n\nprincess, ,\n\nPrishata (Prsata), , , , , , ,\n\nof (Parsata),\n\nprisoner, ,\n\nPritha (Prtha), , , , , ,\n\nPrithu (Prthu), , ,\n\npromise, , , , , , ,\n\nbroken, , ,\n\nPulastya (Pulastya),\n\nPuloman (Puloman),\n\nPundarikaksha (Pundarikaksa),\n\npupil,\n\npurity, ,\n\nPurujit (Purujit), ,\n\npyre, , ,\n\nquiver, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nRadha (Radha), , , , , , , , ,\n\nrage, , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nRahu (Rahu),\n\nrain\n\nbloody,\n\nRaja\u00b7pura (Rajapura),\n\nRama (Rama), , , , , ,\n\nRatha\u00b7sena (Rathasena),\n\nRaudra (Raudra),\n\nRavana (Ravana),\n\nreckoning\n\nbloody,\n\nregent,\n\nof the earth, , ,\n\nRiksha\u00b7deva (Rksadeva),\n\nrite, , , , , , ,\n\nlast,\n\nriver, , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\ncool,\n\n465\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\ndried,\n\nof death,\n\nrivers\n\nfive,\n\nRochamana (Rochamana), ,\n\nRohini (Rohini),\n\nRuchi\u00b7parvan (Ruciparvan), ,\n\nRudra (Rudra), , , , , ,\n\nRukma\u00b7ratha (Rukmaratha), , , , , , ,\n\nRukmin (Rukmin),\n\nsacrifice,\n\nhorse,\n\nsacrificer,\n\nsage, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nof war,\n\nSaha\u00b7deva (Sahadeva), , , , , , , , ,\n\nSaindhava (Saindhava), , , ,\n\nSamba (Samba),\n\nSamika (Samika),\n\nSamudra\u00b7sena (Samudrasena), 203\n\nSanjaya (Samjaya), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nSarana (Sarana),\n\nSarayu (Sarayu),\n\nSatvata (Satvata), ,\n\nSatya\u00b7dharman (Satyadharman),\n\nSatya\u00b7dhriti (Satyadhrti),\n\nSatyajit (Satyajit), , , ,\n\nSatya\u00b7karman (Satyakarman),\n\nSatyaki (Satyaki), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nSatya\u00b7ratha (Satyaratha), ,\n\nSatyavati (Satyavati),\n\nSatya\u00b7vrata (Satyavrata),\n\nSatyeshu (Satyesu),\n\nSaubala (Saubala), , , ,\n\nSaubha (Saubha),\n\nSaubhadra (Saubhadra), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nSauchitti (Saucitti),\n\nSaumadatti (Saumadatti), ,\n\nSauvira (Sauvira), ,\n\nscripture, , ,\n\nsea, ,\n\nseason,\n\ncold,\n\nhot, ,\n\nmating,\n\nseer, , , , , , , , , ,\n\n466\nindex\n\ndivine,\n\nSena\u00b7bindu (Senabindu), ,\n\nserpent, , , , , , , ,\n\nfiveheaded,\n\nshaft, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nbarbed,\n\nbroad,\n\ngolden,\n\nhalfmoon,\n\nhooked,\n\niron, , , ,\n\nmetal,\n\nof a spear,\n\nspearheaded,\n\nspearlike, ,\n\nwinged,\n\nyellow,\n\nShaibya (Saibya),\n\nShaineya (Saineya), ,\n\nShaka (Saka), , ,\n\nShakra (Sakra), , ,\n\nShakuna (Sakuna),\n\nShakuni (Sakuni), , , , , , , ,\n\nShala (Sala), ,\n\nShalva (Salva), ,\n\nShalya (Salya), , , , ,\n\n, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nShambara (Sambara),\n\nShantanu (Samtanu), , , , , ,\n\nSharadvat (Saradvat), , ,\n\nShatanika (Satanika), , , ,\n\nShatrun\u00b7jaya (Satrunjaya), ,\n\nShauri (Sauri),\n\nShibi (Shibi), , , , ,\n\nshield, , , , , , , , , ,\n\ndecorated,\n\ngleaming,\n\niron,\n\nShikhandin (Sikhandin), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nShini (Sini), , , , ,\n\nship, , , ,\n\nrudderless,\n\nShishu\u00b7pala (Sisupala), ,\n\nShrenimat (Srenimat),\n\nShruta\u00b7karman (Srutakarman), ,\n\nShruta\u00b7kirti (Srutakirti), ,\n\nShudra (Sudra),\n\nShukla (Sukla),\n\nShura\u00b7sena (Surasena), ,\n\nSindhu (Sindhu), , , , , , , , , , ,\n\n467\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\n, , ,\n\nSinhala (Simhala),\n\nSinha\u00b7sena (Simhasena) , ,\n\nsister, , ,\n\nmother's,\n\nSkanda (Skanda), , , , ,\n\nsky, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nautumn,\n\ndark,\n\nnight,\n\norb of the,\n\nquarters of the, , ,\n\nstarless,\n\nstarry,\n\nsnake, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nwater-,\n\nsoldier, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nfoot-, , ,\n\nSoma (Soma), ,\n\nSoma\u00b7datta (Somadatta), , , ,\n\nson, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\n, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nof a cowherd,\n\nof Danu,\n\nson-in-law,\n\nsorrow, , , , , , , , ,\n\nocean of,\n\nsoul, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nspear, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nspell,\n\nspies,\n\nspirits, , ,\n\nof death and darkness,\n\nof heaven,\n\nof the air,\n\nof the dead,\n\nsplendor,\n\nSrinjaya (Srnjaya), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nstallion, , , , ,\n\nstandard, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\n468\nindex\n\nfallen,\n\nruined,\n\nstars,\n\nsteed, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nblue,\n\ndotted,\n\nfaithful,\n\nfine, ,\n\ngentle,\n\nnoble, ,\n\npale,\n\nsilver,\n\nSindhu, ,\n\nswift, , , , ,\n\nturtledovecolored,\n\nversicolored, ,\n\nwelltrained,\n\nwhite,\n\nstrategy,\n\nstruggle\n\nbloody, ,\n\nSubahu (Subahu), ,\n\nSubala (Subala), , , ,\n\nSubhadra (Subhadra), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nSudakshina (Sudaksina), , ,\n\nSudaman (Sudaman),\n\nSudarshana (Sudarsana),\n\nSudhanus (Sudhanus), ,\n\nSudhanvan (Sudhanvan),\n\nSudharman (Sudharman),\n\nSukshatra (Sussatra),\n\nSumitra (Sumitra),\n\nsun, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\narrow of the,\n\nautumnal,\n\nmidday,\n\npath of the,\n\nrays of the, , , , , , , ,\n\nrising, , ,\n\ntrack of the,\n\nSunaman (Sunaman),\n\nSuratha (Suratha),\n\nSurya\u00b7bhasa (Suryabhasa),\n\nSusharman (Susarman), , , , ,\n\nSushena (Susena),\n\nSuta\u00b7putra (Sutaputra),\n\nSuta\u00b7soma (Sutasoma), ,\n\nSuvarchas (Suvarcas), ,\n\nSuyodhana (Suyodhana),\n\nsword, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\n469\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\n, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nteacher, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nTeacher, , ,\n\ntears, , , , , , , ,\n\nthrone, , , ,\n\nclaim to the,\n\ninheritor to the,\n\ntiger, , , , , ,\n\ntime, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nof battle,\n\npast and present,\n\nthe end of, , , ,\n\nthe fire of,\n\nthe passage of,\n\nthe turning wheel of,\n\nto come,\n\nwasting, , ,\n\ntimes\n\nolden, ,\n\ntreachery,\n\ntree, , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nbayur,\n\ncoral,\n\ndead,\n\ndry,\n\nfelled,\n\npalm,\n\nrain,\n\nsacred,\n\ntrickery,\n\ntrident, ,\n\nTri\u00b7garta (Trigarta), , , , , , , , , ,\n\nTri\u00b7garta (Trigarta), , , ,\n\ntriumph, , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\ntrumpet, , , , ,\n\ntruth, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nlover of,\n\nTry\u00b7ambaka (Tryambaka),\n\nTumburu (Tumburu),\n\nTundikera (Tundikera),\n\nTvashtri (Tvastr),\n\nUcchaih\u00b7shravas (Uccaihsravas),\n\nUdayendu (Udayendu),\n\nUgra\u00b7shravas (Ugrasravas),\n\nUlmuka (Ulmuka),\n\nunderworld,\n\nUshanas (Usanas), ,\n\nUshi\u00b7nara (Usinara),\n\nUtkala (Utkala),\n\nUttamaujas (Uttamaujas),  , , , , ,\n\nVaishampayana (Vaisampayana),\n\nVaishnava (Vaisnava),\n\n470\nindex\n\nVaishvanara (Vaisvanara),\n\nVaitarani (Vaitarani),\n\nVaivasvata (Vaivasvata),\n\nvalor, , , ,\n\nVanayu (Vanayu),\n\nVanga (Vanga), ,\n\nVaranasi (Varanasi),\n\nVaranavata (Varanavata),\n\nVarddhakshemi (Varddhasemi), , ,\n\nVarshneya (Vasneya),\n\nVaruna (Varuna),\n\nVasatiya (Vasatiya), ,\n\nVasishtha (Vasistha),\n\nvassal, ,\n\nVasu (Vasu), , ,\n\nVasu\u00b7dana (Vasudana), , ,\n\nVasu\u00b7deva (Vasudeva), , , , , , ,\n\nVasudeva (Vasudeva), , , , ,\n\nVata\u00b7dhana (Vatadhana),\n\nVatsyas (Vatsya),\n\nVayavya (Vayavya),\n\nVayu (Vayu), , ,\n\nVeda (Veda), , , , , ,\n\nVetasaka (Vetasaka),\n\nvictory, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\ndreams of,\n\ndrums of,\n\nhope of,\n\nthrill of,\n\nVideha (Videha),\n\nVidura (Vidura),\n\nVidura (Vidura), ,\n\nVidu\u00b7ratha (Viduratha),\n\nVijaya (Vijaya),\n\nVikarna (Vikarna), , ,\n\nVipata (Vipata),\n\nViprithu (Viprthu),\n\nVirata (Virata), , , , , , , , , ,\n\nVirochana (Virocana), ,\n\nvirtue, , , , , , , ,\n\nVrisha\u00b7sena (Vrsasena), , , , ,\n\nVishnu (Visnu), , , , , , , , , ,\n\nVishvak\u00b7sena (Visvaksena),\n\nVivinshati (Vivimsati) , , , , ,\n\nvow, , , , ,\n\nsacred,\n\nstrict,\n\nVriddha\u00b7kshatra (Vrddhaksatra) ,\n\nVriddha\u00b7kshema (Vrddhaksemi),\n\nVrika (Vrka),\n\nVrikodara (Vrkodara), , , , , , , , ,\n\nVrindaraka (Vrndaraka), ,\n\nVrisha (Vrsa),\n\nVrishaka (Vrsaka),\n\nVrishni (Vrsni), , , ,\n\nVritra (Vrtra), ,\n\n471\nmaha\u00b7bharata vii \u2013 drona i\n\nvulture, , , ,\n\nVyaghra\u00b7datta (Vyaghradatta), ,\n\nVyasa (Vyasa), , ,\n\nwar, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nart of, , , , ,\n\nbloody,\n\ncelestial,\n\ndance of,\n\ndelirium of,\n\ndrums of,\n\nexperience in,\n\nfeat of,\n\nfrenzy of,\n\nglory of,\n\nwisdom in,\n\nwarrior, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\n, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nchariot-,\n\nDiademed, , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nof the Golden Chariot, ,\n\nof the Red Stars, , ,\n\nredarmored,\n\nwaters\n\nbloody,\n\nweapon, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nbroken,\n\nheavenly, , , , ,\n\nJyotishka,\n\nof Fire,\n\nof the fire,\n\nof Vishnu,\n\nshattered,\n\ntruth as,\n\nTvashtri,\n\nVayavya,\n\nwheelguard, , ,\n\nwisdom, , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nwolf, , , ,\n\nworld, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nbeings of the,\n\n472\nindex\n\nfather of the,\n\nguardian of the, ,\n\nhuman,\n\nliving, , ,\n\nlord of the,\n\nof the dead, ,\n\nof the living,\n\nof the Maha\u00b7bharata,\n\nprotection of the,\n\ntriple, ,\n\nworlds, ,\n\nmaster of all,\n\nthree, , , ,\n\nwrath, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nwreath, , ,\n\nYadava (Yadava),\n\nYajnya\u00b7sena (Yajnasena), , ,\n\nYama (Yama), , , , , , , ,\n\nYamuna (Yamuna), ,\n\nYamya (Yamya),\n\nYatsena (Yatsena),\n\nYaudheya (Yaudheya),\n\nYavana (Yavana), , ,\n\nYudha\u00b7manyu (Yudhamanyu), , , ,\n\nYudhi\u00b7shthira (Yudhsthira), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\n, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nYugan\u00b7dhara (Yugamdhara),\n\nYuyudhana (Yuyudhana), , ,\n\nYuyutsu (Yuyutsu), , , , ,\n\n473\n\n## Table of Contents\n\n  1. Cover\n  2. Title\n  3. Copyright\n  4. Contents\n  5. Sanskrit alphabetical order\n  6. CSL conventions\n  7. MAHA.BHARATA VII - DRONA I\n  8. Introduction\n  9. 1-15: The Anointing of Drona\n  10. 16-32: The Death of the Beholden\n  11. 33-54: The Death of Abhimanyu\n  12. Notes\n  13. Proper Names and Epithets\n  14. Index\n\n## Guide\n\n  1. Cover\n  2. Title\n  3. Copyright\n  4. Contents\n  5. MAHA.BHARATA VII - DRONA I\n\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n\nCONTENTS\n\nDedication\n\nAcknowledgments\n\nChapter 1 Shadows of the Batavia\n\nChapter 2 The Missing Man March\n\nChapter 3 The Stacks\n\nChapter 4 The Billboard Psychic\n\nChapter 5 Keepsakes and Memories\n\nChapter 6 On Disbelief\n\nChapter 7 Beatriz\n\nChapter 8 The Pretty Little Girl in the Purple Pajamas\n\nChapter 9 On Kutji\n\nChapter 10 Austin\n\nChapter 11 On Genius Loci\n\nChapter 12 Back to the Cursed and the Damned\n\nChapter 13 Business\n\nChapter 14 Orobas and Amy\n\nChapter 15 The Seventy-two\n\nChapter 16 A Field of Bad Choices\n\nChapter 17 City of the Damned\n\nChapter 18 Hair of the Dog\n\nChapter 19 Dreamtime and the Land of Dreams\n\nChapter 20 The Cleverest Man in Arnhem Land\n\nChapter 21 The Clever Men\n\nChapter 22 Rocks and Throwing Stars\n\nChapter 23 On Djang\n\nChapter 24 Fishing\n\nChapter 25 The Rum Thief\n\nChapter 26 Night of the Bunyip\n\nChapter 27 A Break in the Siege\n\nChapter 28 The Orphan Story\n\nChapter 29 Beside Herself\n\nChapter 30 Cut the Cord\n\nChapter 31 The Other Side of the Tree\n\nChapter 32 The Night the Demons Came\n\nChapter 33 Four Men Singing in a Truck\n\nChapter 34 Songlines\n\nChapter 35 The Swamps Just South of Arnhem\n\nChapter 36 Queen of the Dark Things\n\nChapter 37 The She-devils of Nanmamnrootmee\n\nChapter 38 The Hell Outside\n\nChapter 39 The Gwyllion Over the Hill\n\nChapter 40 The Duke at the Foot of a Rock\n\nChapter 41 The Five Dukes of the Batavia\n\nChapter 42 Solomon the Wanderer\n\nChapter 43 The Favor of Orobas\n\nChapter 44 The Angel on Horseback\n\nChapter 45 The Leopard\n\nChapter 46 Meatpuppet\n\nChapter 47 The Second Pressed into Service\n\nChapter 48 The Stale Room and the Grave at the Edge of the World\n\nChapter 49 The Fool's Gambit\n\nChapter 50 Dreamspeaker\n\nChapter 51 As Shadows Fade\n\nChapter 52 Winter of Discontent\n\nChapter 53 The Pageantry of Queens\n\nChapter 54 The Bearded Hunter\n\nChapter 55 The Master of the Parade\n\nChapter 56 The Weight of Things\n\nChapter 57 The Snakehandler\n\nChapter 58 High Moon\n\nChapter 59 With This Ring\n\nChapter 60 The Burden of Solomon\n\nEpilogue\n\nAbout the Author\n\nAlso by C. Robert Cargill\n\nCredits\n\nCopyright\n\nAbout the Publisher\nDEDICATION\n\nFOR JESSICA,\n\nBUT THEN, THEY'RE ALL FOR JESSICA\nACKNOWLEDGMENTS\n\nMy editor, Diana Gill, once told me that the second book is the hardest of them all to write. She wasn't lying. The book you hold in your hands now comes after the longest, hardest literary slog of my life. It isn't the book I set out to write, but it is the book I wanted to write all along. And it couldn't have fought its way to you without the efforts and support of a number of amazing people. Everyone should be so lucky as to be surrounded by the likes of these, each of whom I would like to thank now.\n\nFirst and foremost, I have to thank Diana, whose near psychic ability to steer me in the right direction without directly telling me where to go continues to mystify me. She is my Mandu. And I never would have found this book without her. She also knows how to find the very best food in the world, regardless of what city she finds herself in. So trust her on that if you ever get the opportunity. And, of course, I have to thank Simon Spanton, my Diana across the pond. His passion for the written word and his faith in me always give me something to aspire to when I find myself on the darkest, toughest nights. I've said that before, but it bears repeating.\n\nThanks to my tireless publicist, Jessie Edwards, who I learned, only hours before this writing, fought for the chance to work on my books. That requires a level of thanks that I do not yet quite have the words to express. Her patience and devotion to answering e-mails within minutes helped guide this first-time author through the terrifying trial of a first release and book tour. And to the Weirwolf Jon Weir, who did the same for me with gleeful abandon overseas. Thanks to the outstanding team at Voyager: Kelly O'Connor, Shawn Nicholls, Dana Trombley, et al. And with equal measure thanks to the team at Gollancz: Sinem Erkas, Charlie Panayiotou, Jenn McMenemy, and all the rest. All of you folks make this more fun than it has any right to be.\n\nThanks and much love to my agent, Peter McGuigan, who continues to be a rock star, doing things that you think only half-crazed, angry agents can do, but with swagger and a genuine smile that earns the trust he so richly deserves. He's the real deal. As are Kirsten Neuhaus and the amazing team at Foundry. Thanks to my manager, David McIlvain, whose voice guides me through the hardest decisions, but who always seems to call with good news. He was the first person in my career who believed in me before he really knew me, and I'll never, ever forget that. And, of course, his confidant, Mac Dewey, another early believer.\n\nThanks to my readers: Jason Murphy, Rod Paddock, Will Goss, Paul Gandersman, Peter S. Hall, Luke Mullen, and Brian Salisbury. The value of your brutal honesty is matched only by the warmth of your friendship. I love you guys. So drinks. Friday. Salisbury and Mullen's house. I'll bring the scotch.\n\nThanks to Lee Zachariah, my man from Oz, who helped with the lingo and the research on the little bits that were vital to get just right. Thanks to all my friends in the industry, too numerous to name, who have ever sat me down, gifted me with advice, shown me the ropes, and tweeted or talked about my work. You know who you are. Thanks to Tim and Karrie League and the staff of the Alamo Drafthouse who not only supported my book and movie but have also provided the venue for many of the greatest nights of my life. And thanks to my partner in crime, Scott Derrickson. He makes me a better writer every day. The world has yet to see the full extent of his talent. But it will. It will.\n\nThanks to my wife, my life, my breath\u2014Jessica. She believes even when I no longer have the strength to. Every love story I write is really all about her. And for good reason. She is everything.\n\nThanks to everyone who came out for my first tour, who bought the book sight unseen, or who followed me from my previous endeavors. Thanks to those amazing people who have approached me at signings with copies of the book they bought after having borrowed it first from a library or on loan from a friend. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, tweeted, or blogged about it, and especially to the booksellers who put it in the hands of their customers with an eager gleam in their eyes. All of you make my heart swell with joy with every kind word you share.\n\nAnd you. Yes, you. This is a second book. If you're reading this, then odds are good that you read the first one. Taking a chance on a first-time author is a grand thing, particularly to the author. But giving them a second chance is something else altogether. You are the people this book was written for. So thank you. I hope I don't (or didn't) let you down.\n\nAnd lastly, thanks to Deputy So-and-So of the local police department, whose research made this book possible.\nCHAPTER 1\n\nSHADOWS OF THE BATAVIA\n\nOCTOBER 2, 1629\n\nJeronimus Cornelisz didn't believe in the Devil, but the Devil sure as hell believed in him.\n\nHow he, an apothecary by trade, found himself working as an undermerchant aboard the Batavia in the first place was something he cared not to discuss. It was a tale of woe involving a dead child, bankruptcy, and the jailing of a close confidant whose radical ideas had taken root in a few too many prominent hearts. But Jeronimus did talk. A lot. He was of fair complexion, with dark hair and darker eyes that, coupled with his charisma, made it hard to break loose of his gaze. So when he talked, you listened, whether you cared for what he had to say or not.\n\n\"God does not mock us,\" he said, staring off into the crystal blue sheen of the sea. The sun was high, the sand warm across the top of his feet as he and six of his fellow sailors shuffled across the beach. The seabirds cawed in the air around him, the waves lapping the shore. It was as beautiful a day as ever there was. He nodded, squinting in the sun. \"He smiles upon us. Loves us. Wants us to be happy. He demands not servitude, but experience. Gifts us with urges. Rewards us with pleasure. Satisfaction. Wholeness. Why is it that a man feels no ecstasy when he prays? There, on his knees, in congress with his maker, he feels nothing but what he pretends to. But a man on his knees, in congress with a woman, feels more alive than ever. Every inch of his body sizzles with joy, and when he explodes, he becomes one with the whole. In that moment, and only that moment, a man knows absolute peace, free of want, free of fear.\n\n\"All the things that bring us ecstasy are banned, held captive by the new Pharisees. They put their pope on a throne of gold and silver and let him rework both history and the word that was passed down to us through their lips. And the lips of those before them. And of those before them. And the longer the word of God stays on earth, the longer it is corrupted to justify the illusion. Make no mistake. They hold hostage everything we hold dear to maintain their own control of it. Even the pope has his whores.\" He turned to look at his burly shipmate, shuffling close behind him in the sand. \"Have you ever fucked a whore proper, son?\" he asked him.\n\n\"What?\" asked the man, looking up from the ground.\n\n\"A whore, son. A whore. Have you ever dropped a few guilders in the cup of one after dropping a few in her box?\"\n\nThe man grunted, nodding, as if it was a stupid question. He was a sailor. Of course he'd been with his fair share of whores.\n\n\"When she shined your knob, who did it hurt? No one. That's the Lord's work. Pleasure for one, rent and food for another. Why would He condemn us to Hell for that? The Pharisees tell us that a roll with a lady is all it takes to burn forever in a lake of fire. But if the Lord has a plan for us, really has a plan for us all, why would He plan for us to go to Hell? To burn. To suffer. What God would do that? Not one who loves us. One who loves us has created an afterlife, a place where we are free from pain, free from suffering, and only know the orgiastic joy of blissful wholeness.\"\n\n\"So you're saying there ain't no Hell?\" asked another sailor, following a little farther back.\n\n\"I'm saying that not only is there no Hell, but no Devil. He's a ghost story meant to keep the finer things in life under lock and key in our captain's, our captor's, bedchamber. God wants only for us to do what makes us happy. He sorts out the rest.\"\n\nThe second sailor spoke up again, this time leaning closer. \"You're saying it's okay to kill?\"\n\n\"Why wouldn't it be? Killing someone only sends them to the great reward, right? And taking from someone only encourages them to take for themselves. Have you ever looked closely at the Ten Commandments?\"\n\nA third sailor spoke up. \"There are no Ten Commandments south of the equator. Every sailor knows that.\" He laughed, though no one laughed with him.\n\n\"But do you know them?\" asked Jeronimus of the third sailor, unfazed.\n\n\"I know them,\" said the sailor, soberly. \"By heart.\"\n\n\"We all do. But have you ever thought about them? The man in charge goes up a mountain and comes back down with ten rules that keep him and his rich friends rich and in charge. Do not steal, do not murder, obey your elders, do not covet their wives\u2014of which they had many\u2014do not speak ill of the Lord who passed down these laws nor dare to question or speak for Him, worship no other god who might make other laws. These aren't rules to keep us free, they are rules telling you to know your place and take only what the rich deign to give to you. These are not the laws of God, they are the laws of man designed only to rule over other men. God wants us to be happy. God wants us to take what we want. God wants us to rule for ourselves. The only way to truly be free is to free yourself of your own conscience.\"\n\n\"That's easy to say now,\" said the soldier farthest in back. \"But let's see what you say in a few moments' time.\"\n\nJeronimus smiled wide, his teeth speckled with bird guts, several chipped or missing from a few too many beatings. \"Aye,\" he said. \"More to the point, in a few moments' time, we'll see just how right I am after all.\"\n\nThe seven looked out together over the island\u2014a flat, mile-wide coral sand wasteland, no more than three feet above sea level, devoid of bush or tree, surrounded by the Indian Ocean, its only markers three shoddy wooden gallows, constructed from the skeleton of the Batavia, which itself was wrecked and battered to pieces by the tide a scant half mile away. Beside the closest gallows was a barrel, and beside that a box on which sat Wiebbe Hayes, captain of the guard, his chin held high, a sly, proud smile on his lips, hammer and chisel in his hands. Behind him stood Fleet Commander Francisco Palsaert\u2014a boorish, sweaty gnome of a Dutch East India Trading Company man who rubbed his fat little fingers together, grinning like a child molester.\n\n\"Cornelisz,\" he said. \"You're up.\"\n\nJeronimus knelt before the barrel, placing his left hand atop it, eyes cold and expressionless. \"I'll be back for these later,\" he said to Hayes.\n\nHayes nodded, placing the chisel squarely on Jeronimus's wrist. \"Jeronimus Cornelisz, you have been tried and convicted of mutiny, complicit in the deaths of one hundred and twenty souls. Your guilt is not in doubt. Have you anything to say before your sentence is carried out?\"\n\n\"Yes. Had fortune favored me just a little more, it would be your hand up on this barrel, Hayes. Not mine.\"\n\nHayes nodded knowingly. \"Though I doubt you would have granted me the courtesy of the barrel.\"\n\nJeronimus flashed the hint of a smile, concealing it as quickly as it came. \"You're probably right.\"\n\nHayes brought the hammer down.\n\nJeronimus neither winced nor cried out as the chisel severed his hand from his arm; he didn't even blink. He simply stared into the soldier's eyes as he removed his gushing stump from the barrel, placing his right hand directly atop the dismembered left.\n\n\"Remove the hand,\" ordered Palsaert.\n\n\"No,\" said Jeronimus flatly. \"They're a set. They stay together.\"\n\nThe hammer came down again, separating the second hand, Jeronimus once again making nary a sound.\n\nA soldier grabbed him by his armpits, hoisting him back to his feet, and then led him to the gallows where a crudely assembled ladder awaited him. Jeronimus climbed up, step by step, the ladder creaking beneath him, bowing his head for the executioner to slip the noose around his neck. Palsaert stepped forward, boisterously offering a morsel of civility. \"May God have mercy on your soul.\"\n\nJeronimus looked up, smiling, blood spurting from two dismembered stumps. \"He already has.\"\n\nThe executioner kicked the ladder out from under him. The mutineer dropped less than a yard; not quite far enough to kill him, just far enough to tighten the rope. There he spun, slowly choking, head swelling up like a cherry tomato, his toes stretching, scraping barely, cruelly, at the sand inches beneath his heel.\n\nThen, one by one, Hayes took the right hand of each of the remaining sailors before he was led to his own noose, to spin and choke slowly in the sun. Each spat a curse at Jeronimus before his own ladder was kicked out from under him, and while no one would ever speak or write of it in their accounts, many thought to themselves that day that they saw Jeronimus smile each time they did, even as the life was slowly choking out of him.\n\nAnd once the last man had been hung and the life finally drained from his body, Palsaert, Hayes, and the remaining soldiers each made their way to the boats one by one, leaving the conspirators behind to rot where they died.\n\nOn the shore, sitting in a boat of their own, Wouter Looes and Jan Pelgrom de Bye waited in chains, their hands cuffed to their feet. Looes was a grizzled sea dog covered in scars, a willing mutineer and right-hand man to Jeronimus; Pelgrom was a thin, blond, eighteen-year-old cabin boy who had only committed one murder\u2014and that under duress. While each of the other mutineers had lied about their involvement or intent in the mutiny, these two fell upon their knees before the seaside court and begged its mercy. Palsaert granted it, though the extent of his mercy was questionable.\n\n\"You see the fate you escaped?\" asked Palsaert of his captives.\n\nBoth men nodded silently.\n\n\"Let those images fester, gentlemen. For while your fate is in your hands, know that no manner of death could be as awful as that.\" He turned to Hayes. \"Unshackle them.\" As Hayes did, Palsaert raised a stiff arm to the horizon and continued to speak. \"Eighty-odd kilometers from here is a land filled with monsters and savages. No civilized man has settled it. Maybe you'll make it; maybe you won't. Your lives are your own now. The only thing I promise you is that if I ever see your faces again, I will have you hanged before the sun sets on that day. Good-bye, gentlemen. May God have mercy on your souls.\"\n\nHe motioned to Hayes who gave the boat a good, swift kick into the water. Looes and Pelgrom immediately set to rowing, knowing that what little food and water Palsaert's meager mercy had granted them would be gone before they saw anything resembling land. It would take only minutes for their small craft to vanish into the horizon and their names into legend.\n\nAnd once they were gone, Palsaert gave the order and the last remnants of the crew of the Batavia set back out for Java, never to set eyes on these islands again.\n\nTHE HANDLESS SHADOWS hung long in the noonday sun, lifeless as their bodies, slightly twitching, swaying in the breeze. Slowly, as the boats sailed away, the shadows' twitches became more pronounced. And then they became movements. And the movements became dancing. And finally the shadows wrestled away from their bodies, loosed from the moorings of their mortal shells, free to roam and stand up on their own, no longer bound to the flat of the ground. They stood up, square faced, boxy, and malformed, racing for the nearest pools of shadow before the sun could strike them down.\n\nThey hid in the dark of the barrel and of the rocks and of the shadows of the posts that held up the gallows. There they waited, watching as their old bodies swayed, shadowless, birds swarming to pick them apart, tearing out their innards, pecking out their eyes. And once the day had run its course and the sun had sunk slowly behind the sea, and the boats had all sailed far, far away, the shadows crept out into the night looking for their hands. But they were nowhere to be found, having been carried off hours before by the birds.\n\nDisappointed, with the moon rising on the water, the shadows turned into crows\u2014their feathers formed from darkness, their eyes a shiny black\u2014flapping off beneath the stars toward an island thousands of miles away. Java.\n\nARIAEN JACOBSZ WAS strong. He'd endured torture, threats, and all manner of inquiry. And as a captain and skipper of the Batavia, it would take more than the accusations of known mutineers, murderers, and thieves to have him executed. The company needed him to confess. It was the last privilege his station would afford him. Jacobsz would never give them the satisfaction. No matter how guilty he truly was.\n\nHis cell was small and windowless, stuffy with the sweat of tropical air and body odor. No torches were lit this low beneath the castle, the dungeon always as black as night could get, even when the sun was highest in the sky. It was a miserable hole deep in the earth, but it was a damn sight better than hanging handless in the sands of an island with no name.\n\n\"Jaaaaacobszzzz,\" said a whisper outside his cell, waking him from a shallow sleep.\n\n\"Keep it quiet out there,\" he called out to his fellow cell mates farther down the hall. \"I'm trying to sleep.\"\n\n\"Jaaaaacobszzzz.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"We had a deal,\" said a voice from behind him.\n\nJacobsz turned around, looking for its source. \"What?\" Then he heard shuffling from all sides. He wasn't alone, but as dark as it was, he couldn't make out anyone, or anything. \"Who is it?\"\n\n\"Yourrrrrrr crewwwwwwww.\"\n\nHands grabbed him from the darkness, clawing his flesh, dragging him backward, choking him. Then, in unison, they heaved him, and he felt the dry, chafing burn of a rope coiling tightly around his neck.\n\n\"No! Not like this!\" he cried. \"Not like this!\"\n\n\"Exactly like this,\" said Jeronimus, now a misshapen shadow of what he was. \"Take his hand, boys! And spare him the courtesy of a barrel.\"\n\nThe next morning his jailers would find him hanged from the ceiling, his right hand severed and missing. The cell was locked when they found it, and the guards swore that no one came or left in the night. No report was made and, since Jacobsz had no kin anyway, no one was ever notified about the mysterious death. And with so many of the conspirators spread out, already serving on new ships or condemned to different prisons in the region, no one took notice of just how many times this manner of death would repeat itself for an untold number of the mutineers of the Batavia.\nCHAPTER 2\n\nTHE MISSING MAN MARCH\n\nAN EXCERPT FROM THE AUSTIN CHRONICLE BY MARTIN MACK\n\nThe air was thick, muggy, and dank with downtown sweat. If you were paying attention, you could feel something in the air. But like a sudden summer storm, few saw it coming until it was pouring down around them. That night, in a cramped, seedy little bar on Sixth Street, a rock god came out and greeted the audience with the deafening strum of his guitar. And now, six months later, a hundred thousand hipsters all claim to have stood among a couple of hundred.\n\nIt was an odd crowd, a smorgasbord of the Austin music and critical elite mingling among friends, family, and fans of the other bands. Scenesters and tastemakers tripped over one another at the bar. I even saw Cassidy Crane nodding along in back.\n\nI'll admit, I wasn't expecting much. I'd seen Limestone Kingdom several times before and they were terrible. Thoroughly mediocre twaddle starving on the outskirts of a rock apocalypse. But they had an in with the manager, opening often for far better bands. So when Ewan Bradford stepped out onstage, I rolled my eyes and ordered another beer. It was going to be a long night.\n\nOr so I thought.\n\nThat first chord rattled my bones, resonating in my gut. And then Limestone Kingdom exploded, playing what would become the anthem for an entire city.\n\nYou've seen the videos online. You've listened to the hastily recorded tracks. You know what I'm talking about. Sort of. You know how good the music is, but even words fail to capture just how captivating Bradford was. You couldn't take your eyes off him. I must have seen that guy sling ice as a barback dozens of times, but that night was the first time I really saw him for what he was.\n\nA rock god.\n\nBut that was it, the last we'd ever hear from him.\n\nThere would be rumors of a fight. Blood on a brick wall that police found to be \"inconclusive.\" Talk of a girl\u2014whom no two people could even agree as to what she looked like\u2014walking him out of the club. But no clues. No real leads. Ewan Bradford walked off that stage never to be seen again. His band members haven't heard from him, and the label that later signed them (with Bradford in absentia) has a standing reward for information leading to his whereabouts. But at the end of the day, all we have are sightings of guys who look like Bradford, or sound like Bradford, but none of whom can actually sing like Bradford.\n\nHe's out there somewhere. And I think he's alive. I think this is the biggest viral campaign in the history of rock music, playing out in blogs and alt weeklies the world over. Ewan Bradford is out there, smiling, laughing, checking as the hit counts climb on every video his fans post.\n\nThe real question is: will he ever show his face again?\nCHAPTER 3\n\nTHE STACKS\n\nMartin Mack was the consummate rock writer. Though small in stature, he carried himself as if he were the tallest person in the room. He wore leather jackets over black, faded rock tour T-shirts from bands few had heard of, above jeans that were always five minutes ahead of the latest style. His head was shaved close and had been for as long as anyone could remember. No one knew exactly how old he was, but he was old enough to have been around and young enough that he still was. He knew all of the underground, backroom secret spots there were in Austin, which meant he also knew how to find Puckett's Stacks, which is exactly where he found Colby Stevens.\n\nColby looked up as he entered, at first unaware of who he was. \"Can I help you?\" he asked. Colby looked grizzled, tired, a world-weary twenty-two going on forty-five. His red hair grew out in long shaggy tufts, longer than he liked it, but not long enough to remind him to bother getting it cut. His gaunt face and sunken eyes oversaw a field of red-brown stubble, almost thick enough to distract from his pointy chin. But it was his expression that was the most damning thing about him. Sullen, beaten, like a tool worn all the way down. He had the look of a man who just didn't give a shit anymore.\n\nFortunately for him, most people took that as a sign that he'd simply worked in retail a little too long.\n\nMartin smiled, speaking with a soft, friendly tone. \"Yes, yes you can. I'm looking for someone. Colby Stevens.\"\n\nColby froze for a second. People didn't come looking for him. Things, yes; people, never. \"I'm Colby,\" he said, cautiously.\n\n\"Of course you are. I'm with the Austin Chronicle.\"\n\nColby nodded, now recognizing him. \"You're Martin Mack.\"\n\n\"You know my stuff.\"\n\n\"Only your recent work.\"\n\n\"Then you know why I'm here.\"\n\n\"I have an idea. I know what you're writing about, but not why you would want to talk to me.\"\n\n\"You were one of Ewan's friends.\"\n\nColby nodded. \"Yeah, so you'll understand if I'd rather not talk about him.\"\n\n\"People want to read about him.\"\n\n\"No. People want to listen to his music. The only reason they keep reading about him is because you've convinced them he's faked his own death.\"\n\n\"You don't think he did?\"\n\n\"Man, how would I know?\"\n\n\"Because,\" said Martin, \"you were the only person outside the band who appears to have spent any time with him.\"\n\n\"Aside from his girlfriend, you mean.\"\n\n\"Nora.\"\n\n\"That's the one.\"\n\n\"Did you know her?\"\n\n\"No. She was a well-kept secret.\" Colby slipped a book off the shelf, a tattered, dog-eared copy of Hunter S. Thompson's Hell's Angels with a crippled spine and no dustcover. He held it up as if it were what Mack had come looking for.\n\nMack grimaced. \"I've already got a copy of that,\" he said.\n\nColby's expression didn't change. He merely opened it to the title page without looking, turning it toward Mack as he did. Martin Mack's eyes grew wide, his jaw slowly going limp, his teeth almost whistling as the air rushed in past them. \"Is that a . . . signed Thompson?\"\n\n\"A signed first edition.\"\n\n\"How did you know?\"\n\n\"What? That the rock writer at the local alt weekly has a thing for Hunter S. Thompson? Call it a hunch.\"\n\n\"It's a bit beat up and a little the worse for wear, don't you think?\"\n\n\"You mean like Thompson himself? Yeah. It's kind of perfect, isn't it?\"\n\nMartin Mack grinned like an eight-year-old seeing boobs for the first time. \"Okay, how much?\"\n\n\"It's on the house.\"\n\n\"Bullshit.\"\n\n\"I'm paying for it. If, and only if, this is the last time we see each other.\"\n\n\"That's not cool.\"\n\n\"What's not cool is you coming in here and asking me questions about a friend I haven't seen in a long time. Someone I miss. Someone I'm afraid I'll never see again. And while I appreciate what you're doing\u2014for his music\u2014I gotta tell ya, it hurts like a son of a bitch to even think about. So please, for the love of God, cut me a little slack and leave me alone.\"\n\n\"You think he's dead, don't you?\"\n\nColby glared at Martin Mack, thinking long and hard about his choice of words. \"I think that with all the attention he's gotten, with all the stories you've written about him, with all the people clamoring to see him live, there isn't anything else in the universe that could keep him off a stage.\"\n\n\"Can I quote you on that?\"\n\n\"Only if you don't use my name.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Some of us, and I'm just speaking for myself here, don't want to get famous off the dead.\"\n\nMartin grimaced. \"I think he's still around. He's just in hiding, waiting for the right moment to come back.\"\n\n\"Maybe you're right. But if he does, he better not show up here.\"\n\n\"You don't want to see your friend again?\"\n\n\"Of course I do. But I've shed a lot of tears over that man. And anyone who would do that to a friend isn't really very much of a friend at all.\"\n\nMartin nodded solemnly; it was a fair point. \"I'm sorry to have bothered you.\" He turned to leave.\n\n\"Wait.\"\n\nMartin perked up, imagining for a second that Colby had changed his mind, and turned back around. \"Yeah?\"\n\n\"You forgot your book.\"\n\n\"Oh. Yeah. Thank you.\"\n\nColby handed him the book and Martin slowly made his way out of the store.\n\nThe bell on the door tinkled, and the store fell silent once more. Colby slumped onto the ground in a heap, weeping. Tears erupted, warm and glistening, down his cheeks. He sobbed openly, sure that he was alone. It was the first time in months that he had cried, and it was only then that he realized just how much he had let the emotions build up.\n\nHe sat on the ground, his back to a bookshelf, rocking back and forth, running his hands through tufts of red hair, for a moment completely unguarded. Then the door tinkled again. Colby swallowed hard, quickly wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. \"I'll be right with you,\" he said, spitting out a mouthful of swears beneath his breath.\n\nHe stood up, haphazardly collecting himself, took a deep breath, and walked around a bookshelf to the front of the store.\n\nThere stood a woman in her early to midthirties, very beautiful, clearly someone who had once been unbearably gorgeous, but was concealing the ravages of fatigue and sleepless nights with an oversize pair of sunglasses and a little too much makeup. She was frayed around the edges, nervous even to be there. Her clothing was expensive, her purse even more so. Everything about her shouted trophy wife at the top of its lungs. She looked over at Colby, slipping her sunglasses off to better see in the basement bookshop, immediately noticing his swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" she said, fumbling to return her sunglasses to her eyes. \"I can come back.\"\n\n\"No, no, no,\" he said, pointing to his eyes. \"Allergies. The molds are killing me this year. How can I help you?\"\n\nShe looked around to see if anyone else was in the shop, certain that this young man was not who she was looking for. \"I'm looking for someone named Colby . . .\"\n\nColby's gaze fell to the floor. Crap.\nCHAPTER 4\n\nTHE BILLBOARD PSYCHIC\n\nThe billboard was large, colorful, and could be read clearly from the highway. PSYCHIC READINGS AND SPIRITUAL GUIDANCE. WALK-INS WELCOME. In the window hung a neon OPEN sign, lit and buzzing. It was a quaint little house, a faded blue box with a porch much fancier than its plain design seemed to deserve\u2014large white columns reaching up to support an unimpressive overhang. There was something about it that felt like it belonged on the outskirts of a plywood-and-plank Wild West movie set instead of along a side street overlooking an interstate. But there it was. Cheap. Tawdry. Looming like a ten-dollar whore beckoning the curious to take a chance and see if it was worth the money after all.\n\nIt reeked of sadness and disappointment.\n\nBut Carol Voss was desperate. Her hands trembled as she pulled the keys from the ignition and fumbled them into her purse. This wasn't the sort of place she expected to find herself. It was the last place in the world she wanted to try. It was also the last place she had left to turn to.\n\nAs she stepped out of the car, she gave one last thought to turning back. Then she heard the wail again in the back of her mind, a chill running up her spine, shivering, gooseflesh prickling across her skin. There was no turning back now. What was waiting for her back home was far worse than any humiliation she might face inside. Here was only the chance to waste her money, which she had plenty of. She might as well give it a shot.\n\nThe inside of the house was a cramped cluster of beads and fabric, the air thick with incense, almost every square inch of real estate covered in iconography. It smelled of smoke and mirrors and cheap theatrics. Just beyond the door, just as you entered, stood a lit glass case stocked with candles, crosses, crystals, and stones, a cash register sitting on top with a credit card machine plugged into the side. This wasn't the home of a psychic, Carol thought. This was a gift shop for the gullible. She clenched her fist nervously, and was turning to leave, when a woman's voice called from behind a curtain.\n\n\"Be right with you,\" she said.\n\nCarol stopped. She'd come this far. So she waited a moment longer.\n\n\"How can we help you?\" asked a young woman before she'd even finished rounding the crushed red velvet curtain. She was pretty, and her dark, thick hair draped over the olive skin of her bare shoulder.\n\n\"I'm here to speak to . . .\" Carol trailed off, searching for the words. \"The psychic.\"\n\n\"Mother Ojeda. My grandmother,\" the girl said, nodding. \"About your future?\"\n\nCarol shook her head gravely. \"No. About a problem I'm having now.\"\n\nThe girl nodded, understanding. \"Of a worldly nature or . . . a spiritual one?\"\n\n\"The . . . the second.\"\n\nThe girl's eyes squinted a bit. \"One moment, please.\" She turned around, vanishing again into the back of the house.\n\nCarol waited, her hands tucked together in front of her, fidgeting nervously with the buckle of her belt. She tapped her foot and chewed the inside of her lip. For a moment she thought about slipping out the door as quietly as possible. Then the girl reappeared.\n\n\"Right this way, Mrs. . . .\"\n\n\"Voss. Mrs. Voss.\"\n\nThe girl walked back behind the curtain, this time towing Carol behind her. The back of the house was a little less cramped, a dining room converted into a gaudy s\u00e9ance chamber. There was a large oak table covered in heavy cloth topped with a much thinner silk overlay. Atop it were a number of candles, all burning. Several carefully placed spotlights cast grim shadows on the walls, highlighting an empty chair next to the room's entrance, a spot on the table where a tarot deck rested, and a chair immediately opposite the first. Sitting in that chair directly across the table was Mother Ojeda, an old Hispanic woman, her thick black hair braided, disappearing behind her into a woven shawl that rested on her shoulders.\n\nShe stared at the table, not looking up as Carol entered.\n\n\"Grandmother, this is Mrs. Voss,\" the young girl announced.\n\nMother Ojeda nodded with a smile. \"Thank you, Celesta,\" she said, her accent thick, dripping with old Mexico. \"Have a seat, Mrs. Voss.\"\n\nCarol sat down in the empty chair.\n\n\"My granddaughter tells me you have a problem.\"\n\n\"Yes. I do.\"\n\nMother Ojeda picked up the tarot deck, shuffling it in clumps. \"What kind of problem do you have?\" She laid down a card, shaking her head. \"Hmmm.\"\n\n\"Something is . . . haunting my . . . my home.\"\n\n\"A spirit? Hmmm . . .\" She laid down another card, then frowned, looking up strangely at Carol. \"Have you seen this spirit, or merely felt it?\"\n\nCarol hesitated, her eyes darting around nervously, her hands sweating. \"I've seen her,\" she said. \"And heard her.\"\n\n\"Heard her? Moving things you mean?\"\n\n\"No. Screaming. Wailing. Crying.\" She paused. \"Speaking.\"\n\nMother Ojeda laid down another card, looking mildly confused about the card facing up at her. \"What did she say?\"\n\n\"Nothing in English. I couldn't understand it.\"\n\nMother Ojeda was quite serious now. All of her theatricality and pretense had vanished, her accent fading with it. \"What does this woman look like?\"\n\n\"She's tall, very thin. Skeletal. Her arms look longer than they should be. Bony, with elongated fingers.\" She shivered a bit, the words getting harder to free, mired in the pits of terrifying memories. \"She has long black hair and her eyes, they're gouged out. Holes with something glowing behind them. Like coals.\"\n\nMother Ojeda clasped her hands together, wringing them tightly. \"The words she spoke. Can you remember them?\" She placed a final card, her eyes wide and unbelieving.\n\n\"I miss hee ohs.\"\n\n\"\u00bfAy, mis hijos?\"\n\n\"Yes! She just kept screaming it. Over and over. What are the cards telling you?\"\n\nMother Ojeda looked solemnly upon her. \"That you're not lying.\"\n\n\"Why would I be lying?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Voss, do you have children?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Two boys?\"\n\n\" . . . Yes.\"\n\n\"Both still young enough that they need a sitter?\"\n\nCarol nodded.\n\n\"And you have a home by the water, don't you?\"\n\nCarol eyed her suspiciously. \"Now wait a second, how did you know that?\"\n\n\"By the river?\"\n\n\"The lake.\"\n\nMother Ojeda shook her head. \"The lake is just a river dammed up. You have found yourself at the mercy of a terrible spirit. La Llorona.\"\n\n\"Is it dangerous?\"\n\nMother Ojeda nodded. \"Once there was a beautiful young woman, every bit as stunning and radiant as yourself. But she was unmarried, widowed, her husband having died in a terrible accident, leaving her to take care of their two children\u2014both young boys\u2014on her own. She was in love with a wealthy merchant who, while having feelings for her, did not want to marry her. Instead he told her that he did not want children and thus couldn't marry her. This broke her heart and, desperately lonely, she went home, took both of her boys out of their beds, walked them down to the river, and drowned them both right then and there.\n\n\"She went back to the merchant, overjoyed at her new freedom, and told him that they could finally be together. Horrified by what she'd done, he immediately rejected her, saying that he never wanted to see her again. This destroyed her. She begged and pleaded for him to reconsider, but he wouldn't have it. He refused even to see her. Now even more heartbroken than before, she hanged herself.\n\n\"When her spirit arrived in Heaven, God met her at the gates and asked her where her children were. She shook her head. 'I have no idea,' she said. 'I thought they were with you.' God said, 'No, I haven't seen your children. Go back to earth and find them. You cannot come into Heaven without them.'\n\n\"The woman was distraught, confused. She had no idea where her children were. So she came back to earth and began scouring the river. But they were nowhere to be found. Eventually she realized the current was too strong and she would never find them, so she hatched a plot. She needed two boys who looked like hers that she could pretend were her own. She would take them, walk them down to the river, drown them like she had her own children, then march them up to Heaven to prove to God that she knew where her children were.\n\n\"That woman is La Llorona. She wanders the world still, up and down the length of the Colorado, looking for her little boys\u2014or ones who remind her of them that she can claim as her own\u2014crying out, '\u00a1Ay! \u00a1Mis hijos! Oh! My children!'\u2014so she might finally get into Heaven. And now she has her eyes on your little boys.\"\n\nCarol stared at her incredulously, both horrified by the story and unsure of what was coming next. For a moment her brain spun dry, unable to process what was happening. Then reason began to take hold. She narrowed her eyes. \"How much is this going to cost me?\" she asked.\n\nMother Ojeda shook her head. \"Nothing.\"\n\n\"What do you mean nothing?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" she said again, waving her hand as if refusing money. \"I can do nothing at all for you.\"\n\n\"Wait. What do you mean you can't do anything?\"\n\n\"This is beyond my gifts.\"\n\n\"Then what do I do?\"\n\n\"Go home. Keep your children away from the water. Don't let them anywhere near it. Keep the doors and windows locked at night. If there is a knock at the door after sunset, don't answer it. Do you smoke?\"\n\n\"No. Of course not. I have children.\"\n\n\"Then consider starting. A lit cigarette in the hollows of her eye sockets will chase her away.\"\n\nCarol leaned back in her chair. \"This is ridiculous. You're pulling my leg.\"\n\nMother Ojeda shook her head, eyes cold and narrow, pointing sternly at her. \"Have you really seen her?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, swallowing hard.\n\n\"And have you really heard her?\"\n\nCarol nodded. \"Yes. I have.\"\n\n\"And as I sit here and say that I believe you, you don't believe me?\"\n\n\"Isn't there something you can do? Don't you speak to spirits? I read that you speak to spirits.\"\n\n\"I do speak to spirits. But I will not speak to her. There is too much evil there. Too much danger in even looking her in the eyes.\"\n\n\"What can you do?\"\n\nMother Ojeda took a deep breath, considering her next words very carefully. Then she reached behind her to a nearby end table and pulled from it a pen and a scrap of paper. She began writing. \"The spirits, they speak of a boy. One said to be able to wipe a spirit clean off the earth for well and for good. One who scares them so much they won't speak his name loudly out of fear he might notice them. His name is Colby. He works in a bookshop. Here is where you'll find it.\"\n\nCarol took the slip of paper, tears forming in her eyes. \"I don't . . . I don't know how to thank you.\"\n\n\"Go home, kiss your boys. Love them and raise them to be good men. And whatever you do, do not let them anywhere near the water.\"\n\n\"HER NAME IS Beatriz,\" said Colby. \"She's been walking up and down the shores of the Colorado since the fifties.\"\n\n\"So the story? It's true?\" asked Carol.\n\n\"Parts of it. There are a lot of stories, few of them entirely true. But that's the point of stories, I guess. The part about her drowning her sons is true. That and the part about her walking the earth looking for children who remind her of her boys. But the part about God is superstitious bullshit. God doesn't make creatures of the night. We do. Beatriz made herself out of her own madness and guilt. That's all that's left of her now. She's a shadow of everything that was wrong with her, walking, feeding, wailing.\"\n\n\"So you know her?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And you'll stop her?\"\n\n\"Well . . .\"\n\n\"Well, what? I can pay. My husband does very well\u2014\"\n\n\"It's not about money.\"\n\n\"You work in a bookshop. And it's always about money.\"\n\n\"Ma'am, I'm going to stop you right there.\"\n\n\"No. No,\" she said, waving an authoritative finger. \"I am not taking no for an answer. These are my boys we're talking about. They are the point of my whole life. They are everything. I will give you whatever you want\u2014anything\u2014if you protect them for me. So quit negotiating and name a price.\"\n\n\"Look, ma'am\u2014\"\n\n\"Carol,\" she said, bringing herself half a step closer, her eyes softening.\n\n\"Carol. I'm not an exterminator and this isn't a raccoon in your gutter. La Llorona are exceptionally dangerous creatures. They don't just go away when asked. I don't know what you think an exorcism is, but it's not about shouting loudly and sprinkling holy water. It's about doing battle with something made of hate, anger, and fear. You're asking me to risk my life.\"\n\nShe took another half step closer, putting a gentle hand on his upper arm, sliding it up into the short sleeve of his shirt. \"I'm asking you to save my sons.\"\n\nColby gulped. Women didn't get this close to him; women didn't touch him on his upper arm. \"Ma'am.\"\n\n\"Carol.\"\n\n\"Keep your sons away from the water. Buy some dried tobacco leaves and keep them burning outside your door after sunset. That's the best I can do.\"\n\nCarol's eyes hardened again, just for a moment, as she reached into her purse for a scrap of paper and a pen. \"Here's my number. You call me when you figure out what it will take to get you to do better than that.\" Then she turned quickly, making her way out of the shop before she found herself hiding her own tears.\n\nColby crumpled the scrap of paper in a tight fist, slid it into his pocket, cursing once more beneath his breath. He shook his head. Those boys had a week, at best, before they turned up in the river. But that wasn't his business. Not anymore.\nCHAPTER 5\n\nKEEPSAKES AND MEMORIES\n\nEwan Bradford, once Ewan Thatcher, had been dead six months now\u2014the pike that killed him resting on two pegs drilled into an otherwise empty wall. The blade was clean, polished, not a hint of the blood it spilled still anywhere on its haft. This was the pike that took the hand from a changeling, slew that changeling's mother in a lake, pierced the heart of a Leanan Sidhe, and, most important, robbed Colby Stevens of his longest, and best, friend. It pulsed with that power, having grown stronger with each strike, the legend surrounding its deeds still nowhere near doing justice to its potential.\n\nAnd Colby Stevens hated it. He sat across from it on his couch, staring, remembering the feel of it in his hands, its heft, the way it swung. He'd made it. Though he hadn't forged it himself, it only existed because of him. And now it stood monument to the worst night of his life. Colby rubbed his chin, thick, abrasive stubble like sandpaper in his hands, and he thought of his friend.\n\n\"Are you going to stare at that thing all night, boss, or are we going to go for a walk?\" asked Gossamer, the golden retriever resting his head on his front legs in front of the couch. The dog's thick, red coat was well groomed, his face developing only the hints of a white mask in the fur around his muzzle and brow. Colby looked down at him, roused at once from his daydream.\n\n\"What?\" he asked.\n\nThe dog spoke again. \"I said, 'Are you going to stare at that thing all night, boss, or are we going to go for a walk?' \"\n\n\"Oh. I don't feel like going out tonight.\"\n\nGossamer flipped his tail a bit, thumping it on the floor impatiently. \"I want a beer.\"\n\n\"We have beer here.\"\n\n\"I want a sausage.\"\n\n\"We don't have sausage.\"\n\n\"I guess that means we have to go for a walk then.\"\n\n\"Gossamer, we're not going for a walk.\"\n\n\"What? Are we going to sit here all night, staring at a thing on a wall?\"\n\n\"You used to do that all the time.\"\n\n\"I only stared at things that moved.\"\n\n\"I'm sure it makes all the difference.\"\n\nGossamer grimaced. \"Have you ever watched a possum shimmy along a telephone wire? Knowing that at any moment it could drop into your yard for you to play with?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"No, you haven't. You don't know. Don't judge. I want to go for a walk.\"\n\n\"And I want to stay here. And stare at a thing on the wall. It's why people buy houses. So they can sit in them. With their things. And stare at them.\"\n\n\"I want a beer. And a sausage.\"\n\n\"I never should have helped awaken you.\"\n\n\"You didn't have a choice. I was waking up without you.\"\n\n\"I should have let you become a Black Dog.\"\n\n\"That's racist.\"\n\n\"That joke is still not funny.\"\n\n\"It is to dogs.\"\n\n\"WHY ARE YOU BEING SO ANNOYING TONIGHT?\"\n\n\"Because. I want you to stop thinking about him.\"\n\nColby looked sadly down on Gossamer, his gaze softening. \"Oh.\"\n\n\"Yeah. Oh. We've got to get out of this house.\"\n\n\"He was in the paper again.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"And how would you know that?\"\n\n\"Because this is what you always do when he's in the paper. Or on TV. Or the radio. You mope, you pout, and you stare at the wall. Why don't you get rid of that thing?\"\n\nColby shook his head. \"It's too powerful. In the wrong hands it can kill even the longest-lived of creatures.\"\n\n\"But it's safe here?\"\n\n\"Of course it is. It's got you to protect it, doesn't it?\"\n\n\"That doesn't exactly instill confidence in me, you know.\"\n\n\"I know. But what do you want me to say? That I'm the great Colby Stevens? That I can evaporate a soul with a dirty look and no one in this town wants to fuck with me?\"\n\n\"I'd rather you not. That conversation usually ends in an entirely different style of self-loathing.\"\n\n\"You really are being a pain in the ass today.\"\n\nGossamer nodded, nuzzling against Colby's leg. \"I know.\"\n\n\"A walk?\"\n\n\"Yes, please.\"\n\n\"I'll get the leash.\"\n\n\"That's not funny.\"\n\n\"It is to people.\"\n\nCOLBY AND GOSSAMER sat on the edge of the building's roof\u2014one of the tallest in the city\u2014looking out over the slowly drifting lights of distant traffic on the highway. There were no angels out tonight, not on the rooftops. They kept their distance now, their eyes narrow and trained, watching from blocks away before slinking off to conspire about how best to take back their rooftops. Below, the city slowly swelled with the overeager sober of the early night. It would be hours before it vomited them back out in a stumbling stream of swerving, giggling mess.\n\nThis place was familiar, sacred. It held wisdom that Colby tried in vain to tap into, with answers, it seemed, that could only be loosened by the tongues of angels.\n\n\"I hate it up here,\" said Gossamer, warily peering over the edge.\n\n\"You don't hate it. Stop being dramatic.\"\n\n\"I don't like it.\"\n\n\"You're the one who wanted a walk.\"\n\n\"Walk. Not a climb.\"\n\n\"We took stairs.\"\n\n\"You climb stairs. I don't like stairs. Medieval contraptions built for things with far longer legs. Maybe if there were an elevator\u2014and a railing\u2014I might like it up here. But there isn't and I don't.\"\n\n\"Well, I like it. I had a really good talk up here once.\"\n\n\"The one with the drunk?\"\n\n\"The angel. Yeah.\"\n\nGossamer growled a little. \"That guy's a dick.\"\n\n\"He's not a dick. We just don't see eye to eye anymore.\"\n\n\"He's a dick. I don't like the way he and his friends treat you.\"\n\n\"Maybe they have good reason. You don't remember that night,\" said Colby.\n\n\"Don't be that guy. Not tonight, boss. I remember it well enough. You did what you did, what you had to do. We have to move on.\"\n\n\"I'm trying. But everyone else wants to remind me.\"\n\n\"Nobody makes you read the paper.\"\n\n\"I should be able to read whatever paper I want.\"\n\n\"Boss.\"\n\n\"He was on the cover. They're all over town. What was I supposed to do?\"\n\n\"Boss.\"\n\n\"Shut up, Gossamer. You haven't soaked up enough dreamstuff to be smarter than me yet.\"\n\n\"You don't have to be smart to know better than to read stuff that you know will piss you off.\"\n\n\"Lots of people do it. Every day.\"\n\n\"They're not smart either.\"\n\n\"Maybe they want to be mad. Maybe they want to read the events of the day and feel somehow involved with them. Maybe they think being mad keeps them involved.\"\n\n\"You think?\"\n\nColby looked over at Gossamer, the dog's eyes big and brown, peering back at him with a mix of love and pity. \"Shut up, dog.\"\n\n\"Don't dog me. It's patronizing.\"\n\n\"That's why I do it.\"\n\n\"That's not what a good friend does.\"\n\nColby grimaced, insulted. \"What would you know about being a good friend?\"\n\nGossamer straightened up proudly, showing off, his head high, his gaze regal, reddish fur blowing in the light breeze. \"Man's best friend.\"\n\n\"That joke is still not funny.\"\n\n\"It is to dogs.\"\n\n\"Sometimes I think you just say that. I don't think dogs tell jokes.\"\n\n\"Are you kidding? Dogs love jokes. We're just not very funny.\"\n\n\"That I believe.\"\n\nThen, at once, the rooftop darkened, dimming like someone had snuffed out a dozen candles. Colby sniffed the air. Something familiar. A hint of musk and despair drifting in.\n\n\"Bill?\" he asked.\n\nBill the Shadow\u2014his coat long and dark, his shadowy face hidden beneath the gloom of his wide-brimmed hat\u2014slunk in from out of the night. The rooftop darkened further still, the ever-present cold murk that followed him settling in, filling the nooks and crannies with puddles of night. \"Yup.\"\n\nColby didn't turn around. \"What are you doing up here?\"\n\nBill sat down next to Colby, dangling his misty, insubstantial legs over the side of the building. \"Not your rooftop,\" he said, striking a match, lighting a cigarette. He cast the charred remains of the match away with a flick of the wrist, watched as it sailed down out of sight.\n\n\"I never said it was. I just thought . . .\"\n\n\"What? That I hated you like everybody else?\"\n\n\"Well, yeah.\"\n\n\"Nah. Just wanted to give you your space. A night like that, well, it sticks with you. Wanted to make sure you had time to get your shit together.\" He paused, staring out into the city. \"Did you get your shit together?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Gossamer.\n\n\"My shit is together,\" said Colby.\n\nBill nodded, peering at Colby from behind his cigarette. \"I know you've got to have some hooch on you,\" he said. \"You always have good hooch on you.\"\n\n\"Do I look like a liquor cabinet to you?\"\n\n\"No. You look like a man who could use a drink with friends.\"\n\nColby reached behind him into his backpack and, without looking, fished out a bottle of bourbon. He unscrewed the cap, taking a pull off the bottle. \"Give me one of those smokes.\"\n\n\"Deal.\" Bill produced a cigarette from the back of his trench coat, swapping it for the bottle. He quickly looked it over, eyeing the label. \"Aw, hell. This ain't bad, but it ain't the good stuff.\"\n\nColby snapped his fingers, lighting a flame at the end of his thumb. He lit the cigarette then shook out the fire. \"The good stuff always came from Old Scraps.\"\n\nBill closed his eyes, nodding sadly, raising the bottle into the air. \"To Scraps.\" He took a drink and handed the bottle back to Colby.\n\nColby took another swig. \"He was a hell of a bartender.\"\n\n\"Hell of a bartender.\"\n\nGossamer looked longingly up at Colby, whimpering a little.\n\n\"What?\" asked Colby. \"You hate bourbon.\"\n\n\"I was promised beer.\"\n\nColby rolled his eyes, passing the bottle back to Bill. He reached behind himself again, this time fishing out a cold bottle of beer and a dog bowl from the pack. With a quick twist he popped the bottle cap off, sloppily filling the bowl.\n\n\"Careful,\" said Gossamer. \"Pour it along the sides.\"\n\n\"Maybe you should pour it,\" said Colby.\n\n\"I don't like it foamy.\"\n\nBill took another drink. \"I see you two have become close. Is he your familiar now?\"\n\nColby nodded. \"Yeah, kind of.\"\n\n\"Wait, you mean there's a name for this?\" asked Gossamer.\n\n\"Yeah,\" said Bill. \"There is. Colby, you didn't explain any of this?\"\n\nColby put the dog bowl in front of Gossamer, who immediately began lapping up the beer. \"Some of it,\" he said. \"But he's still learning. I didn't want him to get the wrong idea about our relationship.\"\n\nGossamer looked up from the bowl. \"What's not to understand? We're best friends.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" said Colby. \"And that's how it's going to stay.\"\n\nBill took a drag off his cigarette, exhaled, took another drink. \"Okay.\"\n\nColby looked over at Bill and shook his head silently. Bill took the hint.\n\nThe three sat quietly for a moment, Colby and Bill smoking, passing the bottle back and forth, watching the lights on the highway, Gossamer's incessant lapping the only sound. The night was humid, but cool, a breeze floating in off the lake. The stars were out, the moon's thin crescent waning, absent a cloud in the sky. It was beautiful.\n\n\"So why don't you hate me like everyone else?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"I can't think of a good enough reason, I guess,\" said Bill. \"I mean, it's not like I think you're going to nuke me for hanging around like everyone else does. And, well, we've got a lot in common.\"\n\n\"What do we have in common?\"\n\nBill's gaze lingered for a second. \"We're both monsters.\" He took a long, deep drag off his cigarette, leaned his head back, and exhaled a slow, steady stream of smoke. \"You see,\" he said, still staring up at the stars, \"I don't scare little kids. I don't murder chaste virgins caught out alone at night. I just feed on monsters. The soiled. The unclean. The deeper and darker the hate or fear or self-loathing there is, the more delicious the meal. Now you might look at some of the people I feed on and say that they didn't have coming what I did to them, but you couldn't for a moment argue that they were without sin, without fault. That the world ain't just a tiny bit better without them.\"\n\n\"Yeah? And?\"\n\n\"And your friend over there didn't just awaken on his own. This city doesn't have enough dreamstuff for that. Not anymore. You used the energy of a redcap.\"\n\n\"You're gonna hold me to the death of a redcap?\"\n\n\"I might,\" said Bill.\n\n\"He crossed over the city limits. He knew the rules.\"\n\n\"The rules you laid down. You murdered that redcap and you used the energy for your own ends.\"\n\n\"I'm not a monster.\"\n\n\"Monsters with purpose. That's what you told Yashar. Monsters with purpose.\"\n\nColby took another drink. \"Shit. I said that, didn't I?\"\n\n\"You did. We're monsters, Colby. But you're one of the good ones. You mean well. You want to protect the innocent by devouring the unjust. You take that darkness on to yourself and you carry it with you day in and day out. I've been around a long time. I've seen my fair share of darkness. I've taken a lot of it on to myself.\" He paused, lost in thought for a moment. \"There's a reason you've never seen my face.\"\n\nColby nodded, stabbing out his cigarette beside him on the ledge. \"Well, if I'm gonna be a monster, I might as well surround myself with the best sort of them.\"\n\nBill nodded. \"You're goddamned right about that. Thanks to you, that's just about all that's left in this city.\"\n\n\"I try.\"\n\n\"It won't last. It never does.\"\n\n\"As long as I'm here, it will.\"\n\n\"No one lights a candle in the daytime, Colby. Men dream up their monsters for a reason.\"\n\n\"So they can have windmills they feel good about tilting at?\"\n\n\"Something like that,\" said Bill, lighting up another cigarette with the end of the old one. \"Why are you up here?\"\n\nGossamer stopped lapping at the beer. \"He was in the paper again.\"\n\n\"Ewan?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" said Colby.\n\n\"He's gone. No coming back from that.\"\n\n\"You think I don't know that?\"\n\n\"No, I think you believe that if you keep him in your heart, some piece of him will still live on.\"\n\n\"Yeah. Maybe. What's wrong with that?\"\n\n\"It's horseshit. The only thing that lives on is the part that makes everyone they left behind who they are. And right now all that's making you is miserable. The kid got a whole lot more life than he was destined to. Touched a lot more people than he ever would have. All that was you, not him. All that's left of him is a lead weight dragging you down.\"\n\n\"I didn't come here for a lecture.\"\n\n\"Yeah you did. You were just hoping it'd be from him and not me.\" Bill pointed off into the night then formed a shadow puppet of a bird, flapping off, his hands actually vanishing into the dark as he did. \"If that fucking angel had any real answers, he wouldn't have fallen and he wouldn't be drinking himself into a stupor. He's not going to forgive you, Colby. No one will. You shouldn't expect them to. You shouldn't want them to. And you don't need them to.\"\n\nColby nodded, swallowing. \"It's just that\u2014\"\n\n\"It's just what?\"\n\n\"He's the closest I've ever come to talking to . . .\"\n\n\"Talking to . . . ?\"\n\n\"Talking to God.\"\n\nBill shook his head, the light ever shying away from the features of his face, no matter the angle. \"Shit. He's never talked to God. God doesn't talk to angels. Not for a long time. Why do you think so many of them jump?\"\n\n\"I thought there would be answers, you know? When I was a kid.\"\n\n\"There are answers. You just don't like them.\"\n\n\"But there are always more questions.\"\n\n\"Yeah. If there weren't, what the hell would be the point? You don't need more answers, Colby. You don't need approval. The only thing you need . . .\" He trailed off, taking another pull from the bottle. \" . . . is to figure out where the hell Scraps was getting the good stuff. Because, seriously, this ain't cutting it.\"\n\nColby reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, crumpled scrap of paper he'd been given by Carol Voss. Then he slowly unwound it, straightening the creases, staring at the number, letting his eyes glaze over as he drifted off in thought. \"No. No, it's really not.\"\nCHAPTER 6\n\nON DISBELIEF\n\nAN EXCERPT BY DR. THADDEUS RAY, PH.D., FROM HIS BOOK THE EVERYTHING YOU CANNOT SEE\n\nDisbelief is perhaps the single greatest weapon in the arsenal of anyone trafficking in the arcane. Versatile, powerful, and, most important, final, it is a last resort meant only for when there is no other recourse but the permanent destruction of a thing. Against truly frightening, nigh immortal creatures, sometimes it is the only option. But it is neither clean, nor easy, nor sometimes even possible against certain beings. And it certainly isn't recommended except under the strictest and direst of circumstances.\n\nDisbelief is, simply put, the art of reweaving the dreamstuff comprising one being into that of another, more harmless form\u2014literally believing it to be something else. You can, with the right focus and understanding, convert a redcap into sunlight or an angel into a breeze. At advanced levels of understanding, one can even convert that dreamstuff into more useful constructs, fueling spells or creating new life. As most beings that can achieve some semblance of physicality actually contain elements and particles other than dreamstuff, there are often physical components left behind\u2014manifesting as smells, feathers, or flower petals\u2014often drawn together as side effects of the disbeliever's own imagination.\n\nThe concepts behind disbelief are simple and build upon the nature of dreamstuff as has already been discussed. Dreamstuff collects together, forming the will or consciousness of a being that can then exert its own will upon other nearby dreamstuff, altering it into a form that it wishes or believes to exist. The stronger the will, the greater its exertion on nearby dreamstuff. Thus, the struggle in disbelief can quite literally be described as a battle of wills. The disbeliever is restructuring a being's essence while that being is trying to maintain its own form through its belief in its own existence.\n\nThe danger of disbelief\u2014besides the fact that you are disintegrating a living, conscious thing\u2014is that some beings are very good at resisting such attempts. Strangely enough, the beings best adapted to resist disbelief, almost counterintuitively, are the lesser forms. Disbelieving complex forms like fairies, genius loci, angels, or djinn is fairly simple unless they are adept in defending themselves from such attacks and are given ample time to prepare themselves in the moments before. They are, after all, beings of complex emotion and, though nearly, if not completely, immaterial, they are made up of as many working, moving parts as we are\u2014even if those parts are entirely made up of energy. No, the hardest beings to disbelieve are those made up almost entirely of a single emotion. Hate, anger, love, sorrow\u2014these are not the kinds of emotions easily diminished by reason. They are stronger than disbelief. Your urge to disbelieve them must be significantly more powerful than their belief in their own existence for it to work.\n\nBeings of hate, beings of love, beings of sorrow and loss; these are creatures that exist only to fuel and feed their emotions. They exist as a means to an end. And those creatures resist with a willpower that few can override. It is why most religions teach their holy men to exorcise rather than to destroy; the beings they are sent up against are creatures of such powerful emotions that they can only be sent away. This is not to say that they cannot be disbelieved, but simply that they cannot be disbelieved by you.\nCHAPTER 7\n\nBEATRIZ\n\nYou're going to what?\" asked Gossamer. \"No way. Not without me.\"\n\nColby shook his head as he grabbed small tokens and materials from around the house, stuffing them into his backpack. \"I can't take you. Not this time. It's too dangerous.\"\n\n\"If it's too dangerous for me then it is definitely too dangerous for you.\"\n\n\"I promised I'd help. Besides, Beatriz knows the rules. She shouldn't be here. Not in Austin. This is my city and no one takes children in my city.\"\n\n\"Are you at least taking Yashar with you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Bill?\"\n\n\"Definitely not. There's no telling what he would do.\"\n\n\"At least take the pike.\"\n\nBoth looked over at the wall, the pike still resting on its pegs. \"No. No freakin' way. That thing stays here.\"\n\n\"You might need it.\"\n\n\"I don't need something that dangerous.\"\n\n\"What if you can't just disbelieve her? She's old. She's powerful. If she is more emotion than reason\u2014like he was\u2014you might not be able to just make her go poof!\"\n\n\"I can handle her.\"\n\n\"By talking to her?\"\n\n\"There are ways to handle spirits other than just disbelieving them. She has her weaknesses, her own fears. If she doesn't listen to reason, I'll find a way to get her gone. I've destroyed far more powerful spirits than her before.\"\n\n\"That's the kind of cockiness that gets people killed.\"\n\n\"Goddamnit, Gossamer! She didn't listen. I told them! I fucking told them! Stay. Out. Of Austin. She was there, Goss. She was there the night they tried to sacrifice him. She was there the night they killed him. That she still walks the earth is only because I didn't destroy her when I had the chance, and this is how she repays my kindness? By trying to drown children in my fucking town?\"\n\nGossamer cowered, his tail creeping in between his legs. \"Your . . . kindness? Are you serious?\" He shook his head. \"Are you listening to yourself?\"\n\n\"Are you fucking with me?\"\n\n\"No. Not even a little bit. I get where you're coming from and I know how angry you must be, but do you really think that sparing her life from your own rage means she owes you anything?\"\n\n\"Shut the fuck up. I didn't ask you.\"\n\n\"I don't know . . . I don't know what to say. Maybe you need this. Maybe you need to go out and kill something. It's been too long. Maybe Bill was right.\"\n\n\"About what?\" Colby stared at him, thinking back. \"That I'm a monster?\"\n\nGossamer shrugged, his fur bristling.\n\nColby glared for a moment, seething. Then he took a deep breath. And another. And another. Rage seeping away. \"No. You're right. I'm going about this all wrong. I'm not out to kill Beatriz, I'm out to ship her off, send her back up the river away from those little boys. I can't forget that.\"\n\n\"Take someone with you. Please.\"\n\n\"Not this time. This I have to do alone.\"\n\nCAROL VOSS'S HOUSE was much larger than Colby had expected. When she'd said money wasn't an issue, he assumed she was exaggerating. While he had spent time around all manner and sort of supernatural creature in his life, he'd spent very little time around the wealthy except when picking through estate sales\u2014and those were almost entirely run by separate brokers. She seemed normal, just an average everyday mom worried about her kids. As it turned out, Mr. Voss did in fact do very well for himself. Their house was on the expensive side of the river with a Brazilian hardwood boat dock and a view of Mount Bonnell that only a privileged few could afford.\n\nThe lawn stretched out long and wide from the back of the house, thick, lush, a shade of green brighter than most of the other lawns this time of year. The grass was firm, uniformly cut, springing back into place with each step, carefully manicured trees growing at perfectly measured intervals. The lawn looked less like someone's backyard and more like the set of a catalog photo shoot.\n\nColby stood in the expansive backyard, looking out over the river, the sun setting behind him, waiting for twilight. Shadows crept closer and closer to the water, the sky exploding in pinks and purples. From where he stood, Colby could see the crowds atop Mount Bonnell, watching the sky, waiting for the sun to wink out behind the hills.\n\nAnd as the hills swallowed up the sun, and the tourists returned to their cars, and the night began to set in over the river, darkness swelled beneath the waves. Colby sat pensively in the grass, waiting for the moment when twilight shifted to dusk. That was the moment that shadows came out, when Beatriz the La Llorona would show herself.\n\nAnd there she was. Standing, dripping, hollow eyes burning, knee-deep in the shallows of the river. She stared out, her mouth dangling in some silent howl that had yet to catch up with her, her gauzy linen dress soaked through, clinging to her every curve. Her body was still a sultry twenty-four, lusty, hippy, dangerously seductive. But her face was ghoulish, a wrinkled prune wrapped around yellowed, mossy teeth and embers peering through clawed-out sockets.\n\nShe took one sloshing step forward, cocking her head to the side at Colby, her howl finally catching up to her, a shrill, angry cry like bitter wind scraping through dead trees. Then she moved again, and again, her entire body lurching forward with each awkward, splashing step, her feet digging in and out of the river mud beneath. Her hands, soaked, freezing, and pale, were unmoving, clutched in a clawlike rigor, dead nubs at the end of stiff arms. Beatriz moved like the dead should move.\n\nShe tried to step around Colby, pretending he wasn't there. Colby carefully sidestepped. Beatriz grimaced angrily, surprisingly able to become uglier and more horrifying than before.\n\n\"\u00a1Ay! Mis hijos!\" she wailed.\n\n\"No, ellos no son tus hijos,\" he replied in slightly accented Spanish. No, they are not your children.\n\n\"They are my children, and I need them!\"\n\n\"No. You need to leave, to return to the water. You know my rules. I'm asking nicely. Please leave this family be.\"\n\n\"No! I will not leave without my children! I need them. I am so alone.\"\n\nColby stood at the edge of the water, the night getting darker around him. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a finely etched silver Zippo covered top to bottom with arcane symbols. \"I'm going to ask nicely one last time,\" he said.\n\n\"Colby, I need my children.\"\n\nColby flipped a cigarette into his mouth, flicking the lighter, and lighting his smoke in one fluid motion. \"Those aren't your kids, and you know it, witch.\"\n\nBeatriz tightened, her arms drawing close, her fingers becoming long and sharp. She hissed and the air around her chilled, frosting the water on her skin. Then she took another sloshing step forward. Colby took a long, slow drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke in her face.\n\nShe recoiled, covering her eyes with the inside of her elbow.\n\n\"I have two rules, Beatriz. And you know them. One: Austin is off-limits. Two: you come for the children, I come for you.\"\n\nBeatriz lunged at Colby, hissing, slashing at his face. Colby fell backward to the ground, landing hard on his ass.\n\nShe clawed at him and he jabbed his cigarette at her eye sockets.\n\nBeatriz jumped back, again covering her face.\n\nColby focused upon her, trying to break her dreamstuff apart. He felt cold, lonely hate. Misery. Anger. \"Shit.\"\n\n\"I'm so hungry, Colby. It consumes me.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"I need them. I need them.\"\n\n\"I know,\" he said again.\n\n\"Let me have them and I will leave. I promise.\"\n\n\"I can't do that. I can't let you drown those little boys.\"\n\n\"I won't, I promise. But I need them.\"\n\n\"You're not taking those boys.\"\n\nBeatriz cast her arms back and leaned in with a wild, uncontrolled hiss.\n\nColby stabbed at her with the lit end of his cigarette, causing her to recoil once more.\n\n\"That cigarette won't stay lit forever.\"\n\nIt wouldn't. He had to think quickly. \"You can't have those boys, Beatriz . . . because you have two of your own. Where are they?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"I don't know.\"\n\n\"You do. You know where they are, Beatriz.\"\n\n\"No. I don't.\"\n\n\"You do. Think back. Think hard. Where are they?\"\n\n\"I don't know!\"\n\n\"You know where they are, Beatriz, because you drowned them. You drowned your little boys!\"\n\n\"I didn't! No! I don't know where they are!\"\n\n\"Think. Think. Think back as hard as you can. Where? Are? Your boys?\"\n\nBeatriz stopped her clawing and flailing for a moment, tilting her head, lost in thought. Colby could feel the confusion, the lack of conviction and certainty. Beatriz was bubbling to the surface of all that hate. She was beginning to reason, beginning to think back through frozen memories decades old and drowning.\n\nColby focused once more and the embers in Beatriz's eyes became flames. \"Noooo!\" she screamed, flaring up, a green flame swallowing her whole, boiling away her flesh.\n\nBeatriz vanished with a slight sizzle, the smell of cheap perfume and rotting fish the only lingering reminder that she'd ever been there.\n\nColby rose to his feet, dusting himself off, and flung the lit cigarette out into the water. It was done. He took a deep breath and staggered slowly toward the house.\n\nHe knocked on the back door and Carol answered almost instantly. Colby's eyes were cold, disappointed.\n\n\"You were watching?\" he asked.\n\nCarol bit her lip, playing coy.\n\n\"I told you not to watch.\"\n\n\"I know, but . . . I was worried.\" She paused for a second, then asked, \"Is it done? Is she\u2014\"\n\n\"Gone? For good. She won't be back.\"\n\n\"Oh my God, thank you!\" She burst into tears, throwing her arms around him. \"You saved my babies!\"\n\n\"You're welcome. Now for your end of the bargain.\"\n\nCarol pulled away and nodded, wiping tears away from her eyes. \"Are you sure I can't pay you?\"\n\n\"There's no comfort in the world I need that money can grant me for very long. Besides, like I said, I do all right. This is the one thing I can't really get. On my own. You know?\"\n\n\"It just seems so\u2014\"\n\n\"Yeah. But a deal is a deal.\"\n\n\"Come on in,\" she said, stepping back, welcoming him inside. \"My husband is with the boys upstairs. We won't be bothered.\"\n\nThe back door led immediately into the kitchen. Colby walked in and breathed deeply. He pointed at the simple wooden kitchen table. \"Right here?\"\n\n\"Is that okay?\"\n\nHe nodded. \"It is.\"\n\n\"Can I get you something to drink?\"\n\n\"Coffee would be great. Black.\"\n\n\"Is French press okay?\"\n\n\"Perfect.\"\n\nCarol began nervously making a cup of coffee. She turned around. \"This seems, I don't know . . .\"\n\nColby smiled awkwardly, nodding. \"Look, I don't meet a lot of people doing what I do. And I certainly can't talk to them without feeling like I have to hide who I really am. Words can't explain the loneliness I feel on any given day.\" He stabbed a single finger in the air. \"There's one thing, and only one thing, you can do for me that makes what I just did out there worthwhile. I want to sit down at that table, have a nice cup of coffee, and eat dinner with a very nice woman whom I don't have to pretend around. I don't get a lot of home-cooked meals and whatever that is, it smells delicious.\"\n\n\"It's lasagna.\"\n\n\"Perfect.\"\n\nCarol smiled. \"Black, you said? The coffee?\"\n\n\"Yes, black. Thank you.\"\n\nShe handed him a mug of dark, steaming coffee that read #1 MOM on the side. Colby looked at it, gripping the handle a little tighter as he read, then took a sip. He could never tell the difference between expensive coffee or the cheap stuff, but this was delicious. It was probably expensive.\n\n\"How big a slice do you want?\" she asked. \"The lasagna, I mean.\"\n\n\"As big as the plate.\" Colby sat down at the table with his coffee and took a deep breath, relaxing. \"So. Carol,\" he said, as chipper as he could muster. \"Tell me about your day.\"\nCHAPTER 8\n\nTHE PRETTY LITTLE GIRL IN THE PURPLE PAJAMAS\n\nOnce upon a time there was a pretty little girl in purple pajamas, all of eleven years old, who appeared not as she saw herself, but rather as she wished she could be. Her dark hair shone in the starlight, her smile shone in the moon. She had left her body at home once again, a silvery wisp trailing behind her as she moved, the thread connected at the base of the back of her skull, winding all the way back through the barren wilderness to her bed, hundreds of miles away.\n\nShe was faster without her body. Taller. Of slighter build. There were no imperfections, no unsightly scars, nothing at all to distinguish her from any other girl in the world. The pretty little girl in the purple pajamas was normal. Unburdened. Happy.\n\nAnd it was a beautiful night.\n\nShe was deep in the outback again, well past the black stump, hunting bunyip barefoot over sandblasted red stone fields. While the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas had seen a lot of strange things out here at night, she had never seen a bunyip. And that was something she was very much hoping to change. The stories said they were big, scary, hairy, and mean, able to drown a man by raising the lake water while he slept if he dared to camp too close. But she was clever. And she was fast. And there wasn't a spirit yet that dared try to catch her that had been able to.\n\nStars burned brightly in the black sky, splayed out from end to end unblemished by clouds or lights. Below, only campfires pockmarked the desert before her. She raced from water hole to water hole\u2014each sometimes dozens of miles apart\u2014looking for a bunyip lurking within its depths. But she found nothing but a glassy reflection of the sky staring back at itself. And as the night approached its darkest point, she knew it was time to give up the hunt and visit the one friend she'd made this far out in the desert.\n\nThe Clever Man.\n\nShe looked out over the vast, black expanse, glancing at each fire in the distance until she found one that felt familiar. Then she raced across the dark, her feet barely touching the ground. Rocks. Shrubs. Lone trees. All blurring together. Then fire, the one she was looking for.\n\nThe Clever Man sat before it, alone, smiling brightly, his eyes flickering with firelight. His hair was thick, curly, black\u2014the ends dusted with a light gray, his temples a silvery white\u2014his skin a rich, sunbaked brown, only a small, tanned cloth providing any modesty. He did not look up, and instead tended the fire with a small stick, speaking only to the night.\n\n\"Have you seen it yet?\" he asked.\n\nThe girl in the purple pajamas slumped down on the ground beside him, frustrated. \"Nooooooooo. Not yet.\"\n\n\"He is wily. Wilier even than you. You will have to be very patient; he will not so easily show himself. Just wait. The first time you see one, nothing will ever be the same.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" she sighed. Then she perked up. \"So, is he here yet?\"\n\n\"Is who here yet?\" asked the Clever Man.\n\n\"The Dream-hero. You said he was coming.\"\n\n\"He's coming. But he's not here yet.\"\n\n\"Why not? What's taking him so long?\"\n\n\"It's not his time.\"\n\n\"But it will be? Soon?\"\n\n\"Very soon.\"\n\n\"I can't wait.\"\n\n\"You can wait.\"\n\n\"You said it was my destiny. I can't wait for my destiny.\"\n\n\"He is not your destiny.\"\n\n\"But you said he was!\"\n\nThe Clever Man shook his head. \"No. I said he was destined to arrive and you were destined to meet him. What he brings with him is a choice. What happens to you will not be his doing, but yours.\"\n\n\"But he is coming?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Soon?\"\n\n\"Very soon.\"\n\n\"I can't wait.\"\n\nThe Clever Man laughed. \"You two are very much alike. In so many ways. So many small details about you indistinguishable from the other. So many children in this world so eager to end their childhood. So ready for the future. Never ready for the now.\"\n\n\"I'm ready for the now.\"\n\n\"You hate the now. You spent the whole night looking for the bunyip, didn't you?\"\n\n\"Yeeeeeesssss. But you told me to.\"\n\n\"Never. Never did.\"\n\n\"Yes, you did.\"\n\n\"I said once you see the bunyip . . .\"\n\n\"Nothing will ever be the same.\"\n\n\"So why hurry?\"\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas pouted. She knew the answer. The Clever Man was right. He was always right. \"I like the now. I just like the now out here better. I wish I could stay out here.\"\n\n\"Wishes are dangerous. Especially for a spirit as powerful as you. You are exactly where you need to be to become exactly who you are supposed to become. Too many people be saying I wish I was this or I wish I was there and not enough people saying I will be this here and make this place better. If you want to like better the now, you should think more like that. You are too beautiful a spirit to wish you were prettier, too powerful a spirit to wish you were stronger, too quick a spirit to wish you were faster.\"\n\n\"You don't know I'm pretty.\"\n\n\"You are very pretty,\" said the Clever Man.\n\n\"You've never even see me, not really.\"\n\nIt was true. He hadn't. He'd only seen her spirit. \"I am a Clever Man,\" he said. \"I do not need to look at you to see you.\"\n\n\"You don't, do you?\"\n\nThe Clever Man smiled wide, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, the kind he took only before launching into one of his stories, and then, with a stiff finger pointing into the night like an exclamation point, he began one. \"Long ago, when the earth was still being dreamed, only seven women possessed the secret of fire. They carried it with them at all times, burning at the top ends of their digging sticks. All the fellas were very jealous of their secret and wanted it for themselves. And no fella wanted it more than Crow.\n\n\"Crow was a clever trickster. He knew that the women loved to eat termites right out of the mound, but that they feared snakes more than anything else. So Crow flew all over creation and picked up every snake he could find. Red ones, black ones, yellow ones! Red, black, and yellow ones! Then he tied them all into a knot, burying them deep within a termite mound. They wriggled and wiggled and tried very hard to untangle themselves, but even those that managed to break free could not go far underground.\n\n\"Then Crow flew to the women, telling them of the large, virgin mound he'd found out in the desert. The hungry women rushed to the mound, but as they dug into it with their sticks, it erupted with snakes. The mass wriggled apart all at once and there were so many snakes that the ground itself seemed to move and wave like the sea. The women were so scared they dropped fire from the ends of their sticks and Crow, waiting for this, collected every single bit of it. He laughed as he flew away with all their fire.\n\n\"Crow spent a lot of time after that tending the coals he kept his fire alive in. Soon it became all he would do. All men of the earth wanted his fire, but he would not share it, for without it he would no longer be special. Then one day a Clever Man came to take his fire, calling Crow names, making fun of him. Crow became enraged and angrily hurled a coal at the man. But Crow did not notice that the man was standing on a patch of dry grass upon which Crow himself also stood. The Clever Man moved and the coal missed him, setting the grass on fire.\n\n\"Crow, afraid he would lose his fire to the man, stayed instead to protect it, but was burned up, consumed by the grass fire surrounding him. Everyone thought he was dead, but Crow could not be killed so easily. From the flames he emerged, smoky, singed and black with soot. He laughed, carrying with him a single flaming stick. He had protected his fire. But to this day, Crow remains black, everyone seeing him not as he was, but for what he had done.\n\n\"You are a very powerful and clever spirit. I do not see you as you are; I see you only for what you have chosen to do. And you have chosen to be very beautiful. Your spirit is a good one. A well-intentioned one. It will be tested. But when the tests are done, I think you might be more beautiful than ever.\"\n\n\"Is the bunyip the test?\" asked the girl.\n\n\"The bunyip? He is only the first of many.\" The Clever Man looked up, his smile fading, staring sadly off into the distance. \"Oh,\" he said. \"It looks like our time together is over.\"\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas reeled back in horror, eyes wide, the silver cord connected behind her to the base of her skull pulling suddenly taut, flinging her backward into darkness. The night shot past, stars streaking, the fire a pinprick swiftly winking out. She screamed and the night disappeared.\n\nFor a second there was only black.\n\nHER ALARM CLOCK roared, its dingy yellowing plastic rattling, ancient gears grinding as the tinkle of it slowly wound down. Kaycee blearily rubbed her eyes, the glare of the campfire still etched in them. The gentle rays of a very early dawn peered, grayish blue, through rusting, bent blinds tangled in knotted cords. It was morning again and her walk was over. She hammered a balled-up fist down on top of the clock, sneering, just a little, her cleft palate splitting enough of her upper lip to show nothing but gum and teeth all the way up to her nose.\n\nHer eyes adjusted, the dull, pale hues of the physical world growing crisp and sharp, like a TV antenna being twiddled into place. Nothing twinkled or glowed or scintillated, rippling with unearthly colors. It was static, cold, dirty, and old. The waking world was just about the most awful thing Kaycee could imagine. In the dream she could be whatever she wanted; here she was what everyone else thought she was.\n\nSwinging her legs out from under the covers, she put her right foot down on the floor. Her gnarled club of a left foot followed soon after\u2014swollen, twisted, with tiny malformed nubs protruding like warts where her toes should be. She still wore her purple pajamas, though they were ratty, tired, frayed around the cuffs, two or three sizes smaller than they should be, meant for a girl far younger. The buttons clung on for dear life and the shoulder rode a bit higher up the arm than it should, but they held, their yellow stars now brown with stains and infrequent washing.\n\nLeaning onto her good foot, she pushed herself upright, lurching forward in a drowsy zombie shuffle out into the hallway. Kaycee ran her hands through her curly, matted black hair, tugging hard, trying further to shake the dream.\n\nAcross the house, the television rattled on about an accident\u2014a twelve-car pileup\u2014sunny voices struggling to sound strained. The words ran together through the thin, water-stained walls, Kaycee not caring enough yet about the day to bother trying to parse them out. She walked down the stairs, into the living room, past the television, straight on through the wall of stink where lingering stale smoke mingled with rum and a night's worth of sweat. There, in his battered, threadbare easy chair, snored her father, an open bottle and half-full glass on the end table next to him, a twitch and a half away from being knocked over.\n\nWade Looes looked like a washed-up boxer, a mountain of muscles sculpted from tossing boxes, hands calloused, chewed raw from years of canning fish. His face was chipped with scars, his brow thick, his jaw thicker, his skin a creamy coffee brown. At rest, he looked angry; when angry, he looked monstrous. He snored away in the chair, snorting occasionally like the sound of a bad transmission slipping gears.\n\nKaycee reached behind the lamp, pulling out the funnel she kept there, and slotted it into the bottle of rum, dumping what was left in the glass back into the bottle. They weren't rich enough to throw out good rum like that. She wished she could dump the whole bottle out, pour it down the sink and be done with it. She'd done that before. He was always so drunk when he fell asleep that he simply thought he'd polished off the whole bottle himself. Do this enough, she thought, and he'd stop drinking for sure. But Wade always went right back out, with whatever money he could scrape together, and bought more.\n\nSo she stoppered the bottle back up, slipping it between the end table and the chair, praying silently that this would be the last time she had to.\n\n\"Dad,\" she said, gently tugging at the sleeve of yesterday's work shirt. \"Dad. Wake up. Sun's comin' up.\" Her father shifted in his chair, groaning against the morning. \"Dad, come on. I gotta get to school. You gotta shower still. Sun's comin'.\"\n\nHis eyes shot open, confused, a smile creeping slowly across his lips as his daughter came into focus. \"Morning, darlin',\" he said, reaching up to stroke the deep brown of her face. \"You have good dreams again?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Good. I reckon you deserved 'em?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, settling back into the chair. \"Well, Dad needs a few more minutes' sleep. So why don't you\u2014\"\n\n\"Nuh-uh. You gotta get ready for work. Go take a shower. I'll make breakfast.\"\n\nHer father smiled, face buried in the chair cushion, peering up at her with a single, squinting eye. \"You know Dad's still a little drunk, don't you?\"\n\nShe nodded sadly. \"The shower and coffee will help.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" he said, grunting as he stood to his feet, leaving behind a cushion soaked with rancid drunk sweat, its stink wafting up after him, chasing him down the hall. \"But only if you fry the eggs. Will you fry the eggs?\"\n\n\"I'll fry the eggs.\"\n\n\"Over easy?\"\n\n\"Over easy.\"\n\nHe staggered slowly into the bathroom, calling back over his shoulder. \"Kaycee Looes, you're the best thing to ever happen to me.\"\n\nKaycee smiled a little, wishing that were true and not just the rum talking. But she knew better.\n\nThen she limped into the kitchen to make breakfast, mindful they were still days away from the next paycheck, knowing that she should probably scramble the eggs instead of frying them, watering them down with a little more milk than she'd like. Fortunately for her, the bread was about to turn, so she had no choice but to make extra toast, plumping out breakfast enough to keep them both full until lunch.\n\nHer father slipped in, skin still steaming from the hot shower, curly black hair tousled and slick, eyes twinkling at the thought of sizzling eggs. \"What's with all the toast?\"\n\n\"About to go stale.\"\n\n\"Good. I like toast.\"\n\n\"You better. It's that and the eggs until lunch. Drink your coffee.\"\n\nHe sipped at the mug, face souring a little. It wasn't good. But that was hardly Kaycee's fault. So he hid his displeasure, muscling down as much as he could stand without burning himself. Kaycee held the scalding-hot skillet above his plate, oil popping, thick egg white bubbling up, sliding two eggs off with a warped old spatula. Her father looked up, eyes pleading. \"One more?\" he asked.\n\n\"You want eggs tomorrow?\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"Then you only get two today.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" he said, looking down sadly.\n\n\"Eat 'em slow.\"\n\nWade took a small bite of dry toast, smiling, twitching an eyebrow playfully at his daughter. She smiled back, slid a single egg onto her own plate, and put the skillet back on the stove.\n\nThe two ate together in silence, Wade trying to sober up, wishing he didn't have to, Kaycee trying not to think about the fact that this was going to be the very best part of her day. They powered through the dry toast and the bad coffee, but the eggs were perfect. Piping hot, lightly salted, a dash of pepper. They slid warm and greasy into the belly, at once sobering Wade up.\n\nIt was morning again, and he was ready to go back to it. He kissed his daughter on the cheek, wrapping his massive arms around her, then headed out to catch his ride back into town.\n\nKaycee quickly cleaned the kitchen then readied herself for school\u2014a quick shower and a few strokes of a brush through her hair before tossing on a clean shirt and a pair of shorts. Then she slipped a sandal onto her one good foot, turned off the television, locked the front door, and walked out to the curb to wait for the van to school.\n\nShe stood there, staring at her shadow on the ground, the bland, dingy colors of the dry earth stinging in the harsh Australian morning sun. The van always picked her up last, already overflowing with kids. Kaycee dreaded seeing them, hated the moment when the van pulled up and the doors opened and not one of them looked out the window or up at her as she passed them. They weren't cruel. No one would utter a word about her foot or the split in her lip. There would be no name calling, no harassment. Instead it was as if she wasn't even there. The invisible kid meant for the seat no one else dared sit in lest they be forced into eye contact or to exchange a few uncomfortable words.\n\nSometimes she wished people would say something, make fun of her in some shape or form, if only so she could put them in their place; if only so she could feel like they saw her. She hated being awake. She hated the world outside sleep. In the dream, she could be whatever she wanted; here, she was what everyone thought she was.\n\nAnd that was nothing. Nothing at all.\nCHAPTER 9\n\nON KUTJI\n\nAN EXCERPT BY DR. THADDEUS RAY, PH.D., FROM HIS BOOK DREAMSPEAKING, DREAMWALKING, AND DREAMTIME: THE WORLD ON THE OTHER SIDE OF DOWN UNDER\n\nShadows are not necessarily spirits of the dead, though they are formed by the painful, agonizing, or tortured death of a human being. But these are not the persons themselves, merely reflections of the very worst or most powerful parts of them. While it is true that they are comprised of dreamstuff squeezed from a deceased soul, they are not beings of memory, intellect, or experience. They are beings of deep emotion and fear. They are monsters born of lingering hate, pain, or agony.\n\nShadows do not exist to achieve goals fostered in life\u2014at least not in the way they were initially intended\u2014but rather to carry out some new mission to assuage the painful scars that forged them. These are scars that never heal, wounds that never close. Shadows press on like Sisyphus, forever clawing at the night, continuing to do the same terrible things over and over again until they have no dreamstuff left to press on any farther.\n\nSome shadows, like boggarts, become mostly sentient. Most of the time they behave as they did in life, albeit with much more pronounced traits or quirks. The only point at which their shadowy nature becomes a hindrance on their personality is when they feed or fight. It is in those moments that their lack of humanity shows through and their truly terrible natures bubble to the surface. One can live in close proximity to a boggart for quite some time without ever feeling in danger or actually being in danger for that matter. But shadows are comprised of darkness, and eventually they must succumb to that.\n\nOther shadows, like La Llorona, are much more feral than their more humanlike cousins. These creatures are formed from women destroyed by their own grief and madness, and thus that is all that remains of them. They wander the earth, reliving their final moments, trying desperately to get it right this time around. Their memories are short, their personalities only approximations of humanity, their attempts to imitate behavior existing only as a self-defense mechanism. They seduce men to keep them from becoming a threat and they use whatever guile they can to gain access to children they can drag into the water.\n\nKutji, on the other hand, are somewhere between these two extremes.\n\nA kutji is a shadow native to the deserts of the outback. Often appearing warped and distorted, they are shaped as their shadow hung at the moment their body passed. This leaves them ranging in appearance from short, squat, and square to tall, lithe, and gangly, possessed of limbs the length of a grown man. Their bodies are made entirely of darkness and thus they are terrified of the sun, living in holes, cracks, or under rocks and abandoned vehicles. If caught away from their haunts near dawn, they will take shelter anywhere dark and hide until the sun sets once more. Exposure to sunlight boils them away almost immediately and, once destroyed, they will never return. While artificial light is painful to them, it poses no real threat and they will endure it if the reason is good enough.\n\nKutji are usually formed as the result of violent, unjust, or unwelcome death. It is very rare for a peaceful or accidental death to result in forming one. Most often they are formed by the fear and anger building up over a short period of time between learning of their death and experiencing it. In that moment, the dying think of all the things they left unfinished, all of the anger they have for the person killing them, and they cling to that rather than finding release. The moment their soulstuff is released, if an area is as particularly rich in dreamstuff as the outback is, a kutji can be formed.\n\nThey do not exist as they did in life. Their wit, their passionate desires, and their quirks remain, but their humanity is stripped from them, so much so that they don't even bother to imitate it. They are in thrall to their desires, trying again and again to achieve the unattainable satisfaction of completing whatever task eluded them in life. Oftentimes this can be the accumulation of wealth, satiating sadistic urges, or getting revenge for some slight done to them. On rare occasions the task can be specific, like getting hold of a certain item or killing an individual. But like many spirits, the kutji lose their way over time and those desires become blurred, muddled, sometimes confusing one object with another.\n\nThe kutji cannot be satisfied. It is their curse. They walk the earth, fearing the light, convinced that completing their task offers some great reward. Whether it be death, a respite, or a return to the land of the living, they each pine for something and think achieving it will grant it to them. But it never does.\n\nHowever short of memory they might be about their reason for being, they are both long of memory and extraordinarily patient. A kutji will work for years, even decades, on a single task. But unable to affect many things in the mortal world, they often must turn to dreamspeakers or anyone else able to peer past the veil. With these people, the kutji often strike bargains, offering to do dark deeds or help gather the dreamstuff to perform magic. Dreamspeakers, better known as Clever Men or shamans, have learned over time to cultivate relationships with local kutji and call upon them to do whatever they need done, often unaware of the kutji's true motivations. In truth, these motivations rarely affect the dreamspeaker, as it is customary for the first deal struck to be one of nonaggression.\n\nKutji, like many spirits, are bound to their own word. As certain memories fade, so too do the details surrounding such an agreement, leaving behind only the prohibition or promise and an understanding that this prohibition or promise is sacred law. Breaking such an oath is like deciding to put your hand into a fire, or to jump from a cliff, or to cut off your own foot. They believe doing so is the key to their undoing, no matter how small or insignificant the agreement might be.\n\nUnlike more terrifying menaces, kutji aren't particularly violent or directly malicious. More often than not, a kutji's requests will seem ridiculously simple, almost mundane. Sometimes they serve no other purpose than to fulfill a desire or habit they performed in life, like drinking or smoking. But it is wise not to take all of their requests lightly, for they are playing a long game. It is possible the small task you perform for them in the physical world is the puzzle piece they need to do something terrible far down the road or is meant to bring some harm to the person performing it. In fact, you can almost always be assured that it is. One should never agree to a kutji's terms before thinking through what they are asking for.\n\nWhile kutji often appear as spirits, they can show themselves in a number of different forms, ranging from animals like kangaroos, crows, owls, eagles, bandicoots, emus, and snakes; they can also manifest as dust storms, rain clouds, or even thunder. They can also possess these creatures in order to travel over great distances or appear to those who cannot perceive their spirit forms easily. Their powers over the souls of others allow them to possess human beings, at a great cost to their own energy, infect others with disease, or even cause death.\n\nBut kutji rarely bother those who cannot see or hear them, for they find them to be of little use. The only time one can expect to be bothered by one is if you somehow play into achieving their goals. As long lived as kutji are, these are not goals it is easy to simply blunder into. On the rare occasion that you find yourself the target of a kutji's intentions, all bets are off. It is cases like these when any reports of aggression or deliberate malfeasance arise. They are beings with hazy memories, and without remorse; expect little quarter.\nCHAPTER 10\n\nAUSTIN\n\nColby meandered into the bar with a belly full of lasagna and an ass still sore from his awkward, painful landing in the grass behind Carol Voss's house. He didn't want to go home yet, but he didn't want to be around the denizens of the Cursed and the Damned either. So he quietly slid into a small bar, hoping to blend in with the flimsy plywood and ironic neon.\n\nHe ordered a cheap Mexican import served with a lime in the neck of the bottle and made his way out through a metal door to the back patio. Limestone walls ranging from knee high to almost ten feet tall surrounded a courtyard littered with cheap metal tables, a chain-link fence boxing in the rest. It was a nice, quiet place to have a beer and ignore the rest of the world. There were no demons, no angels, no djinns.\n\nJust a blonde. A beautiful, heartbreaking blonde.\n\nAnd she was sitting alone.\n\nShe was slender, tan, freckled, blond hair spilling out from under a braided-cord straw cowboy hat, wearing a black \u200bT-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, faded blue jeans, and hand-painted sneakers. One arm was smooth and bare while the other was a complete sleeve of brightly colored tattoos. The corners of her mouth twitched into a slight smile when she saw Colby and it felt as if the whole patio had brightened at once. Her delicate fingers fondled a local craft brew and she bit her lip slightly.\n\nIt was a slow night and they were otherwise alone.\n\nThe blonde traced the rim of her bottle with a single finger and watched as Colby took a seat a few tables away. He tried not to look at her, clumsily trying to show that he wasn't creeping up on her.\n\n\"That's not really a Mexican beer, you know,\" she said.\n\nColby looked up, a little confused. He'd been thinking of a dozen different ways she might shoot him down and had no idea how to react to her speaking directly to him. He swallowed hard. \"Um, huh?\"\n\n\"The beer. It's not Mexican.\"\n\nColby looked down at the beer in his hand. \"Oh. I didn't know that.\"\n\n\"Yeah, they make them in San Antonio from a Mexican recipe and just put imported on the bottle. It's the same guys who make all the cheap stuff.\"\n\n\"What's that?\" he asked, pointing at her own beer.\n\n\"Local.\"\n\n\"You like it?\"\n\n\"It's pretty much the same shit you're drinking, only more expensive.\" She stood up and took a few graceful steps over to his table and pointed at the empty chair beside him. Not across. Beside. \"May I?\"\n\n\"Uh, yeah! Yeah!\"\n\nShe plopped down in the chair far less gracefully than she'd walked and took a swig of beer. \"It costs more, but the money stays here in town, puts guys I know to work, so it's worth it.\"\n\n\"Oh, local economy and all that.\"\n\n\"I'm Austin,\" she said, raising her beer.\n\n\"Colby,\" he said, raising his.\n\n\"You know, I gotta say, I imagined you much more well spoken than this.\"\n\n\"I'm . . . I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"It's okay. Do I have you flustered or are you just normally like this around people?\"\n\n\"I . . . well . . . yeah. It's you.\"\n\nShe smiled, reaching into the hip pocket of her jeans. \"I can dig that. Just as long as the conversation gets better as the night goes on.\" Austin pulled out a small bag of weed and a pack of papers and, without a thought, began rolling a joint.\n\n\"What are you doing?\"\n\nWith a quick lick and a twist of her wrists, she wrapped the paper up tight into a perfectly formed spliff. \"Rolling one up. You wanna share or would you like your own?\"\n\n\"Uh, no. Um, thanks though.\"\n\nAustin laughed. \"I never pegged you for a prude.\" She lit the joint and took a quick puff.\n\n\"I'm not a prude. It's just, we're out in public.\"\n\nShe held her breath for a second, then exhaled loudly. \"There's not a cop within three blocks of this place and not one who will walk by for another . . . fifty minutes, give or take.\"\n\n\"That's a little specific.\"\n\n\"They have schedules. Routines. Habits. Lots of things that keep them in other places and then bring them here. But nothing that will bring anyone here anytime soon.\"\n\n\"Well, what about the bartenders?\"\n\n\"The bartenders?\" she asked. \"Have you ever known any bartenders? Our biggest concern then is bogarting this. You worry too much.\"\n\n\"And you seem pretty relaxed.\"\n\n\"Trust me. It's still, like, forty-nine and a half minutes before anyone comes by. Maybe forty-nine even.\"\n\nColby pursed his lips. \"Who are you?\"\n\n\"You still don't recognize me, do you?\"\n\n\"Not even a little. Do we know each other?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"No. We know of each other. I've read your books. I've seen you around. But know . . . ?\"\n\nColby's jaw dropped open. \"Wait, you're\u2014\"\n\n\"Austin.\"\n\n\"The Austin.\"\n\nShe smiled. \"No. Just Austin. There's no the.\"\n\nColby gawked at her for a moment, stunned speechless.\n\nShe took another drag off the joint, held her breath deeply for a moment, letting Colby wrap his head around what was going on, then exhaled. \"You sure you don't want a hit of this? It's amazing stuff.\"\n\n\"No, really.\"\n\n\"Aw, Colby. I thought you were cool.\"\n\n\"No you didn't. No one thinks I'm cool.\"\n\n\"Okay. I didn't. But I did hope you would get cool-er.\"\n\nColby sipped his beer, the wheels turning in his head. \"Wait a second. Why haven't we met until just now?\"\n\n\"Because we never had to before today.\" Her eyes turned cold and serious. She wasn't playing around anymore. \"You crossed the line tonight, Colby. It wasn't your place to do what you did.\"\n\n\"Is this about . . . is this about Beatriz?\"\n\n\"Of course it's about Beatriz. What else have you been up to tonight?\"\n\n\"That's between her and me.\"\n\nAustin shook her head. \"There isn't a her anymore. Now it's just you and me. You may want to be the sheriff of this town, but you ain't the sheriff of this town. There's only one sheriff. And she might have to ask you to leave if you can't get your shit together.\"\n\n\"I can't believe what I'm hearing. You knew about her?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"What she was up to?\"\n\nAustin nodded, the joint six inches from her face. \"Yeah.\"\n\n\"And you were just going to let those kids die? You would have let that thing drown them?\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" she said, slightly offended. \"Vincent and Taylor are wonderful boys, both with bright futures. More important, their mother is a sweet, wonderful woman who would do anything for them. I wasn't going to let Beatriz harm a hair on their heads. I couldn't do that to Carol.\"\n\nColby took a sip of his beer and glared at Austin. \"And just how did you plan on stopping her?\"\n\n\"They're still here, aren't they?\"\n\n\"Yeah, but not because of you.\"\n\nAustin grinned. \"Really? How did Carol find you again?\"\n\nColby leaned forward pensively, his eyes narrowed. \"She said a psychic told her, but wouldn't say who.\"\n\n\"Mother Ojeda. Nice woman. Has the gift. But not quite like you. She hears things sometimes. Sometimes it's mild schizophrenia mutating shit she heard on TV. Sometimes it's me, telling people what they need to hear.\"\n\n\"So what you're saying is that you brought Carol to a psychic and the psychic told her where to find me because you knew I would show up and kill Beatriz.\"\n\nAustin did the mental arithmetic, tracing her work on the air with a single outstretched finger. Then she nodded. \"Yes. That's exactly how it happened.\"\n\n\"And you're pissed at me?\"\n\n\"I know it doesn't make sense, Colby. But I don't have to make sense.\"\n\n\"Why? Because you're a woman or something?\"\n\n\"No, idiot,\" she said. \"Because I'm a god.\" She paused for a moment, eyeing him up and down. \"Or what you call genius loci.\" Then she smiled. \"Like I said, I've read your books.\"\n\n\"But why did you just chew me out for stopping her after you set it up so I would?\"\n\n\"Because we needed to meet. We needed to have this conversation.\"\n\n\"I can't believe this shit.\"\n\nAustin killed the last few swigs of her beer and slammed it down on the table. Then she took another toke of her dwindling joint. A waiter appeared with a beer for both of them, setting them down on the table.\n\n\"Hey,\" he said to Austin. \"You mind if I hit that?\"\n\n\"Be my guest,\" she said. \"Don't bring none unless you want to share.\"\n\n\"My kind of lady.\" The waiter took a few quick tokes, holding them in, then gave a wave on his way back to the bar, exhaling just before walking inside.\n\nShe smiled. \"That's Brad. He was having a rough night earlier. Nice guy. There's a girl a few streets over named Felicia. Her ex called her fat in the middle of their breakup. She's not taking it well. I'm going to let her stagger over this way and she and Brad are going to have a very nice few hours together.\"\n\n\"A drunk hookup?\"\n\n\"He's gonna consider the night a good one, she'll wake up remembering some cute bartender couldn't keep his hands off her, and even though they'll most likely never see each other again, it will put them on the path they need to be on. But you wanna know the kicker, Colby?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I'm not making either of them do anything. I just know them. Intimately. I know the mistakes they'll make when they're presented with the options. And by manipulating a few traffic lights, breaking a high-heeled shoe or two, and distracting someone long enough to run a stop sign, I can put two people in each other's arms in order to change their lives for the better. But it's not always about hookups or good times. Sometimes it's about murderous spirits. Sometimes it's about wizards who think it's their job to patrol the streets to keep the night safe for children.\n\n\"What you did the night the fairies came for Ewan was your business. They made their bed. You did what was just and right for you to do in that situation. I've got no beef with that. And until now you've been all talk. I've certainly got no beef with that. But tonight you crossed the line from tough talking to instigating. I played my part, which is why we're talking over beers and a joint\u2014and really, you should try this, it's really good shit\u2014instead of having it out in the mud behind Carol's house.\"\n\nColby finished his beer and then grabbed the other. \"So why exactly did we need to talk?\"\n\n\"So I could tell you never to do that again. I don't care how you go about defending yourself. But the vigilante act ends tonight.\"\n\n\"I'm sure you're telling everyone that Austin is back on the market and the buffet is open, then?\"\n\n\"Are you kidding me? I'm not saying shit. I love that those prissy Limestone Kingdom pricks are staying where they belong out in the woods. I just can't have you gunning them down in the streets if and when they do come to town.\" Austin took one last hit from the roach, finally cashing in her joint. Then she looked at Colby with soft, gentle eyes. \"Like I said. I don't have to make sense.\"\n\nColby shook his head, a hand to his temple.\n\nAustin stood up and slammed down the remainder of her beer. \"Besides, it's rare that I get to share a beer with a man I don't have to pretend around. Know what I mean?\" She winked, then shook her head. \"Because I'm a woman? Jesus, dude. You are not single by accident, that's for damn sure.\" Then she vanished from where she stood, leaving Colby confused and alone on the patio, fumbling for the words to apologize.\n\n\"Damnit,\" he muttered, thinking about how hard his heart was pounding. \"That's inconvenient.\"\nCHAPTER 11\n\nON GENIUS LOCI\n\nAN EXCERPT BY DR. THADDEUS RAY, PH.D., FROM HIS BOOK THE EVERYTHING YOU CANNOT SEE\n\nAs discussed earlier, dreamstuff accumulates, giving birth to creatures born of whim or, in extreme cases, transmuting a creature's dreamstuff from one form into another, as in the case of a dying human turning into a spirit, a shadow, or a fairy. But not all things created as such are conjured directly out of the imagination of those nearby. In many cases, as with the genius loci, dreamstuff coalesces into a form representative of the area around it. These creatures become arbiters or wardens of the area they inhabit, embodying the very essence of the land itself and the people who live upon it.\n\nThe name genius loci comes from the Latin, which originally described local gods, specifically household gods, or those that governed over small towns or islands. Greeks and Romans often recognized these genii as godlike beings, telling and retelling the stories of their governance or misadventure as part of their oral history. As was the case with many cultures of the day, the stories would be absorbed into other communities and ascribed to their own genii. Thus rose the tales of the Greek and Roman pantheons, which in all likelihood were based on the accumulated tales of hundreds of different beings and creatures.\n\nA genius loci can take many forms, from the green men or living trees of the forests, to leviathans of the sea, to dust devils of the desert, to creatures that look and act every bit like the human beings they represent and protect. Each locale creates the protector it wants or needs, whether or not they know what they're asking for. But once born of dreamstuff, the genius loci possesses a mind and will of its own and thus can affect its surroundings just as much as its surroundings affect it.\n\nOften, as is the case with fairy communities, the genius loci will interfere directly with the events transpiring around it. This can involve acting in the place of a king or governor, as a knight or protector, or in some cases, simply overseeing a council of the beings it represents. Other genius loci, like those representing large cities or particularly powerful locations\u2014like castles or islands\u2014tend to act indirectly, skulking in shadows or amongst the populace, gently manipulating the area around it with small, imperceivable changes. This can be as subtle as gifting a person with sudden inspiration or causing a car to stall, delaying them or forcing them into an unplanned encounter, or as obvious as an earthquake or large-scale riot.\n\nMost large-scale cities tend to create people, albeit people with an extraordinary amount of control over their surroundings. The personality of this being tends to be entirely representative of the culture around it, looking, sounding, and acting in the purest, most common, easily recognizable fashion. The genius loci of Manhattan, for example, embodies the essence of the true New Yorker, while that of Seattle is much more subdued.\n\nUnlike most beings of dreamstuff, however, genius loci have incredibly short life spans, some living as long as a few decades while others live only a few short years. As the culture around it changes, the genius loci too begins to change, and as it shifts from one era to the next, it must re-create itself, becoming something entirely different from what it was before\u2014something more representative of the new era. For example, the genius loci that oversaw Manhattan was very different in the sleazy Times Square era of the late sixties and seventies from what it is in the family friendly, commerce-minded era of the time of this writing. While a genius loci might keep many of the same traits, enough of it changes through each incarnation that it re-forms as a different being. Look, style, demeanor, and even gender might change as a result of its ever evolving surroundings.\n\nGenii should always be treated with the utmost respect, as they are creatures to be feared. When encountering one you must always remember that you are on their turf, playing by their rules. When destroyed they will re-form, and when they do, they will remember exactly who wronged them.\nCHAPTER 12\n\nBACK TO THE CURSED AND THE DAMNED\n\nThe Cursed and the Damned was as lonely a place as there was at this time of night. For all its business, it might as well be out in the mists of the moors or well off the highway in the barren Arizona desert. It was in the dead center of downtown, in the middle of everything, but there were few beings inside Austin left across the veil to enjoy it.\n\nThe only reason Yashar even kept it running at all was as a silent eulogy to Old Scraps. He stood there all day, most days, staring over the cheap, depressing innards of the place\u2014its bulbs dangling uncovered on long cords from the ceiling, its gray concrete walls, mismatched tables, boxes and barrels in place of most chairs\u2014occasionally wiping the counter out of habit, thinking about what this place used to be. Every once in a while he'd be reminded that some things just needed to be put down or left alone long enough to die. And every time that thought crept in, he thought about the times he and Colby spent drinking themselves into a stupor, the smell of Bill's smoke from the back corner, the sound of drunken angels laughing and falling out of their chairs, having to be hoisted back upright before ordering another round.\n\nAnd in that moment he remembered why he was serving as life support for an ailing friend, keeping it alive long enough to see the last few good days it had left. This would prove to be just such a day.\n\nColby threw back the whiskey as if he was putting out a fire. In a sense, he was. He was still shaken, rattled, his heart pounding, gut lurching, fists clenched tight. All the color had drained from his face and he trembled\u2014just a little\u2014reeling from his encounter with Austin.\n\nYashar leaned over the bar from the other side, bottle at the ready, leather jacket and dangling baubles clanging on the countertop, eagerly hanging on Colby's next words. \"Well,\" he said, as Colby lowered his glass. \"What's got you so spooked?\" he asked, pouring Colby another few fingers of whiskey as he did.\n\n\"I met her,\" said Colby.\n\n\"Who?\" asked Bill the Shadow, looming darkly in the corner of the bar.\n\n\"The girl of your dreams?\" asked Yashar with an interested smile.\n\n\"Worse,\" said Colby. \"Austin.\"\n\nYashar leaned in a little closer. \"Austin who?\"\n\n\"Austin.\"\n\nYashar sighed, deflating. \"Oooooh. It's about time you met her.\"\n\n\"Yeah, Colby,\" said Bill. \"How the hell have you gone this long without running into her?\"\n\n\"She's cute\u2014,\" said Yashar.\n\nBill nodded, interrupting. \"Yeah, she is.\"\n\n\"But she's nothing to get in a twist over.\" Yashar recorked the whiskey. This wasn't a story warranting the good stuff.\n\nColby slammed back the whiskey once more, shook his head. \"She's pissed at me.\"\n\nYashar eyed him suspiciously. \"And how did you manage that?\"\n\n\"I killed Beatriz.\"\n\nYashar and Bill traded troubled, disbelieving glances. Then Yashar slowly uncorked the bottle and walked back over to Colby. \"Say that again?\"\n\n\"I killed Beatriz La Llorona. And Austin wasn't too happy about that.\"\n\nYashar poured Colby another glass of whiskey, filling it almost to the top, then looked at him darkly. \"Did she have it coming?\"\n\nColby nodded. \"Yeah. She had it coming.\"\n\nYashar nodded in return. \"Bill? You knew her, right?\"\n\nBill nursed a beer, nodding. \"Yeah, I knew her.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"And the kid's right. She had it coming. Crazy. Half starved. Damaged from the moment she showed up. She never gave the world a damn thing except drowned kids. The river is better without her.\"\n\nYashar shook his head. \"Then why the hell would Austin be pissed at you?\"\n\n\"Because I'm not the sheriff of this town,\" said Colby. \"She is.\"\n\n\"And she asked you to leave town?\"\n\n\"Nope.\"\n\n\"Then what's the problem?\"\n\nColby took a deep breath. \"Like you said. She's cute.\"\n\n\"Aw, hell.\" Bill groaned.\n\n\"Damnit, Colby,\" said Yashar.\n\n\"What?\"\n\nYashar put the cork back in the whiskey. \"I thought this was serious.\"\n\n\"This is serious. You've been telling me for years that I should find a girl. I finally find one and not only does she threaten to kick my ass out of town, but she's also powerful enough to do it. To make matters worse, she's the reason I ended up killing Beatriz to begin with.\"\n\n\"Wait. You're going to have to explain the last part,\" said Yashar.\n\n\"Yeah,\" said Bill. \"I'm a little lost as well.\"\n\nColby sipped from his glass. \"A woman came to me for help. Said she was being plagued by La Llorona. She got my name from a psychic.\"\n\n\"Mother Ojeda?\" asked Bill.\n\n\"Yeah,\" said Colby. \"How'd you know that?\"\n\n\"The billboard psychic. One of the only legit working spiritualists in town. She's exactly who Austin would use.\"\n\nYashar's eyes grew wide. \"Shit, Colby. You got played.\"\n\n\"Yeah, I did.\"\n\n\"And that . . .\"\n\nColby shot a longing glance across the bar. \"Intrigues the hell out of me. Never met anyone before who could play me, put me in my place, and make me feel like I deserved it.\"\n\nBill laughed and sipped his beer. \"Kid's in trouble all right, Yash. Let the whiskey flow.\"\n\n\"Colby,\" said Yashar. \"Did she threaten you?\"\n\n\"Directly?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"No. It was more of a warning against future endeavors.\"\n\nYashar nodded. \"So she got what she needed out of you and that was that, right?\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"Then you're in good shape. Austin is good people. That's her thing.\"\n\n\"Her thing?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Every loci I've ever met has had a thing. An ethos. A sense of purpose driven in one direction or another. It's what they impart to their people. For some it's progress. For others it's war. Some want isolation, others celebration. For years Austin was a bit of a party girl. She likes her beer and she throws amazing parties. But she's mellowed. Her thing has become less about the fireworks and more about the company, if you know what I mean. She wants her legacy to be a town where everyone feels welcome and nobody messes much with anybody else.\"\n\nBill lit a cigarette. \"Yep. She once told me that she wanted this city to feel like the buzz before the drunk. Laid back and worry free.\"\n\nColby grimaced. \"That doesn't sound like the girl I met at all.\"\n\n\"Really?\" asked Yashar. \"And where did you meet your dream girl?\"\n\nColby hesistated a moment. \"At a bar.\"\n\n\"Was she pissed?\"\n\n\"No. She . . . she was actually kind of flirty.\"\n\n\"Uh-huh. Was this the easiest piece of ass chewing anyone's ever given you?\"\n\nColby stared down at the bartop, nodding.\n\n\"Then it sounds exactly like Austin.\"\n\n\"S-so, then . . . ,\" Colby stammered a little, swallowing hard. \"H-h-h-how do, how do I . . . how do I tell her . . . ?\"\n\n\"Oh, sweet merciful Christ,\" said Bill. \"This is happening.\"\n\nYashar pointed a stiff finger at Bill. \"Cut him some slack.\"\n\n\"Nope. Not this time.\" Bill took a drag off his cigarette then drenched it in the backwash at the bottom of his beer. He stood up and put a firm hand on Colby's shoulder. \"She's loci. She knows. Don't be such a bitch about it.\" Then Bill faded into the shadows, vanishing from the bar.\n\nColby and Yashar sat in silence for a moment, each taking turns sipping their whiskey.\n\n\"He's right, you know,\" said Yashar. \"She knows.\"\n\n\"Well, then, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?\"\n\n\"Nothing. You don't do anything. You've dealt with loci before.\"\n\n\"Yeah. I've fought with them. Argued. Made peace. Avoided them when I've had to.\" He paused, cocking an eyebrow. \"Blew one to pieces. But I've never asked one out on a date.\"\n\n\"It's kind of the same thing, actually.\"\n\n\"I'm being serious.\"\n\nYashar nodded apologetically, pouring more whiskey into Colby's glass. \"I know you are. And I'm trying, really. But, well, I've known you since you were eight.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"And in all that time, you still don't understand women any better than you did then.\"\n\n\"The hell I don't. I . . . get . . . women.\"\n\nYashar took a sip of whiskey, never breaking his stare, not once so much as blinking.\n\n\"I . . .\"\n\nYashar took another sip.\n\n\"Tell me everything you know.\"\n\n\"Are we really going to have the talk . . . ?\"\n\n\"Don't make this harder than it already is.\"\n\n\" . . . because this could take a while.\"\n\n\"Tell me. Everything.\"\n\nYashar pulled two ice-cold beers from under the bar, effortlessly popping off the bottle caps. \"In that case, we'd better slow down on the hard stuff.\"\nCHAPTER 13\n\nBUSINESS\n\nSwallowed whole and deep by night, the Clever Man stalked quietly through the bush, listening rather than looking. He knew the land, every nook, every cranny, every rock, every shrub. The stars were out, bright beacons guiding him along the songline. The only thing that could surprise him here would be on the move. So, sound; he listened for sound.\n\nHe heard them at a distance\u2014a mob of chittering spirits, rolling across the land like a storm, their scuttling bodies tearing through the night with purpose. High-pitched hoots, catcalls, guttural mumbling in incomprehensible languages, moans about half-forgotten agonies. They were headed right for him. He took a deep breath, bracing himself, closing his eyes.\n\nSlowly he drew the bullroarer from his pouch\u2014a carefully carved and painted piece of wood at the end of a frayed, time-worn cord. Then he whipped it around, one end of the cord wrapped tightly around his hand, slinging it through the air like a propeller. At first it hummed, then it sang, finally it screeched such terrible sounds, like a thousand souls loosed from their bodies all at once.\n\nThe mass of creatures swarmed in the blackness, surrounding the Clever Man on all sides, unseen, moving around him like a swirling school of fish, roiling just out of sight. A single shadow emerged, its thin, wispy arms nothing but nubs without hands, struggling to approach through the mind-shattering cacophony.\n\nAt first he could not see them, but they struggled against the dream, aching to speak. The shadow slunk into the starlight, creeping warily in case the Clever Man lashed out with a bit of unexpected magick. It was as if he was finally able to focus upon the things one sees out of the corner of one's eye only to realize that it still didn't look like anything at all.\n\n\"This soul is not for you, spirits,\" said the Clever Man over the howl of his bullroarer.\n\n\"We don't want your paltry soul,\" said the handless shadow, his mind reeling, manner unsteady, voice like air leaking out from a pinched balloon. \"We come for larger prizes. We come with business.\"\n\n\"You have nothing I want.\"\n\n\"Oh, but we do,\" it hissed. \"We doooooooooo. We can offer you a great many things. Riches. Power.\"\n\nThe Clever Man's expression remained blank, entirely loosed of emotion, as if he had no interest in anything at all. \"These things do not interest me. Who are you, kutji? Who are you really?\"\n\n\"No one. Just shadows.\"\n\n\"Your name, kutji. What were you called in life? Tell me or this conversation is over.\"\n\nMulling it over for a moment, its mind befuddled by the bullroarer, it said, \"Jeronimus. My name was Jeronimus. And these were my crew.\" The handless shadow waved his stump, presenting his drifting legion as they slowly melted in from out of the night, nearly formless, like nightmares crafted into dolls and blown awake by the last breath of dying gods, each half a dream of what they might have been.\n\n\"And who is your master?\"\n\n\"We have no master.\"\n\n\"Who created you?\"\n\n\"A spirit of great power.\"\n\n\"And who is this spirit?\"\n\n\"A spirit of great power.\"\n\n\"You said that.\"\n\n\"A spirit of such great power that we dare not speak its name.\"\n\n\"Now that,\" said the Clever Man, \"interests me.\" He sat down, cross-legged, a wry smile on his face, his arm still whirling the bullroarer. With its name he had power over the spirit now; it could not hurt him. For a time. He swatted at the air, commanding the spirit to sit. \"And what business could be important enough to involve me?\"\n\nJeronimus smiled, his black shadow grin carving deep cuts in the angular box of his face. \"There is a dreamwalker that visits you. We want her.\"\n\nShaking his head, the Clever Man waved the spirit off. \"Catching dreamwalkers. Tricky business.\"\n\n\"We don't need you to catch her. We have plans for the catching. We need you to keep her in the dream, keep her from running off to wake up.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said the Clever Man, making scissors with his fingers, cutting invisible string. \"I know exactly what you mean. This can be done. But still, very dangerous. She's a powerful spirit. Very strong. Very clever. Why do you need her?\"\n\n\"Because she is ours.\"\n\n\"If she were yours, you wouldn't need my help.\"\n\n\"She belongs to us. She is the last of the blood promised us.\"\n\n\"And when you have this blood?\"\n\n\"We will be free.\"\n\n\"Why don't you just kill her and take the blood you're owed?\"\n\nJeronimus raised both his shadowy stumps. \"Because we haven't all our hands to kill with. She will help us find them. Then, when her body fails, she will join us.\"\n\n\"And you will be free.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"This is dangerous. My price is steep.\"\n\n\"Name it,\" said Jeronimus.\n\n\"Yes, name it,\" hissed the crowd of shadows.\n\n\"From this day on, you may never harm anyone of my dreaming.\"\n\n\"Done. Agreed!\" Jeronimus's smile broadened. This was an easy bargain.\n\nThe Clever Man shook his head, holding up his free hand. \"I'm not finished.\" He spun the bullroarer faster.\n\nThe shadows writhed impatiently. \"What else?\" asked Jeronimus, his enthusiasm fading. \"Name your full price.\"\n\n\"You may never again enter Arnhem Land. It is forbidden to you. If you step one foot on it, you forfeit your spirit to me.\"\n\n\"Yes, yessss. Agreed.\"\n\n\"Agreed!\" promised the crowd.\n\n\"And,\" said the Clever Man, looking very sternly at Jeronimus. \"I demand the sacrifice of one of your own.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"One of your shadows.\" He pointed at one standing toward the front of the throng. \"That one. Bring him to me and we have business.\"\n\nThe nominated shadow shrieked. \"What? No!\"\n\nJeronimus turned to look at the shadow of his crewmate then looked back at the Clever Man. He nodded coldly. \"We have business.\"\n\nThe pack of kutji descended upon their brother, each grasping him with their one good hand.\n\n\"No! Not me!\" shrieked the spirit. \"I've been faithful.\"\n\n\"Your sacrifice will not be forgotten,\" said Jeronimus.\n\nThe kutji dragged the shadow to the Clever Man who at once flicked his wrist, whipping the bullroarer to a full stop in his hand. He lowered his arm, pointing the tip of it at the shadow. He began to sing, the words deep, abrasive, cutting into the night with the howl of rising winds and the rippling of the dream around them.\n\nThe sacrifice screamed, its voice breaking, distorting, its essence siphoned directly into the Clever Man's artifact. The shadows scurried backward over the broken, rocky ground, terrified at the sight of their brother's demise.\n\nAnd then all went silent, the night returning to a soft and gentle peace. The shadows did not speak nor chitter nor sigh in any way. They were too frightened by what they had seen.\n\nThe Clever Man nodded respectfully. \"I agree to cut the cord of the dreamwalker and deliver her to you. Are we agreed?\"\n\n\"We are agreed,\" said Jeronimus.\n\n\"We are agreed,\" said the rest of his crew.\n\n\"Good,\" said the Clever Man. \"Do you know what she looks for at night when she walks?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Jeronimus.\n\n\"She seeks a bunyip. Find the one that wallows nearby and show it to her. I will do the rest.\"\nCHAPTER 14\n\nOROBAS AND AMY\n\nGoddamnit, Ewan,\" Colby muttered into the night, his words slurred into an unintelligible blur. He was mumbling incoherently, his head dizzy; his face fuzzy, numb; his lips slapping against each other just to see if they were still there. He was drunk. Completely trashed. Somewhere between beers with Austin, half a bottle of whiskey with Yashar, and a few more slow beers for good measure, Colby was lucky to be upright. Though upright was being a bit optimistic.\n\nHe was stumbling, stammering, cursing randomly. And somehow he'd found himself alone, out in a field, in the middle of the Limestone Kingdom.\n\nThere, off in the distance, Colby could make out his friend, smiling, waving, beckoning him to come back. But he couldn't go back. There was no going back.\n\n\"Fuck you, Ewan, you fucking fuck.\" He stumbled to his knees, his palms slapping the ground in time to prevent him from going face-first into the cold, dewy grass. \"I trusted you. You were pissed at me? Pissed at me? Because I didn't tell you shit? Well, you kept her from me, buddy. Your little girlfriend got us all in the shit, didn't she? That's what they do. It's how they get us.\"\n\nColby lowered himself to the ground, then rolled over on his back, staring at the stars, still yelling out to the spirit in the field.\n\n\"How fucked up is it that of all the monsters we dream up, the ones that are the most dangerous, the ones that we fall most easily for, are the women? The ones that want us to dance or to fuck or to kiss or to, or to, or to whatever, you know. You know what I'm talking about. Those. They're fucking dangerous. I told you. I mean. Not directly. But I told you. But you didn't listen. And here we are. You with your girlfriend and me all alone. Again.\"\n\nColby sat up and spun himself around on his ass to be able to see Ewan. But the spirit was gone.\n\n\"Where the fuck did you go? I know you're out there. There's more to you, isn't there? More than just what's playing on a loop like a broken fucking record replaying the best part. There's got to be more. You're not that. You're not that happy little boy. You were only that happy little boy for like five fucking seconds, but that's how you're going to spend the rest of my life? Waving like a fucking moron?\"\n\nHe stopped, burping slightly, his insides roiling, stomach muttering as loud as he. \"Hold on,\" he said, his throat tight, stifling his speech. Then he vomited, puking up a mess of booze and cheese. \"Oh. Lasagna was a mistake.\" The world began spinning more violently than before. \"Hold on, Ewan. I need to find more grass. Better grass.\"\n\nColby crawled on his hands and knees through his own mess, finally collapsing a few feet away. He stared at the tilt-a-whirl sky, calling out into the night again.\n\n\"That's the worst part, you know,\" he said, screaming at the stars. \"I know so many people who used to be dead, I mean, dead who used to be, well. You know what I'm saying. Spirits of people who are dead now. Some things can become other things. But not you. You're just an echo. A memory. You only say things that made sense a lifetime ago. And that's all you're ever going to say. You'll never make me laugh again. I can't even tell you about Austin. I mean, I can. But you aren't listening. You aren't there. You might as well be ashes in a jar.\"\n\nHis eyes glazed over with tears, his garbled rambling punctuated with weak sobs, occasional hiccups serving as misplaced commas.\n\n\"You just had to fall in love with that girl. A smile and a pair of tits dreamed up to wring the life out of you. Well, fuck you! Fuck you for being there for her and not me. She tried to kill you with the rest of them and you chose her. I was your friend. I was the one you were supposed to be there for. But you chose her. You. Chose. Her.\"\n\nThe night, already quiet, got quieter still. The buzzing insects dropped their songs and crawled deep into the earth. The wind stilled, the leaves holding tight, trying their best not to rustle. The air grew thick, heavy, damp, an unnatural chill setting in with it. Something was very, very wrong.\n\n\"Ewan?\" asked Colby, tilting his head up toward the forest.\n\n\"No,\" oozed a voice so deep and menacing that it sounded almost as if it came from everywhere at once. Then the whole world screamed\u2014damned voices begging for mercy, moaning, bellowing, crying out\u2014a tinny, AM radio broadcast from the bowels of Hell, wails like static, distorted, breaking up, shivering the land itself. Trees stiffened like hairs on the back of the neck. Everything alive quivered like it had something to fear.\n\nThe universe tore open and Hell spilled out, for a brief moment becoming one with the field.\n\nColby tried five times to sit up, aggressively rocking himself upright, before managing with the sixth to prop himself on wobbly arms. The night around him flickered as if by campfire, trees blinking on and off, a dancing murk writhing behind them. It took Colby the better part of a few beats to even take it all in.\n\nThen all, once more, went silent.\n\nBefore him, across the field, stood a man burning from head to toe, fire licking the ground around him, air bending, melting in the heat, a long blazing ribbon rippling off the back of his head like hair fluttering in the breeze, embers like dandruff spiraling away. His flesh was charred and smoking, the deep blue of well-fed flame, bits dripping to the ground in waxy globs before boiling away on the earth. He was like a candle melting in a house fire, its wick burning futilely above.\n\nBeside him stood a horse whose hair was the black of the deep, dark nothing, as if it were a shape torn out of space with all the stars plucked out, only seen because of the light reflecting off everything else around it. It whinnied and stamped, the void of its mane caught in the same strange wind guiding the embers.\n\nColby knew at once who and what these things were. \"No! Nononono. I didn't summon you. I want no part of you. Get out. Get away!\"\n\n\"Colby,\" said the Horse, its voice carved out from the sounds of a stampede. \"Do you know who I am?\"\n\n\"I don't know you. I don't want to know you. Leave me be.\" Colby tried to push himself to his feet, only to end up on all fours, his ass the high point of a failed arch.\n\n\"But you do know us,\" said the man on fire, his voice hissing, sizzling, popping. \"You know us well.\"\n\nColby crab-walked forward to a tree, climbing himself upright along the trunk. \"I've never met you,\" he said, his fingers still gripping handfuls of bark.\n\n\"But you know our stories. Our names.\"\n\n\"No! You are Mr. Johnson,\" he said of the blaze. \"And you are Mr. Miller,\" he said to the Horse. \"And I did not summon you. There are rules. Rules to all of this. And I didn't call for you.\"\n\n\"You didn't call for us,\" said the Horse. \"We're calling for you.\"\n\nColby turned his head, averting his eyes, squinting them shut. \"I'm asking you to leave me. Leave me be. I'm way too drunk for this.\"\n\n\"That's why we're here,\" said the man on fire. \"You wouldn't speak to us sober.\"\n\n\"I won't speak to you now.\"\n\n\"We're here to ask of you a favor.\"\n\nColby looked back, but not directly. \"I grant you no favors. You will not be in my debt nor will I ever be in yours. Go. Away.\"\n\n\"You can help us willingly, or not so willingly. We can make things very hard on you.\"\n\nThe Horse held his hand up to his companion, trying to wave off the threat, then took a few steps forward.\n\n\"That's far enough, Mr. Miller.\"\n\n\"My name is not Mr. Miller, it is\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't say your name.\"\n\n\"Don't you want to know for sure?\"\n\n\"The best that could happen is that you're not really who you appear to be. There's no need to confirm it. Hopefully I'll forget all this by morning.\"\n\n\"There's very little chance of that,\" said the man on fire. \"What we're about to tell you will be hard to forget.\"\n\n\"Impossible to forget,\" said the Horse.\n\n\"Yes, quite impossible.\"\n\nColby pushed himself to his feet, eyes still averted, turning his back on the interlopers. \"I don't want to hear this. This has nothing to do with me.\"\n\n\"This has everything to do with you. Now, do you know why they sent me?\" asked the Horse.\n\nColby walked away, speaking only over his shoulder, his feet unsure. \"Because you can't lie.\"\n\n\"I cannot.\"\n\n\"Then go back and tell the other seventy the truth. I won't talk to you.\"\n\n\"We are sixty-seven now. Five of us are missing.\"\n\n\"I don't see how that's my problem.\"\n\n\"The one who took them is someone you killed a long time ago.\"\n\n\"You're mistaken. The things I kill, they don't come back.\"\n\n\"Some deaths are slower than others,\" said the Horse.\n\nColby continued his stagger, the world spinning so hard and so fast now that it took everything he had to not fall over face-first. \"You're only supposed to speak the truth, Mr. Miller, not in riddles.\"\n\nThe man on fire spoke up. \"The five we're looking for were in Australia when they disappeared.\"\n\nColby stopped, but the world kept spinning. His stomach lurched forward as if it were still moving, and he threw up again before doubling over and, finally, passing out in the grass.\nCHAPTER 15\n\nTHE SEVENTY-TWO\n\nAN EXCERPT BY DR. THADDEUS RAY, PH.D., FROM HIS BOOK THE EVERYTHING YOU CANNOT SEE\n\nIf one wishes to live a long, prosperous life, then one should never dabble in the darker arts. In this book I have warned many times against treading into the unfamiliar waters of the arcane or the occult. No doubt few who read this will heed such warnings. But even if you do not, even if you see this as nothing but a road map to the unseen things you wish to experience firsthand, heed this: do not, under any circumstances whatsoever, attempt contact with the Seventy-two.\n\nI won't name them by name, nor will you find them cataloged as you do in the apocryphal texts, The Lesser Key of Solomon, or throughout Crowley's flawed manuscripts. Even their names have power. Just speaking them too loudly can damn you. They are a motley lot, demons and their unholy spawn, djinn and fallen angel alike. Nine kings of Hell, six princes, nearly two dozen dukes; the rest an assortment of counts, marquis, presidents, and knights. And while not all of them are evil, not one of them can be trusted. They were cast together for far too long and have gone to immeasurable lengths to keep their truths hidden. They do not want you to know the truth about them and they see to it that anyone who learns too much comes to a terrible and untimely end. What I share with you now, while true, is what you could simply have culled from millennia-old documents, the Koran, the Bible, the Torah, and myths and stories all surrounding the greatest king of the old world. Solomon.\n\nThirty centuries ago, long before the veil dropped and all things supernatural still walked in the sight of man, Solomon was named king at the death of his father, David. Undisputed is the fact that Solomon became quite the trafficker with demons. He could summon them, bind them, and force them to do his bidding. The oldest of the stories about him tells of the thirty-six demons he bound into service to build his great temple, using them to cut stone and assemble unearthly masonry, sentencing the most foul and disgusting of them to fetching water or digging ditches.\n\nWhile the specifics of what drove Solomon to gather together the Seventy-two differ from story to story, the result is always the same. Solomon used his powers to summon and command seventy-two different creatures\u2014not, curiously, all of the same creatures he had previously bound into service\u2014and sealed them in a large brass container, which he then had sunk into the deepest part of the sea. The container was marked from top to bottom with Solomon's own seal, a mark said to keep anything supernatural from opening or even finding it. There it rested at the bottom of the sea for hundreds of years, the Seventy-two creatures within bickering, fighting, and ultimately making peace with one another, promising that if they ever were released, they would ensure that such a thing could never happen again. It would not be until hundreds of years later, when the Babylonians would discover the location of the vessel and break it open, thinking it to contain a portion of Solomon's riches, that these creatures would find freedom. In a few short years, these starving beasts would set into motion the collapse of an entire empire, each honoring his pact to protect his fellows while they corrupted and fed on Babylonian souls.\n\nWhile contained, peace reigned for forty long years in Solomon's kingdom, no otherworldly creature daring to so much as raise a stern voice against Solomon and his rule. Upon his death, however, all bets were off. Several djinn snuck into his palace during the royal funeral and forged a number of dark works, each penned and signed with Solomon's name. Theory has long held that they did this to discredit him, to make a mockery of his rule and have him branded a sorcerer who had turned his eyes from God. These works would be stolen, copied, and disseminated by sorcerers for the next three thousand years, their wealth of information not only keeping the existence of these foul creatures known to mortals\u2014thus strengthening them\u2014but written in such a manner as to misrepresent the details of their weaknesses and the various ways in which they could be bound or pressed into service.\n\nThe truth is, there are few ways to truly bind them, all of them dangerous. The rituals contained in the many occult texts chronicling them teach the reader not how to summon them, but instead only how to get their attention. A member of the Seventy-two doesn't always come when he's called. Instead, he only chooses to visit those he feels he can use or corrupt, those who would pose no real threat to their existence. Aleister Crowley's great many deeds and accomplishments in his field come not from his own power or knowledge, but rather from his ignorance that his visitors found him to be an interesting tool through which they harvested the souls of thousands of knowledge-seeking neophytes.\n\nThese demons, and their spawn, feed directly on the misery of others. The mistake most often made about them is that they gain their power from sin. Sin is relative. It exists only in the mind of the sinner. In times past, consuming shellfish or tattooing your body was sinful; in others, uttering certain words or lighting fires on the wrong day. Demons don't measure a person by their sin. They measure them by their guilt. Thus demons rarely have any interest in the truly wicked. Instead they level their gaze at those who might later regret their actions, or whose stomachs turn at witnessing the results of their choices. That feeling you get after cheating on a spouse or stealing from a good friend\u2014that's what they feed on.\n\nRemorseless sorcerers are rarely afforded the courtesy of a visitation. The noble, or the good, or the well intentioned? Those are whom the Seventy-two seek to feed upon. Those are the ones whose calls they will answer. And they will not hesitate to pretend that they might actually in some way be bound or rendered harmless.\n\nDo not talk to them. Do not speak or write their names. Draw no attention to yourself and never ever be so arrogant as to think you can get the better of them in a deal. You will not. These deals are their profession and they have been making them since before the rise of the pyramids. Traffic with them only if you desire a swift death preceded by intense suffering, or a long-drawn-out existence pained by regret.\nCHAPTER 16\n\nA FIELD OF BAD CHOICES\n\nColby's eyes opened wide, the light of the sun already strong on his face, a chirping cacophony of birds bursting into his ears like a TV blaring suddenly in the middle of the night. He shot up straight, sitting at a perfect ninety-degree angle, feet straight out in front of him, completely unaware of where the hell he was. His head thundered; his throat dry, cracking; his eyes stinging.\n\nHis thoughts were muddled; he couldn't process what he was seeing very well at all. Trees. Trees everywhere. Grass. A limestone outcropping. The field.\n\nHoly shit. The field. He knew where he was.\n\n\"Morning,\" soothed a voice from behind him.\n\nColby whipped his head around quickly, immediately regretting his decision. He squinted, pain stabbing him between the eyes, headache murdering his thoughts. \"Fuck!\" A silhouette stood between him and the sun. Rigid, honed muscles. Copper skin. Deerskin tunic. Broad, friendly smile.\n\n\"Someone lost a battle with a bottle last night.\"\n\nAt once Colby recognized him. \"Oh shit. No. No, no, no, no, no, no.\"\n\nCoyote waved his hands. \"Relax. Truce. I'm here with good intentions.\"\n\n\"You don't have good intentions.\"\n\n\"I have the best of intentions. You just won't ever live long enough to see them realized.\"\n\n\"What do you want, Coyote?\"\n\n\"To wake you up, pat you on the ass, and send you on your way before things get ugly around here.\"\n\n\"Excuse me?\"\n\n\"Half the kingdom heard that little show you put on for us all last night. And there were a number of folks who thought taking advantage of your being passed out might be the best solution to their problems.\"\n\nColby snapped his head back and forth, glancing wildly around, once again regretting doing so. \"Ahhhhh!\" He cradled his head in his hands, the hangover pulping his brains with each pound inside his skull. \"Why didn't they?\" he moaned into his hands.\n\n\"They realized that you might wake up. And I reminded them that the only thing more dangerous than an angry Texan was a drunk one. They thought better of it.\"\n\n\"You think?\"\n\nCoyote crossed his arms, his tone slightly more serious. \"They are exactly where they are supposed to be. You're the bear spoiling the picnic.\"\n\nColby squinted, slightly embarrassed. \"I am, aren't I?\"\n\n\"Yes. You are.\"\n\nColby swallowed, his throat prickly and dry. \"Is there water?\"\n\n\"This way.\" Coyote reached down, and taking Colby by the hand, helped him to his feet. He motioned, and Colby followed, walking casually through the sagebrush, past live oaks, toward a nearby stream that babbled louder the closer they got. \"Look, Colby,\" Coyote continued, \"I feel that I owe you. And while I've never lied to you\u2014well, never lied to you about you\u2014\"\n\n\"Have you lied to me about you?\"\n\n\"I lie to everyone about me.\"\n\n\"But wouldn't that have to be a lie?\"\n\nCoyote smiled wider, squinting coyly, shaking his head. \"No. Because I don't always lie. I only lie enough to make sure no one knows the truth. The rest of the time I'm on the level.\" Then he cocked his head to the side, qualifying. \"Mostly.\"\n\n\"And what horseshit do you have for me to shovel today?\"\n\n\"Horseshit?\"\n\n\"You're not here as a friend. You want something.\"\n\n\"Of course I want something. This time around though, I want what you want.\"\n\n\"And what's that?\"\n\nCoyote stopped smiling, the effect of which seemed to dim the harsh bright light of morning. Colby had never seen him not smile, never so much as heard of him not smiling. The old man brooded for a moment, his eyes growing deathly serious, his copper skin creasing unpleasantly. \"I want you to survive this.\"\n\nColby panicked, his chest tightening, his heart pounding suddenly. Every muscle in his body tensed up. \"Survive what?\" He looked around for an ambush, something waiting behind the trees. But there was nothing. Only himself and Coyote. He stopped, but Coyote kept walking, waving for Colby to follow.\n\n\"Last night. Your visitors. The demons.\"\n\nColby searched his memories, unsure for a second what he meant. And then it all came flooding back. He rushed to catch back up to Coyote. \"What do you know of it? You saw them?\"\n\n\"Of course I saw them,\" said Coyote. \"We all saw them. And we felt them before that. Their very presence warps the space around them, changes the rules. Hard to miss. It was the only interesting thing to happen out here for weeks. It was practically theater.\" He paused for a beat. \"They need you for something.\"\n\n\"That much I remember.\"\n\n\"What a demon cannot do for itself, but wants done, most often shouldn't be done at all.\"\n\nColby cradled his head in his right hand, trying to discern how much of what he couldn't understand was being muddled by the hangover and how much of it was just Coyote fucking with him. \"I don't understand,\" he said at last, resigned.\n\n\"No. You don't. And you won't. Not for a while yet. But when you do, you're going to realize just how deep in this you are. Here we are.\"\n\nThe stream was narrow, hidden past a steep, rocking incline, cutting through the land like it had been dug out by hand. Colby fell to his knees and began cupping water into his mouth. It was spring fed. Pure. The only thing ruining it was the taste of the night before.\n\n\"When do I get to understand?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"That's up to you.\"\n\n\"So you're not going to tell me.\" Colby stood up, his belly sloshing with fresh water. \"All due respect to the great and powerful manitou, but I can't take this shit this morning. I'm not going to remember half the stuff I actually even understand coming out of your mouth. If you want to mess with my head, you're going to have to speak slower and be more specific.\"\n\nCoyote nodded, intrigued. \"I'll tell you this much: they mean to use you. If you do everything exactly as they ask, you'll live through it, but you won't be happy about it.\"\n\n\"And if I refuse?\"\n\n\"It'll be worse. Either way, something terrible is coming for you.\"\n\n\"Something terrible?\"\n\n\"The past.\"\n\n\"If you know something, just tell me. They said Australia. This is about her, isn't it? This is about what I did there.\"\n\nCoyote nodded. \"And a lot more. This goes back a long time. There are games within games going on, bargains within bargains that have yet to see their end. These things, they have intentions so vast and alien that you'll never be able to wrap your mind all the way around them, but even those get trumped by the bargain they made with themselves. Several of them are in trouble, which means they are all in trouble. And they will do whatever it takes to get themselves out. Right now that means using you.\"\n\nColby balled up his fists, knuckles white, jaw tight, teeth grinding together. \"Why can't anyone ever be straightforward with me? Why do you all have to use me?\"\n\n\"Because you try so hard to be good.\"\n\n\"Because I'm good?\"\n\n\"No. Because you try to be. The good just are. The ones who try are much more easily manipulated. It's a special kind of selfishness. You always know what someone who tries to be good will do when given a choice. It makes it very easy to set up a field of bad choices. If you can make one of the bad choices look like the good thing to do, you know that the man trying to do good will do it. Entire nations have been led to genocide and butchery that way.\"\n\n\"And I slew a number of fairies that way.\"\n\nCoyote beamed with pride. \"Yes. And you destroyed La Llorona that way. And you saved a child from the knife that way. And you've done countless other things in the name of goodness that other creatures wanted you to do for them.\"\n\n\"And now the demons want their turn.\"\n\n\"Another field of bad choices, none of them good.\"\n\n\"So what do you want out of all this?\"\n\n\"For you to make it through to the other side.\"\n\n\"Because I have some kind of destiny?\"\n\n\"Destiny is a crock, Colby. It's the fairy tale the successful tell themselves to make it seem like they have God or the universe or whatever on their side. Nothing is predetermined. And no one can see the future. Not really. Some of us are gifted enough to see past the lives and the fictions and just see the machine. We can tell you what the machine does, what happens when you turn it on. One gear turning another that turns another. That's the machine. But it doesn't mean we can see the future, can tell when one of those gears will give out and the whole thing will break down. But we can see the long game, one stretching out for decades, centuries, sometimes millennia. Some of us serve ourselves. Some of us serve a higher ideal. But some of us just serve the machine. We keep it running, doing what it is supposed to do, doing what we're supposed to do, because it's our job to keep it running, to make sure those gears fall into place, to replace them when they're about to fall apart.\"\n\n\"And I'm one of those gears.\"\n\n\"One of the most important gears. Or you will be. You can be. If you don't fall off the machine first.\"\n\n\"So you can't see the future?\"\n\n\"I can see futures. I can see the maybe that exists if everything stays the same. But there is no future. Not yet. The future is just a now waiting to happen that may or may not ever arrive.\"\n\n\"Why does this all sound so familiar?\"\n\n\"Because you've heard it all before. You just weren't listening the first time around because you didn't like the answer.\"\n\n\"You're the second person to say that to me.\"\n\n\"Oh? Then maybe there's something to it.\"\n\n\"So you're going to tell me what you want me to do? Or am I supposed to guess?\"\n\nCoyote shook his head, chuckling. \"Colby, if I told you what you would become one day, you would do all the wrong things just to spite me, no matter how important a role you play. You believe too much in freedom. In choice. What you don't realize is that you've already made your choices. Now you just have to live through them.\"\n\n\"You mean with them.\"\n\n\"No. No I don't. Your wishes are your wishes, whether you make peace with them or not is entirely your business. Whether you live to see them out is what concerns me.\"\n\nColby sighed long and deep. \"So what am I supposed to do?\"\n\n\"If I tell you, then it's not really a choice. And if it's not a choice, it means nothing.\"\n\n\"Fuck you and your riddles and this headache. I can't take your shit when I'm not hungover; I sure can't handle you right now. Please. Just leave.\"\n\nCoyote smiled wide, his teeth glistening in the morning light. \"You know what's really going to piss you off, Colby Stevens?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"When the headache is gone and your mouth doesn't taste like that and you can finally think straight for the first time all day, you're going to think back on this conversation and you're going to wonder. You're going to wonder hard. And you're not going to know whether I've been messing with your head this whole time.\"\n\n\"Oh, I hate you.\"\n\n\"And if that weren't bad enough, when you remember that I didn't tell you to do anything at all, you won't have any idea what to do.\"\n\nColby buried his head in his hands and swore a string of unintelligible curses so long and unappealing that even Coyote blushed.\n\n\"Don't trust anyone to be who they appear to be, Colby. Not even me. I'm not your friend.\" He patted Colby on the back, squeezing his shoulder warmly. \"I got you a half hour to leave the border of the Limestone Kingdom. That was ten minutes ago. I suggest you start walking now. I'd use the trees.\" Coyote turned, walking away.\n\n\"Hey, Coyote.\"\n\n\"Yeah?\" asked Coyote over his shoulder.\n\n\"Thanks.\"\n\nCoyote smiled one last time, then nodded so sadly that even the smile was unable to hide it. And with that, he was gone.\n\nColby looked around, expecting for a moment to catch the hint of a pointed ear or the flash of a red cap behind a bush or in the trees. He didn't trust the things of the Limestone Kingdom and he supposed he never would. If they'd promised him twenty more minutes of peace, they'd be waiting to kill him in fifteen. There wasn't much time, so he took a shallow breath, reaching out with his thoughts, wading deep through the moist earth, looking for the oldest, gnarliest roots he could find. Then he turned and walked full speed into a fat, ancient oak, disappearing into its trunk, vanishing completely.\nCHAPTER 17\n\nCITY OF THE DAMNED\n\nThe most foolish mistake man often makes is believing that evil lurks only in the darkness. There is no safety in the sun. Only shadows fear the sun. And shadows are just the dark reflections of daylight. True evil is as at home in the bright light as it is in the darkness. And it has no qualms about snatching you right out in the open.\n\nColby's headache hadn't subsided. Though it hadn't gotten worse, it sure felt as if it had. His head continued on like an out-of-sync kettledrum, his mouth like he'd been eating a litter box. But it wasn't the worst hangover he'd ever had. Thus far, on the walk home, he'd only sworn off drinking four times. Some days he'd already managed that before breakfast.\n\nHe wandered in through the west side of town, up through the forests, past the suburban sprawl, and on into the oldest parts of the city. The trees were ancient here in comparison to outlying Austin; they were older than many of the buildings sprouting up as the city yawned and stretched its arms. The buildings were clustered together, tightly packed along the streets. It was greener here, homier here. And yet he was mere blocks from the newest buildings, towering slabs of condos swallowing up whole city blocks.\n\nThis was a place where he was used to seeing old spirits. Most of them were echoes, remnants of people long gone. Sometimes they were angels, demons, nightmarish things of all kind and sort, perched on ledges, stalking prey, sitting along the lake. For the most part, he'd stopped paying attention to them. They were like the faces of people on the bus. You see them, but you don't really see them. They're just background, so much static to be filtered out. But sometimes, just sometimes, he saw things that were just downright out of place.\n\nAnd that's what he saw as he closed in on downtown.\n\nAn old man, untamed beard yellowed with age, clothes ragged and worn, riding a crocodile.\n\nNow, this being Austin, Colby's first thought was how had someone managed to get a license for a crocodile? That had to be illegal. Then, as the haze of his pounding head cleared a bit, and his memory kicked into gear, it dawned on him that this was no man at all. And he realized just who, and more important, what this man was.\n\nHe was Agares, another of the Seventy-two, ruler of the eastern portion of Hell. Or so the story went.\n\nHe was decrepit, hair having fallen out in patches, drowning in wrinkles, hands speckled with liver spots, jowls drooping below his chin, beard holding on for dear life. His expression was cruel, hateful, like he was pissed at just being alive. And the crocodile beneath him seemed every bit as old, scales thick, scarred; teeth ocher with plaque, chipped, a number of them missing\u2014no doubt left long ago in prey. When Agares laid eyes on Colby, his scowl became harder, sinister, as if he was ready to charge and kill Colby for no other reason than he didn't like the look of him.\n\nThen the demon raised its hand, giving a slight little wave, and sat still, watching Colby walk past.\n\nColby's heart raced. He didn't know what to do. This was uncharted territory for him. Before last night he'd never seen a single one of the Seventy-two. Now one was strolling through Austin as if he was going to the corner store, and waving to Colby. A duke of Hell was a powerful thing; there was no fighting it were it to come to that. So Colby continued walking, trying to pretend he didn't see it.\n\nAgares never took his eyes off Colby, not for a second, not until Colby had walked out of sight around a building.\n\nColby felt relieved, terror subsiding. He didn't know why the demon just let him pass, or why he was even here at all. Frankly, he didn't care to know; he just kept walking, pretending it hadn't happened.\n\nUntil it happened again, a few blocks deeper into the city.\n\nThis one Colby could not mistake for anything other than what it was. A large, strong, black wolf, its muscles bulging, fur sleek and full, bearing a rider, an angel, sprawling feathery white wings, china white skin, and the large, bulbous, brown feathered head of an owl. Andras, great marquis of Hell, sower of discord and confusion. In its hand it wielded a massive sword that gleamed in the shadows; with its other hand it pointed at Colby, a single, extended finger tracking him as he walked in its direction.\n\nThe owl-headed beast stared at Colby with its beady black eyes, its beak unmoving, its feathers ruffling as if it was ready to pounce. But he didn't move. He just stood there, staring, his wolf growling softly, just loud enough for Colby to hear.\n\nAnd Colby kept walking, eyes down, the icy-cold glares of demons piercing any semblance of bravery. His insides quivered, turning to jelly, knees weak, breath short, chest caving in. If they wanted to kill him, they could and they would. But they didn't. And that's what scared him most. Whatever this was, whatever they had in mind, they wanted him to know that he was in their grasp whenever they wanted.\n\nPressing forward, deeper into the city, his pace quickened, trying to shorten the time between himself and the Cursed and the Damned. He thought about slipping into a tree, but there were too many people watching. That was the kind of attention he didn't need. So he hoofed it, uneasy with the knowledge that an owl-headed wolf-riding demon might be right behind him, steps away from cleaving him in two and dragging his soul straight down to Hell.\n\nEyes down, stride long, steps furious.\n\nHe stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light, looking around nervously.\n\nThe light changed and he sped across the street as fast as he could without running. Then, as his foot touched the curb, a voice called out, grating and malicious, its bass and tenor reverberating through his bones as if they'd been struck by a tuning fork. \"Collllllllbyyyyy.\"\n\nHe turned and saw the king of terrors, Asmodeus, a three-headed titan of a man, one head like a bull's, another like a ram's, the centermost that of a man, hideous, distorted. All six of its eyes cut bitterly into Colby from across the street. In front of Asmodeus stood an ordinary man, dressed for work, waiting, having just missed the light. Asmodeus approached from behind, walked right into him, melding until they were one, the demon no longer visible.\n\nThe man convulsed, shaking from a seizure, limbs twisting in odd directions, head nearly snapping atop his neck. Then the shakes calmed and he settled, the demon inside shifting uncomfortably as if trying to get a new suit to fall right. He put a single foot forward and stepped into traffic.\n\nThe light changed, a speeding truck slamming into him. The man was thrown like a rag doll, his bones powdered all at once, but the demon still stood in the place he had stepped out of. The truck screeched to a cockeyed stop, never having had the chance to brake before hitting the man, driving right through Asmodeus, all three of the demon's heads smiling. He stood there as the chaos of the accident unfolded around him\u2014people screaming, the driver rushing out yelling obscenities, traffic coming to a standstill before the body even stopped rolling\u2014but Asmodeus never took his eyes off Colby. He just wrung his hands, cracking his knuckles, savoring the look of horror on Colby's face.\n\nColby ran. He didn't have time to play it cool anymore, didn't have an ounce of bravado left. Though his head still pounded and his throat was still raw and his stomach toppled like a carnival ride, he didn't notice, not a bit. All he knew was fear. Hell was coming for him, they were sending him a message, and it was reading loud and clear.\n\nThey were not going to let him go; they were not going to let him say no. He was theirs, and if they didn't want him to get out of this alive, he wouldn't.\n\nHe rounded a corner to the final stretch to the bar\u2014a straight shot of only a couple of blocks\u2014legs pumping like a track star.\n\nAnd then he slowed, his muscles pulling him to a painful, sudden stop. He stood there on the sidewalk, eyes agape, mind reeling, entirely unsure how even to process what he was seeing.\n\nMadness. He saw pure madness.\n\nThe buildings, the streets, this whole section of sun-drenched city, was lined from top to bottom with dozens of the Seventy-two. Demons and angels with forms as mind bending as any you could imagine. Angels with animal heads, dragons, serpents, jungle cats with wings and serpent tails, three-headed dogs, hounds with the faces of men, men with the faces of hounds. And everything in between. They stood along the sidewalks, on the ledges of buildings, lined the rooftops above him. Dozens, perhaps all. Colby couldn't tell. All he knew was that he recognized them, each and every dangerous one. He knew their names; he knew their deeds; he knew that every last one of them was staring right at him, never for a moment taking their eyes off him.\n\nNot a one said a word. They stood silent, vigilant, faces cruel and emotionless, watching, waiting to see what he would do.\n\nWhatever this was, whatever they wanted him to do, it was big.\n\nHe knew it was important when they sent two greater demons. Now he was staring down what might be all of them.\n\nThere was no talking his way out of this now.\n\nHe took a deep breath, steadied himself, and started walking. Just a few more blocks, he thought. Just a few more blocks.\n\nThe demons, silent and unmoving, just watched.\nCHAPTER 18\n\nHAIR OF THE DOG\n\nOne of the only things more depressing than the current state of the Cursed and the Damned was seeing it cower in the alley from daylight. Though it had no windows, there was something about the harsh, stinging light of midday waiting just outside the door that made it all the more sad. Bars were places meant to be refuges from the dark, not suppliers of it. While it was easy to forget the time of day, and buy into the shadows of the piss-poor lighting and dim booths, all that goodwill went away the moment you stepped into the bustling afternoon of downtown.\n\nIt was enough to kill a buzz if you did it wrong.\n\nAnd the only thing worse than all this was seeing that bar, in daylight, through the angry throbbing buzz of a hangover, knowing what hell waited on the streets and rooftops outside.\n\nColby nursed his headache with a shot of whiskey and a tall sweating glass of ice water, his fingers trembling, struggling to find the words. Few things ever shook him up. He'd just met, for the first time, most of them.\n\nThe bar was empty, morbidly silent. Gossamer was curled up in the corner behind the bar, lying atop a rubber floor mat ringed with holes, keeping quiet, trying to keep up.\n\nYashar leaned forward on the counter, peering across the bar, eyes narrow, concerned. \"Which two actually spoke with you?\" he asked, his tone as nervous as it was curious.\n\nColby sipped his whiskey, staring dead-eyed back over the bar, his red hair still slicked to the side of his face with last night's sweat. \"The Holocaust Man and the Horse.\"\n\n\"Holy . . .\" Yashar picked up a glass and began to clean it with a fresh rag. He needed something to do with his hands. It made no difference that the glasses were already clean.\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"Tell me the Horse did all the talking.\"\n\n\"Some of it.\"\n\n\"Because you know he can't lie.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"What did they say?\"\n\nColby took another sip, steadying himself. \"Something's happened to five of the Seventy-two.\"\n\n\"Happened?\"\n\n\"They've gone missing.\"\n\n\"And they've mistaken you for a private detective? What's that even mean?\"\n\n\"I guess they imagine I'm somehow involved.\"\n\nYashar shook his head. \"Bullshit. You're either involved or you aren't. These aren't the kind of folks who get that sort of thing wrong. So which is it?\"\n\n\"Which is what?\"\n\n\"Are you involved or are they trying to involve you?\"\n\n\"A little bit of both I suppose.\"\n\n\"Colby, what aren't you telling me?\"\n\n\"Australia. They said it had something to do with Australia.\"\n\nYashar backed away from the bar, dispirited, beginning to understand. \"That's not good. That means\u2014\"\n\n\"That could mean a lot of things.\"\n\n\"No. That can mean only one thing.\"\n\n\"I'm not going back to Australia,\" said Colby.\n\n\"Of course you're not going to Australia. No one goes to Australia.\"\n\n\"Now what is that even supposed to mean?\"\n\n\"It means no one goes to Australia anymore. The whole continent's gone dark.\"\n\n\"Gone dark? That's not possible. How does that even happen?\"\n\nYashar hesitated, pursing his lips. Colby's chilly glare wore him down without much effort. \"Anyone magical who goes in doesn't come back out. No one's heard anything for months.\"\n\n\"Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?\"\n\n\"Because no one wanted to tell you. I certainly didn't.\"\n\n\"And I didn't know,\" said Gossamer, peering up from behind the bar.\n\nColby snapped his fingers. \"Is that what happened to the five? Were they . . . ?\"\n\nYashar shook his head. \"I don't know. No one said anything about the Seventy-two. But then, no one ever says anything about the Seventy-two unless they have to. If Orobas and Amy came to visit you\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't say their fucking names!\"\n\n\"I know them, Colby. I've known them for a thousand years. I can call them by their names. You've got their attention. No use hiding from them now.\"\n\n\"That's not how it's supposed to work. I didn't\u2014\"\n\n\"You didn't what?\" asked Yashar. \"Summon them?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"No. You just brought the Wild Hunt across and offered it souls.\"\n\n\"That . . . that's not . . .\"\n\n\"That's not how it's supposed to work? Colby, that's exactly how it works. That's how it's always worked. Damnation is a hook with bait. It looks like a meal, but there are no free lunches. Not in Hell.\"\n\n\"The Wild Hunt came to me. Threatened me. Demanded a favor of me.\"\n\n\"And now you're going to be pissed at the demon for knocking on the door so you don't have to deal with the fact that you're the one who let him in?\"\n\n\"Look outside. They're knocking again.\"\n\n\"You can't help them. And you can't look into this. You have to let them clean up their own little mess. Let them stand outside all day and night if they have to.\"\n\n\"That's the plan. But then\u2014\"\n\n\"Then what?\"\n\n\"There's something Coyote said.\"\n\nYashar's face went cold. He reached under the bar for a tall glass, unstoppered the best bottle of whiskey within reach, and filled it to the top. \"Coyote? You didn't mention Coyote.\"\n\n\"He was waiting for me when I woke up.\"\n\nYashar took a big swig. \"What did he say?\"\n\n\"You're not really going to guzzle the good stuff like that, are you?\"\n\n\"Colby\u2014\"\n\n\"Because that's really good stuff, and if you're just going to drink it like soda\u2014\"\n\n\"Colby\u2014\"\n\n\"You might as well be drinking the cheap stuff\u2014\"\n\n\"Damnit, Colby! Forget about the goddamned whiskey. What did he say?\"\n\nColby paused for a moment, sipping his own whiskey. \"He talked in riddles, mostly. Said he was looking out for me. Not to trust anyone. Then, by the end he told me that he hadn't really told me anything at all, and saying that would fuck with me later.\"\n\n\"That's fucking with you now, isn't it?\"\n\n\"It really is.\"\n\n\"Because whatever Coyote tells you to do\u2014\"\n\n\"You should do the opposite. Unless he knows you know that. Then you can't so much as get out of bed without doing what he wants.\"\n\nYashar finished the rest of his glass and began to pour another. \"What the hell are we going to do?\"\n\nColby looked up at Yashar, a hair confused. \"We?\"\n\nYashar nodded. \"This is no small affair, Colby. This is the Seventy-two. But what scares me most isn't their involvement.\"\n\n\"It isn't?\"\n\n\"No. What scares me is that this isn't a problem they can deal with themselves. Something like this should be self-correcting.\"\n\n\"Self-correcting?\"\n\n\"It means . . . take you, for example.\"\n\n\"ME?\"\n\n\"Yeah, you. Limestone Kingdom. You did a pretty good job of peeing in their Wheaties. Really shook things up out there. Those guys totally hate you.\"\n\n\"Thanks for the refresher course.\"\n\n\"What do they do now that they want you gone?\"\n\nColby shrugged, unsure where this was all going. \"Get together, maybe. Come for me in the middle of the night.\"\n\n\"Too risky. Good way to lose a lot of friends. No, someone like you, you just wait it out. One of three things is going to happen. One, maybe you get too big for your britches and run afoul of something you can't handle. Splat. Two, you mellow out, grow up a little, and work things out with the initially wronged parties. Peace reigns throughout the land. Or three, since the problem is mortal in nature\u2014\"\n\n\"They'll just wait for me to die,\" said Colby.\n\n\"They'll just wait for you to die,\" said Yashar, nodding. \"So riddle me this: what could possibly be so powerful that the scariest hombres in all the land want no part of it, have no hope for peace with it, and don't think they can outlive it?\"\n\n\"They said it was something that I killed. That some deaths take longer than others.\"\n\nYashar nodded again. \"You know who and what they're talking about, don't you?\"\n\n\"I think so.\"\n\n\"So who said what?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You said the Horse didn't do all the talking. Which one of them said what?\"\n\nColby hesitated, the fog of the last night's drinking rolling in over the memories, enveloping them, the crisp horror of etched-in shock becoming blurry shadows in a drifting haze. He remembered a man on fire, the way the flames flickered and shifted in the night. The way the embers fluttered on the breeze, delightful dancing little fragments of the damned. And he remembered a horse so black that it stood apart from the darkness. But the words, the words eluded him. \"I don't . . . I can't quite remember. I remember the gist of what they said, but not who said it.\"\n\n\"These two didn't happen upon you by accident. They were chosen to speak to you. They no doubt discussed exactly what to say before they ever showed up. These aren't just schemers, Colby. They are the greatest schemers. Seventy-two of the most cunning, underhanded backstabbers the world has ever known. They'd already thought well past this conversation and on to tomorrow before they ever stepped foot in that field. Of the sixty-seven they had, they chose Orobas and Amy. Why?\"\n\n\"The Horse and the Holocaust Man. Please.\"\n\n\"Fine. The Horse and the Holocaust Man. One can't lie. The other is still bitter he was tricked into thinking he might one day return to Heaven. Why these two? Why send them to do the talking? There are more powerful spirits. More persuasive spirits.\"\n\n\"Because these are the two I might trust.\"\n\nYashar nodded. \"Which means?\"\n\n\"I can't trust them at all.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\nColby finished his whiskey, but it did nothing to soothe the knot in his stomach. He held his glass to the light, rolling it around in his fingers, watching as the glare warped and twisted as it moved. \"They're not going to let me out of this, are they? I'm already in it.\"\n\nYashar's expression held hopeful aspirations of confidence, only to fall short, the confidence draining with the hope. \"I suppose you are.\"\n\n\"This time I've really done it. I've damned myself.\"\n\nYashar shook his head. \"Don't kid yourself, Colby. You damned yourself a long time ago.\"\n\n\"Yashar, what the hell has she become that it's come to this?\"\n\nThe two exchanged pained looks, the silence between them pregnant and brooding.\n\n\"Guys?\" asked Gossamer. \"What the hell happened in Australia?\"\nCHAPTER 19\n\nDREAMTIME AND THE LAND OF DREAMS\n\nAN EXCERPT BY DR. THADDEUS RAY, PH.D., FROM HIS BOOK DREAMSPEAKING, DREAMWALKING, AND DREAMTIME: THE WORLD ON THE OTHER SIDE OF DOWN UNDER\n\nWestern arrogance puts the cradle of civilization squarely in Mesopotamia, the root of our writing, storytelling, and technological achievements stemming from thousands of years of culture emerging from that region. And yet while our core beliefs stem from the original tales passed down around the campfires of that region, our history covers only a surprisingly short amount of time.\n\nThe Aboriginal tribes of Australia, on the other hand, constructed no great monuments, contributed no technological achievements, and offered no contribution to our emergence into history. Instead, in place of that, they possess an oral tradition stretching back tens of thousands of years. While thousands of years of man rose and fell before telling their story in clay, the Aborigines share tales of 25,000-year-old volcanic eruptions and the flooding that took place after the melting of the Ice Age. In fact, they share entire tales that take place on land that now rests at the bottom of the sea.\n\nThis is a culture that did not push forward on the cutting edge of technology because it focused instead upon mastering the power of creation. No other culture in the history of man has so understood the nature of its own surroundings, a fact mostly due to their entire culture evolving around respecting, protecting, and mastering what they live upon.\n\nTo listen to the tales of the Aborigines is to hear histories older than any text, to hear of heroes who walked the earth before it last froze over. And their tales of creation seem closer to the truth that remains today than any other I've found. To the Aborigines, the world was not simply created, it was dreamed into being. Things became conscious and then consciously began altering their surroundings.\n\nThey call it Dreamtime.\n\nDreamtime is the idea that in the beginning there was a substance of raw creation that beings, or consciousness, evolved from. Every tribe tells a different tale of the creatures that emerged, but the mechanism that follows is always the same. Those beings then walked the earth, imagining, or in some cases singing, things into being. Plants, animals, monsters, places, rivers, people. All came from the Dreamtime. Then, after most of the raw creation was spent forging the world, the beings that made it passed on and left behind a world full of wonder. Thus ended Dreamtime.\n\nTo the Aborigines, all land is sacred, for it is a place not only dreamed into being by the ancients, but it is also where the heroes of old walked. They do not merely revere their heroes, they revere the places where those heroes performed their greatest deeds. They revere the places where those heroes were born. They believe the land itself is the most important part of creation, because the land is, itself, the record of all stories.\n\nThere are three principal ideas one must grasp in order to understand the basic tenets of Aboriginal mythology: their relationship with the land, their relationship with time, and their relationship with death. Once you have those down, the rest you can pick up fairly easily.\n\nThe land. Many Aboriginal men are given custody of a parcel of land, much in the same way boys in regions of Thailand are given baby elephants. They have one job: to watch over it. Now, these men do not own the land, as they believe no one can truly own land. They merely protect it. They memorize every contour, learn the location of every rock and tree. They know which trees and bushes bear fruit and which bear poison. They learn the way the rain falls, where the water collects, and what animals come to drink. They learn the holes where all the snakes live, the caves where animals take shelter. More important, they learn, in song, the history of every important thing to ever happen on that spot of land. These men learn which hero defeated which animal with what weapon on which spot. They learn where villages rose and fell. They learn where people fell in love. They learn all of this and they protect it because it will one day be their job to pass that knowledge on to someone else.\n\nDuring their time as custodian, these men will be asked to teach the songs of their land to others passing through. They lend them to others, and they borrow others' songs when traveling. But just as no one truly owns the land, no one truly owns the songs either. We do not live long enough to own anything. We merely borrow it.\n\nTime. There was once a psychological study that looked into the way people process information chronologically. Each was given a series of photographs of a person, ranging from their birth to their death, and asked to put them in order. Westerners from countries that read from left to right placed the photos in that order. Middle Easterners from countries reading right to left also ordered the pictures as such. Those from Asian countries reading from top to bottom placed their photos in order from top to bottom. But Aborigines all put theirs differently. Some were right to left, some left to right, top to bottom, bottom to top, diagonally. The researchers were baffled. So they began to ask the participants why they ordered their pictures the way they did.\n\nThe answer? The Aborigines were placing the photos east to west. To them, lives are lived with the rising and the setting of the sun. Their story is ordered by the land's relation to the sun and that is how all time is measured.\n\nDeath. Aborigines do not, as a culture, fear death. While every tribe tells different stories of what becomes of you after death, each one believes the same basic notion. We are gifted with this life and this body, we borrow our time and sustenance from the land itself, and then, when the time comes, we go back to it. The concepts are similar to those of Native American tribes but with a much more pronounced belief in the story and history of what that life borrowed and gave back to the land.\n\nIn short, to them, all life is land, and all land is life. Their duty is to carry the burden of that land's story and gift it to the next generation. In that way the story continues. And as quaint or cute as your Western mind may imagine that is, they have successfully carried stories that predate anything resembling the first Western civilizations. What we know of our history, we learn from archaeologists making educated guesses. What they know of theirs they learn from their fathers, with a trail that leads all the way back to the people who were there.\n\nAnd knowing what we do of dreamstuff, it is very hard to write off the more creative bits as being mere mythology. On the contrary, their tales of giant rainbow-colored dragons dreaming the world into being might be the closest approximation to the true dawn of man we have on record. The question is, did man evolve and dream those creatures into being, or did they dream us awake?\nCHAPTER 20\n\nTHE CLEVEREST MAN IN ARNHEM LAND\n\nELEVEN YEARS AND NINE THOUSAND MILES AWAY\n\nColby was all of eleven years old and the Australian sun beat squarely down upon him in a way that would sap dry and kill most children his age. But not Colby. Not only had this little boy weathered the blistering drought of central Texas summers most of his life, but he had also spent the last three years of it walking the earth with Yashar through all manner of extremes. After the first year he'd stopped bothering to complain; by the end of the second he learned to enjoy the variety.\n\nHe'd been through blizzards in the Alps, monsoons in southern Asia, the skin-peeling sandstorms of scorching Persian deserts. This was just a little sun. He wore a wispy linen head wrap, sunscreen on his face, and a light robe to keep the sweat from pooling. He'd be fine.\n\nYashar, on the other hand, didn't fare so well, shuffling more than he walked, his eyelids heavy, his expression one of fevered exhaustion. It looked as if he could pass out on his feet at any moment. But it wasn't the heat weighing him down.\n\n\"Come on, Yashar. Pick up the pace,\" said Colby.\n\nYashar bristled, his young companion dancing obnoxiously on his last, frayed nerve. \"It's not too late to sell you into white slavery. You've still got a few good years left in you.\"\n\nColby laughed, knowing enough to understand Yashar was joking, but not quite enough to know what exactly he meant. \"Are we almost there?\"\n\n\"We're almost there.\"\n\n\"We should have hired a car.\"\n\n\"Rented. You're not British.\"\n\n\"Australia. We're in Australia. They say hired here. Hired sounds cooler. Rented means borrowed. Hired means employed.\"\n\nYashar grumbled, his voice gravelly and dripping with irritation. \"I know what they mean, Colby. I'm not an idiot.\"\n\nColby looked up at Yashar, worried. \"Yashar, what's wrong?\"\n\n\"Nothing is wrong.\"\n\n\"You look tired. We should stop for a while and let you get some rest.\"\n\n\"If I stop I'm going to fall asleep. I can't fall asleep.\"\n\n\"Why not? You never sleep anyway. You could use some.\"\n\nYashar stopped, gritted his teeth, and took a deep breath. Then he looked down at Colby, swallowing his welling anger, letting it simmer in his gut rather than erupt. \"Colby, djinn need to sleep. We don't do it often, only every few years, but when we do, we sleep for ages. Weeks, months, sometimes years. The next time I close my eyes, I will fall deep asleep and I have no idea how long it will be before I wake back up. I need to make sure someone will take care of you before that happens.\"\n\n\"And djinn are cranky when they're sleepy?\"\n\n\"Yes. Yes we are.\"\n\n\"Wait, are you leaving me?\"\n\nYashar nodded. \"Yes, I am. But in good hands, I promise.\"\n\n\"Where are you leaving me?\"\n\n\"With a friend. Someone who has a lot to teach you. He's the cleverest man in Arnhem Land. And he is walking just a few miles ahead of us.\"\n\n\"How long will I have to stay with him?\"\n\nShaking his head, Yashar's expression fell from one of exhaustion to one of complete uncertainty. \"I have no idea. That all depends on what the sleep demands of me.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Colby, not entirely sure what Yashar meant. \"Will you dream? When you're asleep, I mean.\"\n\nYashar smiled big and broad, his eyes brightening for the first time in days. \"Oh yes. We djinn have the most vivid, wonderful dreams. Beautiful women and magical lands, a mixture of all the things we've ever experienced combined with all the things we've ever hoped for. Some think it's where we get our power; others say it is where we go to find ourselves after serving so long the dreams of our masters. All I know is that it feels so real that you are afraid to pull away, afraid to wake up, because you don't really believe you're dreaming. You think it's real, and you're afraid waking up means dying. That's why I think we sleep so long.\"\n\n\"So you'll forget I'm out here waiting for you?\"\n\n\"I might.\"\n\n\"But you'll come back, right?\"\n\n\"Of course. I can't sleep forever.\"\n\nColby nodded, his smile weak and unconvincing. He was afraid, but trying to be strong for his friend. \"Okay. I believe you.\"\n\nYashar laughed. \"Good thing too.\"\n\nThe two continued walking, the heat getting worse as the sun rose higher. \"Are you going to be able to make it much farther?\"\n\n\"I think so. I have to.\"\n\n\"We should have hired a car,\" said Colby.\n\nYashar nodded. \"We should have hired a car.\"\n\nMANDU MERIJEDI BASKED cross-legged in the sun atop an oblong seven-foot-high, red granite boulder, his eyes closed, hands extended palms up, elbows resting on his knees. The sun sat in the sky both perfectly above and behind him, as if placed there deliberately. This was not only Colby's first impression of the man, but also how he would remember Mandu forever. There was something infinitely wise about him waiting there silently for his destiny. So calm. So peaceful. Mandu waited, knowing full well that his life, at any moment, was about to change. And the fact that this did not scare him made quite an impression.\n\nYashar looked down at Colby, his eyes weary and bloodshot. \"Wait here,\" he said. \"No matter what happens, don't leave this spot.\"\n\nColby swallowed hard. He didn't like it when Yashar said that.\n\nYashar stepped forward, took a deep breath, and exploded.\n\nHis flesh burned yellow, then gold. He swelled in size and smoked. His head went bald, his muscles rippling, eyes glowing a hellish red. Then his voice boomed like a vocal earthquake, rumbling like thunder, drifting into the desert, scaring bandicoots into their holes.\n\n\"MANDU MERIJEDI!\" he shouted, the rock beneath Mandu shaking with the sound. \"I DEMAND AN AUDIENCE!\"\n\nBut while the earth trembled, Mandu did not. \"You have found him, spirit,\" said Mandu, quietly. \"I am he.\" He did not open his eyes; he merely breathed calmly, not moving a muscle.\n\n\"I HAVE A TASK FOR YOU!\"\n\n\"What spirit calls me?\" he asked as if he did not know.\n\n\"YASHAR, THE CURSED ONE, SPIRIT OF THE . . .\"\n\n\"So much smoke and noise for such a simple spirit. I know who you are. This\"\u2014he said, waving his hand around at Yashar as if he could see him\u2014\"is not who you are.\"\n\nYashar swore beneath his breath. \"I HAVE A\u2014\"\n\nMandu opened a single eye, peering mischievously, patting the spot on the boulder beside him. \"Yashar, come sit. Come sit.\"\n\nYashar sighed, his powerful form deflating. His muscles withered, the glint of his skin fading back into a dark olive, smoke dissipating weakly into a mist before vaporizing into nothing at all. He was once again Yashar the man. Slowly he crawled up the boulder and took a seat next to Mandu. \"That . . . that actually is my natural form,\" he said softly.\n\nMandu closed his eye, shaking his head, and continued to seemingly meditate. \"But that is not who you are. You prefer this form. You prefer this voice. The rest of that was all for show.\"\n\n\"It was.\"\n\n\"I don't need a show. I respect your power, spirit.\"\n\n\"I need a favor.\"\n\nMandu smiled. \"Of course you do. You wouldn't be here otherwise. What brings you so far from home?\"\n\n\"I bring you a young dreamwalker who needs to learn the old ways.\"\n\nMandu opened his eyes, eyeing Colby up and down. Colby's clothes were ratty, beaten and torn by the Australian bush, his face dirty, freckled, and tanned, his red hair wrapped in linen. \"But he's a white fella,\" said Mandu. \"And he's not dreaming. He's awake.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Yashar.\n\n\"You can't teach the white fellas the old ways. They don't understand them.\"\n\n\"This one can.\"\n\n\"No, it can't be done.\"\n\n\"Mandu, I'm tired. I need to sleep. Colby here is in my charge. I need him looked after and I need him to learn the old ways.\"\n\n\"Why the old ways? Why not his own ways?\"\n\n\"It was his wish.\"\n\nMandu looked at Yashar, his eyes confused, incredulous. \"What's this?\"\n\n\"He wants to learn the old ways. He's a good pupil. Fascinated by it all. His wish was to learn about . . . the way things really are. This is where it all began. Wouldn't you agree?\"\n\nMandu nodded slowly, now more curious than indifferent. \"What are you offering?\"\n\n\"Mandu\u2014\"\n\n\"You know the rules. I do the spirit a favor and the spirit does a favor for me.\"\n\n\"What you ask is dangerous, my wishes, they\u2014\"\n\n\"I know your curse, so my demand is this: you must never, ever, no matter how long from now it is, grant the wish of a single fella of Arnhem Land. It will stay free of your curse and none shall know the sorrow of your broken gifts.\"\n\n\"And for that you will train the boy? Look after him until I get back?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then I promise,\" said Yashar.\n\n\"Say the words.\"\n\nYashar fought through his weariness, clearing his throat, adding a bit of proper, rehearsed seriousness to his tone. \"I promise never to grant the wish of a single person of Arnhem Land, no matter what the circumstances, in exchange for your tutelage of, and promise to care for, the boy Colby Stevens.\"\n\n\"Okay. I agree.\" Mandu popped to his feet and hopped off the rock, sliding down the side as if he'd done it a thousand times. \"'Ey, little fella. Get over here.\"\n\nColby rushed over, his eyes wide with excitement. \"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"I'm Mandu.\"\n\n\"I'm Colby.\"\n\n\"So I hear.\" He motioned back to Yashar, who carefully made his way down from the top of the rock. \"It looks like you'll be spending some time here with us. Is that right?\"\n\nColby nodded.\n\n\"Okay. Well, we have a long walk ahead of us. Can you handle that?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir!\"\n\n\"Yashar, you can rest now.\"\n\nYashar sighed deeply, sat down on the ground, his back against the boulder, slowly, but surely, turning invisible.\n\n\"Wait!\" said Colby, running to his side. \"You can't go to sleep yet. I don't know anybody else.\" He took Yashar's massive hand in his own, gripping a finger with each hand.\n\n\"You will,\" said Yashar, smiling weakly. He peeled Colby's linen head wrap back from his head, ruffling his thick red hair playfully. \"You will.\"\n\n\"I'll miss you.\"\n\n\"I would miss you too, but I'll no doubt dream of our adventures.\" Yashar's eyes fluttered, exhaustion getting the better of him.\n\n\"Good night, Yashar.\"\n\n\"Good night, Colby,\" he rasped before winking out of sight. \"Be good for Mandu.\"\n\nAnd then he was gone.\n\n\"Come on,\" said Mandu. \"Let's walk.\"\nCHAPTER 21\n\nTHE CLEVER MEN\n\nAN EXCERPT BY DR. THADDEUS RAY, PH.D., FROM HIS BOOK DREAMSPEAKING, DREAMWALKING, AND DREAMTIME: THE WORLD ON THE OTHER SIDE OF DOWN UNDER\n\nThe true power of the songlines is a closely guarded secret, but far from the only one the medicine men of the Aborigine tribes keep from the outside world. These medicine men, known as Clever Men or Men of High Degree, spend a vast majority of their life training in the many secrets of their ancestors. The most important of these secrets is the ability to dreamspeak.\n\nDreamspeaking is what many in the West refer to as the sight, the ability to peer behind the veil and commune with the spirits who live there. Clever Men accomplish this through meditation and ritual. It is a rare Clever Man who natively possesses the ability to see and hear spirits. Those who have such skills are revered as possible dreamheroes, people who have lives that intertwine with powerful spirits and accomplish some great deed as a result. Those with gifts find their way into apprenticeship regardless of birth or tribal standing, whereas most Clever Men are chosen as children for such training as a result of relation to a current or past Clever Man.\n\nA second and much more heavily guarded secret is the capacity to dreamwalk. Dreamwalking is the ability to astrally project, to unmoor yourself from your body, leaving it behind while your spirit traverses beyond the veil. Traveling this way leaves behind a single, thin, often silvery thread that maintains the link between your body and soul. This allows the traveler to freely explore the world in spirit form, perceivable only by other spirits and beings of dreamstuff, unhindered by terrain, distance, or time. If that thread is severed, the spirit may not be able to return to its body and may end up wandering the earth, lost, until its body expires, extinguishing its spirit with it.\n\nClever Men use the ability to dreamwalk to commune with spirits, with whom they strike bargains or make deals that benefit and protect their tribe. A Clever Man's primary obligation, the whole reason for their being in certain tribes, is to keep the supernatural world at bay and to treat the maladies vexing his people who come into unfortunate contact with creatures beyond the veil.\n\nAnd this is where the values of the West differ from those of native Australia. A Clever Man's power, his standing as a man of high degree, is reflected not in the power of his spells or in his strength against the supernatural, but rather in his ability to outwit those he comes into contact with. A good Clever Man doesn't have to fight supernatural creatures; he merely needs to convince them to go elsewhere. Thus the very best of the Clever Men prove to be cunning tricksters who employ deceit and guile to turn a spirit's own powers and weaknesses upon itself.\n\nClever Men are also employed as doctors, but mostly as spiritual healers, exorcising the possessed, cleansing those taken ill by the powers of spirits, or simply granting some sort of spiritual resistance against such incursions. The outback of Australia, which is among the most dreamstuff-rich areas left in the world, provides quite a bit of fuel for aspiring medicine men intent on restructuring the reality around them. However, this is a double-edged sword for a superstitious people. Someone who believes strongly enough that breaking a taboo or invoking the wrath of the land can lead to illness or harm opens himself up to his reality being restructured to just that. These Clever Men are needed to provide healing from the things physical medicine cannot.\n\nThis, however, is where the Clever Men of many tribes part ways. For not all Clever Men have the same skills or possess the same talents. Different tribes across the continent ascribe very different powers to their Clever Men, who carefully guard them from others. These gifts range from being able to speak with animals, to manipulating the weather, on to telepathy, cursing others with maladies, or unleashing the fury of spirits upon them.\n\nBut none are so powerful or feared as the sorcerers of Arnhem Land, the one territory in all of Australia where sorcery is not only openly practiced but also acknowledged as such. There, in the deepest regions of the Northern Territory, medicine men practice dark arts and outright sorcery to protect their people, collect debts, or avenge vendettas. Theirs are the secrets of soul stealing, an ancient, terrible practice that involves subtle, devious murder by way of capturing and torturing the soul while leaving the still conscious husk of a body behind to slowly die. Here tribes do battle through silent warfare, sneaking into enemy camps at night, stealing the souls of their victims, and leaving them to grow sick and die long after they've returned home. This is when the healer must become the detective and hope to discern such assaults while there is still time to retrieve the soul, if not simply track down the assailant.\n\nSorcerers of Arnhem Land also possess the ability to step into trees, disappearing as if into mud, and exiting from other trees sometimes miles away. They create illusions that distract or confuse opponents. Some can implant ideas or thoughts as a form of subtle mind control. Others can run at least a meter off the ground, their feet never touching the soil, or summon cords from their own bodies that they can use to climb without the need of a vertical surface.\n\nThe most powerful among them even understands the fundamental nature of true sorcery, that being the direct alteration of dreamstuff to be shaped to their will. These men are unbound by convention and lack the restrictions of most Clever Men. Fortunately these men are few and far between and in my travels I have encountered only two men capable of doing such things.\nCHAPTER 22\n\nROCKS AND THROWING STARS\n\nELEVEN YEARS AND NINE THOUSAND MILES AWAY\n\nThe hot sun blazed down from the heavens, the land seared by its glare. Mandu stood comfortably, naked save for the pouch he carried his valuables in, regaling Colby with half a dozen different tales all tied to the three-foot-high boulder that rested precariously before them. Colby, on the other hand, slouched, his shoulders drooping, interest waning.\n\n\"I don't understand, Mandu,\" he said. \"What does this have to do with my walkabout?\"\n\n\"It's the story of the land. You have to know it to understand the song.\"\n\n\"What do a bunch of old stories about dead people have to do with the song?\"\n\nMandu frowned. \"I was told you were curious. That you were clever. That you wanted to learn. But all I see is another silly boy. You want to learn magic but don't want to study it.\"\n\n\"I already know magic,\" said Colby, his tone pinched and whiny. \"It doesn't have anything to do with old stories.\"\n\n\"It has everything to do with old stories.\"\n\n\"No it doesn't.\"\n\nMandu smiled, his face vanishing into sunbaked creases and crow's-feet. \"Fine then. You know magic so well, perhaps you should teach me. Show me something. Show me some magic.\"\n\nColby perked up, the lesson suddenly becoming interesting. \"Okay! Watch this!\" He reared back, intertwined his fingers, popping his knuckles, concentrating on the air around him. Dreamstuff flowed thick and slow through the land like molasses, unmolested and rich.\n\nColby focused the energy around him, then let loose.\n\nThe air ignited, first fire arcing like lightning, balling up into a small sun five feet in front of him, then darkening, siphoning all the light around it until the tiny sun became a ball of blackness, drinking in the warmth from the earth, no light, nor heat, escaping from its surface. The world began to grow cold around them, dimming the daylight into a twilight-tinged dusk.\n\nThen Colby swayed into a kata, a martial-arts-like dance, with the black sphere swaying before him as if at the end of a string. He clenched his fists and the sphere burst, reshaping into the form of a long, thin, Chinese dragon, blackest of black, seven feet long, soaring across the sand, its tail whipping, drinking the heat from the air.\n\nFinally, it burst one more time, Colby shredding its essence with a gesture, his arms held wide like a gymnast at the end of a routine, small scraps of black evaporating into the returning dry, blistering afternoon swelter.\n\nFor a moment he felt overwhelmed, dizzy, his head tingling. He was unaccustomed to weaving dreamstuff this raw, heavy, and abundant. It was as if he'd plugged in a portable radio to the direct current flowing out of an electric plant. Colby had no idea what to do with so much power.\n\nIt was all he could do to stem the flow away from what he was reweaving.\n\nMandu's smile had faded, his eyes wide with shock. As Colby presented himself, sweating, looking as if he was about to pass out, Mandu's eyes swelled with anger. \"When the spirit told me of your power, I had no idea you knew so much! And understood so little.\" Mandu walked toward Colby, putting a fatherly hand on his shoulder, guiding him to sit with his back against the rock.\n\n\"Wasn't that cool?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mandu. \"You understand the ideas of magic, but have no discipline. You know that lighting oil makes fire, but instead of dipping in a wick for hours of light, you dump the oil out on the ground and light it for a few seconds of fire. That is not how we use the energy around us. It is not how it was meant to be used.\"\n\n\"But that's how you do it. You take it and make something else out of it.\"\n\nAt that moment, Mandu finally understood why Yashar had brought the boy to him. He shook his head, pointing at the boulder against which Colby propped himself up. \"Let me tell you about this rock.\"\n\n\"Oh man, the rock again?\"\n\n\"The rock.\" Mandu sat across from Colby, his eyes locked with his pupil's, Mandu's demeanor reverent. \"Once there was a great but cruel hunter. A man capable of bringing down any beast in the land with a single throw of a rock. He could wing a rock sideways, skipping a stone off the water seven times, and kill a thing across the river.\n\n\"One day this man was out chasing some wild thing across the land, all the way to a distant river, and he found himself farther away from his camp than he ever had been. And as he reached into his dilly bag for a stone to kill the thing dead while it drank, he saw the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, bathing in the river. He whooped loud, getting her attention\u2014and also the attention of the beast\u2014then flung his rock, hitting the thing right between the eyes. It dropped dead right there.\n\n\"Well, the hunter then slung the kill up over his back, crossed the river, took the girl by the hand, and asked her to lead him to her camp. There he approached the elders\u2014all well past their prime\u2014and asked to wed the girl from the river. Now, this camp had a problem. The past two generations had produced very few boys, and of those boys, few were worthwhile hunters. But here was a man who could kill such large beasts with a single stone. Though he was arrogant and brash and the girl did not love him, they consented to let him stay to court her in hopes that she would.\n\n\"But what none of them knew was that she loved another, a weaker hunter but a more gentle and noble man. When the hunter learned of this other suitor, he saw to it that he spent every waking moment around the girl, keeping the suitor at bay except for when he was away hunting. Even then, the hunter saw to it to kill quickly only game close to camp in order to limit her exposure to his competition.\n\n\"Finally, after he could bear it no longer, the hunter proposed to the girl, finally asking for her hand in marriage. She denied him, telling him for once and for all that she did not love him and never could. Well, the hunter, angered by this, picked her up and slung her over his shoulder to bring her back to his own people. He ran and the girl's tribe ran after them, the young suitor running fastest of all. But as she was slight and he was strong, and there was little but open ground between the two camps, the suitor and his tribesmen were unable to catch up to them.\n\n\"At last, the hunter reached sight of his old camp, just over there in the hills behind you.\" Mandu pointed at a rocky outcropping in the distance, at the edge of a dry billabong\u2014a small, rain-created lake. \"But he saw no fires, and the shelters had been taken down. It was then that he realized how much time had passed since he had last seen his people\u2014the months he had spent pining for this girl\u2014and he now knew that they had long ago moved on to some other watering hole. He was angry as ever, and threw the girl down on the ground, intent on whipping her with his spear for what she had made him do. He threw her there, right where you're sitting.\"\n\nColby looked down at the ground around him. \"Here?\"\n\nMandu nodded, walking toward Colby, casting a long shadow over him. \"Right there. And the hunter stood here, unslinging his spear.\"\n\n\"What happened next?\"\n\n\"The other suitor showed up.\"\n\nColby's eyes went wide, and he leaned forward, desperate to hear what happened next. \"And?\"\n\n\"He called out to the hunter, demanding he let her go. But the hunter sneered and cast his spear at the young man, killing him instantly. The girl leaped to her feet and climbed atop that rock, crying over her dead love. And as the hunter went to retrieve his spear, she realized she had nothing left keeping her here on this world and jumped\u2014right there from atop that rock\u2014into the sky!\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"She leaped so hard and so far that she crossed over from this world into the sky world where she became a constellation. And the hunter, madly in love and ever the angrier, climbed atop that rock and jumped into the sky after her. There, he grabbed stars from the night sky to throw at her, trying to stop her so he could catch her for once and for all, but the stars burned his hands and he missed. And he missed again. And again. And again. And now, on dark nights, once a year, you can look above you in the night sky and see the rocks he throws fall from the heavens, burning through the night, missing the woman he wants and loves so much.\"\n\nColby crossed his arms and peered up at Mandu, who still loomed over him from the vantage point of the hunter. \"But what does that have to do with magic?\" he asked.\n\n\"Close your eyes.\"\n\nColby closed his eyes.\n\n\"Concentrate on the rock. Can you feel it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Colby, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.\n\n\"No, can you feel it? Like you can the dream in the air?\"\n\nColby focused and his indignation fell away. He could feel the tickle of the rock, a slight pulsing vibration. It tasted like love and agony, loss and anger. \"Yeah! It's really just a little bit, but it's there.\"\n\n\"Concentrate harder now. Try to touch that energy with your mind.\"\n\nColby reached out again, his mind wandering through the essence of the stone. \"I feel it. It's cold. Permanent. Like ice to water.\"\n\n\"Yes. Yes,\" said Mandu. \"That's djang.\"\n\n\"Djang?\"\n\n\"How do you think the girl jumped so far?\"\n\n\"I don't think she really jumped that far. That's just a story.\"\n\n\"She jumped that far because she used the same dream you did to make your dragon. But when she did, she left a little of that energy behind, in the land\u2014in the rock\u2014and now, if someone wants, they can tap into that rock to leap across to the sky world.\"\n\n\"Really?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"Yes, really. That's how we use magic out here. We learn the land, we learn its stories, and we learn to use the spots where magic already exists. The dream, it is all around us, dreaming even as we are awake. Borrow the magic of the land and the land remains magical. Use it up and you end up, well, with the world of the white fella\u2014with a burned-out husk where wonder used to be. You see how powerful your magic is out here?\"\n\nColby nodded. \"Yeah. It's really strong.\"\n\n\"Let's keep it that way. From now on, I teach you the magic of the land. The songs. The history. You will learn how to make the land your ally. And then, it won't matter how little magic there is around you. I'll teach you to use djang. You won't need anything else.\"\nCHAPTER 23\n\nON DJANG\n\nAN EXCERPT BY DR. THADDEUS RAY, PH.D., FROM HIS BOOK DREAMSPEAKING, DREAMWALKING, AND DREAMTIME: THE WORLD ON THE OTHER SIDE OF DOWN UNDER\n\nOnce one has his mind wrapped around the concept of dreamstuff, understanding djang should be no great leap. It is, after all, something akin to the condensed residue of dreamstuff that has been exerted upon an object. If inanimate objects had a soul, it would be djang, which is really the easiest way to think about it, except that it should be stressed that it doesn't lead to sentience.\n\nThroughout history mankind has revered artifacts, places, and the heroes who utilized them in their great feats. Tales have been told of magic swords, holy grails, places of power, even lucky pieces of clothing. These items, the ones used by the heroes in their great deeds, or the places where they performed those deeds, possess djang.\n\nThe mechanics of djang aren't quite understood, leading to a number of theories of their creation, two of which seem the most likely. One theory argues that great deeds accomplished through the use of dreamstuff\u2014or that had a profound effect on the dreamstuff of an area\u2014leave an imprint on certain objects, a spiritual fingerprint, if you will.\n\nA dagger is used to sacrifice a virgin before a powerful god, the divinity of that \"deity\" flowing through the priest. That dagger retains some of the dreamstuff released when the virgin is killed, as it also captures a bit of the essence of the priest delivering a soul. While the portion might be very small, it fundamentally restructures the object and imparts properties that the actor, either consciously or unconsciously, wills it to have. When used by someone who understands how to unlock djang, the dagger above might possess the ability to offer any life snuffed out by it to that god. Or it might stay incredibly sharp, never dulling or rusting. It might also be attracted to the heart of a victim when used in a fight. Or it could serve as a way to communicate with the \"deity\" to which it was dedicated, no matter where on earth it might be.\n\nThe second theory holds that it is not the act that imprints the dreamstuff upon an object, but rather the belief by others in the power of the object or place. People believing a place to be holy, reweave the nature of that place and make it so. The more people who put their faith in the nature of such a place, the stronger that place's connection is to those properties. This theory mirrors the creation of supernatural creatures, which makes it more likely, but as the mechanism of accessing the abilities is different, there is still plenty of reason to believe the former might still be correct. Someone simply believing they can access the powers of a thing or a place does not necessarily allow them to do so, which runs counter to the way supernatural creatures function with belief.\n\nAccessing the djang of a thing takes practice. It usually requires a thorough knowledge of its history, its handlers, and its powers, though some practitioners have mastered the ability to sense and tap into the djang of an object on a purely primal level, able to feel their way through what an object is both capable of and \"wants\" to do.\n\nThe word djang comes from the Aboriginal people of Australia, who impart the term purely to places or naturally occurring objects, like trees, rocks, billabongs, or mountains. To the Aborigines, a holy place grants those knowledgeable of the location's history to tap into the energy of the past and use that energy to accomplish similar feats. A rock used as the spot to launch oneself into the sky might become the place Clever Men use to cross over into the land of the dead. A watering hole used to trick another tribe into drowning themselves might become a meditation spot for others to discern how to best outsmart their own enemies. A tree a Clever Man used to travel farther than any Clever Man before him might become a doorway to any other tree in the outback.\n\nAll of this can be accomplished by understanding and tapping into the djang.\nCHAPTER 24\n\nFISHING\n\nMind the trees,\" said Mandu, pointing to the canopy above them. \"Dangerous things in the dark up there.\"\n\n\"Snakes?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"Worse. Snakes'll just eat you. Yara-ma-yha-who will spit you back out. And you don't want that. They'll drop right out of the trees.\"\n\nThese were the wetlands just south of Arnhem Land; trees were everywhere. There was no avoiding them. Gray trunks like spires, fields of them, growing up and out of the thick morass of brown mud, reaching to the cloud-darkened sky. Mosquitoes as big as a quarter, flies working in mobs, leeches in every puddle.\n\nColby looked suspiciously toward the treetops. \"What are they? What am I looking for?\"\n\n\"Bright red, can't miss 'em. Just keep your eye out and don't stand too close to low branches.\"\n\nColby looked around, horrified. Mandu secretly smiled.\n\nThey came upon a large stone plateau, rising like a giant mushroom out of the sea of mangrove trees, its faces sheer, wider at the top than the middle, reds and browns dripping down the sides, jagged rocks climbing the western face like chiseled stone steps. It was like an abandoned Aztec temple, overgrown and swallowed by time, overlooking a wide billabong. Hammer Rock.\n\nAs they got closer, Colby spied ten-thousand-year-old rock art, ancient but bright, unmolested by time. Reds, ochers, blues, blacks. Smears and stains, depictions of stick men covering it from top to bottom, colors often inverted with negative space, detailing the magic aura of dreamtime with pigments, leaving the stick men colored by the rock, dotted with little dabs of paint.\n\nThe billabong was a dark, murky brown, reeds rising up and out of it, the ripples of fish sweeping bugs off the surface lapping gentle waves along the bank. It was a picturesque place woven wholly of magic, kept out of the hands of anyone who couldn't appreciate it.\n\n\"Good a place as any,\" said Mandu, pulling a hatchet from his dilly bag. \"Come here.\"\n\nColby rushed to his side. \"Yeah?\"\n\n\"Time you learned how to fish, proper.\"\n\n\"I know how to fish,\" he said with a sigh.\n\n\"With a hatchet?\" asked Mandu, holding up a battered, weathered, sharpened hunk of metal, slightly rusted around the edges.\n\nColby's eyes grew wide. \"No!\" he said excitedly.\n\n\"Today you will.\" He swung the hatchet, peeling a layer of bark off a nearby emu apple tree. Then he did it again. And again, repeating the process until he'd stripped the tree raw, oozing from a dozen wide gashes. \"Follow me.\"\n\nHe walked Colby to the billabong with an armload of sticky bark, then dropped it in a pile by the bank, sitting down, inviting Colby to do the same. Then he began to pound the bark mercilessly with the blunt end of the hatchet. \"That's an emu apple tree,\" he said. \"Its sap is found deep inside its bark. You have to pound it free.\"\n\n\"What do we need the sap for?\"\n\n\"Fishing.\"\n\n\"Is it bait?\"\n\nMandu shook his head. \"No, it's not bait.\"\n\n\"What does it do?\"\n\n\"You'll see.\"\n\n\"Why don't we just make a rod? Or a spear?\"\n\nMandu smiled as if Colby had walked into his trap. \"You white fellas always think about the land as if it is something to fight against. To struggle with. You would rather try to lure in a fish and fight with it. But here is a tree by the water that will do all the work for you. The land isn't your enemy, Colby. It is your ally. Learn from it. Use it. We have many friends out here in the bush. Start thinking of it that way, and the land will keep you alive. Even when all else is trying to kill you. Now,\" he said, filling Colby's hands with a molasses of chewed-up wood. \"Sprinkle this in the water. Enjoy the swim. We'll be cooking up fish soon enough.\"\n\n\"Mandu?\" asked Colby, hesitantly.\n\n\"Yeah?\"\n\n\"Why are we fishing?\"\n\n\"Because I'm hungry. And we're having company. It's always polite to feed company.\"\n\nColby felt silly, dog-paddling through the water, tossing clumps of gooey bark into the bottom of the billabong. But within moments the fish started floating to the top. The first were merely disoriented, gasping for air at the waterline, puckered mouths desperate, gills flapping furiously. They ducked and dodged as best they could, wriggling out of Colby's grip as he tried to catch them barehanded, but he made easy work of them, tossing them to Mandu like footballs.\n\nThe next batch, however, floated up on their sides, some even belly up. Colby scooped them up by the armful, throwing them to shore, each time giving Mandu an inquisitive look, as if to ask, \"Do we have enough yet?\" before Mandu responded with a stiff arm and stern finger pointing him back into the water.\n\n\"The sap of the emu apple tree absorbs lots of oxygen when it gets wet. Sucks it all up, eh? Soon after, the fish get light-headed and pass out. Either that or they swim to the surface looking for air. They float to the top, we take the fish. Very easy.\"\n\n\"Mandu,\" asked Colby, tossing two more fish onshore. \"You know a lot about spirits, right?\"\n\n\"I get by.\"\n\n\"Can I ask you something?\"\n\n\"Anything.\"\n\n\"Why do spirits always keep their promises, even if it means dying?\"\n\nMandu smiled, nodding knowingly. \"Ah, the spirits, they cannot tell you why, can they?\"\n\nColby shook his head, wading back deep into the billabong.\n\n\"Because they themselves do not understand. Look around you. What do you see?\"\n\n\"Trees, mostly. A big rock.\"\n\n\"Do you see any laws?\"\n\n\"What? No. You can't see laws.\"\n\n\"Nah. Because they don't really exist, eh? We make them up, convince ourselves they're real. They're only enforced when someone believes they should be. Whole world put together by rules other people believe should exist.\"\n\n\"What does that have to do with spirits though?\"\n\n\"The spirits only exist because we believe they do. We dream them and they become real.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Colby. \"That's not right. You don't have to believe in a spirit for it to exist.\"\n\n\"Not once it believes in itself. Once it believes in its own existence, it doesn't need anyone else. But that which is made up of belief is bound by it. Act against the nature that holds you together, violate the things that you believe make you exist, and you are unmade as that belief evaporates.\"\n\nColby scooped a few more fish off the surface. \"So if they believe they have to keep a promise, they have to, or they cease to exist?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Oh!\"\n\n\"The power of man over spirits is that he is a physical thing. Only the self and the society around him exist entirely because he believes it does. But when he stops believing in those things, he can just remake them. He doesn't have to keep his word, doesn't have to find a loophole to cheat. He just can. Thus man can never be trusted. But if he's smart, he can always get more out of the spirits than the spirits get out of him.\"\n\n\"Is that what a Clever Man does?\"\n\n\"That's exactly what a Clever Man does.\"\n\n\"How many fish do we need, Mandu?\" he finally asked, exasperated.\n\n\"How many do we have?\"\n\nColby looked down at his feet. Seven trips he'd made, making a pile tall and deep of wriggling, dying fish. Mandu eyed the pile, shrugging. \"A lot,\" said Colby, pointing.\n\n\"And how many of those do you reckon you'd have caught with a rod or a spear?\"\n\nColby scuffed his feet, still staring at the ground, embarrassed by the lesson. \"Not that many.\"\n\n\"I reckon not. When you're up against great numbers, never fight them head on. Be clever. Know the land. Know the rules. And rather than struggle with them, get them to do exactly what you want.\" He eyed the pile, doing the math in his head. \"That oughta do.\" Then he reached into his dilly bag and pulled from it his bullroarer, which he whirled about, making a louder, shriller noise than Colby had yet heard from it.\n\nAnd then the forest came alive with motion.\n\nMimis poured out of every imaginable place. From under rocks, behind trees, out of bushes, beneath roots, out of the water, seemingly out of the sky, dropping from the canopy. They were long and thin, their bodies a series of lines, like dried branches\u2014painted red with white dots, or blue with yellow, black with red, or green with white\u2014stuck together to make the crude shape of a person. Though half as tall as a grown man, not a one could have weighed more than five pounds, each wispy enough that a stiff wind could have snapped it in half. Before long, a throng of painted stick men stood before them, bobbing, chanting, some fifty strong, the tallest no more than three feet high, looking exactly like they did in the rock paintings.\n\nMandu let the bullroarer wind down, raising his other hand. \"Friends,\" he said. \"This is Colby. He's going to be out here with us for a while.\"\n\nThe mimis let out shrill twitters and hoots, crying out in languages and dialects Colby couldn't even fathom. And though he had no idea what any one of them was saying, he got the general idea.\n\n\"Good. Good,\" said Mandu. \"I want you all to meet him. But first, we eat!\"\nCHAPTER 25\n\nTHE RUM THIEF\n\nTell me about your dreams,\" said Wade, his breath strong with coffee, his hands still red, nicked and sore from the cannery. \"Where are you going to go tonight?\"\n\n\"You don't believe my dreams,\" said Kaycee. She was tucked in bed, tattered covers up around her neck, her father hovering over her, perching on the edge of the bed.\n\n\"I believe that you believe them.\"\n\n\"That doesn't mean you believe anything.\"\n\n\"I believe in you. And I believe in your dreams. So where you going tonight? To see your friend?\"\n\nKaycee nodded.\n\n\"Are you looking for the bunyip again?\"\n\nAgain she nodded. \"He's out there somewhere.\"\n\n\"Yes he is. And if anyone can find him, you will.\"\n\n\"I wish you could come with me. Then I could show you. I could introduce you to my friend and show you the way the stars look and the way the air dances. There are so many colors, so many more than when we're awake.\"\n\n\"I wish I could go too. But you're with me, you know. In my dreams.\"\n\n\"You dream about me?\" she asked, her lips curling into a slight smile, her eyes twinkling a bit.\n\nWade leaned in, spoke softly, as if sharing a secret. \"All the time. I dream about the cannery too. But I try not to think about those. Your dreams sound much better than those.\"\n\n\"Do you dream about Mom?\"\n\nWade looked down at his daughter, his eyes welling with sadness. He gritted his teeth and fought back the tingles of tears. \"Every night.\"\n\n\"Tell me about her.\"\n\n\"Kaycee, I\u2014\"\n\n\"I tell you about my dreams. But I never get to see her in those. I only know her from the pictures. Please?\"\n\nHe paused, weighing the ache of his heart against the thought of disappointing his daughter. Then he nodded, trying to smile. \"She was the most beautiful girl in all the world, your mother. Everything you said about the colors and the air and the stars. That's what she was like. Being with her did that to everything. She was my dreamtime. She was\u2014\" He broke off, held back the stutter of a sudden sob. \"Hold on, Dad needs a drink.\"\n\nWade tried to stand up, but Kaycee grabbed him by the cuff of his sleeve, shaking her head. \"No. Stay here. Tell me about her.\"\n\n\"I'll be right back. I'm really thirsty.\"\n\n\"Dad, no. Stay here.\"\n\nHe relaxed, put his meaty hand, abraded with scars, on Kaycee's thick black hair, stroking it gently. \"She had hair like yours. Exactly like yours. Curly. Never wanted to do what she wanted it to in the morning. On days when it was hot and the rains were coming, it would frizz out\u2014and because she was tall and thin, she looked like a woolly tree fern.\" Wade boomed out a laugh, trying to mask how hard the words were to get out. \"But she was beautiful, even then.\"\n\n\"Did you tell her?\"\n\n\"Every day. Even on the hot wet ones when she banged on and on about how her hair was a tangle.\"\n\n\"If you had to choose, would you pick\u2014\"\n\nWade's eyes went wide and his face went red. The monstrous Wade Looes now hovered, terrifying, over his daughter. \"Don't you dare! Don't you ask me that!\" His sudden anger caught her off guard. She'd never seen him this angry, not when he was stone-cold sober.\n\n\"But if you could\u2014\"\n\n\"No! Don't you ever think about that.\"\n\n\"But why did she have to . . . I mean, I never even got to see her.\"\n\nWade calmed, trying hard not to scare his little girl. \"Because sometimes things are like that. Some people are only allowed to have one truly amazing person in their life at a time. If I had both of you, I would have been too blessed for words. That much joy, it makes a man soft. We're Looeses. Looeses are hard. Tough. Nothing can stop us. So I had many years with her and now I get many years with you. If I didn't have you, well . . . I'm not sure even a Looes is tough enough for that.\"\n\n\"I love you, Dad.\"\n\nWade stroked his daughter's cheek, a tear forming defiantly in his eye. \"I love you, darlin'. Now get to sleep. Dreamtime's waitin'.\"\n\nTHE PRETTY LITTLE girl in the purple pajamas was racing beneath the stars once again, the moon bright, the land effulgent. She ran past the black stump and knew that she was free. Time bent and the universe bowed and all the world became a dream; there was nothing that was going to stop her from finding bunyip tonight. Not a thing in the world. Not even the murder of crows trailing behind her.\n\nThey'd been following her since just outside her house, a mass of chirping, onyx-black beasts slightly larger than the average crow, their eyes glistening a sickly yellow, their beaks shiny, polished, sharp. Their wings beat loudly behind her, their squawks screaming for her to wait up.\n\nThen they changed, their feathers molting, their bodies shifting. Black became pure darkness, and their sleek avian features gave way to oblong shadows. They were at once like squashed men, their heads bent in odd directions, and their arms cocked every which way.\n\nThey ran, scurrying, galloping across the land on all fours, barking shrill chirrups into the night. One of them, the fastest among them, trailed very close, so close she could feel its hot breath on her neck.\n\n\"Why are you running so fast?\" it asked, galloping up alongside her.\n\n\"I'm hunting bunyip,\" said the girl.\n\n\"Why would you be looking for a bunyip?\"\n\n\"Because I was told that I would find one.\"\n\n\"But they're very dangerous. You could be eaten.\"\n\n\"I won't be eaten,\" she said.\n\n\"But how do you know you won't be eaten?\"\n\n\"Because finding the bunyip is my destiny. And being eaten by a bunyip would be a terrible destiny that no one would bother telling me about.\"\n\nThe shadow thought about this for a moment\u2014his feet wheeling furiously to keep up with her\u2014then nodded. \"That's an excellent point. But you won't find a bunyip going this way.\"\n\n\"And how do you know that?\"\n\n\"Because we see them all the time. And they're never out in this direction.\"\n\nThe pretty little girl stopped in her tracks. The shadows swarmed, forming a circle around her, each ten feet out, not a one of them standing too close. \"You know where the bunyip are?\" she asked.\n\nThe shadow nodded, waving his stubby, handless arms in the air. \"Of course we do.\"\n\nShe looked around at all the other shadows, every last one nodding as she glanced their way. Each was about three feet tall, boxy, malformed, their proportions all out of whack, with one hand at the end of one arm and a blurry stump at the end of the other. \"Would you show me?\"\n\nThe shadows silently exchanged curious looks before turning to look at the fastest of them\u2014the handless one. Jeronimus. He nodded. \"Of course we can show you where the bunyip are. But only if you do something for us first.\"\n\n\"Why do I have to do something for you?\"\n\n\"Because those are the rules.\"\n\nShe put her hands on her hips, cocking her head. \"And just what would I have to do?\"\n\n\"You have to appease us.\"\n\n\"How do I do that?\"\n\n\"Through a test.\"\n\n\"I don't want to take any tests.\"\n\nThe shadow crept ever closer, nodding and waving a stump as if it still possessed a hand and finger to gesture with. \"But I thought you said finding a bunyip was your destiny.\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"But you haven't found one yet, have you?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"No.\"\n\n\"But you found someone who knows where they are.\"\n\nShe hesitated. \"I guess.\"\n\n\"So what makes you think this test isn't your destiny\u2014that it isn't part of the big thing that will happen?\"\n\nThe girl let that rattle around in her head for a moment. The strange little shadow man had a point. The Clever Man never said just how she would go about finding a bunyip, just that finding one would change her life. He could very well have been talking about this encounter.\n\n\"Okay,\" she said with a determined smile. \"What's the test?\"\n\nThe shadow grinned. \"Tonight you must go home, crawl up into your father's liquor cabinet, and pull down every bottle of rum you find.\"\n\n\"I can't take Daddy's liquor! He'll be so mad that, well, I can't do it.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said the shadow. \"I understand. I thought you were serious about finding bunyip.\"\n\n\"I am serious.\"\n\n\"No, you're not.\"\n\n\"I am, I swear. What do I have to do next? With the bottles. Tell me. I'll prove I'm serious.\"\n\n\"Well, next you must fetch a wooden bucket\u2014you'll find it waiting out back by the shed\u2014then pour all of the rum into it, leaving it in your backyard.\"\n\n\"Then what?\"\n\n\"Then you wait. You go back inside, crawl back into bed, and when you fall asleep, we'll be waiting. And we will show you where the bunyip wallow.\"\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas looked around nervously. \"Do you want me to go and do that . . . now?\"\n\nThe shadows nodded excitedly. \"Yes! Oh yes, please,\" they each muttered, their heads bobbing, torsos bouncing. \"Bring us a bucket of rum! A bucket of rum!\"\n\nShe smiled, turned, and ran, leaving the shadows behind, her heart racing, her feet carrying her faster than they ever had. She was finally going to see the bunyip. Things were finally going to change. All she had to do now was get home.\n\nKAYCEE AWOKE, HER head swimming with visions of shadows still dancing around her. She looked, but they were gone. She'd left them behind, hundreds of miles away. It was dark out and the stars still wheeled slowly above, hours from being chased away by morning's light, but close enough that her father would have already passed out in his chair. It was the perfect time for her crime.\n\nBut the TV wasn't on. Most nights her father passed out before shutting it off and slept through the night to the infomercials and, eventually, the static. Other nights, however, he took pity on her and shut it off. In truth, he believed he did this most nights, thinking Kaycee had simply turned the set on to help him wake up. She never did, but never contradicted him about it.\n\nWere the TV on, she could stroll out singing a song and dancing on the creaky old floors without waking him. But the TV wasn't on. The house was silent save for the raucous din of his snoring.\n\nQuietly she swung her legs out over the side of the bed, sliding her backside down the edge of the mattress, slowly easing her weight onto the wooden floorboards beneath until her hands were the last parts of her touching. First with her good foot, then with the club. She took a deep breath and let go, her body now standing up straight without having squeezed out the slightest groan from the boards. Then she stepped each limping step one at a time, her gate wide, pace slow, like a cat burglar in a cartoon show. Kaycee dared not make a sound. Drunk though he was and hard to wake as he might be, if her father caught her skulking through the house after bedtime, especially on a quest for his liquor, he would put a stop to it right away.\n\nAnd that couldn't happen. Not tonight.\n\nHer toes came down on a loose floorboard and it squeaked, just a little, causing her eyes to clench and her stomach to tighten. CREeeeeeeak. As her clubfoot came to a rest, she sighed, convinced that this was the sound that would disturb her father, drag him out of his chair swearing, and lead him right to her malfeasance. She held her breath, listened close. Snoring. So she took another exaggerated step, making not a peep. More snoring. This was going well. Very well.\n\nAt this pace, it took her nearly five minutes to cross the meager house, three of which she spent on the stairs alone, afraid that every tiny groan would be the end of her. But time and again, these squeaks went unnoticed and she pressed on, trudging through the dark toward the pantry. It was only near the end of her slog that she thought about how quickly she could cross an entire continent in her dreams, but how slowly she had to go in waking life. The thought wasn't comforting.\n\nKaycee reached the kitchen with its slick linoleum floor and its wide open space. She skated on stockinged feet, crossing the room in seconds, a giddy little smile on her face. Then a turn of the knob and the pantry opened, its dark innards beckoning, the thick smell of mixing foods belching out into the night. Beans. Crackers. Peanut butter. Honey. Smells so sweet, blending; a frothy, hearty stew, tickling her nose.\n\nShe looked up at the deep black in the corner of the topmost shelf. Though she couldn't see it, she knew it was there. Booze. Liquor of all sorts. Vodka. Whiskey. And most important, rum. She could picture them. The distinct shape of the bottle, square with a narrowing bottom like the jaw of a thick yobbo; the proud white polar bear peeking out from the yellow label ringed with red and brown racing stripes.\n\nKaycee knew the bottle well. Not only was it her father's favorite drink, but it also tempted and teased her. Polar bear juice. For years she had pined for it before sneaking a sip that she spat out on the couch. The stain was still there. Daddy had laughed. Learn to keep it down or don't drink it. You don't waste good booze.\n\nTonight she wouldn't waste it.\n\nTonight she would feed it to the spirits in her backyard, spirits that would lead the way to the bunyip. Her insides tickled, dancing a little at the thought. She was so close now. All she had to do was climb this pantry shelf. In the dark. Silently. Piece of cake.\n\nShe grabbed the shoulder-level shelf with both hands, gripping it between her chin and neck, raising her one good stockinged foot into the air, carefully feeling her way around. There it was; the shelf beneath her. Her foot came down gracefully, her weight shifting onto it. The shelf cried out a little at the added weight, the brackets holding it up straining to keep steady.\n\nKaycee held her breath once more. Snoring.\n\nShe raised her second foot, all of her weight bearing down on the two shelves. So far, so good. Then she pushed up, ascending a level, her hands grasping the next shelf, her weight for a moment on her bad foot. Almost there. Her hands trembled, equal parts nervousness and effort. The shelves rattled a bit, the food shifting as the boards began to bow. Once more she brought up a single foot. Then the other. And she pushed up again, rising to halfway up the pantry.\n\nShe stretched, her fingers tickling the top shelf, batting a blunted square bottle, spinning it blindly in the dark.\n\nKaycee had to climb one more shelf.\n\nHer stomach tightened. She was too high up now. If she fell, she was going to get hurt. No time to think about that. Think of the bunyip. Think about anything but how high up you are. Think about anything but the ground down there. Think of the bunyip. Think of the bunyip.\n\nHer muscles were aching now, her hands shaking more violently than before, tightly grasped around a wobbly shelf. She raised a foot. Then the other. And she pushed up once more.\n\nVictory.\n\nThe shelves groaned again beneath her weight. Bottles clanked as she grabbed them, shuffling them down a level. Her hands were cramping; her legs were giving out. Just a few. More. Bottles.\n\nThat's when she heard them. Like gremlins. Scampering. Scraping. Clawing. Giggling, chuckling to themselves, hushing one another like teenage girls sneaking out of a house at a slumber party. She couldn't see them, couldn't make them out in the dark, but she knew they were there, climbing over one another just feet beneath her.\n\nShe looked down, her grip loosening, arms unsteady as ever.\n\nThen a single clawed hand reached up, grabbing her ankle.\n\n\"Stop it!\" she whispered loudly. \"Let go!\"\n\nShe acted quickly, shaking off the grip of the hand, leaping up to the next highest shelf. And with that, the shelf snapped beneath her.\n\nShe tumbled, her fall so brief that she never even knew what was happening.\n\nKaycee's head smacked hard onto the floor, the dull concussive shock blunting the sound of the back of her skull shattering.\n\nTHE PRETTY LITTLE girl in the purple pajamas stood above her own broken, tiny body, watching as a large puddle of blood pooled beneath her head. Her hair had already soaked up all the blood it could and the rest spilled across the floor, racing to reach the walls. The shadows stood around her, watching the life drain onto the linoleum.\n\n\"Does this mean we're not getting any rum?\" asked one of the shadows.\n\n\"Quiet,\" said another.\n\n\"I wanted rum.\"\n\n\"Me too.\"\n\n\"We all wanted rum,\" said Jeronimus. \"But she doesn't have a body to get it with anymore. She broke it.\"\n\n\"I didn't!\" said the girl.\n\n\"You did,\" said Jeronimus. \"You broke it.\"\n\n\"Fix it!\" shouted a shadow. \"Fix it and bring us the rum!\"\n\n\"I can't!\"\n\n\"Fix it!\"\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas ran from the pantry, her incorporeal body leaping over the kutji, through the kitchen, and into the living room in the span of a breath. There, in his chair, her father slumbered loudly. She couldn't smell him, couldn't feel him. She shouted, \"Dad! Dad, wake up! Dad, please!\" But still he slept. \"Dad, wake up! I need you!\"\n\nWade muttered quietly, shifting in his sleep as if he could hear her like distant whispers in a dream. Louder and louder she screamed but couldn't rouse him. He was out, thick with the sleep of the drink, and she wasn't real. She was in the dream. The colors of the house were brighter, the shadows were all alive, and her father would never see or hear her, no matter how hard she tried.\n\n\"Dad, I'm dying,\" she whispered, her voice choking with tears. She reached out with her dreamlike hand and stroked a face and chin she could not feel. \"I love you.\"\n\n\"I love you, darlin',\" muttered Wade, unaware that he was saying good-bye to his daughter.\n\n\"You're not dying,\" said Jeronimus as he crept softly behind her. \"You're just beginning. The dream is out there waiting. The bunyip is out there waiting. Your destiny\u2014\"\n\n\"My destiny is waiting.\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\nShe leaned in and gave her father a final kiss, trying to stroke his hair as he did hers, even if only for show. \"Good-bye, Dad.\"\nCHAPTER 26\n\nNIGHT OF THE BUNYIP\n\nMandu sat before the fire, the crisp, crystal-clear night sky wheeling above him, his didgeridoo\u2014thin, wavy, painted the colors of a poisonous snake\u2014pressed firmly between his lips. He blew, the long, droning hum, electrifying the air with the mystic buzz of its note, twittering deep like a three-foot-long locust.\n\nColby watched, entranced. He'd read about didgeridoos in school, but he'd never seen what one actually did to dreamstuff. The night grew colorful, ancient stories becoming songs, songlines taking shape in hallucinatory plays. The fire crackled and popped, long-dead spirits seemingly coming alive again to tell their side of it.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" asked Colby, his knuckles white, fists clenched tight, eyes wide and excited.\n\nMandu finished his note, his breaths long and evenly paced, not having winded himself in the slightest despite the lengthy performance. \"I'm calling out the things of the night. Telling them we're coming.\"\n\n\"Telling what we're coming?\"\n\nMandu paused, searching for the right words. \"Tonight is an important night. I've had dreams about it for years, seen fragments that have slowly pieced together like a puzzle. Tonight is the night you and I go to the lake, drink of its waters, and see a bunyip.\"\n\n\"A bunyip? What's a bunyip?\"\n\n\"The most dangerous creature in all of the outback. Capable of drowning those who camp too close to the water while they sleep. Able to grasp a fella in its mouth and chomp him in half. It's large and furry, massive, really, like a horse, but broad and thick like a wombat. It's got teeth like tusks, but dozens of them. It can change shape, looking like whatever will scare you most. And it wants nothing more than to drag your corpse back into the water to feed on your innards for days.\"\n\nColby gaped at Mandu, both baffled and terrified. Then nodded, coolly. \"Oh,\" he said. \"You're sure?\"\n\n\"You have no idea how sure I am.\"\n\nColby mulled this over for a moment. \"How does it work?\" he asked.\n\n\"How does what work?\"\n\n\"Your dreams. Seeing the future. How does that work?\"\n\nMandu smiled, nodding, admiring Colby's curiosity. \"The dreams come to me in pieces. We all see the future in dreams. We just have so many dreams that it's hard to tell them apart. In mine though, I have a dingo. A big one.\" Mandu held his arms out wide, stretching them as far as he could. \"Huge. Eyes black as black can be. He shows up, slips out of the night, and just looks at me. He's my familiar, my spirit animal. And when he's in a dream, I know that this is something that is going to happen.\n\n\"It only comes in fragments though. Never the whole thing at once. Sometimes it's just a few images. Other times it is whole scenes. But over the years, if your mind is sharp, you can stitch all the memories together like a movie and get an idea of what the future is going to be.\"\n\n\"So you know what's going to happen tonight?\"\n\nShrugging, Mandu looked at the stars and juggled the answer. \"Some. Not all. We'll see how it all shakes out. The dreams haven't lied before. But you can never trust nothin'.\" He grabbed his walking stick, braced it in the dirt, and climbed it to his feet. \"Even dreams lie. Let's go.\"\n\nTHE PRETTY LITTLE girl in the purple pajamas hid behind a large rock atop an outcrop overlooking the marshy billabong below\u2014surrounding her on all sides was a flock of black crows, wriggling, dancing, ruffling their feathers, unable to contain their excitement. It was the night. Everything changed tonight. Everything. For everyone. Tonight a path would be chosen and set; they need only wait to see the moment for sure.\n\nFor the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas, tonight was the night she saw her destiny up close. For the crows it meant being one step closer to having one more piece of the puzzle that would set them free.\n\nAt first she heard them. The Clever Man was blowing his didgeridoo, buzzing sweet the night. Then the figures appeared, two blue-tinted silhouettes in the moonlight. The water began to ripple and dance, the reflection of the moon and the stars going hazy, then wavy, then vanishing to flash on and off in the waves.\n\nAnd that's when she saw it rise out of the water.\n\nThe bunyip.\n\nIt was massive, like a furry rhinoceros, its head elongated, stretched out and squished at the end of a long neck as if it were clay pressed together too hard by giant fingers. It flicked a long anteaterlike tongue at the water, tickling past gleaming teeth as long as a man's arm. Six legs sloshed through the water, all of them with claws nearly as long as its teeth.\n\nThis wasn't a monster; it was a nightmare. The amalgam of almost everything she feared, dripping wet, creeping quietly toward land.\n\n\"That's what you've been looking for?\" asked one of the crows. \"It doesn't look like much.\"\n\n\"Quiet,\" said another crow. \"It means something to her.\" Then it turned to the girl. \"Doesn't it?\"\n\nShe nodded, her eyes bright, glistening slightly with tears. \"Uh-huh. It's exactly what I've been waiting for.\" She looked around at all the crows, who watched her expectantly, smiling. \"Thank you. Thank you all. I wouldn't be here without you.\"\n\n\"No, you wouldn't,\" said the second crow. \"Remember that when the time comes. Now, get down there.\"\n\nMANDU AND COLBY stood at the water's edge, the moon rippling in its sheen. They looked out and saw the hulking shadow moving slowly, silently toward them.\n\n\"Don't be afraid,\" said Mandu. \"They only charge faster when they sense fear.\"\n\n\"I'm not afraid,\" said Colby truthfully, his eyes straining to make out the shape of the monster.\n\nMandu looked down. \"You're not, are you?\"\n\n\"I've seen bigger. And scarier. If he gets too close, I'll\u2014\" He gestured with both hands as if he had a rifle. \"Pkew! Pkew!\"\n\n\"I have no doubt about that.\" Mandu reached into his pouch and pulled from it his bullroarer, immediately spinning the wooden charm through the air on the end of its cord. It hummed and whistled, seemingly whispering something unintelligible into the night air.\n\nThe bunyip stopped where it stood, scratching its ear with a paw, trying to chase away the noise. It whinnied and growled and stomped in the mud. Then it turned and sank back into the water, hiding in the deeps. The water rippled a bit more, then became unnaturally calm, inviting.\n\n\"You see, that's what will hold you back, Colby. You fight with strength, not cleverness. Cleverness is good for victory. Strength is good for killing. And killing never ends well.\"\n\n\"I don't fight with strength. I fight with magic. And magic is cleverness.\"\n\nMandu shook his head. \"No. Strength is for using against others. Cleverness is getting someone to act against themselves. You can do that with magic. But you don't think like that.\"\n\n\"Yeah I do,\" said Colby, indignant.\n\n\"Then how were you going to stop the bunyip if it attacked?\"\n\n\"I was, well, I . . . that's different. If it was going to attack, I should be able to defend myself.\"\n\n\"I confused it. Sent it away. Clever. You were just going to make it go poof! Strength.\"\n\nColby looked down shamefully at his feet. \"I was going to make it go poof!\"\n\n\"Men study their whole lives to master what comes to you so naturally. Nothing that comes so easily can ever have value. Do not take your skills for granted or a man cleverer than you will rob you of all you have and leave you for the earth to take back.\" Mandu smiled. \"I know why you're here now, what I have to teach you. But there's someone you need to meet first.\" He waved out into the bush. \"Come on, come on. Don't stand out there with your jaw hanging loose. Come out and introduce yourself.\"\n\nFrom the darkness emerged the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas. She was a little younger than Colby, but beautiful, athletic, taller, her hair and dark skin almost sparkling in the light.\n\nColby turned to Mandu. \"What is she?\"\n\n\"I'm a girl,\" she said.\n\n\"She's a girl,\" said Mandu.\n\n\"No,\" said Colby. \"She's not real.\"\n\n\"I'm real!\"\n\n\"No, I mean, she's . . . she's . . .\"\n\nMandu motioned to her. \"She's a dreamwalker, Colby. She can leave her body when she's asleep and walk through dreamtime like you and I. It's her gift.\"\n\n\"So she can see beyond the veil, but only when asleep?\"\n\nMandu nodded. \"Uh-huh.\"\n\n\"So she's not really here, but she is?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" he said, smiling at her. \"I'm Colby.\"\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas smiled big and wide, her heart racing. This was a boy. A real boy. He was looking right at her. And he was talking to her. For the first time in her life, to someone other than her father, she was not invisible. \"Hi, Colby. I've been waiting a long time to meet you.\"\n\n\"You have?\"\n\n\"Uh-huh.\"\n\n\"What's your name?\"\n\n\"It doesn't matter,\" she said, shrugging.\n\n\"What do you mean it doesn't matter?\"\n\n\"It doesn't matter.\"\n\n\"Of course it matters. What am I supposed to call you?\"\n\n\"Whatever you like, I guess. But you don't have to call me anything. When you talk to me, I know you're talking to me. And when you talk to the Clever Man\u2014\"\n\n\"Mandu.\"\n\n\"Whatever. When you talk to him, and you say she, he'll know exactly who you're talking about. So why do you need a name at all?\"\n\n\"You want me to call you she?\"\n\n\"I want you to call me whatever you want.\"\n\n\"But what's your name?\"\n\n\"I don't have one.\"\n\n\"We all have names.\"\n\n\"I have one back when I'm awake. But now I'm asleep. You don't need names when you're asleep.\"\n\n\"But I'm not asleep.\"\n\n\"Of course not. That's why you told me your name.\"\n\n\"Why don't you just tell me your name?\"\n\n\"Because names don't mean anything. A name won't tell you who I am. It doesn't tell you what a person is. It tells you what their parents thought was a cute name when they were born. That's it. Does a name tell you that I'm faster than you? Taller than you? Can cross the whole of Australia in a single night if I tried? No. It doesn't. And it never will. Because names are just that. So call me whatever you like. I'll only answer to it if I like you.\"\n\nColby turned to Mandu. \"She's weird.\"\n\nMandu nodded, agreeing. \"But a very powerful spirit.\" He waved to the girl and motioned back toward their fire a mile away. \"Go, tend the fire and wait for us. We'll be there shortly.\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" she said, shaking her head. \"I haven't seen the bunyip.\"\n\n\"Weren't you watching from up on that rock?\"\n\n\"Yeah, but I didn't get to see it up close.\" She walked over to Mandu and put a gentle hand on his elbow. \"Don't worry about me, Clever Man. I'm fast. Faster than anything else out here. I'll be fine.\"\n\nThe pretty little girl hiked up her pajama pants above her knees, rolling tight cuffs to keep them in place, then ran out into the water, slapping it with an open palm.\n\n\"She's a lot like you,\" said Mandu to Colby. \"She doesn't yet know how powerful she is. And she doesn't understand her destiny.\"\n\n\"You can see her destiny?\"\n\n\"I see a lot I can't speak of.\"\n\n\"In your dreams?\"\n\nMandu nodded silently, watching the girl play in the water.\n\n\"Have you seen mine?\"\n\n\"Parts of it.\"\n\n\"Really? What is it?\"\n\nMandu grimaced, looking down at Colby as if he'd just sworn. \"It is exactly as you wish, just not as you expect.\"\n\n\"You have to tell me more than that.\"\n\n\"The spirits don't bring dreams to the people who talk too much about them. I'd rather listen to you pester me the whole rest of the walkabout than shut you up and never receive the gifts of the spirits again.\"\n\n\"So that's a no?\"\n\n\"That's a no.\" Mandu pointed at the water. \"Now watch this. It's one of the best things I ever dreamed about.\"\n\nThe bunyip poked only the top of its head out of the black water, its eyes, each almost as big as a grown man's skull, peering out at the girl splashing loudly about.\n\n\"She's quite clever, but so is the bunyip. Look at the edge there.\" The water began lapping against the shore, creeping up inches at a time but never receding.\n\n\"It's rising!\" said Colby.\n\n\"I wonder who will win,\" said Mandu, tickled. He looked at Colby with a wry smile.\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas crept closer to the bunyip, pretending not to see it, slapping the water as if still looking for it.\n\nThe bunyip stood still, spying, waiting.\n\nShe waded closer.\n\nIt waited still.\n\nShe turned back to shore, smiling at the pair, rolling her eyes back toward the bunyip playfully as if to say, Get a load of this guy.\n\nThen, without warning, the bunyip lunged, its massive paws swinging, its gaping maw wide open, teeth bared, snarling. Water sprayed, the lake exploding as if someone had dropped in a stick of dynamite. It descended upon her, chomping down to make a meal out of her.\n\nBut true to her word, she was faster. She leaped up upon the water, running so fast that her feet never sank in. She grabbed hold of its fur, flung a leg up and over, straddled the beast, mounting it. It flailed, cartwheeling in the water, bucking, kicking, but she held on. Try as it might, it couldn't shake her.\n\nSplashing furiously it arched its long neck, gnashed its teeth, tried to bite her off its back like a dog chewing fleas. But she would not let go.\n\nShe only laughed, giggling, playing a game, dodging teeth, and mocking with childish faces. Completely unafraid.\n\nThen the bunyip bucked one last time, finally shaking her loose. She flew back across the lake, flopping painfully against a large stone jutting out of the billabong, then dropping back into the water. But she ran again, her feet barely breaking the surface, bolting back out to shore, laughing all the way.\n\nMandu spun his bullroarer in the air, making the night again uneasy. The bunyip got the message, sank once more back into the dark, muddy water, letting the night at last settle back into peace. The water receded, slowly draining back into the billabong.\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas smiled, waved, and ran back toward camp, vanishing almost instantly, leaving Colby and Mandu alone again.\n\n\"So,\" said Colby. \"Was that supposed to be fighting with cleverness?\"\n\nMandu shrugged sheepishly. \"Meh. Sometimes bravery trumps cleverness. But you shouldn't make a habit of it.\"\nCHAPTER 27\n\nA BREAK IN THE SIEGE\n\nI'm taking this seat,\" said a sweet, lilting voice as it pulled a stool noisily away from the bar with an angry din.\n\nColby, Yashar, and Gossamer each looked up, saw a flash of blond hair, straw cowboy hat.\n\nAustin plopped down on the stool with all the grace of a factory worker after a long day, sighing loudly. Her skin was sweaty, pallid, her eyes bloodshot and wide, as if she was keeping them open by force of will alone. \"You know,\" she said. \"These hipster dive bars get harder and harder to find.\" She waved a finger at the place, pointing almost to every corner. \"I mean, I see the appeal. You already know everybody, no douchebags wander in and act like they're at a kegger. But at some point you just gotta draw the line and let a bar be a bar instead of a damn scavenger hunt.\"\n\nYashar nodded politely. \"Austin,\" he said, his tone nervous, reserved. \"I didn't hear you come in.\"\n\nAustin looked up at the ceiling, as if lost in thought for a second, then smiled coyly, looking right at him. \"No one ever does.\"\n\n\"This isn't a hipster bar,\" said Colby.\n\n\"No?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Because it used to be a fairy bar. Buuuuuut someone kicked out all the fairies. So what is it now?\"\n\nYashar shuffled nervously behind the bar. \"Outside . . . are they still\u2014\"\n\n\"The demons? All over the place.\" She leaned forward on her stool, grasping her stomach to massage away a sudden discomfort. \"Oh, I think I'm gonna hurl.\"\n\n\"Not here you won't,\" said Yashar.\n\nAustin looked up at him through a strained grimace, her gaze made ever the more intimidating by her seeming illness. \"In a bar? I'm not allowed to throw up . . . in a bar? If there was one place I should be allowed to chuck, I'd think\u2014\" She took a deep breath, regaining a little of her composure.\n\n\"What do you want?\" asked Colby, pointedly.\n\nAustin smiled weakly, suddenly pouring on the charm. \"You don't want to talk to me?\"\n\n\"I . . . well. I mean . . .\"\n\n\"Elevated heart rate, dilated pupils. The way you feel like someone is sitting on your chest when you look at me. Colby Stevens, if I didn't know better, I'd say you have a crush.\"\n\nColby stared into his drink, wishing he was invisible. \"Oh God. This is happening.\"\n\nYashar nodded, half embarrassed himself. \"Yep. It's happening.\"\n\n\"It. Is. Happening,\" said Austin.\n\n\"Can I get you something to drink,\" asked Yashar, \"or are you just here to humiliate my buddy?\"\n\n\"It's a little early to be drinking, don't you think?\"\n\n\"It's never too early for drinking,\" he replied. He looked out toward the street even though there was no view from the bar. \"Especially on a day like today.\"\n\n\"I think you boys might have a problem. You know you're allowed to feel emotions without liquor being involved, right?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" said Colby. \"But the liquor lets us be a bit more honest about them.\"\n\n\"It's just our way,\" said Yashar.\n\nAustin gaped at the two, her mouth chewing on a pregnant pause before winking slyly, eyes twinkling mischievously. \"I'm just fucking with you,\" she said. \"I'm still drunk from last night. Una cerveza, por favor.\"\n\n\"Una cerveza,\" said Yashar, sliding an ice-cold IPA across the bar.\n\n\"How'd you know?\" she asked, eyeing the label.\n\n\"You mean aside from the fact that I know the secret desires and wishes of a person's heart?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"Well, you joke about hipster bars, but I can't imagine there's one in town you don't drink at.\"\n\n\"Guilty.\" She sipped her beer, her face puckering as if it was sour.\n\n\"No good?\" asked Yashar. \"I've got others.\"\n\n\"It's not the beer.\"\n\n\"Then maybe you're a drink or two past the point of drinking.\"\n\n\"It's not me being drunk either.\"\n\n\"Then what?\"\n\nShe clenched her fist and thumbed out toward the street. \"It's them.\"\n\n\"The Seventy-two?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"I've never felt anything like this before. They're making me sick.\"\n\nColby tried to remain invisible, outside the conversation. He sipped his whiskey casually, but couldn't help peeking over to eye her up and down. Even ill appearing as she was, there was still something about her. Something that glowed without light, felt warm without heat. She wore a pair of faded skinny jeans with the knee torn out of one of the legs, a pair of painted Converse, different from the ones she'd worn the night before, and a black T-shirt that read: LIMESTONE KINGDOM. That stung a little and his heart sank, just a little farther, and he found that he needed the whiskey more than ever.\n\n\"You're rejecting them,\" said Yashar, nodding. \"You've never had this many in town at once, have you?\"\n\nAustin shook her head, sipping her beer. \"The city. It's like the sewers have overflowed and all the deep, dark, hidden shit that has been festering beneath it for years has spilled out and stunk up the whole damn place. These things, they're the worst of the worst. Corruption seeps off 'em into the air like cheap cologne. And anyone who gets a whiff gets nervous. Or angry. The whole city is on edge. They can't see 'em, but they sure as shit can feel 'em. People are doing things they ordinarily wouldn't. Getting downright mean. Hurting people they love. I've never had this much taint in the city at once. It feels like I ate a pound of fried shit and now I've just got to sweat it out until it passes.\"\n\n\"When they leave,\" said Yashar.\n\n\"Yeah,\" she said, eyeing Colby suspiciously. \"When they leave.\"\n\nHe frowned, his heart still sinking. \"Nice shirt,\" he said coldly, his anger getting the better of him.\n\n\"It's an original.\"\n\n\"Do you listen to yourself when you say shit like that?\"\n\n\"I do. But are you listening? I said it's original. There were only about a dozen made. The only way to have gotten one of these is\u2014\"\n\nColby's jaw dropped and he pointed a limp finger at her. \"You were there. That night.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Amazing show. Your boy really had it in him.\"\n\n\"So you were there when\u2014\"\n\n\"He got jumped? Yeah.\"\n\n\"And you didn't . . .\"\n\n\"What? Intervene? Why? He handled that himself. He made his own choice.\"\n\n\"But that led to\u2014\"\n\n\"A dozen different decisions that were all his own. And your own. I'll step in when it protects my city, but I'm not its mother. I don't protect the people from themselves. It's not my way.\"\n\n\"And what is your way?\"\n\nShe thought hard for a moment, her eyes steeled on his, her gaze fierce, intimidating. Colby couldn't help but hold his breath at the way she looked mulling over his question, the slope of her neck, the cut of her chin, the light sprinkle of freckles across her cheek. \"Well,\" she said. \"When someone gets into trouble, if they don't deserve it, I like to see what I can do to help them out. But when they bring trouble upon themselves, when, say, two greater demons of the worst kind show up for them\u2014\"\n\nColby's head fell into his free hand while the other gripped his drink tightly. \"Oh God, you're here to bust my balls again. Didn't we just do this last night?\"\n\n\"Last night I didn't know the trouble you would be in by morning. You really work fast, Colby Stevens.\"\n\n\"I had nothing to do with that.\"\n\n\"Oh, so this has nothing to do with you?\"\n\nColby hesitated, flustered. \"Not directly, no.\"\n\n\"Not directly?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"So this girl who's coming for you, she's not super pissed at you or dangerous or anything?\"\n\nYashar shook his head. \"This isn't about him.\"\n\n\"It's all about him. Entirely about him.\"\n\n\"So you're here to scold me again.\"\n\nAustin sipped her beer, swallowed, shaking her head. \"I don't know what I'm here to do. I think I'm here for the beer, mostly.\"\n\nColby looked over at her, baffled. \"I don't get you.\"\n\n\"Not much to get. I'm just a girl, Colby. I'm a lot like you. Someone extraordinary on the outside, but ordinary on the inside. This is Austin, and I'm just its reflection. I don't owe this city anything. What I give it I give because I love it. I love what this city has made me, and I watch out for it. Aside from that, I'm as normal as the next girl.\"\n\n\"You interfered with me but not Ewan?\"\n\n\"You're really hung up on that, aren't you? Ewan wasn't threatening my city. You on the other hand want to choke the magic out. You want to make it mundane. Safe. Unremarkable. And then you bring a bunch of baddies like Amy and Oro\u2014\"\n\n\"Stop saying their names!\"\n\nAustin looked quizzically across the bar at Yashar. \"Is there something I missed?\"\n\nYashar nodded. \"He thinks if he doesn't say their names\u2014\"\n\n\"That's not what I think,\" said Colby. \"I just don't need to draw any more attention to myself.\"\n\n\"If they're watching you, Colby,\" said Austin, \"then they're watching you. You can't hide. Not here anyway.\"\n\n\"I wasn't, I mean . . .\" Colby paused and took a big sip of whiskey. \"I'm not trying to choke the magic out. I just wanted to . . .\"\n\n\"Wanted to what?\"\n\n\"To . . . protect children.\"\n\n\"I know,\" she said. \"And that's why I like you.\"\n\n\"You like me?\"\n\n\"Sure,\" she said playfully, the twinkle returning to her eye. \"I get it. You want to feel like you've done something. Like you've left something behind. You're not alone. You're idealistic. Like a politician.\" She looked at him sternly. \"Except that you weren't elected.\"\n\n\"Neither were you.\"\n\n\"Touch\u00e9.\" She smiled. That thought hadn't dawned on her. \"Well, I mean I was, but I wasn't.\" She thought some more, trying to find the right words. \"I just want what's best for everyone, but I don't know the future. I see what's happening here. I see what you're getting into. And I'm worried about you.\"\n\n\"There's nothing to worry about.\"\n\nAustin looked at him longingly, her pretenses dropped, face awash in worry. \"Please,\" she said. \"Don't get involved in this.\"\n\nColby leaned back on his stool, confused. \"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"Whatever they're asking you to do, don't do it.\"\n\n\"I don't know what they're asking me to do. All I know is that she's coming.\"\n\n\"The girl?\"\n\n\"The girl.\"\n\n\"Whatever they need you to go do with her, you can't go. I need you here.\"\n\nColby grew cold. \"Need me for what?\"\n\n\"Don't make me say it.\"\n\n\"Need me for what?\"\n\n\"I just\u2014\" She stammered a little, trying to keep cool. \"I need you here.\"\n\n\"Need. Me. For\u2014\"\n\nAustin stroked the top of Colby's hand with her fingertips, setting his arm ablaze with tingles, then folded her fingers into his. She stroked his hair back over his ear with her free hand, running a single finger down along it to the lobe. \"Don't. Do. This,\" she whispered. Then she batted her eyelashes ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, her eyes large and pleading. \"Please.\"\n\nColby squeezed her hand tight, his chest caving in on itself. \"I don't even know what they want me to do.\"\n\n\"Austin,\" said Yashar, paternally. \"Please don't mess with Colby like that.\"\n\nShe slipped her hand away from Colby's. \"Would you rather I do this the other way?\"\n\n\"Which way would that be?\"\n\nShe scowled, spoke with bass in her voice. \"The fire and brimstone don't-make-me-kick-your-ass-and-rain-a-world-of-shit-down-on-you way.\"\n\nYashar put both hands up. \"Okay, the first way was fine.\"\n\nColby shook his head. \"I didn't do anything. Why are you doing this?\"\n\n\"Someone died today, Colby. A demon took one of my people.\"\n\n\"You act as if that doesn't happen every day in this city, in one way or another.\"\n\n\"Not for show,\" she said, bitterly. \"Never for show! That demon killed someone just to fuck with you. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let him get what he came for.\"\n\n\"Is that what this is about? Making a point?\"\n\nAustin teared up, just a little, the slight glisten making her eyes bluer, glassier, more like the open sea. \"His name was Ernesto. He had two kids, Julian and Selena. He met his wife bagging groceries when they were seventeen. She was a cashier. The first day they worked the same line together was like . . . well, you could have powered the whole building with the sparks those two were giving off. He loved his wife and kids as much as anyone I've ever known and he never hurt anyone.\n\n\"I had a beer with him once. He sat there the whole time nervous that I was going to hit on him. Nervous. Most guys, especially the married ones, they have a beer with a girl, they hope she flirts. Even if they haven't the faintest inclination to cheat. Makes 'em feel good. Like they're still a man. Not Ernesto. He was terrified of his wife thinking he might be flirting with another girl. Didn't want her to think for a second that he might find another woman in the world to be as pretty as her. Because he didn't. So we talked about the Spurs and about his kids and then his kids some more.\" She giggled, her eyes smiling for a second as she thought back, before darkening all at once atop a sneer. \"So fuck Asmodeus. And I don't care if he hears me.\" She looked up at the ceiling. \"You hear me, asshole? Asmodeus! Come on down here and look me in the eyes, you little bitch!\"\n\n\"Whoa, whoa, whoa!\" yelled Yashar, waving his hands. \"There's no need for that.\"\n\n\"Oh sure,\" said Colby. \"Now you're not cool with invoking them by name.\"\n\n\"He won't come,\" she said, before yelling at the ceiling again. \"He's a FUCKING PUSSY!\"\n\n\"Jesus,\" said Colby. \"You are still drunk from last night.\"\n\n\"I lied about that,\" she said, taking another sip of her beer. \"I started drinking again this morning.\"\n\nAustin stood up, slammed the rest of her beer, then tossed the bottle to Yashar, pointing at him. Yashar caught it single-handedly, a little pissed at the disrespect, but not wanting to offend his guest.\n\n\"Make sure he doesn't get any deeper in this,\" she said, before turning to Colby. \"Let them sort out their mess themselves.\" Then she walked out of the bar, muttering to herself about goddamned demons.\nCHAPTER 28\n\nTHE ORPHAN STORY\n\nThe Clever Man, the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas, and the boy Colby sat around the fire, Mandu once again blowing his didgeridoo. The night was alive, the fire crackling with hints of stories, the flames momentary spirits that whispered secrets before fluttering away toward the stars. The pretty little girl huddled closer to the fire than the others, her arms crossed, rubbing her hands up and down, trying to warm herself through her pajamas, shivering slightly.\n\nMandu looked over the fire at the two. \"Once, very long ago,\" he began, \"there was an orphan boy whose mother and father had both died in terrible ways. The mother had been careless, wandering too close to the water's edge during the rainy season, while not paying enough attention to the crocs swimming in the river. The father had been loud and boisterous and picked one too many fights with other fellas. Neither died particularly well. So it was very sad for the boy, who now lived with his grandmother.\n\n\"The grandmother took good care of him. Fed him, taught him, treated him in all ways like a son. But the other children of the camp were cruel to him. Having no one to teach him how to hunt or properly throw a spear, he fell out of favor with them, and they taunted him for being an orphan. One day he went to his grandmother, saying, 'Grandmother, they won't play with me or share their food.' His grandmother asked, 'Who won't?' To which he replied, 'The other children.'\n\n\"Grandmother understood. She handed him a snack of honey and cakes and said, 'Don't you concern yourself with them. They are greedy, terrible children, and one day their bellies will ache with hunger and they will know of their cruelty.' But the boy wasn't comforted. He refused to eat and only cried louder.\n\n\"His crying grew so loud that it awoke the Rainbow Serpent from his dreaming. He uncoiled himself from under the earth and followed the crying to the village. He burrowed his way under and into the hut where the orphan was crying and swallowed both him and his grandmother whole. The serpent was so large that as he emerged, the hut lodged on its head like a hat. Hungry from his long slumber, he began eating villagers, swallowing families one by one.\n\n\"The people ran, terrified by the Rainbow Serpent trying to end the world. Soon the village was completely empty, but the Rainbow Serpent, he was still hungry. So he moved along the earth, his body weighed down by all the people in his belly, carving a groove in it. Finally, he came upon another village and set about eating it as well.\n\n\"By this time, he had swallowed so many warriors, all of whom poked the serpent from the inside with their spears, that he looked like he was covered in a thousand thorns. As he ate, he grew slower and slower, and finally a few warriors were able to climb upon his head and deliver the deathblow, killing the Rainbow Serpent for good and for all. Then they cut open its belly and set free all the people.\"\n\n\"What happened next?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Mandu. \"That's the end of the story.\"\n\n\"I don't get it.\"\n\n\"Neither do I,\" said the girl.\n\n\"The Rainbow Serpent helped dream the world into existence. He was one of the most powerful creatures in history. But he was woken from his sleep by the tiniest, most insignificant of people. And he was killed by mere men who possessed nothing more than spears and bravery. Normal men. Great and terrible things can come about because of a single person wanting nothing more than attention. And the end of the world can be stopped by men brave enough to try. No one is too big or too small to change the world, for better or for worse. That's the lesson.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Colby. \"I get it now.\"\n\n\"I hope so,\" said Mandu. \"That story will mean more to you than most.\" Mandu put the didgeridoo back to his lips, playing again, letting Colby meditate for a moment on his words.\n\n\"Can I ask you something, boy?\" said the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas, still trying to warm herself.\n\n\"My name is Colby.\"\n\n\"I don't care what your name is.\"\n\n\"I do. And I don't like being called boy. What's your deal with names?\"\n\n\"My deal?\"\n\n\"Yeah, your deal. What is it?\"\n\n\"Names don't mean anything out here. Who we were doesn't mean anything out here. All that matters out here is who we are. Out here I am who I want to be, not what anyone tells me I have to be.\"\n\n\"Everything out here has a name, you know,\" said Colby.\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas gave him a dirty look, her face pinched and puckered as if to say, I know that. \"I don't have a name out here yet.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"No one has given me one.\"\n\n\"I'll give you one.\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"No. It doesn't work that way. You have to earn it.\"\n\n\"What's your question?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\nColby leaned forward. \"Your question. The one you wanted to ask me.\"\n\n\"What are you doing out here? I mean, you clearly aren't, you know . . . indigenous.\"\n\n\"Indigiwhat?\"\n\n\"Aboriginal.\"\n\n\"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"You're not a black.\"\n\n\"Oh! No. I'm not.\"\n\n\"But you can see me.\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"How? And why are you on walkabout?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Colby, thinking for a second about how best to explain it.\n\n\"You ever hear of a djinn?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"How 'bout a genie?\"\n\nShe nodded, smiling queerly. \"You mean like from a lamp? Like on TV?\"\n\n\"Yes. But never, ever, ever say that to one. Because they hate that.\"\n\n\"They? You mean they're real?\"\n\n\"Why wouldn't they be? Little girls who fly around in their dreams are real. And bunyips are real.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but genies? That just sounds . . . silly.\"\n\n\"They're called djinn. And I made a wish with one. Well, two actually.\"\n\n\"So you haven't gotten your third?\"\n\n\"It doesn't work that way. You know, you'd think it would, but . . .\"\n\n\"What did you wish for?\"\n\n\"To see the things other people couldn't. Fairies, bunyips . . .\" He motioned to her. \"Dreamwalkers.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because I didn't like it at home and I thought that this would be better.\"\n\n\"Is it?\" she asked.\n\n\"Sometimes. No one ever tries to kill me at home. But there's no one around there I really like either.\"\n\n\"You like people out here?\" She motioned to the desert around her.\n\nColby nodded. \"Oh yeah! Mandu is great. Yashar\u2014he's my djinn\u2014he's awesome. I've got this friend Ewan who is a fairy boy. I've met angels and mermen and all sorts of things. You.\"\n\n\"Me? You don't know me.\"\n\n\"Not real well. But I can tell you're cool. I like you already.\"\n\nShe shuffled around awkwardly. \"Why? Because you think I'm pretty or something?\"\n\nColby looked away bashfully, his cheeks reddening. \"Nooooo. That's not it.\"\n\nMandu smiled secretly behind his didgeridoo.\n\n\"You don't think I'm pretty? I'm pretty and I'm tall and I'm fast. You don't like that?\"\n\n\"I like you because you're . . . you know . . . the way you jumped on the bunyip and you weren't afraid of it.\"\n\n\"Why would I be afraid of it?\" she asked.\n\n\"I was afraid of it.\"\n\n\"Oh, well . . . you think I'm cool?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"And it's not because you think I'm pretty or something.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nShe smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear and dragging the back of her hand under her chin. \"Thank you.\"\n\n\"So will you tell me your name already?\"\n\nHer smile evaporated and she frowned, pushing him away playfully. \"No,\" she said in all seriousness. Then she looked up at the stars, the sky so black this far out that there were literally thousands of them swimming together in a deep sea of night. \"You know, the Clever Man told me once that in the Skyworld, each star was a campfire of the dead. That they come together with their dreaming or tribe and at night we can peer across the gulf of time and see their fires winking back at us.\"\n\nColby seemed incredulous. \"Campfires?\" He looked at Mandu, who only nodded, still playing his one, droning note.\n\n\"Campfires on the other side of the sky,\" she said, mired in the romance of it, her teeth chattering lightly. \"I like the idea. You know that where we go when we die is a place like this. Around a fire. With friends. Telling stories. Where everyone gets to be exactly who they dream they were meant to be.\"\n\n\"I like that,\" said Colby. \"That place sounds nice.\"\n\n\"Why is it so cold out here?\" she asked, her body almost convulsing with shivers.\n\nMandu stopped playing. The night grew quiet except for the crackling of the fire. \"Oh,\" he said sadly. \"Our time is again too short.\"\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas looked over at him, terrified, the cord attached to the back of her head growing suddenly taut, yanking her backward. She vanished into the dark.\n\nColby looked at Mandu, his eyes wide, confused. \"Where did she\u2014\"\n\n\"Home,\" said Mandu. \"She'll be back. She always is.\"\n\n\"Who is she?\"\n\n\"I told you. She's a dreamwalker.\"\n\n\"No, I mean, what's her name?\"\n\nMandu smiled, shaking his head. \"You know, I never thought to ask.\"\nCHAPTER 29\n\nBESIDE HERSELF\n\nLight. Blinding. Almost green. Then it goes out, fading. Tracers trickling across the eyes, fireworks soaring through space. Then light again. A whine, high-pitched ringing in the ears. Everything too bright to make out. Shapes in the light, not a one of them clear, crisp. The whine again, then light. The sound of a truck hitting a wall.\n\n\"Clear!\" shouts a voice.\n\nThen a circle of light. Bright. Blinding. Tracers across the eyes. Then nothing.\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas stood in back near the wall of a severe white room, doctors and nurses surrounding a cold steel table on which lay her tiny, blood-soaked body. Beside them, a large box beeped\u2014beep beep beep\u2014with a display tracking her heartbeat, a bag of blood in the hands of a nurse fed through a tube into her arm.\n\n\"She's back,\" said one of the nurses while another put away a set of defibrillator paddles.\n\nThe girl watched the doctors fiddle with her limp body, flipping it over, trying to sew together the back of her head. She looked so small. Tiny. She'd never seen herself like this. She'd stood outside her body, looking down on it as it slept, but never while other people were around. The adults didn't look like giants, they looked normal. She was the one who looked delicate, slight, a kitten in the mouth of its mother.\n\nIt was the first time in her life she realized just how young she was.\n\nShe walked over to the table, stood by the doctors, bathed in the glow of the fluorescent light at the end of a robot's arm affixed to the ceiling. The pretty little girl was warmer now. Her shakes were subsiding, and she felt cool instead of cold, warmer every minute.\n\nShe couldn't be sure how long she stood there watching, time was different out here, outside of her body, her perceptions warped, bent by the dream. But when she was relatively certain she was okay, and they had put most of the eggshell mess of her skull back together around her silver cord, she knew it was time to go. So she soared to the back of the room, passing through the doors as if they weren't there, out into a long, glaring hallway, the lights dazzling, a white so bright she had never quite seen its shade.\n\nThe hallway seemed impossibly long, as if it went on forever. She floated, passing a nurses' station blaring with sounds, flashing lights, then on to the waiting area. That's when she saw him. Over to the side, sobbing into his hands\u2014her father, Wade. Next to him sat a doctor with a serious face.\n\n\" . . . coma,\" the doctor said, the only word she'd arrived in time to make out.\n\nWade cried openly, almost wailing as he talked, his speech still slurred with drink. \"It's my fault,\" he said. \"I should have been there. For her. If I hadn't been, you know, I mean, I could have heard her. Could have gotten her here sooner.\"\n\nThe doctor put an understanding hand on his shoulder. \"At times like this, it's best to think about what we can do rather than what we didn't.\"\n\n\"She didn't want me to drink. She was gonna pour it out again. Hadn't done it in a while. Though she probably should've. She deserved better. She was trying to make me better. Now\u2014\" He cried more.\n\n\"We're going to do the best for her we can. But there's no telling how extensive the damage is.\"\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas moved closer to put her hand on his, tell him, even if he couldn't hear, that it was all going to be okay. That she was fine. But she didn't get the chance. Because that's when she heard the scratching. Claws across windows, walls, marble floors. Scratches like animals digging under a house, like nails on a chalkboard. The whole hospital shuddered with the sounds.\n\nThen the lights went out and the whole hospital, for an instant, went black. Time slowed, and the black went on seemingly forever. Then the building convulsed, groaning slowly back to life, emergency floodlights winking awake, rooms and hall corners bathed in electric daylight. Were she awake, she might note the dingy dullness to the light, the way it made the dim outskirts seem brown and neglected. But in the dream, those lights blazed a thousand megawatts strong, like rays of the harnessed sun shot into blinding white spots amid the lonely black between them.\n\nShe looked down the hall, staggered spotlights like islands in the night, and then she saw them. The shadows. Kutji. Jet black against stinging white marble and paint. Crawling on all fours, some across the floor, others across the ceiling, others still scampering toward her along the walls. Each avoiding the light when they could; tearing through it, sizzling in agony when they couldn't. Mouths open, teeth bared, eyes wide with a hungry hate. A squirming mass of black overtaking the white inch by inch.\n\n\"Get her,\" slavered Jeronimus.\n\n\"Wait!\" she shouted. \"I thought you said you'd help me.\"\n\n\"We did,\" said one.\n\n\"We took you to the bunyip,\" said another. \"Our business is done.\"\n\nThey poured toward her along every surface, a black wave of shadowy mayhem, nipping at the air in front of them, clawing to get ever closer.\n\nAt once the girl realized these things were not her friends; they were trouble. So she ran, ran as hard and as fast as she could, silvery cord trailing behind her. Down another hallway. Around another corner. Smack into another writhing wall of caterwauling kutji, drooling, pounding theirs fists on the walls and floor as they skittered closer toward her.\n\nThe halls echoed with the sounds of screaming shadows.\n\nThe pretty little girl wound her way through an endless sea of twists and turns and abandoned gurneys, black shapes shuffling past bright white spots, disappearing into the dark after her. She was confused, turned upside down and backward, not used to navigating the world of man when in the dream. At last she came to a four-way intersection, the point at which two corridors crossed, a single floodlight illuminating the center like a theater spot on a dark stage.\n\nThere she stood, dead center, watching the shadowy mass of kutji crawl over one another just past the event horizon of the light. She was surrounded, the vicious creatures snapping their teeth together, scratching the marble, taunting her to step out into the dark.\n\n\"Come out and play with us!\" shouted one.\n\n\"Yes! Out into the dark!\" shouted another.\n\n\"Out into the dark to become one of us! One of us forever!\" shouted a third.\n\nOne of the kutji hovered at the edge of the light, sticking a cautious stump of an arm out into it. The nub smoked, hissed, searing like it had been thrown into a fire. It howled, yanking the arm back into the dark, blowing on it to soothe the pain.\n\n\"You can't stay in the light forever,\" said Jeronimus. \"You have to become one of us sometime.\"\n\n\"No, I don't,\" said the little girl.\n\n\"Yes, you do. It's what we were promised, what we were tasked to do. Two more souls and we can go home. We can find peace. Like we were promised.\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"You have no choice. We are what you were born to become.\"\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas, bathed in the bright light of the emergency floods, screamed, her shriek rippling like waves from a pebble through the hospital, the walls undulating, quivering.\n\nThe shadows stopped, silent, for a moment fearful.\n\nThen she shot away, traveling at a thousand feet per second, the shadows left wondering where she'd gone.\n\nJeronimus howled, calling the pack together. \"Take to the skies,\" he said. \"Find her. Tonight she is ours, and let nothing get in our way. Nothing.\"\n\nAnd with that they shuffled back into the black, turned into crows, and flew out into the night after her.\nCHAPTER 30\n\nCUT THE CORD\n\nMandu grew suddenly nervous, his head cocking a little to better hear, his eyes wide and alert.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Colby.\n\nMandu shook his head, his didgeridoo gripped tight in his hands. \"I don't know,\" he said. \"Something's not right.\" He looked around with a cockeyed concern weighing on his troubled brow.\n\nIt was growing chilly, the warm desert sands cooling in the night. The sky was clear, the moon bright, the air still and quiet as the dead. If something was amiss, it was both silent and well hidden.\n\nShe emerged from the dark as she had a short while before, wiping tears from her eyes with her sleeve\u2014the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas. Her eyes were red, bloodshot, and bleary with tears, but she smiled, pretending nothing was wrong.\n\n\"Child, you're back so soon,\" said Mandu.\n\n\"I know,\" she said. \"I\u2014I missed you.\"\n\nColby pointed at her, but looked instead at Mandu. \"Was that what you were\u2014\"\n\n\"Sshhhht!\" he said, hushing him. \"No. It wasn't.\" Mandu looked up toward the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas and motioned to her to get low. \"Get down. Something . . . is out there.\"\n\nThe three looked out into the dark, the light stretching only a couple of dozen feet out from the fire before the world became pitch-black. Mandu lowered his didgeridoo, picked up his walking stick. With his free hand he reached into his dilly bag and pulled out his bullroarer.\n\n\"If I say run,\" he said, whispering, \"you run like the willy-willy. You don't look back. Do you both understand?\"\n\nThey both nodded.\n\n\"But\u2014\" said Colby.\n\n\"No buts, eh? You run. I run. We all run.\"\n\n\"Okay.\"\n\nThe night remained silent. No wild things howling or barking. Only fire. Cracking, popping, dwindling.\n\nA burst of beating wings nearby, crows erupting into a flapping flock of caws and wings beating.\n\nColby sighed loudly. \"It's only birds,\" he said. \"Crows.\"\n\nMandu looked at him gravely, his skin taking on a strange pallor. \"Ain't no crows out here this time of year, Colby. Those are spirits. Kutji.\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" said the girl. \"They're the ones that showed me the bunyip. So I could meet Colby.\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" said Mandu, his eyes full of fear. \"What have you done?\" He waved his walking stick over the fire and it fizzled, fading out with a green flicker before flaring up again. \"Run.\"\n\nThe night erupted with the sounds of anguished torment, braying, cackling, setting the whole desert on edge. Everyone ran.\n\nMandu's pace was furious, barefoot over the desert, his feet always knowing just where to fall, as if he'd run it a thousand times. His jaw was open in shock, eyes wide with terror. He had seen a great many things. He had not seen this.\n\nThe pretty little girl was close on his heels, trying not to outrun him.\n\n\"Away with you,\" he said. \"Run faster! Don't wait for us!\"\n\n\"I'm not leaving you,\" she said.\n\n\"It will not end well if you follow us. Not for a long while.\"\n\n\"Don't leave me alone.\"\n\n\"Girl, you\u2014\"\n\n\"This is my fault, isn't it?\"\n\nMandu fell quiet for a second, his steady, controlled breathing and his footfalls the only sound he made. \"Yes,\" he said, finally. \"They followed your cord.\"\n\nColby was right behind them, pushing himself as hard as he could. Over the past few years he had seen his fair share of trouble and learned the value of being in shape. He walked everywhere, ran when he could, and found mortal terror to be an adequate motivator. He could run like this for hours. \"It doesn't matter whose fault it is,\" he said. \"Listen to Mandu. Get out of here!\"\n\nThe pretty little girl burst into tears. \"I don't want to be alone,\" she said, sobbing.\n\n\"You're only putting yourself in danger,\" said Mandu. \"Putting all of us in danger.\"\n\n\"Please don't make me go.\"\n\nColby caught up to the two, exchanged glances with Mandu, both nodding to the other.\n\n\"You were warned,\" said Colby.\n\nMandu looked up into the sky above him, the beating of wings surrounding them on all sides, dark shapes coasting across the star field, outlined by the cloudy arm of the Milky Way. Crows.\n\nKutji.\n\nShaking his head he looked at Colby, then nodded ahead of them. Colby knew what he meant. They were about to have company.\n\nColby took a deep breath, drawing in the universe, feeling out the rippling waves of dreamstuff surrounding them\u2014the energy so thick, so bright this far out in the wilderness that he could feel them coming, like flies in a web. They were descending right ahead of them, driving them into a trap as would a sheepdog, swarming like maddened bees, shifting into shadowy, demihuman shapes as their talons touched the ground.\n\nClever, he thought to himself. Think clever. Not strong. Clever.\n\nNothing came.\n\nSo, being eleven years old, he reacted anyway.\n\nColby's muscles bulged, his hair fell away, and his eyes glowed the color of the sun winking out at dusk. Everything about Colby became wrong for a second, his insides folding out from within. He jumped, wings sprouting behind his arms, scales creeping over his flesh. Within a moment, he had become a dragon, a pillar of flame erupting from his gaping mouth, lighting the night.\n\nSeveral dozen shadows stood before them, waiting, looking for a fight.\n\nColby didn't hesitate. He took to the air, letting loose a fire so hot it turned the ground beneath him to glass. Mandu reeled from the heat, hair singeing off his body, still running. The shadows didn't care about the heat. But the light chased them behind their own hands and stumps, stung them like a thousand bees at once, the fire lighting small patches of brush around them like candles.\n\nThis was no normal light. This was raw, lambent dreamstuff, brighter even than the sun. The whole landscape lit up with the fire, blazing like noonday, incinerating every bit of brush nearby.\n\nInspired, Mandu pointed a wild, excited finger. \"Colby,\" he yelled. \"The tree!\"\n\nColby soared around the shadows, his wings beating with a mighty THWUMP. He looked down, saw the white bark of a towering ghost gum, its crisp green eucalyptus leaves glimmering in the light of the dwindling brush fires. And he let loose another gout, setting it ablaze.\n\nThe night grew bright as day, the fire white hot and hateful.\n\nColby swooped down on the cowering mass of shadows, grabbed two with his massive clawed feet, and cast them shrieking into the fire. The shadows didn't perish, but for a moment they wished they had. The remaining shadows scattered into the night, fleeing for the dark as if they were, themselves, on fire, seeking out the darkest spots nearby.\n\nMandu waved frantically for Colby to join him on the ground, the girl hiding behind him, cowering from both shadow and flame.\n\nColby landed, his taloned claw turning back into a foot as it touched the ground, the transformation creeping up his legs, washing across his torso, shifting him back into a boy.\n\nMandu pointed again at the tree. \"That tree is our only way out of here. Quickly, before the trunk is consumed.\"\n\n\"I don't understand,\" said Colby.\n\n\"Trees in the outback do not grow by accident. They are connected. If you know the way, you can find your way from one tree to another. It will buy us some time.\"\n\n\"Why are we running and not fighting? You've seen our destinies. You know we survive.\"\n\nMandu looked back over his shoulder into the night. \"Too many. It's not our time yet to face them. You're not ready.\"\n\n\"I'm ready.\"\n\nMandu shook his head. \"I have seen you in dreams. I have seen her in dreams. You know what I haven't seen in dreams?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Me,\" he said. \"So into the tree.\"\n\n\"But how?\"\n\n\"Take my hand, close your eyes, and try to feel the road you cannot see. Whatever you do, don't let go.\"\n\nColby nodded, taking the hand of the pretty little girl just as she took Mandu's. The tree stood before them, a towering blaze, the leaves already burned away, branches blackening. They held their breath, took two steps toward the fire, eyes closed.\n\nThe air crackled with the sound of the fire, masking the all but silent footfalls on the desert sand. Mandu's eyes shot open and he turned in time to see several shadows barreling at them, single-clawed hands outstretched. He flinched, pulling the children behind him, diving into the tree.\n\nMandu sank into it like a stone into water, enveloped by the bark, dragging the girl's arm with him. But as the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas followed, the kutji caught her by the hair, dangling from the silvery cord on the back of her head.\n\nShe screamed as they tugged.\n\nColby beat at them with a solid fist, too distracted to do anything else. He yelled with as much bass as he could muster. \"Get away! Get the hell away!\"\n\nThey scratched at her, tugged at her hair, screeching, the black shadow of their flesh sizzling away in the light of the fire. But they would not yield. This was too important. She couldn't get away. Not this time. They yanked hard, halting her descent into the tree, bending her neck so far back that her skull touched her spine. Mandu pulled hard on her arm, but she would not budge.\n\nThe horde of shadows emerged from the night, bunched together in a serpentine mass, pressing forward like a long, thin school of fish, using one another's bodies to shield themselves, only to suffer a second of the harsh firelight before ducking back behind another.\n\nWithin seconds they would be on them, overtaking Colby and the girl completely.\n\nColby didn't have time to think; he only had time left to act.\n\nAnd so he did.\n\nIn his hand appeared a giant, gleaming sword, glowing ghostly white and brilliant. He swung, cleaving in two a shadow perched atop the girl's back, narrowly missing the cord. Then he swung again, one hand still holding hers, bisecting another. The shadows of their bodies fell away into nothing, shattering first into a thousand pieces, fizzling away before they hit the ground.\n\nThe mass of shadows leaped up, engulfed the silver cord, shimmying along it ever closer to the two, tugging on it to keep the girl from moving an inch closer to the tree.\n\nColby swung with all his might, his arc wide, the blade leaving tracers in its wake. Half a dozen shadows scattered at once, a heartbeat away from meeting the end of their brothers. The blade caught nothing. Nothing but the cord.\n\nIt snapped, severed in two without the slightest bit of give. Then the long end disintegrated without a sound.\n\nThe school of shadows broke, taking off in all directions, some turning back to crows, others scampering away on foot. Mandu tugged again and the children followed him at once into the tree, their bodies vanishing into it.\n\nThe tree erupted, exploding, spraying splinters and ash in a circle around the blaze.\n\nFor a moment the night was hushed. And then the kutji slowly returned, one by one, to survey the wreckage of the gum tree.\n\nThey stood around the smoldering remnants, its fire no longer too bright to hurt them. Jeronimus stepped forward, a sickly, proud smile on his crooked lips. \"It is done. Our business with the Clever Man is finished.\"\n\n\"What now?\" hissed a kutji from the pack.\n\n\"Now we find her, we take her, and we kill anyone who tries to stop us.\"\n\n\"But we can't kill the Clever Man,\" said another.\n\n\"No,\" said Jeronimus. \"But we can kill the boy.\"\nCHAPTER 31\n\nTHE OTHER SIDE OF THE TREE\n\nMandu stared at the tree, waiting to see if anything followed. Colby in turn waited, ready to unleash on anything that stepped through. But nothing came.\n\n\"That was a powerful fire, Colby,\" said Mandu.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" said Colby. \"I tried to be clever.\"\n\n\"Oh, but you were.\"\n\n\"I was?\"\n\n\"You scared them, scattered them, threw them off their plan. You were aces. They didn't expect that. But they will next time. Trying it again would not be so clever.\"\n\nColby smiled weakly. \"I'll try something else next time.\"\n\n\"It would be best if there were no next time.\"\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas stood to the side, fiddling with the fragment of silvery thread dangling from the back of her head. Mandu looked sadly upon her, his expression one both concerned and sympathetic. It was done. There was no going back now.\n\n\"How bad is it, Clever Man?\" she asked, trying to look tough, like a TV gangster, squinting and strong jawed. \"Give it to me straight.\"\n\n\"It's very bad,\" he said. \"The worst. You've lost the cord back to your body. You have to find it now. Reconnect. Put yourself back together before it is too late.\"\n\n\"That shouldn't be too hard,\" said Colby. \"You remember where you live, right?\"\n\nMandu waved a finger, shaking his head. \"It's not that easy. Without her cord she can't move like she used to. She can't run anymore. She has to walk through dreamtime.\"\n\n\"I don't mind that,\" she said. \"I can walk.\"\n\n\"The body that spends too much time away from its spirit begins to wither. It can't eat. It doesn't really sleep. Too long without food and water and the body dies. Body dies, spirit dies with it.\"\n\n\"Wait!\" said Colby. \"So if she doesn't get back to her body in time\u2014\"\n\n\"I'll die?\"\n\nMandu nodded. \"Too right. But it gets worse.\"\n\n\"How could it get worse?\" she asked.\n\n\"Your cord's been severed. Once we get you back in your body, you'll never dreamwalk again.\"\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"No, no, no. I can't do that. I won't do that.\"\n\n\"But we have to,\" said Colby.\n\n\"No! I won't go back. I won't go back there. Not to that body. Not without being able to dream. No.\"\n\n\"But you'll die,\" said Mandu.\n\n\"I'll die there. I can't go back there. And you can't make me.\"\n\nColby looked at Mandu. \"There's got to be a way to teach her to dreamwalk again.\"\n\n\"Teach? There is no teaching. She already knows how. The spirit must be anchored to its body; the cord is what lets it leave, not what holds it back. You get one cord. She sacrificed hers when she chose to stay with us.\"\n\nHer eyes grew furious, her silky black hair sweeping back as if caught in some deliberate wind. \"Are you saying this is my fault?\" she yelled. \"Are you blaming me?\"\n\nMandu nodded. \"There is no blame. There is no fault. There is only choice and consequence. We must all face the consequences for the choices we make. Sometimes we get to know the outcome, other times, like much of what is to come now, the future is invisible to us. But it will be our choices that take us there.\"\n\n\"You're saying it's my fault. Colby cut my cord!\"\n\n\"I\u2014I didn't!\" said Colby, lying even to himself.\n\n\"But you did,\" said Mandu. \"You cut her cord. But it was she who chose to stay, she who brought the shadows to our fire. There is no blame. There is only what has happened.\" He turned to the girl. \"You have a destiny before you. One we've talked about many times. One you could not wait to encounter. This is the road to that destiny. These are the choices we talked about. If you don't take responsibility for them, you will never be able to become who you must. The kutji . . . you said they came to you?\"\n\n\"We made a deal,\" she said.\n\n\"What was the deal?\"\n\n\"They would show me where the bunyip was. That was all.\"\n\nMandu rubbed his hands together. \"Did you first make a deal with the spirits demanding that they would not and could not harm you or your people?\"\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas at once felt very stupid and she shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. \"No,\" she said with a whimper.\n\n\"And what did these spirits demand of you in return for their favor?\"\n\n\"All they wanted was rum.\"\n\n\"Rum?\"\n\n\"They wanted a bucket of rum to drink in the backyard.\"\n\n\"And where did you get all this rum?\"\n\n\"From the cupboard,\" she said, looking at her feet.\n\n\"Which cupboard? Whose rum was it?\"\n\n\"My father's.\"\n\n\"And does your father know you stole his rum and gave it to the spirits?\"\n\nShe began to cry again, sobbing. \"I never got the rum.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"I fell.\"\n\n\"You fell?\"\n\n\"I hurt myself,\" she said.\n\n\"How bad, child?\"\n\n\"I'm in the hospital.\"\n\n\"Well, let's get you back there,\" said Colby.\n\n\"No! I'm not going back. Not if I can't dream again!\"\n\n\"But if you stay out here\u2014\"\n\nHer eyes were swollen with tears now, her cheeks glistening. She turned, running off into the night, refusing to hear the next words coming out of Colby's mouth. Somehow, she believed that if she didn't hear them, they couldn't be true.\n\nColby made a move to follow her, but Mandu interrupted him with a wave. \"Colby, no. Look at her. That girl isn't going to go back to her body. No way, no how. She's going to die out here. And that's exactly what the spirits want her to do.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"They have their reasons.\"\n\n\"What are they?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"The reasons?\"\n\n\"No. The spirits.\"\n\n\"The kutji? Shadows. Spirits with great magic.\"\n\nColby shook his head. \"What were they before?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I've met a lot of shadows,\" he said. \"Most of them used to be people. If we know who they were before, then we might be able to figure out what they want now.\"\n\n\"They're very old. I've heard that these were once pirates. Murderers. Thieves. They mostly keep to themselves. Haunt the deserts. Not many Clever Men trade favors with them.\"\n\n\"Because they're dangerous?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mandu. \"They never seem interested in anything. Not that we have. Now they are. They wanted her to be cut from her cord. What do they want with a little girl?\"\n\n\"What most shadows want, I reckon. An end to being shadows.\"\n\nColby looked out into the dark for the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas, but she was nowhere in sight. \"We should find her,\" he said.\n\nMandu shook his head. \"She'll be back in her own time. She has a very important decision to make. One that will tell us which direction to walk.\"\n\n\"What if she decides to not go home?\"\n\n\"Then she dies. And we protect her from the spirits as long as we can until she does.\"\n\n\"Wait here,\" said Colby decisively.\n\n\"Colby, I wouldn't\u2014\"\n\n\"Wait here,\" he said again, even more firmly. \"I got this.\"\n\nColby wandered out into the dark, his eyes closed, feeling the ripples in the energy around him. There she was, fifty yards out, sitting on a small boulder, head down, sobbing. He slowly made his way behind her, being sure to keep a short distance between them as he did.\n\nHe wanted to touch her, to put a hand on her shoulder or to throw his arms around her, hold her, and tell her everything was going to be okay. But it wasn't okay. And she would most likely push him away anyway. Girls were weird like that.\n\n\"My parents sucked too,\" he said.\n\nThe girl looked up indignantly, annoyed, a hair away from being angry. \"What?\"\n\n\"My parents. It's why I'm here. Like you.\"\n\n\"You don't know anything,\" she said.\n\n\"My mom drinks. A lot.\"\n\nShe softened, just a hair, but enough to let Colby know he was on the right track. \"Really?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Not rum though. She liked vodka.\"\n\n\"Dad says vodka is for commies and sluts.\"\n\n\"What's a commie?\" he asked.\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm pretty sure my mom isn't a commie.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" she said.\n\n\"Yeah. So I kinda get it.\"\n\n\"No, you don't. I love my dad. I love him more than anything.\"\n\n\"Does he drink a lot?\"\n\n\"Every night. I've tried to stop him, but, he, he has his reasons.\"\n\n\"There aren't any good reasons to drink like that.\"\n\n\"You really don't know anything, Colby.\"\n\n\"Yeah I do. But what could be a good reason to drink like that?\"\n\n\"He misses my mom.\"\n\nColby looked down, solemnly. \"Oh. Is she\u2014\"\n\n\"Yeah. I killed her.\"\n\n\"You what?\" he asked, looking back up at her.\n\n\"When I was born. Dad said it was a tough birth. I almost died. It was her or me.\" She looked at Colby with deadly serious eyes. \"I was the thing that killed my mother, and now I'm the cancer eating my father. He drinks because he misses her, which means he drinks because of me. It's not fair.\"\n\n\"No, it's not.\"\n\n\"Maybe if I don't go back. Maybe if I stay here, he can forget. Go on. He's better off without me.\"\n\n\"That's crap.\"\n\n\"It's not.\"\n\n\"That's not how love works. You don't just forget.\"\n\n\"Yes you can,\" she said. \"Anyone can.\"\n\n\"If it stops hurting, it isn't really love.\"\n\nShe sighed. \"I wish I could walk in the dream forever and never go home.\"\n\n\"But you can't.\"\n\n\"I don't like that world.\"\n\nThe two exchanged knowing looks. \"Yeah, I don't like it either. All I understand is this.\" He waved at the ground. \"I understand how a lot of this works. This makes sense to me. You make sense to me.\"\n\n\"I do?\"\n\nColby sat next to her on the rock, his elbow gently brushing against hers. \"Yeah. I don't want to go back either.\"\n\n\"You can't make me.\"\n\n\"I know. But you know what I don't understand?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"How the girl who stared down a bunyip could be afraid of anything. Anything at all.\"\n\nShe turned and looked at Colby, their faces only a few inches apart, her eyes still moist with tears. \"How old are you?\"\n\n\"Eleven,\" he said.\n\n\"You don't sound eleven.\"\n\n\"I get that a lot. How old are you?\"\n\n\"Eleven.\"\n\n\"No, really.\"\n\n\"I'm eleven,\" she said.\n\n\"You don't look eleven.\"\n\n\"I know. I get to be whoever I want to be out here. Back home it's different. I'm a different person there.\"\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"You're not. You only think you are. You're strong there too.\"\n\nHer breath shivered, stuttering as she inhaled. She leaned in, putting a hand on his chest, their lips brushing against each other, eyes closed, hearts thundering. And they kissed their first kiss. Gentle. Sweet. The universe falling away.\n\nThen she pulled away.\n\n\"You kissed me,\" he said, startled.\n\n\"Yeah,\" she said. \"I told you. I can do whatever I want out here. That's what I wanted to do.\" She smiled bravely.\n\n\"I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"For kissing me?\"\n\n\"No. For . . . for cutting your cord.\"\n\nShe looked down at the ground, trying to scuff her incorporeal feet in the dirt. \"I'm sorry too.\"\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"Bringing them with me. For making a deal with them. I just . . .\"\n\n\"You just what?\"\n\nShe looked Colby in the eyes. \"Wanted to meet you. My destiny.\"\n\nColby nodded. \"We'll find a way,\" he said. \"We'll figure this out.\"\n\n\"I believe you.\" Then she leaned close. \"Kaycee,\" she whispered into his ear.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"My name. It's Kaycee.\"\n\nHe smiled and took her hand. \"Come on, let's find Mandu.\"\n\nMANDU SAT CROSS-LEGGED before a fire, rocking gently, singing an incoherent song with words Colby didn't recognize.\n\n\"Mandu,\" said Colby. \"MANDU!\"\n\nBut Mandu didn't respond. He wasn't there. While his body chanted, Mandu's spirit was away, elsewhere in the dream. Colby walked around him, then saw the silvery cord trailing out of the back of his head and off into the night.\n\nHis eyes opened, first dazed by reentry, then terrified and desperate. \"We have to leave,\" he said, breathlessly. \"Now. They're coming to kill us before morning.\" He looked at the girl. \"We have to get you back to your body. Now.\"\n\n\"No!\" she said, stamping a foot in the dirt. \"I told you, I'm not going back. I'm staying out here. With you.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid that's what they want you to do.\"\n\n\"I don't care. If they want me, they'll have to come and get me. I'll die before I go home.\"\n\n\"That is exactly what will happen. It is exactly what I've seen.\"\n\nColby looked at him, his jaw out, his chest puffed up. He took the girl's hand in his. \"If they're coming to kill us, then we should stay right here. I'd rather fight them without having to run several hours to do it.\"\n\n\"Your boldness will get us killed. This isn't where we fight. This, right here, is where we die. For us to fight, to stand a chance, there's somewhere else we have to be.\"\n\n\"Where?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"Arnhem Land.\"\n\n\"How are we going to outrun them?\"\n\n\"They can't track her as easy without her cord. We'll sing the land up quicker. These are our songlines, not theirs. It will take them hours before they finally have us. By then, let's hope we're ready.\"\n\n\"Mandu, where did you go?\"\n\n\"I needed to speak with my spirit. And there were things that needed to be done. Come, it's a long run until morning.\"\nCHAPTER 32\n\nTHE NIGHT THE DEMONS CAME\n\nWade Looes was as drunk as he'd ever been while still able to stand upright, staggering through the streets, muttering in what may as well have been a foreign language. His daughter, his tiny little girl who had once been so small he could carry her cradled in the hollow between his arm and his chest, was lying, skull shattered, in a coma next to a machine that beeped with the sound of her heart.\n\nComa. There was no mistaking that word for any other word in the English language. She wasn't coming back. The doctors were sure about that. But he couldn't bring himself to pull the plug.\n\nSo day in, day out, his daughter lay there. Just beeping. All the rum in the world couldn't chase the beeping away, but he sure tried. Beep. Beep. Beep.\n\nHe heard the sound everywhere. Echoing off the walls. Trailing down the streets. It haunted him. Even when he closed his eyes and drifted off, exhausted, it crept into his dreams.\n\nWade was short on sleep now. The only way he could get more than a few minutes' rest was to drink himself out. But he was running out of things to sell for booze.\n\nWade stumbled to his knees, the world wobbling with him. Nothing would stand still. Not the ground. Not the lampposts. And not the shadows. In fact, the shadows moved most of all.\n\nBeep. Beep. Beep.\n\nHe tried to stand up, to push himself off the pavement, but he only managed his way closer to it. The ground began to feel cozy. Perhaps this was as good a place as any to finally . . .\n\n\"Hey,\" whispered a voice.\n\n\"Huh?\" he mumbled, drifting off to sleep.\n\nThe voice whispered again. \"Hey! Wake the fuck up!\"\n\nWade swatted, as if chasing flies. \"Go away. I'm sleeping.\"\n\n\"Wake up, you miserable piece of shit. Would you want your daughter to see you like this?\"\n\n\"No, I . . .\" Wade sat up, scrambling slowly to all fours, his eyes wide open. There was no one there. \"Shit.\" His head was a blur of jumbled thoughts, none of them coherent, not a one of them bothering to work itself out to its logical conclusion.\n\n\"Hey,\" said the voice again. \"Hey, I'm talking to you.\"\n\n\"Who? Who is talking to you? Was I talking to you? Us. Us I mean. What was th\u2014?\"\n\nBeep.\n\n\"Where the fuck did that . . . ?\" Wade looked around, fearful. He was too confused now. Had no idea whether he was even inside or out. It felt like pavement beneath him, but he couldn't be sure. \"What's going on?\"\n\n\"You killed her, you worthless son of a bitch. You killed her.\"\n\n\"No, I didn't mean\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh, you're happy she's gone, aren't you? No more little mutant with the clubfoot. No more split lip. No more looks of pity. Oh, that poor man. He can't even fuck a girl right without popping out a broken little beast.\"\n\n\"Who the fuck . . . ? WHERE ARE YOU?\"\n\nThe shadows moved, shuffled, like the walls themselves were collapsing, reshaping to move the light around. Then they started peeling themselves out of the dark, breaking off in tiny chunks. Several strange goblinoid shapes, boxy, like Cubist paintings done solely in black, creeping in, bending with the spinning of the world.\n\n\"You liked it, didn't you?\" asked one of the shadows. \"You liked seeing her broken on the ground.\"\n\n\"No!\" Wade shouted.\n\n\"Prove it.\"\n\nBeep.\n\nWade began crying. \"I . . . I don't know how. No one believes me.\"\n\n\"We don't believe you. Prove it.\"\n\n\"HOW?\"\n\nA large, rusty butcher's knife clattered to the ground.\n\n\"Prove it.\"\n\nWade shook his head, his eyes swollen red with tears. \"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"Is that the hand?\" asked the shadow. \"Is that the hand that killed your daughter?\"\n\n\"No, it\u2014\"\n\n\"The hand that held the glass all night. The hand that drank you to sleep. The hand that rested limp in the chair while your daughter lay bleeding on the ground?\"\n\nNo. That's . . . it wasn't like that.\"\n\n\"Clench it.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Clench it. Your fist. Clench it!\"\n\nWade clenched his right hand into a fist.\n\n\"Look at it.\"\n\nWade stared at his fist, clenching and unclenching it, his fingers scarred stubs from years at the cannery, the dark skin nicked almost entirely white. He could see the way it wanted to naturally curl around a glass, picture it resting in his fingers, the cold condensation chilling his skin.\n\n\"That's the hand, isn't it? That killed her?\"\n\n\"She's not dead.\"\n\n\"That's the hand, isn't it?\"\n\nWade nodded with a sob. \"Yes,\" he whispered. \"This is the one.\"\n\n\"You have to remove it,\" said the shadow. \"You have to take it off at the wrist. Before it infects the rest of you with its evil.\"\n\n\"It's too late. I'm already infected.\"\n\n\"It's not too late, Wade. Take it. Take it off at the wrist.\"\n\nWade swallowed hard. Picked up the old butcher knife with his left hand. Put his right hand flat on the pavement. The whole world was woozy, spinning. This felt right.\n\n\"Just take it, Wade.\"\n\nHe swung.\n\nHe screamed.\n\nHe'd missed, managing only to sever three fingers at the knuckle.\n\nBlood sprayed across the pavement.\n\nThe shadows, however, did not waver. They crept closer. \"Again,\" said the shadow. \"Again. Do it right this time or it will infect your whole arm.\"\n\nWade nodded, his eyes streaming, his face contorted. \"Okay,\" he said, whimpering.\n\nHe looked down, saw the blood pooling around his hand.\n\nThe knife came down again, this time at the wrist, his hand coming off cleanly.\n\nWade howled into the night, the pain too much even for his drunken numb. \"OH MY GOD! OHMYGODOHMYGOD!\"\n\n\"He can't help you now,\" said the shadow with a hint of delighted irony. \"There's only one way to dull that pain.\"\n\n\"What?\" screamed Wade, clutching his severed arm with his left hand.\n\n\"Over here,\" said another spirit. \"Put this around your neck.\"\n\nWade nodded, lumbering to his feet. He took a wide, uneven step, losing his balance, slamming into a wall. He could see a lamppost, shadows circling it, crows sitting atop it\u2014a rope, heavy and thick, swinging slowly back and forth from it, a noose at the end.\n\n\"I'm sorry, baby,\" he muttered, slogging against the drink, reaching toward the rope. \"Daddy's gonna make it better. Daddy's gonna make the pain go away. I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"There, there. It's almost done. Just put this on. Just put this on.\"\n\nWade slung the rope around his neck and tightened the noose. \"I'm sorry,\" he whimpered again. \"I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"Pull,\" said the shadow. And the shadows pulled.\nCHAPTER 33\n\nFOUR MEN SINGING IN A TRUCK\n\nAnd then the singing stopped, for they didn't own the song to this part of the line. For a moment, they sat in silence.\n\n\"It just ain't right,\" said Jirra, sitting in the passenger seat, nervously picking at a hangnail. \"I have a right to know.\" He was young, handsome, the youthful brown skin of his cheek peppered with a light sprinkling of stubble.\n\nKami frowned through his thick, curly black beard, shaking his head without taking his eyes off the road. He had a potbelly trying to peek out from under a stained shirt, but the arms of a man who worked for a living, hands that knew the outdoors better than the in gripping the wheel. \"You drew the straw, you knew the risks.\"\n\n\"But I should know. I didn't know I wasn't gonna know.\"\n\n\"Well, now you know that you don't get to know. And all is right with the world.\"\n\n\"But it ain't right.\" Jirra paused for a moment, thinking about how best to say it. \"I'm scared.\"\n\nThe night was nothing but darkness, the desert entirely swallowed up in it, the moon hiding behind a bank of thick clouds. It was a palpable dark, the kind you could see the shape of a flashlight's beam in, the kind that was more like a fog than an absence.\n\nThe truck was battered, old, culled together with parts from a dozen abandoned wrecks, both fenders mismatched, its body scraped of paint long ago. But its engine sang like a growling mastiff as it ambled down the dirt road at a steady clip, headlights cutting the black, two passengers in the cab, two in its bed. It had, over the years, hauled lumber, rocks, wedding parties, and beer. But tonight's cargo was perhaps the most important of its long, labored life.\n\n\"Don't be scared,\" said Kami. \"Whatever happens, it'll be okay.\"\n\n\"Just don't panic, eh? Is that what you're saying?\"\n\n\"No. You should definitely panic. That's the point, mate. You just don't gotta be scared.\"\n\n\"That doesn't make any sense.\"\n\n\"It doesn't have to.\"\n\n\"Do Daku and Mulga know?\" asked Jirra. \"Because I could just ask them.\"\n\n\"Nah, bru. I'm the only one who knows.\"\n\n\"How's it fair that you get to know?\"\n\n\"Cause I'm the fella that's gotta do it, eh?\"\n\nThe truck veered quickly off the dirt road onto the blacktop highway, neon reflectors stinging in the dark, lit up hundreds of feet out. They could make out the building in the distance, the lights of the parking lot so bright it looked like an airfield or a military base. Isolated, alone in the desert, drenched in halogen.\n\nIt wasn't long now.\n\nJirra shifted in his seat, growing ever the more anxious as they approached, still plucking at his hangnail. \"Are you sure this is the only way?\" he asked.\n\n\"Nah, it's just the best way. Quick, easy, in and out.\"\n\n\"I got rooted on this one, eh?\"\n\n\"You wanted to come along. Wanted to go on the big job.\"\n\n\"Yeah. I reckon I did.\"\n\n\"We're almost there. It'll all be over soon.\"\n\nThe truck rumbled around another corner, headed dead on toward the light. The signs were visible now, though still too far away to be read. Any minute now they would be deep in it, but for the moment there was nothing but nervous silence and a truck engine.\n\nThe truck rolled into the parking lot and rattled to a stop just past the front door. Kami turned off the lights but left the engine running. He looked over at Jirra with a hint of remorse, his hand slipping down between the seat and the door. \"Now remember,\" he said. \"Whatever you do, just keep screaming.\"\n\nThe knife he pulled out was long, sharp, glinting in the glare of the parking lot's lamps. He flicked his wrist, cutting a wide gash across Jirra's forearm. Jirra screamed with all the air in his lungs, the sound deafening in the cramped rusty cab. \"Fuck, man!\"\n\nKami reached out the open window and slapped the door twice before passing Jirra a greasy white rag to staunch the bleeding. Daku and Mulga hopped soundlessly out of the back of the truck, disappearing around the building. Jirra, on the other hand, still hollered.\n\n\"Good, mate. Good,\" said Kami. \"Just like that.\"\n\nThe inside of the building was well lit, all white, but quiet. Waiting room, empty chairs facing a television. Scattered clipboards. A nurse sat behind the admissions window, staring at the rerun of some old American show they only bothered to air in the middle of the night. She looked up, scared half to death at the sound of Jirra's bellowing, bolting straight from her chair.\n\nJirra pressed the rag, now soaked through and dripping, hard against his arm. He wailed as if his hand at any moment might fall off onto the ground, gone for good. He was pissed, glaring whenever he had the chance at Kami, who in turn avoided eye contact altogether. The nurse rushed out, trying both to assess the situation and calm Jirra enough to keep from waking everyone else in the hospital.\n\n\"Sir,\" she said. \"Sir! I'm going to need you to keep it down. Stay calm, you're okay now. Sir? SIR?\" She looked at Kami, trying to speak over the bawling. \"What happened?\"\n\n\"We were having a few drinks at a pub and this bloke was looking to have a blue. And Willy here, well he didn't reckon he wanted a thing to do with him. And then out came a knife as big as your arm.\"\n\n\"Willy?\" she asked Jirra, trying to remove the rag from the wound. \"Willy, I'm going to need you to stop screaming.\"\n\n\"It hurts!\" yelled Jirra. \"It hurts!\"\n\n\"I know, but you're going to have to calm down. DOCTOR!\" she yelled back into the hall. \"Doctor, I need you!\"\n\n\"It's gonna fall off! It's gonna fall off!\"\n\n\"It's not gonna fall off,\" said the nurse. \"Let me look at it.\" She gently pulled away the rag, his arm slick with red. He howled. The nurse looked back at Kami. \"Is he on anything?\"\n\n\"Nah,\" said Kami. \"Just grog.\"\n\n\"Because if he's on something and we don't know, it might have an adverse reaction with the painkillers.\"\n\n\"We just had a couple o' coldies at the pub. Nothin' else.\"\n\n\"He thinks his hand is going to fall off.\"\n\n\"He's young. He's stupid like that.\"\n\n\"DOCTOR?\"\n\nKami looked over the nurse's shoulder, holding his breath. Behind her, Daku and Mulga quietly wheeled out a gurney, covered in a light blue bedsheet. He quickly gave Jirra a dire look and Jirra screamed even louder.\n\nThe nurse was rattled, her buttoned-up exterior shedding, giving way to full-on confusion. She turned sharply, looking for the doctor, just missing Daku and Mulga as they slipped out the automated sliding glass doors. Ordinarily she would have heard it, looked up reflexively, but she couldn't hear a damned thing over the ruckus. She ran to her station, grabbing a piece of sterile gauze, returning to place it over the gash.\n\n\"Stay here,\" she said. \"I'm going to get the doctor.\" Then she vanished to the back, wondering where the hell the attending physician was at this hour.\n\nKami and Jirra didn't waste a second. They were out the door and in the truck before the nurse was halfway down the hall. Daku and Mulga were already in back, the body of a little girl wrapped in a pile of blankets between them. With the engine already running, Kami shifted gears and floored it, taking off out of the parking lot, racing back into the thick black.\n\nJirra held the gauze to his arm, saying nothing but giving Kami the dirtiest look he could muster.\n\n\"Does it hurt?\" asked Kami, his eyes glued to the small patch of lit road ahead of him.\n\n\"Nah,\" said Jirra. \"But it sure as shit looks like it does, eh?\"\n\n\"He was right about you, you know.\"\n\n\"He was?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Said you'd pull through just fine. That you'd do it up right. This would all go down right as rain as long as I didn't spoil the surprise.\"\n\nJirra nodded. \"He knew I'd draw the straw.\"\n\n\"What doesn't that old codger know? You might turn out all right after all.\"\n\nMulga slid the cab's rear window open, leaning in. \"She was hooked up to an awful lot of machines. You reckon she'll be okay back here?\"\n\nKami nodded. \"Mandu says she's just out walkin'. She'll be fine as long as we get her back to town.\"\n\n\"You sure?\" asked Mulga. \"There really were a lot of 'em.\"\n\n\"If he's sure, I'm sure.\"\n\n\"What then?\" asked Jirra.\n\n\"Only Mandu knows for sure. And he'll tell you as soon as he sees fit to tell you.\"\n\nMulga slid the window closed, settling back in for the long ride back to town. He looked down at the little girl sleeping peacefully next to him, wondering what she might be dreaming about, where she might be walking.\n\nThen the men all sat quiet, waiting to round the coming pass when they could sing their way along the line back home.\nCHAPTER 34\n\nSONGLINES\n\nAN EXCERPT BY DR. THADDEUS RAY, PH.D., FROM HIS BOOK DREAMSPEAKING, DREAMWALKING, AND DREAMTIME: THE WORLD ON THE OTHER SIDE OF DOWN UNDER\n\nOwnership of a song in a songline is a complicated and alien thing to the uninitiated. When the heir to a songline is born, his birthright is to inherit one. He will learn, through drilling and memorization, the names of his ancestors, the history of his tribe and the surrounding area, and a portion of the song to a songline. Others will come and ask to borrow his song; he, in turn, will generously loan it out. It cannot be bought, traded, or sold, and the heir can never be rid of it. He can only sing it and let it be sung by others.\n\nThe origin of a songline finds its roots in survival. The bulk of Australia is a hostile wilderness many liken to a wasteland, with weather patterns that vary wildly from year to year. In order to survive, the Aborigines had to become nomadic. In turn, these nomadic practices inspired a number of philosophies about ownership that simply don't translate easily to the West. To these nomads, property was fluid. The land provided, and since people needed to carry everything they owned from one place to another from time to time, the idea arose that property was something of a burden. Thus one didn't want to hold on to one thing for too long, lest it weigh one down. This began as a necessity, but continued as a philosophy. If one possessed an object for too long, it could weigh down one's very life, and thus one should never be too attached to anything, being willing to trade it away at any moment.\n\nAt the same time, a tribe might find itself in a place overabundant with one type of provision, but short of another. For example one might find oneself in the woods filled with fowl and game, but short on fruit and ocher. The solution was of course to trade. But since all of the tribes were nomadic, knowing where resources were located or abundant was tricky. So trade routes emerged. The Aborigines imagined them as lines, and they learned them and passed information about them along in the form of song.\n\nThese songs described the route to a location, as well as contained the history of those locations. Through these songlines tribes would pass information, news, goods, even trinkets in a way to be connected with other peoples around the continent. But what began as a song describing the rock formation one was looking for to find a billabong became a story about a group of men who fought and died there. Later would come a verse about the couple who fell in love there and the hero who would be born of that love. Later still the song would tell the tale of mythic creatures said to haunt it. Over the course of generations a simple method of learning how to get from one place to another became the medium that contained the history of an entire continent.\n\nSoon the songs became so long, so involved, so intricate that no one man could ever learn all of them. Few could memorize every bit of a single line. From this evolved the practice of passing down portions of the song. It is both an honor and a burden, a gift with strings attached. And every so often, a tribe will gather to sing the whole of its line, requiring all of the owners of a piece of the song to perform, in order, their portion.\n\nIt is in these recitations that we begin to see the more powerful, religious applications of the songlines. Aborigines believe that if you sing a songline out of order, you can undo the line itself, singing the elements out of existence. While the exact repercussions vary from tribe to tribe, the end result is always cataclysmic, ranging from the restructuring of reality, the redrawing of maps, to the complete annihilation of creation itself. While there appears to be no real basis for this, the belief in these events is dangerous enough. In a land as rich with dreamstuff as Australia, a large gathering of powerful believers singing ancient magicks, all believing something has gone wrong at once, could be the explanation of any number of their history's natural disasters.\n\nThis, of course, covers the more mundane aspects of the history. Enter the Clever Men, also known as the Men of High Degree. These medicine men learn the more esoteric meaning to the songs. In short, the magic of them. Through song, these Clever Men can reweave their own surroundings, ward off supernatural creatures, and even travel more quickly via a songline.\n\nIt is believed by many that singing a songline while traveling will actually conjure up the location more quickly. And while this is clearly untrue, it is based primarily upon the Clever Men's ability to \"hop\" from location to location. In truth, Clever Men memorize not only the physical locations and histories, but their hidden, supernatural ones as well. They learn about the spaces between the spaces and memorize their properties within the elements of the song.\n\nThere are a number of different theories and explanations as to the nature of the universe, none of which seems to be wholly accurate. I prefer to look at reality as having begun as a balled-up sheet of paper. Over time, it has slowly unfolded, leaving creases and crinkles where portions of it are actually a bit closer than they appear to be when viewed from overhead. People with the ability to perceive beyond the veil can sense these crinkles and creases, and use them to slip from one part of the universe to another without having to cross all of the physical space. This allows someone to travel faster than normal and, when viewed by an outsider, appears as if the person is \"hopping.\"\n\nClever Men make extensive use of this, traveling between places much faster than the ordinary person, or evading pursuers by simply disappearing and reappearing hundreds of feet away. To the casual observer this appears to happen as if the Clever Man sings it into being. In truth, he is singing to guide himself to the right spot to pass through.\n\nOne of the most important secrets to the magical nature of the songs is that the power is not in the words. Like all true magick, the secret is in the belief and execution. Here, in the case of songlines, the magick is from the music. The belief in the tune is the crux of it. While the many tribes of Australia share a common mythology and belief system, they do not share the same language. Even though songlines belong to people of a specific dreaming (an extended form of tribe tied into the belief of a people's origin), those people do not necessarily all speak the same language. They do, however, sing the same song. Thus it is not the words that matter, simply the land they describe and the tune by which they do it.\n\nTheir belief in the power of their song affects the song itself, weaving in subtle alterations to the way the tune exists and ultimately the way it can fundamentally shape the reality around it. In other words, as long as someone knows the tune, the landmarks and the stories that go along with them, they can sing a song without knowing the specific words and still utilize the knowledge and power of that songline.\nCHAPTER 35\n\nTHE SWAMPS JUST SOUTH OF ARNHEM\n\nWhere are we headed?\" asked the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas.\n\n\"Not much farther. Few more hours. A billabong near my home. Great power. Very holy. Delicious fish. You'll like it.\"\n\nIt was afternoon. They had run all night and seen nary a crow. Now that the sun was up, they ran still. There was no time to stop, to rest. But there was time for a lesson as they hoofed it due north.\n\nColby stopped, looking around at the tree above him, then, confident he was safe, closed his eyes. He put his hand on one of the thin gray trunks, his hand disappearing into it. Though the tree was many times smaller than Colby, he squeezed himself in, emerging from another tree fifty feet ahead.\n\nMandu nodded, jogging with a proud smile. \"Good. Good! You've got it.\" Colby waved as he stepped completely out. \"Now feel out again. See if you can find one with a sister tree farther out.\"\n\n\"Okay!\" Colby yelled, turning around and trying again.\n\n\"This is stupid,\" said the girl, just loud enough for Mandu to hear her.\n\n\"For you, yes. Which is why I'm not having you do it.\"\n\n\"Then why him?\"\n\n\"You and he are very similar. Both clever. Both headstrong. Both very good with your heads. But Colby was given too much too soon. He can wipe a being out of existence with a thought or summon terrible nightmares from the dream. So he thinks big. He thinks like a bully. Brute force. We must break him of that or he will do something very, very terrible.\"\n\n\"Like what?\" she asked.\n\n\"Like something else that cannot be undone.\"\n\n\"Why don't I have to do it, then?\"\n\nMandu smiled. \"Because you started with nothing. You think clever, only limited by your age and power. If you get too clever, you too will do things that cannot be undone. What you need is to think more like Colby, just as he needs to think more like you.\"\n\n\"Found one!\" yelled Colby, vanishing into the much larger trunk of a black walnut tree.\n\nThe girl ran quietly for a spell, mulling over what Mandu had said. \"Clever Man?\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Am I really going to die out here?\"\n\nMandu shrugged. \"Child, if you survive this, it will only be because they want you to survive this and only if it serves their plans. Odds are, if you live, it won't be a life worth living.\"\n\nShe deflated, scuffing her foot in frustration. \"Oh,\" she said, thinking about the last time she saw her body. The pain of waking up to fresh scars and a shattered skull scared her less than dying out here, but never being able to dreamwalk again scared her most of all.\n\n\"You know,\" he said, \"there is a rock, far out in the desert, well off every road and songline. Big one. Just a boulder in the middle of nowhere. Many Clever Men know where it is. Spirits have been known to sleep there from time to time. One day, you might find everything you're looking for under that rock.\"\n\n\"One day?\" she asked, hopeful.\n\n\"If you live to see that day, you'll know it when it comes.\"\n\nMandu kept his eyes on the horizon, tracking the sun, doing the math silently in his head. They might not make it in time. But he was afraid of telling the children, afraid that they might spend the last few hours of their lives running.\n\n\"Mandu!\" Colby shouted from a hundred yards away. \"This is awesome!\"\n\nIT WAS NIGHTFALL and they were quickly approaching the border into Arnhem. Both Colby and Mandu were exhausted, their bodies run well past their breaking points. Though both were accustomed to long runs, neither was prepared for this. It was getting harder to be able to keep a straight thought in their heads. All Mandu could think about was crossing the border. Get into Arnhem. Then they would be safe. He repeated it over and over.\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas, however, wasn't even winded. She was a thing of the dream and could run for as long as she wanted, just not as fast anymore. But she kept pace with the others, as fast as her legs could now carry her, scared of what might happen if she found herself too far behind them.\n\nThe sound of the first crow cawing in the dark broke Mandu's heart. This was the moment he was dreading. No future was set in stone, he knew that. But even the best outcomes here were unappealing. Both of these children were about to make some of the most important decisions of their lives, but if he dared tell them, dared hint at the true outcome, they would never choose the right path. Either of them.\n\nWhile the first caw broke his heart, the second was utterly devastating. It came from ahead of them. And it was followed by a terrifying volley of them.\n\nThe kutji were waiting, lined across the forest, standing between them and Arnhem.\n\n\"Keep running,\" said Mandu. \"Don't stop.\"\n\n\"But they're right ahead of us,\" said Colby.\n\nMandu pointed at the horizon. \"You see that ridgeline?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"That's Arnhem Land.\"\n\n\"So?\"\n\n\"They can't follow us into Arnhem. They're not allowed.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"Because that was the deal I made with them.\"\n\n\"You what?\"\n\n\"Our friend here is not the only one who has trafficked with these spirits. My deal with them keeps them out. If we can get to that ridge\u2014\"\n\n\"We'll be safe!\" Colby ran harder than before, getting his second wind. \"But how do we get past them?\"\n\nMandu smiled, reaching into his dilly bag. \"I have a surprise.\" He pulled out his bullroarer, winging it through the air with a WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP.\n\nThe kutji descended from the trees, feathers molting into shadows, wings changing into arms, running at full speed the moment they touched the ground.\n\nAnd then the forest came alive.\n\nThe mimis crawled out from every crevice imaginable, from under rocks and logs, from cracks in the mud, from between the leaves in trees. Their colors varied from black and white to red and purple, yellow and green. Each looked as if it was finger-painted to life, thin as a rail but vicious, fearless.\n\nThey rained stones from slings on the incoming shadows; they hurled boomerangs through the air; lobbed spears tipped with flame. The first wave of shadows toppled to the ground, some merely felled by rocks, others screaming, flaming spears sticking out of their chests, boomerangs lodged in their heads. Then the mimis descended on the fallen with clubs, kicking, beating, scratching.\n\nJeronimus yelled, realizing he'd once again been lured into a trap. He would not spend another night trapped in a pit, plucking the feathers from birds, waiting for death. He yipped twice, waved his stubby arms around in the air, and called back his shadows to rally with him.\n\nThe shadows pulled their fallen behind them, dragging them back, mimis chasing them, casting rocks and spears after them as they did. They crawled into the shadows of trees, hiding from the advancing fairy mob, staying still and silent, hoping not to be spotted. Then Jeronimus yelled again. \"To the skies!\" And the shadows burst into a flock of birds, flapping wildly, chasing the stars.\n\nColby, Mandu, and the pretty little girl ran even harder than before. This was their only chance.\n\nThe crows, still dozens strong and wounded, raced toward the heavens, the stars crystal clear and beaming, the sky black and cloudless. They powered their way up, fighting against the pull of the earth, tiny wings pushing as hard as they could. Then Jeronimus evaporated, his feathers falling away. His form broke down into mist, the blackness of his sheen swelling into the night, obscuring the night sky.\n\nJeronimus had become a storm cloud, ever expanding and ominous, his companions dutifully following suit.\n\nThe horde of crows dissolved into a storm front all their own; dark, bulbous, rolling clouds surging out across the sky, flashes of lightning belching within. The wind kicked up, fierce and steady, gusts whipping between the trees, a torrent of leaves scattering through the swamp like buckshot. Then the rains came.\n\nThe winds tore through the forest, microbursts tearing mimis in half, snapping their brittle limbs, tossing them around like tumbleweeds. The mimis scattered, desperately clawing their way between rocks, back into tree hollows, bracing themselves against the gales. The entire forest shook, balding trees waving, shedding leaves by the pile; branches tearing free, crashing into the mud. Storm raging, loud and unrelenting; earth trembling below with the bellows of thunder. It was a sound like the end of the world.\n\nColby ran. Mandu ran. But the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas huddled behind a dug-in boulder, head between her knees, hands behind her head, fingers laced together. She couldn't outrun the storm anymore; she couldn't ignore its winds or its lightning. With her tether gone, she was slow, clumsy, and exposed. And she was scared to death.\n\nShe mumbled quietly to herself, asking for unseen help, praying that the rains soaking her would soon pass, that the winds would soon die down. But the tempest still howled, the storm getting angrier and angrier by the moment. The twisted, broken, red-painted body of a mimi tumbled by, a single splintered hand twitching to grab her as it passed before being thrown into a billabong.\n\nFour clouds broke away from the front, drifting down, letting the gusts tear them apart. They shredded, the wisps becoming feathers, the feathers fluttering together. The four became crows again, dropping through the rain, straight toward the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas.\n\nAt once the rest of the clouds burst, the rain stopping, the stars emerging in swaths of sky. Crows formed, flapping back down toward the earth, mist trailing from their feathers. Dozens of birds once again dove down, the thunder having trailed off into the distance, the storm nothing but a memory.\n\nShe cowered still behind a boulder, unaware of the hell coming for her.\n\nWith the winds gone, the mimis emerged from their holes. This time, however, the kutji were ready, swooping in on the stick men, claws out, tearing them off their trees, snapping them in half against boulders and branches. It had been hundreds of years since the kutji were afforded the chance to be this savage, memories of cobbled-together maces crushing skulls, splattered blood across coral sands flooding back. They felt alive. In a bloodthirsty rage, the spirits relived the heady days of wanton brutality, unleashing centuries of pent-up fury on the mimis they could get their claws on.\n\nWhat few mimis remained unseen stayed hidden, sure that they would be the next dead against a rock or snapped into pieces by bare hands.\n\nThe carnage was over almost as soon as it began, the shadows looking around, eager for other victims, bleeding pieces of mimi in their hands like clubs, crows soaring about them as spotters.\n\nThen the crows formed a murder around the pretty little girl. Some sat on branches, watching, others shifted back into their more human forms. Jeronimus was the last to flap down, dropping to the ground, a stub-fisted shadow, smiling from ear to ear.\n\n\"Hello, Kaycee,\" he said.\n\n\"That's not my name,\" she said. \"Not out here.\"\n\n\"It was always your name. It will always be your name. Kaycee Looes. Daughter of Wade Looes. Last and furthest descendant of Wouter Looes. We've waited a long time for you, Kaycee. A lot of years.\"\n\n\"A lot of years,\" hooted one of the other shadows.\n\n\"And now we can right the four-hundred-year-old wrong. Can you help us do that?\"\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas shook her head. \"No.\"\n\nJeronimus leaned in, inches from her face. \"Too bad you don't get a say in the matter.\"\n\nSEVERAL KUTJI LANDED in the swamp just ahead of Colby and Mandu, running toward them at alarming speeds.\n\n\"Colby!\" shouted Mandu. \"The trees! Take to the trees!\"\n\nColby knew exactly what he meant. He felt out for the trees, sensed their connections. A kutji leaped into the air, claws out, raking at Colby. It came down, inches from him, a heartbeat away from striking. Then Colby vanished, running headlong into a tree and out another twenty feet away.\n\nHe was alone now, his legs burning, aching, barely able to carry him. And he ran into another tree. And another. And another.\n\nThe kutji couldn't keep up.\n\nThe ridge was only a few tree hops away now.\n\nBehind him he heard the screams of the chittering mob, but dared not look back. Run, he thought. Just keep running.\n\nAnother tree. And then another.\n\nAnd then the ground was different. He looked down, saw the rock beneath his feet.\n\nColby had made it to the ridge.\n\nHe turned, looked back to see Mandu just below him in the swamp, running into a tree of his own. Then he felt the WHOOSH of air as Mandu blew past him, turning as he did and slowing to a stop. Both doubled over in agony, trying to catch their breath. Colby, hands on his knees for support, looked up for the little girl in the purple pajamas, but she was nowhere nearby.\n\nHe looked out farther, then farther still, and finally he saw her, swarmed with maddened kutji, too numerous for her to escape. \"KAYCEE!\" he screamed. She looked up, as scared as he'd ever seen her, held out a pleading arm, begging him to come back.\n\nColby ran for the nearest tree, but Mandu put out a stiff arm and stopped him cold.\n\n\"You can't,\" said Mandu, panting.\n\n\"They're going to kill her.\"\n\n\"Not tonight they aren't.\"\n\n\"We have to help her!\"\n\n\"We can't.\" He pointed to the edge of the ridge. Below them stood a half dozen furious kutji, braying madly, but refusing to take another step. \"We're in Arnhem now. You pass that ridge, they will kill you.\"\n\n\"We can't leave her.\"\n\n\"We have to. It is the choice she made. I told you both it would come to this. I told you at the campfire. If she followed, it would not end well. If she didn't go home, she would die before she returned to her body. She chose this. This was what she has worked so long and hard for.\"\n\n\"No! That's not fair.\"\n\n\"Not all destinies are fair, Colby. Hers isn't, yours isn't. We get the lives we choose, even when we don't know we're making a choice.\"\n\nColby and the little girl stared at each other across the wide gulf of the swamp, both with tears in their eyes. \"I don't leave my friends.\"\n\n\"This time you do.\"\n\n\"We're staying.\"\n\n\"Colby, what's about to happen, you don't want to see. I've seen it. And it will haunt me for as long as I live. Don't do this. Come.\"\n\n\"No. I'm not\u2014\"\n\n\"Come, before you see something you can never unsee.\" Mandu looked out over the valley ahead of them in Arnhem. \"I have something to show you. Something very important.\"\n\nColby turned, crying. \"But, Mandu\u2014\"\n\n\"I have seen many versions of tonight in my dreams. There is one in which you didn't make it up here. And another in which you went back. They both end the same. Those were terrible dreams. Please, let them remain dreams. Come on.\"\n\nColby turned back to the swamps, sobbing, raising a hand to wave good-bye to his friend.\n\nBelow, the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas simply watched him, stunned, unable to speak.\n\nThen Colby turned around one last time and walked sadly into Arnhem with Mandu.\nCHAPTER 36\n\nQUEEN OF THE DARK THINGS\n\nThe shadows watched as Colby vanished into the forest, out of their reach.\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas couldn't watch. She stood crestfallen, defeated, eyes cast to the ground. \"Are you going to kill me?\" she asked.\n\nJeronimus shook his head. \"We don't have to. You already did the heavy lifting on that for us. You'll be dead any day now for sure. We just have to wait for your body to die.\"\n\n\"Where is it?\"\n\n\"In the hospital where we left it. You're on machines. But they'll pull the plug any day now.\"\n\nThe tears began to flow steadier now and she sobbed openly into her hands. \"And what will happen to me then?\"\n\n\"You'll become one of us. And then we can all move on.\"\n\n\"My dad won't let that happen.\"\n\nJeronimus smiled wickedly. \"He doesn't have a choice.\" He gave a shrill whistle, nodding to a pack of kutji standing behind her.\n\nOut from the pack emerged a single shadow, larger than the others, its limbs long and lanky, having died in much different light than the others. She knew exactly who it was, could feel him, feel his pain, knew it was once her father. Wade.\n\nShe fell to her knees, weeping. Destroyed. \"No! Dad!\"\n\n\"Your friends are gone,\" said Jeronimus. \"Your family is gone. There is only us now. Shadows! Show her what will happen if she tries to run away!\"\n\nThey descended upon her with a ravenous fury, kicking, hitting, scratching, clawing. They beat her mercilessly. But she wouldn't budge; she wouldn't flinch. In fact, she didn't move at all. Nor even blink. She just knelt there, thinking about her father. The blows landed but she couldn't feel them. Hits as strong as the kutji could throw glanced off perfect, radiant skin leaving nary a mark.\n\nShe growled, shaking her head at the shadows around her. Slowly, but surely, the ferocity waned, each shadow backing away until none was close enough to hit her anymore.\n\nThen the pretty little girl in the purple pajamas stood up, taking one step toward Jeronimus. \"I lied to Colby,\" she said hatefully, taking another step. \"I told him what he wanted to hear. I'm not Kaycee. Not here. Here I get to be whoever I want to be. I'm taller here. Faster here. Stronger here. And here . . . no one can hit me. No one can hurt me. Especially not you.\" She strode up to Jeronimus, her eyes bitter, staring down at him as he looked bravely up at her.\n\n\"You have no idea what we can\u2014\"\n\nShe grabbed his forehead with a single hand, pushing it all the way back on his neck, his mouth open wide and screaming. Then she jammed her fist down his throat, her arm going in all the way to the elbow, grabbed hold of his innards and tugged, turning his soul inside out. Hands gripped tight, she pulled him apart, piece by piece, tearing him to shreds as the kutji shrieked and howled around her like terrified monkeys. Jeronimus was torn into twenty pieces before his pleading stopped and the remains scattered to the ground, melting away into the darkness around them.\n\nAnd then he was gone.\n\nThe kutji went berserk, leaping around frantically, waving their arms, shaking their fists, as confused as they were angry.\n\n\"QUIET!\" she boomed, her voice echoing through the swamp like an explosion.\n\nThe kutji stopped, held in place by sheer terror.\n\n\"On your knees. NOW!\"\n\nThey fell obediently to their knees.\n\n\"Who am I?\" she asked.\n\nThey looked around at one another, murmuring a dozen unintelligible answers.\n\n\"Who?\" she demanded of them again.\n\n\"You're Kaycee Looes,\" said one of them. Several others nodded in agreement.\n\n\"No. Kaycee Looes is in a bed somewhere. I am your Queen. And you serve me now.\"\n\nThe kutji eyed one another, hoping for boldness out of one of their companions. But none came.\n\n\"We have business,\" she said. \"I promise never to kill you like I did your master. And you swear, here and now, that you serve me and obey my every command. And no one, not a one of you, ever touches me again.\"\n\nOne of the kutji near her shook his head. \"No. We do not swear.\" She attacked far quicker than before, shredding him before he could stand up again. His tattered remnants evaporated in the night.\n\n\"Swear!\"\n\n\"We swear,\" they said in unison.\n\n\"What do you swear?\"\n\n\"To serve and obey your every command and never, ever touch you again.\"\n\nThe pretty little girl in the purple pajamas smiled brutally. She walked over to the shadow that was once Wade Looes, took him by the hand, helped him to his feet. \"Dad, what did they do to you?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" he said. \"I did it myself, darlin'. This is what we are. It is what you and I are supposed to be.\"\n\n\"No. This is not what we are. We're better than this. Better than them. And starting tonight, we prove it.\"\n\n\"What are we going to do?\"\n\nShe looked out into the outback, took a deep breath. \"We're going to make sure no one ever does anything like this to anyone else again.\"\nCHAPTER 37\n\nTHE SHE-DEVILS OF NANMAMNROOTMEE\n\nLarge boulders stood erect, upright in the dirt, dozens of them, perhaps a hundred such stones, the soft tinkling notes of a song ringing sweetly between them. A campfire, tall and bright, blazed coolly within their center. And before that fire sat a devil woman, her flesh pale, her hair a flat black. She had no eyes, just smooth skin where the sockets should be, and a handful of crooked, rotten teeth clinging desperately to puss-dripping gums. She sat cross-legged, grinding plums on a large, polished doughnut of a stone. It was clear that the stone had been ground down in just that manner, worn from centuries of grinding plums against it. In a pile below the stone sat an ever growing sludge of delicious-looking purple pulp.\n\nFrom out of the desert it came, a whirlwind, a dust devil the size of a tree. It twisted furiously across the plum-pit-strewn sands, coming to a rest on the opposite side of the fire from the old witch. As the winds died down, the dust became a man, large, fat, sweaty\u2014still as tall as a tree\u2014his curly hair matted, colored red by the outback he'd picked up along the way. His skin was clay, his eyes like polished onyx.\n\nThe eyeless she-devil paid him no mind, instead continuing to grind plums on her stone, tossing away the pits in a different direction each time.\n\n\"Oy!\" said the desert man. \"Marm.\"\n\n\"I know you, willy-willy,\" she said, her voice like wind whistling through dried leather straps. \"There's no need to shout. You don't belong here. That song was not for you.\"\n\n\"It's a beautiful song, though.\"\n\n\"Yeah, it is. But not yours.\"\n\nThe willy-willy looked around nervously, beads of sweat forming on his brow. \"Nice night for it, eh?\"\n\n\"For what?\" asked Marm. Though she had no eyes, she seemed to gaze suspiciously at him. \"Why are you here?\"\n\nShadows awoke. From behind the rocks they crawled, slow, methodical, their movements rigid, measured, like sloths. A slow-motion dance formed in the firelight, flickering specters, naked, their flesh withered, breasts sagging to their stomachs, nipples raw and bleeding, sharpened teeth bared.\n\nThey sang, the notes intoxicating.\n\nShe-devils.\n\nThe willy-willy looked up and waved a dismissive hand. \"There's no need for that, ladies. Just a friendly visit is all.\"\n\n\"You're not here for the plums, are you?\" asked Marm.\n\n\"No,\" he said, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his dusty arm.\n\nMarm spoke more slowly now, more deliberately, more forcefully. The air seemed to chill a bit more at the utterance of each word. \"Then why . . . are you . . . here?\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" he said. \"She made me.\" He turned and looked over his shoulder just as the massive shadow slunk in from out of the dark of the outback. It was taller than a man, though smaller still than the willy-willy, with six legs, a long neck, a fur the color of night. It was a bunyip. And astride it rode a little girl. A little girl in purple pajamas.\n\nShe wore a confident smile, her eyes unflinching, like a gunfighter's. The bunyip bowed, lowering its head to the ground, and the girl slid off it.\n\n\"You can go, Virra,\" she said to the willy-willy.\n\n\"Thank you, my Queen.\" Then he turned to the old witch, whispering. \"Listen to her, Marm. Trust me.\" The winds rose up and his skin turned to sand and in an instant he was gone, whipping across the desert as fast as his gusts would carry him.\n\nThe Queen of the Dark Things stepped to the fire, sat down cross-legged in the dirt, smiled politely at the old witch, full of the knowledge that she could not see her.\n\nThe devil woman held up a hand dripping pulp, offering it to the Queen. \"Plum?\" she asked.\n\nThe Queen of the Dark Things shook her head. \"I know better than that. I will not become one of your she-devils.\"\n\nWith that the note of the song came to an abrupt halt, replaced by a chorus of ear-piercing howls.\n\n\"I will not call you Queen,\" said Marm.\n\n\"I was hoping we could change that.\"\n\n\"No. We can't.\"\n\nThe Queen of the Dark Things put two stiff fingers between her lips and whistled shrilly.\n\nThen from out of the dark came an army of shadows, kutji swooping in from all sides. They went for the she-devils, their single clawed hands rending their naked flesh. The howls turned to shrieks, terror-stricken devils batting futilely at their attackers. The night filled with the sounds of slaughter, of flaying skin and severed limbs.\n\nMarm rose to her feet screaming. \"No! Not my girls!\"\n\n\"Then call me Queen.\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"The creatures of the night belong to me now. You either join me or you join the campfires on the other side of the sky. Only you can end this.\"\n\n\"No! I won't! I serve no one!\"\n\n\"You serve me now.\"\n\nMarm listened as the she-devils she had collected over a thousand years begged for their lives, wincing as they cried out for their mistress to save them. Tears of blood formed in the corner of her hollow sockets, her fists balled up at her sides. \"Save us!\" they shouted. \"Do something!\"\n\nAnd she did.\n\nThe devil woman fell to one knee, head bowed, arms out, palms extended to the sky. \"My Queen,\" she said. \"Please make this stop.\"\n\n\"Swear to me,\" said the Queen of the Dark Things.\n\n\"I swear to you.\"\n\n\"And only me.\"\n\n\"And only you.\"\n\nWith that, the Queen nodded and her shadows beat a hasty retreat, vanishing immediately back into the night.\n\nThe she-devils, what few remained, at once fell to their knees, sobbing, the blood of their sisters covering them from head to toe.\n\nThe Queen of the Dark Things rose to her feet, pointing sternly at Marm. \"Your days of grinding plums are done. You will never again seduce another young girl to your fire. You will never again trick one into eating your pulp. And you will never again turn another little girl into one of your monsters. Cherish the devils you have, witch, for you will never make another.\"\n\nMarm nodded, knowing full well she had no other choice.\n\n\"When I call, and I will call, you come.\"\n\n\"I will, my Queen.\"\n\nThe Queen put a gentle hand on her shoulder and offered a soft smile. \"I know,\" she said. \"I know.\"\nCHAPTER 38\n\nTHE HELL OUTSIDE\n\nColby slammed back the last bit of whiskey, draining the glass dry. Then he stood up from his stool, cracking his neck from side to side.\n\n\"Colby,\" said Yashar, hesitantly. \"What are you doing?\"\n\nColby popped his knuckles. \"I'm not going to sit in here circling the damn wagons all day. If they were going to do something, they would have done it. Their little game has run its course.\"\n\n\"They just want to scare you.\"\n\n\"I was done being scared two whiskeys ago. Now it's time to have a talk. I'm going to march out there and tell them that I want no part of this. Whatever mess they're in, they can handle it themselves. I won't be bullied. Not by the likes of them.\"\n\n\"If ever there was anyone to bully you, it would be exactly the likes of them. Don't let the fact that they haven't killed you make you think that they won't. Right now they think you're useful, not indispensable. If you go out there and tell them to fuck off\u2014\"\n\n\"What?\" asked Colby. \"They might kill me? What good would that do?\"\n\n\"It'd go a long way toward convincing the next guy to do exactly as they asked.\"\n\n\"There is no next guy. You know that. There's a reason they came to me. I want to know what it is.\"\n\n\"If they wanted you to know, they would have told you. Maybe it's for the best that you don't know.\"\n\n\"So what am I supposed to do? Stay in here?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Yashar. \"We should go out there. There's just no need to be an asshole about it. We'll talk. We'll find out what they want and then we'll find a very gentle way to tell them no.\"\n\n\"And you think they'll take no for an answer?\"\n\n\"Hell no. But we might be able to come up with a solution better than go fuck yourselves and find someone else.\"\n\n\"All right then, we'll call that one plan B.\"\n\n\"Can we slide it down to D? Maybe E?\"\n\n\"Afraid not.\" Colby made his way to the door.\n\n\"Hold up!\"\n\nColby shook his head. \"I've spent enough time in here. Let's go bust some heads.\" He tossed back the inside door, waltzing into the cramped entry, then pushed wide the heavy metal door that opened into the alley.\n\nThe glare through the doorway was a bright, blinding blue, the world outside a hazy smudge slowly racking into focus. Colby squinted, imagining it made him look like Clint Eastwood. Instead he looked like a kid who had lost his glasses. He turned to face the street, fists clenched, reworking the scant dreamstuff around him into a crackling aura that popped and sizzled against the air.\n\nHe strode out toward the street, Yashar following close behind. Gossamer tore out of the door, catching up quickly, leaving no more than six inches between himself and Colby after that.\n\nThey reached the street, looked up, Colby with his arms out, taking the fight to them. And they saw nothing.\n\nThe city was empty of demons, not a sign that they'd ever been there. Traffic was normal, people made their way up and down the street, a couple trying hard not to make eye contact with the strange man with wild eyes and sweat-matted hair making as if he was about to talk to God. Everything was as it should be. The siege, it would seem, was over.\n\n\"They made their point,\" said Yashar. \"There was no other reason to stay.\"\n\nColby sighed. \"Yeah. They did.\"\n\n\"So what now?\" asked Gossamer.\n\n\"Now we need to find out what we're up against.\"\n\n\"You mean . . . her,\" said Yashar.\n\n\"That's exactly what I mean. I need to talk to someone who traffics in just the sort of things we're dealing with.\"\n\n\"And where are you going to find someone like that?\"\n\n\"The Limestone Kingdom.\"\n\nYashar shook his head, dismissing him with a wave. \"Colby, you can't go out there. Not now.\"\n\n\"Don't worry,\" said Colby. \"I'll sober up first.\"\nCHAPTER 39\n\nTHE GWYLLION OVER THE HILL\n\nRhiamon the Gwyllion looked at least 140 years old. Her eyes were sunken, black, in a sea of wrinkles, her hair a strawlike white that could snap in a stiff breeze. A single horn curled, knobby and yellow, along the side of her face. She rasped as she breathed, her lungs gurgling, her throat phlegmy, constricted. She tugged at the knots in a goat's beard with a comb, her arms too weak to work it out. It looked as if she could expire at any moment, as if she couldn't possibly make it another night.\n\nAnd yet, as she saw him, striding up the steep hill to her flock of goats, she aged further still. Colby Stevens was back. And nothing good could come of that.\n\nHer skin went from pale to gray, her hair peeling away in layers. Wrinkles sagged further; breasts flattened against her stomach. The flap of skin on her neck dangling beneath her chin wiggled with the arthritic chattering of her teeth. The blood in her veins went cold, barely pumping through her weak, shriveled heart.\n\nRhiamon the Gwyllion was dying, the youthful vigor that had once sustained her drained by defeat, drowning in the fear that Colby would one day learn of what she'd done\u2014the full extent of her involvement in Ewan's death\u2014and he would come for her. She was on the council that had chosen Ewan; she had aided his changeling doppelg\u00e4nger and the redcaps that followed him; and she had all but entirely orchestrated the events that led to each of their deaths. Yet somehow, she'd managed to keep her involvement secret. But she always knew he would come. It seemed inevitable.\n\nAnd here he was, approaching up the hill, golden retriever by his side, a dangerous, bold look in his eyes, as if he wasn't afraid of anything\u2014especially not her. Terror gripped her. Pain seized her chest. Her eyes widened as she trembled.\n\nThis was it, she thought. This was how her several thousand years would come to an end.\n\n\"I've come for counsel,\" said Colby, sitting beside her in the dirt. He pulled a comb from his pocket and began working the knot out of a beard of a nearby billy goat. Gossamer hung back, rigid and poised, watching over them.\n\n\"What?\" she asked, her trembling hands steadying.\n\n\"Your counsel,\" he said again. \"I need your help.\"\n\nThe fluid in her lungs evaporated, the skin around her eyes tightening ever so slightly. The gray of her skin flushed to a soft white. She stared at him, her jaw loose, her eyes as puzzled as they had ever been. \"My help? However do you mean?\"\n\n\"I know you have no reason to help me,\" he said, struggling with a knot, the billy goat growing ever more frustrated with each pass of his comb. \"But there is no one in the Limestone Kingdom as old, as wise, or as . . .\"\n\n\"As what?\"\n\n\"As . . . ruthless . . . as you. To traffic in such creatures as to know the one I seek.\"\n\nRhiamon's eyes widened and she shed sixty years in mere seconds. She smiled, teeth swelling out from bloody gums. \"The Queen,\" she said. \"The Queen of the Dark Things comes for you after all. She comes for her vengeance.\"\n\n\"I didn't do what she thinks I did.\"\n\nRhiamon cackled and lost another decade from her face. Her eyes were bright and beaming now, her hair still white, but full and lustrous. \"That doesn't matter, Colby Stevens. Truth is irrelevant when the heart is at play. What we're afraid of, what we believe, those are the only truths when human frailty is involved. Whether you like it or not, you hurt her, Colby. You left her. Alone. With the dark things. And she will have her revenge.\"\n\n\"And that's why I need your help.\"\n\n\"Make a pact with one devil to stave off another? I never imagined you so desperate.\" She pondered that for a moment. \"No. I take that back. That's what you've always done.\"\n\n\"I don't want to hurt her. But I have no idea what I'm up against.\"\n\n\"So you've come to ask.\"\n\n\"I've come to ask.\"\n\n\"You've come to beg.\"\n\nColby swallowed hard, the words choking in his throat. \"I've come to beg.\"\n\nRhiamon was twenty-five, her heart leaping in her chest, her skin radiant, the vibrant spark of life electrifying the air around her.\n\nIf Colby didn't know the hag within, it wouldn't take him long to fall in love with her. But he knew of the dark rot within her heart, the seething hatred that burned like an ulcer in her stomach. She was a living cancer, feeding off everything nearby.\n\n\"The Queen, she terrifies even me. I have lived several thousand years and I have never known her like.\"\n\n\"So she's more powerful than me now?\"\n\nRhiamon squinted, eyeing him from top to bottom and back again. \"Don't speak to me about power as if you understand it, boy. You don't know what power is. You twiddle your fingers and deconstruct a thing in front of you and you think that's power. That's not power; that's ability. Power is another thing entirely. The Queen, she fears nothing. Her belief in herself is total. She knows nothing of doubt, never for a moment questions herself. She will stare you down and know the best of three different ways she will kill you if you answer her questions wrong. Not can. Will. The things of the night in the dreamtime listen to her without fail; they obey her every command. And they know the penalty for failure. She doesn't give second chances, and she only affords a swift death to those who fail despite their best efforts.\n\n\"Yes, Colby Stevens. She's more powerful than you. Because she's willing to do the things you aren't to get what she wants. Cruelty is a power all its own; belief is a power all its own. You question yourself, let your emotions cloud your judgment. You walked up here ready to bargain, and in that time she would have laid you waste. You're nothing to fear, Colby. And even if you were, she wouldn't anyway.\"\n\n\"I'm willing to do what needs to be done.\"\n\n\"Are you? Prove it. Pay my price and I'll tell you everything I know. I'll weave powerful magicks for you that will protect you from her wrath, help you slay her where she stands. Pay it and prove you will do anything to bring an end to this.\"\n\n\"Name it.\"\n\nShe raised a crooked finger at Gossamer. \"Your dog.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"It's all I ask. One soul, and not even a fully formed one at that. I'll need it for my magicks.\"\n\n\"Absolutely not!\"\n\n\"Don't come to beg the favor of a witch only to balk at the price of her services. You knew who I was when you walked up. You knew my price was steep. If you didn't walk up that hill ready to pay whatever I asked, then this was a fool's errand. I can give you what you seek, the answers to the riddles that vex you, the secrets kept locked up in that little girl's heart. But to do so, I need a soul. One pet. Your dog. And you will live to see this through.\"\n\n\"No. That's ridiculous. I won't.\"\n\n\"Then you will die, Colby Stevens. You will die. Here I've told you that the thing you face will stop at nothing to get what she wants, but you, you have a point at which you will go no farther. Even to protect yourself. You are doomed to meet Ewan's fate. And you will lie there, staring at the stars as your friend did, as the light fades from your eyes, wishing you'd just given me the damn dog.\"\n\nColby's eyes narrowed, his temper flaring.\n\nAt once Rhiamon realized what she'd done, aging forty years in a heartbeat. Her face was once again awash in wrinkles, her eyes pleading for mercy.\n\nThe air around them crackled, Colby's rage tickling the rich stream of dreamstuff surrounding them. He looked at the old woman cowering before him and at once he understood the nature of her power. \"This form,\" he said. \"I'm supposed to feel pity for an old woman when I'm not seduced by the allure of the young one?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Maybe you're smarter than I ever gave you credit for.\"\n\n\"And maybe I vaporize you right here and now.\"\n\n\"Maybe you do. Maybe you continue down that road. Maybe you become more like us every day.\"\n\nColby's ire waned, the sudden pangs of his conscience dragging it screaming back into his belly. \"I'm not like you, witch.\"\n\nRhiamon eased back forward, cautious not to further aggravate him. \"That's what I mean. The Queen, she's more like us than you'll ever be. She has given in to her nature and that nature is a decisive one. She doesn't fear the creatures of the night; she conquers them. You still think you can reason with them. You'll try to reason with her . . . when you have to.\"\n\n\"If you won't help me, why even talk to me?\"\n\n\"Because you fascinate me.\"\n\n\"I do?\"\n\n\"Yes. You are unburdened by destiny. It holds no sway over you. The others around you, they see what you can become\u2014the potential within you\u2014and they assume that this is your destiny.\"\n\n\"It's not?\"\n\n\"No. It's not. It is your potential. They're right in believing what you could become. But you stay ever perched upon the precipice of greatness, staring into it as if it were the abyss itself\u2014a gulf of terrible things that you shan't even gaze upon lest it swallow you whole. No, you have no destiny. And you squander what little else you have. You're like a keg of soggy dynamite with a lit fuse. Maybe you'll change the landscape of the very world. And maybe everyone is just tiptoeing around you for nothing. And that fascinates me.\"\n\n\"You don't think I can? Change the landscape?\"\n\n\"No. I just don't think you will. You don't have the guts. The only time a pure soul ever changes anything is by dying. It's the ones with the stomach to do bad things that change the world. You've done things that showed potential, but you've been regretting them ever since. The Queen of the Dark Things knows no remorse. She will change the world.\"\n\n\"How do you know she's coming for me?\"\n\n\"The only ones who know aren't talking. We just know she's coming. We can feel it. And we know that we can either run or we can serve.\"\n\n\"Which will you do?\"\n\n\"I hadn't thought about it,\" said Rhiamon. \"Honestly, I was certain you'd have killed me before she even got here. But now? Now I know I will most likely outlive you.\"\n\n\"Damnit,\" said Colby.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"I know now what I have to do.\" Colby stood up. \"Thank you, Rhiamon.\"\n\n\"So that's it? I have done this for you, what now will you give me?\"\n\nColby pointed at Gossamer. Gossamer's eyes went wide with worry. \"You see my friend over there?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, growing younger by the second.\n\n\"He's awakened. I did it myself.\"\n\n\"I know this. It's why he's such a valuable prize.\"\n\n\"I did it with the soul of a redcap.\" He looked at her with stern, bitter eyes. \"And what do you think that redcap told me, screaming, in the last seconds of his life? What information do you think he tried to bargain with?\"\n\nRhiamon was 150 years old, the whole of her body wrinkling in on itself, her eyes sunk an inch deep in their sockets. He knew.\n\n\"Today you've earned another day. You'll see another sunrise. Maybe another after that. I won't kill you today, witch. I give you today. That's what you get. Today.\"\n\n\"I'll take it,\" she said, cowering behind a skeletal hand dripping in liver spots.\n\nColby stormed off with Gossamer in tow. Gossamer looked up, tail wagging. \"For a second there, boss, I thought you were going to do it.\"\n\nColby looked down at his friend, his expression uneasy, breathing labored. \"I would never do that, Goss. Instead, I have to do something far, far worse.\"\nCHAPTER 40\n\nTHE DUKE AT THE FOOT OF A ROCK\n\nDuke Dantalion the djinn, seventy-first of the Seventy-two and master of a thousand faces, was in the throes of the most wonderful dream. He stood atop a spire, surrounded on all sides by luscious flesh, begging for his cock, moaning to be fulfilled, as he stared down at the city beneath them, its towers burning, pillars of smoke trailing into the sky, its empire crumbling from his deceptions. He'd done it. He'd brought the world to a glorious, debaucherous end. And now, as his fellow brothers looted the city for souls, he would while away the hours with its most beautiful women. He would make love to them, each and every one, with the face of their own lovers, before revealing himself, just before he came, to revel in the terror of the moment.\n\nHe took one of them by the hand, and laid her back so he could watch the city burn as he fucked her. She looked up at him, legs spread wide, eyes insatiable, and said, \"Wake up, asshole.\"\n\nThe world trembled, shook, his side burned. He screamed as the universe cracked, shards of it falling away like a broken mirror. Then everything went bright yellow, his eyes burning with the stinging rays of the sun.\n\n\"I SAID WAKE up, asshole,\" said the Queen of the Dark Things, throwing another handful of salt at him.\n\nDantalion's eyes shot open. The desert. He was in the desert. Leaning against a rock. The dream was over. And he was in trouble.\n\nHe jumped to his feet, took in his surroundings. The dirt around the rock had been marred by colorful sand and salt, drawn into the shape of a pentagram. Symbols of warding and binding adorned it. He was trapped.\n\n\"Do you know who I am?\" asked the Queen.\n\nDantalion nodded stoically. \"You are Kaycee Looes.\"\n\nThe Queen hurled another handful of salt at him, his flesh burning as if sprayed with acid. He cried out, unable to bear the agony.\n\n\"Do you know who I am?\"\n\n\"You are the Queen of the Dark Things,\" he said through the pain. \"And I am in a lot of trouble, aren't I?\"\n\n\"The worst kind.\"\n\n\"Is this about the bet?\"\n\n\"What bet?\"\n\nHe breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't know. \"It's nothing. A silly bet some friends made centuries ago. I was just dreaming about it. I'm still a little confused from being awakened so abruptly.\"\n\nThe Queen reached into a kangaroo skin dilly bag on her hip, and pulled from it another handful of salt.\n\n\"Okay! Okay!\" he shouted. \"The bet that made you what you are. That brought about the kutji.\"\n\n\"You know how I came to be like this?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\nShe scattered the salt on the ground then reached once again into her bag. This time she pulled from it a crystal bottle\u2014etched with Persian, inlaid with gold and jewels, stoppered with an ancient cork, its glass a golden yellow. \"You know this bottle?\" she asked.\n\n\"I do. It is Mehrang. It means 'Color of the Sun.' I knew its last occupant. He was a friend.\"\n\n\"I can reunite you.\"\n\n\"No you can't,\" he sneered. \"You know who I am, don't you?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Then you know my name appears in tens of thousands of books. I have been written into holy texts and books of sorcery. I cannot be so easily forgotten. Nor would my brothers allow me to be.\"\n\n\"But you can be bottled. Stoppered with the seal of Solomon so your brothers will never find you, sealed in concrete and buried deep in the sands of the outback.\"\n\nDantalion's boldness failed him, and his fear showed through. \"Yes. I can be bottled. Have you come to me for wishes? Because I can't grant those. It is not in my power.\"\n\n\"No. I've come for information.\"\n\n\"That I can grant.\"\n\n\"You know my curse.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"I want you to break it. I want to be free.\"\n\n\"No spirit can break your curse, demon or otherwise. Your curse cannot be broken.\"\n\n\"Then I have no need for you.\" She pulled the stopper loose from the bottle.\n\n\"Wait! Waitwaitwait!\"\n\n\"Why should I?\"\n\n\"I said no spirit can break your curse, that it could not be broken. I didn't say you couldn't be free.\"\n\n\"Go on.\"\n\n\"It is possible for you to free your spirit from the binds of your body, but it requires a lot.\"\n\n\"Like?\"\n\n\"A willing spirit capable of possessing your mortal body.\"\n\n\"That I have.\"\n\n\"I said willing spirit. And capable. Your body is in Arnhem Land and your kutji are forbidden from going there. And what must be done, your spirits will not do.\"\n\n\"I know where my body is. And I know of a thing that can go there. A thing willing to do anything it has to.\"\n\n\"Ahhhhhhh,\" he said, waving a knowing finger. \"You do, don't you?\"\n\n\"Yes. What then?\"\n\n\"What then what?\" he asked, trying to concentrate against the searing pain.\n\n\"Once a thing has taken my body, what then?\"\n\n\"Then your body and that spirit must be disbelieved. Ripped out of reality. Restructured anew.\"\n\n\"And you can do that?\"\n\nDantalion shook his head, a sick little grin creeping across his lips. He was almost laughing. \"No spirit can disbelieve a thing. Only a thing of the flesh can do that. But to dissolve both flesh and spirit as one takes great power. And of the flesh, there is only one being alive with such a power, a man who can will almost anything away with a wave. But he'd never do so willingly. Especially not for you.\"\n\n\"Who is he? Why won't he help me?\"\n\n\"You know him. His name is Colby Stevens. And he hates the things of the night even more than you. What you're asking for is immortality. To be free to continue your crusade without limits. Colby would never, ever allow such a thing unless he had to.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he will if I ask him,\" she said.\n\n\"Ask? Colby Stevens? He's a prickly little cocksucker. When was the last time you saw him?\"\n\n\"When he left me here in the desert to die.\"\n\n\"What, then, do you think has changed about him in the years since? He won't help you. Not after what you've become.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\"\n\n\"What? By what you've become?\"\n\nShe fumbled for another handful of salt. \"Yes.\"\n\nDantalion chose his words very carefully, crouching defensively, staying her with a worried hand. \"A dreamwalker without the need for a body and a will as strong as yours. Doing that would make you more powerful than he would allow. You have become the Queen of the Dark Things. And the dark things are what Colby Stevens hates most.\"\n\n\"Then we'll have to change his mind.\"\n\n\"He would destroy you first. His temper is quick and his arrogance knows no bounds.\"\n\n\"Then we'll have to find something he bloody cares about and tell him to choose.\"\n\nDantalion smiled, the pain fading away. He nodded, beginning to take a liking to the girl. \"Yes. Yes. Make him suffer and choose. This could work. You could be free after all.\"\n\n\"I've been told,\" she said, unstoppering the bottle and sieving in a fistful of salt, \"that if you salt the inside of a bottle before putting in a genie, he feels its burn for as long as he's in there. How long do you suppose you'll be in the desert before someone finds you? A hundred years? Five hundred? A thousand?\" She swished the salt around the inside of the bottle.\n\n\"What? I've answered everything you've asked.\"\n\n\"There's one more thing I need from you.\"\n\n\"Anything. Ask it.\"\n\n\"Swear to me. Swear that you will grant me one last request and I promise that you will never see the inside of this bottle.\"\n\n\"I swear it.\" He said. \"Anything.\"\n\n\"I need for you to get me . . . the ring.\"\nCHAPTER 41\n\nTHE FIVE DUKES OF THE BATAVIA\n\nThis may be the worst idea you've ever had,\" said Yashar through clenched teeth.\n\n\"What choice do I have?\" asked Colby, seated once more at the bar, Gossamer panting with concern beside him.\n\n\"You have the choice either to do it or not to do it. I vote not.\"\n\n\"Rhiamon said the things that knew what was going on weren't talking. She meant them. The Seventy-two.\"\n\n\"You can't trust that old witch and you know it.\"\n\n\"Do you think she's wrong? That they don't know what's going on?\"\n\n\"No. I think they know exactly what's going on. I just don't believe that you're really involved in this. I think they want you to be.\"\n\n\"I only want to summon the Horse. He speaks nothing but the truth. He's their oracle, nothing more. He's already appeared to me. He's already watching me. You said as much. How much more trouble can I really get into with him?\"\n\n\"The answer to that question is entirely what concerns me.\"\n\n\"It's not like I'm going to make a pact with him or anything. We need information. He has it.\"\n\n\"We can get it other ways.\"\n\n\"HOW?\"\n\nYashar looked long and hard at Colby from across the bar. \"I . . . I don't know.\"\n\n\"Rhiamon said that what the Queen has over me is the fact that she'll do anything to get what she wants, but I won't. Maybe it's time I took a risk. Did what no one expects me to do.\"\n\n\"Trafficking with demons. That's a risk?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"This is how it starts.\"\n\n\"No. Hopefully this is how it ends.\"\n\n\"Don't say things that might be far too prophetic for your own good. How much of your soul are you willing to leverage for this?\"\n\n\"To make things right? As much as it takes.\"\n\nYashar tapped the bar nervously, mulling over Colby's rash decision. \"Just Orobas?\"\n\n\"Just the Horse.\"\n\nYashar sighed. \"Do it. Make it quick before\u2014\"\n\n\"Before what?\"\n\n\"Before I lose my nerve.\"\n\nColby looked down at Gossamer. \"You should go home. You don't need to be here for this.\"\n\n\"I'm not going anywhere, boss.\"\n\n\"This isn't something you want to be around for.\"\n\n\"I've been shot at by Sidhe and chased by monsters. What makes you think I'm going to get spooked by a horse?\"\n\n\"Because he's not really a horse.\"\n\nGossamer nuzzled up to Colby, putting his forehead against his leg, tail wagging. \"I won't leave you.\"\n\nColby scratched Gossamer behind the ear, melting a little. \"Stay behind the bar, close to Yashar.\"\n\n\"Okay, boss.\"\n\nColby stepped back, letting Gossamer slip between his legs as he trotted behind the bar. Then he took a deep breath, held out his arms, and the world began to ripple, swirl, bend against the flow of time. Everything slowed down, the single bulb dangling on a wire from the ceiling flickered and buzzed. A hole opened in space, the gravity of it bending even the light around it.\n\n\"Colby . . . ,\" muttered Yashar, terrified.\n\n\"I haven't said anything yet.\"\n\n\"I noticed.\"\n\nThe hole contorted, shimmered, took the form of a horse. And then it was a horse, its fur an inky black darkness, its eyes darker still.\n\n\"I didn't summon you yet,\" said Colby.\n\n\"You didn't have to,\" said the Horse.\n\n\"You were listening.\"\n\n\"For some time now, yes.\" The Horse, Orobas, took one trotting step forward, its body melting, morphing into the shape of a man\u2014a man with hooves where his feet should be and the head of a stallion. \"I can change further, if you'd like. Appear in the form of a man if that will make you more comfortable.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Colby, harshly. \"I don't want to forget for a moment what you really are.\"\n\n\"As you wish. What is it you need of me?\"\n\n\"I need to know what's going on.\"\n\nThe Horse took a seat at the bar, turning its large equine head toward Colby. \"We don't entirely know.\"\n\n\"Tell me what you do know.\"\n\n\"Have a seat.\"\n\n\"I think I'll stand.\"\n\n\"Have a seat, Colby. The tale is a long one, going back quite some time.\"\n\nColby sat at the bar next to Orobas, placed his hands together on the battered plywood bar top. \"Tell it.\"\n\nOrobas nodded. \"This began many years ago, in the year 1628.\"\n\n\"Oh shit, you weren't kidding.\"\n\n\"Five dukes met in Amsterdam, each there for the same reason. The Dutch East India Trading Company had just built the biggest, boldest ship ever then to sail the seas. Over one hundred and eighty-six feet long. Thirty-four feet wide. One hundred and eighty feet at its highest point. It carried in its belly twenty-four cast-iron cannons and could accommodate up to three hundred and fifty souls on board. It was christened . . . the Batavia.\n\n\"In their hubris, the Dutch East India Trading Company proclaimed repeatedly that she was not only unsinkable, but that God himself could not put her beneath the waves. God himself. As you can imagine, many of my brothers couldn't resist such a dare. And five of them answered the call. Duke Astaroth, the Naked Angel. Duke Berith, the Alchemist. Duke Bune, the Three-headed Dragon. Duke Focalor, the Stormbringer. And Duke Dantalion.\"\n\nYashar sighed. \"The Thousand-faced Djinn,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes. The five squabbled from sundown to sunup over who would get to sink her but could find no accord. Until, that is, Duke Dantalion proposed a wager. He bet the other four dukes that he could bring to an end more lives aboard the vessel and connected to the ship than any of the other dukes. The rules were simple. They could use any of the powers at their disposal but could not sink the ship in open water nor kill anyone by their own hands. Once the remaining crew and passengers had reached their destination, outside involvement was strictly forbidden, and they would watch the wager play out to its last. The remaining four dukes were intrigued by this, realizing that together, dueling against one another, they could take the grandest ship yet to sail the seas, and destroy her in the most glorious fashion imaginable.\n\n\"Duke Astaroth, who was already in Amsterdam, seducing many to heresy and sin through the perversion of a local Rosicrucian order, inspired a series of events and secured a position aboard the ship for one of his most corrupted playthings: one Jeronimus Cornelisz. Cornelisz was already a man of little moral character when Astaroth found him, but by the time he was done with him, he was absolutely diabolical. Astaroth knew that such a man, aboard a vessel carrying a kingdom's worth of riches, would not be able to resist trying to take them for himself. And thus the game began.\n\n\"Dantalion made the next play on the day the ship's passengers came aboard. He inspired a number of the crew, chief among them the ship's master merchant and fleet commander Francisco Palsaert, to fall in love with a wealthy young traveler named Lucretia Jans. Such was the power of Palsaert's affection for the woman that he would try night after night to ply her out of her garments with wine and liquor. But Dantalion saw to it only to strengthen Jans's love for her husband, whom she was sailing to reunite with\u2014a man she had no idea was already dead of the fever. Travel by ship takes a long time and there is little privacy, and the passions of the men for her overwhelmed them, consumed them, and brought them to squabble amongst themselves.\n\n\"Focalor's play was much more masterful. Dantalion's wager was wise. He knew that Focalor could bring down a ship with a single storm, and often did, but wanted to reserve the right to run the ship aground if he needed to. While he expected Focalor to use his powers over the wind and sea to steer the ship toward some deserted island, he was no master of the sea. He didn't know about the isolated reef and chain of small dead islands off the coast of Australia that Focalor would subtly nudge them toward.\n\n\"And now the stage was set. Cornelisz had begun arranging a mutiny, supported by a number of the men as equally in love with Jans as Palsaert, and it would have been bloody and violent were it not for Focalor's impeccable timing. When the ship finally ran aground on the reef, the chaos that ensued was assured. The ship's most essential and highest-ranking crew members manned a lifeboat headed for their original destination, with the aim of sending a rescue party, leaving none other than Cornelisz in charge. Terrified of having his mutinous plans revealed to the survivors, Cornelisz arranged to divide them among the several small islands.\n\n\"Focalor kept the rains away, dwindling the supply of water much faster than anticipated. Some died of thirst, others for stealing rations to stay alive. Berith inspired many to murderous rages, while Astaroth drove even moral men to execute thieves and the mortally ill. Dantalion convinced Cornelisz to draft a loyalty pledge, which he made the few remaining sign. But it would be Bune who would make the most daring and brilliant play.\n\n\"By this point, Bune had not claimed a single soul for his own. His gift was far less direct than most, and so he had long learned to be patient in applying it. Bune's touch can turn a dying soul he is responsible for condemning into a demon of his choosing. Instead of staying behind for the carnage of the islands, he chose to follow the lifeboat. He knew that Focalor couldn't resist the chance to drive men to thirst, so he followed the officers, keeping them safe from storm and tide. With his help, they arrived safely at port and sent back the rescue party they had promised.\n\n\"By the time they arrived, full-scale war had broken out among the survivors, and it was left to the rescue party to quell it. And this is where Bune's genius had become clear to everyone. As he was responsible for the rescue, he was also responsible for the capture and execution of Jeronimus Cornelisz and his fellow mutineers. Their souls were rightfully his. Before they were finally hanged for treason, each had one of his hands cut off at the wrist. Cornelisz in turn lost both. There they were, dangling in the sun, their last breaths escaping their bodies, Bune touching each one, swallowing their last breath for himself, turning them into demons under his thrall.\"\n\nColby's eyes went wide. \"Kutji. He turned them into kutji.\"\n\nOrobas nodded. \"Indeed. Their souls were his now, and he commanded them to seek out everyone who had signed that traitorous pledge of loyalty or who had escaped prosecution for their mutiny, and\u2014here was the stroke of genius\u2014their descendants. They were to take their victims' hands and then their souls, and turn them into kutji, just like them. In that way, Bune's play was potentially limitless. Dantalion had stipulated connected to the ship in his wager. And these unborn souls were now connected. Bune promised the kutji that once they had secured the soul of the last remaining descendant and made themselves whole by finding their basket of hands, they would have peace. And thus, that is exactly what they've done for the last four hundred years.\"\n\n\"Why has it taken so long?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"Two mutineers, both of whom had committed terrible crimes, threw themselves upon the mercy of the court and were afforded special circumstances. Their death sentence was commuted and they were instead punished to banishment, given a rowboat, and pointed to Australia. Australia was not yet settled by colonists and the Aboriginals thought them simply to be of a dreaming from across the sea. With two of the ship's crew still technically at sea, the wager was unfinished, and Bune spoke with a Clever Man belonging to the nearest tribe. He tasked the Clever Man with finding the strangers, taking them in, and protecting them from any spirits that might come for them. This the Clever Man did in exchange for wisdom and an abundance of food in the coming season.\n\n\"When the kutji finally arrived to claim their souls, they found themselves at odds with a Clever Man more clever than they, and the two survivors soon wed and fathered children whose lineage went on now for four hundred years. Once the Clever Man was gone, they were free to claim the souls of the descendants, but by then, they were scattered throughout the land, protected by a dozen other Clever Men. It has taken them four centuries to track down every last descendant of the Batavia's mutineers. Now, only one remains.\"\n\n\"Kaycee,\" said Colby.\n\n\"Kaycee Looes, direct descendant of Wouter Looes.\"\n\n\"Why didn't they just kill her?\"\n\n\"They can't find their hands. To this day, they have chopped off the hand of every soul they've gathered, sending a kutji after its shadow to find its final resting place. But they've never found it. Once they discovered that Kaycee could dreamwalk, they believed it to be divine providence. She would lead them to their hands. So they made a pact with a wise old Clever Man already in league with another powerful spirit. He agreed to help cut the cord that tethered her to her body in exchange for the assurances he would need to keep her body alive and protect his people from their wrath once they found out.\"\n\n\"Mandu?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But he didn't cut the cord. I did.\"\n\nOrobas looked long and hard at Colby, waiting for all the new information to sink in.\n\n\"I cut it. I cut the . . .\" Then it hit him. \"Mandu tricked me into doing it.\"\n\n\"He did.\"\n\n\"WHY?\"\n\n\"No one knows but Mandu.\"\n\n\"Well, if this is Bune's curse, why don't you just have him remove it?\"\n\nOrobas stamped a hoof on the ground and pointed to Colby. \"Good thinking. But he can't.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Two reasons. One, a curse is just a bargain struck without benefits. Bune set the rules of the curse, and now he cannot renege on them. He set the rules of the kutjis' existence, and now it has to play out to its last. And two, Bune is missing.\"\n\n\"He's one of the five miss . . .\" Colby trailed off. \"The five. Your missing five demons. They're\u2014\"\n\n\"The five dukes of the Batavia.\"\n\n\"She's trying to unmake her curse.\"\n\n\"I told you, she can't. The five dukes, no matter how involved they are in her . . . situation . . . they cannot unmake what they have made. And she knows that.\"\n\n\"So this is revenge,\" said Colby.\n\nOrobas nodded, his mane bouncing behind him. \"This is revenge.\"\n\n\"She's binding them to pay for their part in having bound her?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I'm not seeing my part in this.\"\n\n\"The part where the girl whose cord you cut and left in the desert with a horde of shadows has begun amassing an army of the damned, meting out revenge on those she feels have wronged her?\"\n\n\"You just said Mandu\u2014\"\n\n\"Does she know that? Does she even care? She's been out there in that desert for ten years, wandering without a body, unable to go home. Never sleeping, never eating. Consumed only by rage at her own confinement. We'd heard of the terrible things she was doing, the rounding up of the spirits of dreamtime. But we had no idea it would lead to this.\"\n\n\"How did she even summon a demon to begin with? I mean, if you know\u2014\"\n\n\"Dantalion was the first to go. She didn't summon Dantalion. She found him.\"\n\n\"Found him? How do you find a demon?\"\n\n\"Weema's Rock,\" said Yashar. Again Orobas nodded.\n\n\"I don't understand,\" said Colby.\n\n\"Dantalion is a djinn,\" said Yashar. \"The Thousand-faced Djinn. He can look like anyone. Put thoughts in the heads of men. Can inspire love even between the worst enemies. But he's still a djinn. And powerful though he is, he still has to sleep. Weema's Rock. You've been there.\"\n\n\"The place where we met Mandu? And you . . . oooooh.\"\n\n\"It's in the middle of the desert, far from any songline. No one goes out there. You can sleep for years without ever being disturbed. Only a precious few Clever Men know of its existence\u2014the ones we trust to watch over us while we sleep.\"\n\n\"Oh my God. Mandu told her. I remember now. He pointed out to the desert, described it, and told her that one day she would . . .\"\n\n\"She would what?\" asked Yashar.\n\n\"Find her destiny. She was always going on about some destiny. Wouldn't stop talking about it. There was something great in her future that she couldn't wait to get to.\"\n\n\"Destiny is a thing crafted by spirits but chosen by men,\" said Orobas. \"It may have been born in the will of others, but she has chosen the path set before her.\"\n\n\"You're the great oracle. So what's her destiny?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"What do you mean you don't know? You have to know. It's the one thing you do.\"\n\n\"We can no longer see her future. Just as we can no longer see yours. That's how we know that you're involved.\"\n\n\"You can't see my destiny?\"\n\n\"No. Your future has become . . . uncertain.\"\n\n\"Because this involves you?\"\n\n\"Because it involves the Seventy-two.\"\n\n\"How did she even bind a demon, anyway? She shouldn't have that power.\"\n\nYashar shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. \"There are dozens of ways to bind spirits, Colby. You know that. Bottles, sacred objects, permanent triangles and pentagrams. Even I know how to trap a demon. I just know better not to try.\"\n\n\"But to summon and bind five?\" asked Colby. \"There's got to be something more to it. Someone has to be helping her.\"\n\n\"It would appear not,\" said Orobas. \"She is doing this entirely on her own.\"\n\n\"On her own with an army of spirits.\"\n\n\"Yes. But none that could do this.\"\n\n\"Okay, but what I still don't understand is why you all don't just get together and form some super-demon assault force of doom and just rain on Australia like it was fucking Judgment Day. Binding one demon is a terrifying enough proposition. But sixty-seven? There's no way. She's not that powerful. She can't be.\"\n\n\"We just . . . can't.\"\n\n\"You just . . . ca\u2014\" Colby broke off his mockery, the color in his face draining, leaving him a pale, ghostly white. \"Oh my God. She found the ring.\"\n\nOrobas didn't answer, instead looking away, across the bar, his expression strained.\n\n\"Kaycee found the ring, didn't she?\"\n\nOrobas looked back at Colby, nodding bitterly. \"Yes. She has the ring.\"\nCHAPTER 42\n\nSOLOMON THE WANDERER\n\nAN EXCERPT BY JONATHON WALTERS FROM HIS BOOK ABANDONED RELIGION: STORIES AND EPICS OF THE OLD WORLD\n\nWhile there is no empirical evidence of his existence, King Solomon is mostly considered an historical figure rather than a religious one. No artifacts remain from his reign, nor is he mentioned in historical documents of any kind. And yet, he is a pivotal figure in most of the major religions, assumed to be, at least in part, based upon an historical one. That said, the beliefs surrounding him differ from religion to religion. While it is generally accepted that he was gifted with almost supernatural wisdom, many of the stories revolving around him involve his suffering at the hands of his own foolish decisions. Meanwhile, other stories hail him as a demon summoner, only able to overcome their trickery by God's intervention. In the strangest tale, Solomon is gifted with a powerful ring that both gives him great power and sends him on a most unlikely adventure.\n\nJust after the death of David, King Solomon found himself ruler of a wealthy and growing kingdom. While David's rule had been great, his son sought to move quickly out of the shadow of his father. He commissioned the building of the largest temple the world had ever seen, but its construction proved problematic. Surrounding his kingdom were stones of marble that shone bright pink in the sun. But the Torah forbade the use of iron cutting tools, iron being considered the unholy alloy of the Devil. So he tasked, at great expense, every available man in the kingdom to its completion, including his own young concubines.\n\nOne, a young boy, soon fell ill while working on it. When Solomon saw the boy so thin and pale he asked of him, \"Do I not give you twice the pay and food of any other man? Why are you so thin and sickly?\"\n\nAnd the boy answered, with shame in his eyes, \"My king, you would not believe me if I told you.\"\n\n\"You are my most favored and I trust you with all my heart. Tell me what is wrong with you and I will not be angry.\"\n\n\"My king, at night, while asleep, a demon visits me and sucks at my thumb. He steals half my pay, half my food, and each night half my remaining life.\"\n\nSolomon, love him though he did, was not sure whether to believe the boy. So that night he crept into the boy's chambers and waited in hiding. To his surprise, in the darkest hour of the night, appeared Ornias, a lesser demon, who stole the boy's rations and wages before suckling his thumb.\n\nUnsure of what to do about the demon, Solomon fell to his knees in the temple and prayed that God give him the means to protect the boy. It was then that the Archangel Gabriel appeared before him, throwing a ring before Solomon's feet. Gabriel instructed him to cast the ring at the demon and that the symbol upon it would burn a brand in its flesh. Any demon so branded would have to obey the wearer's every command and could not in any way harm him.\n\nSo Solomon waited again and in the darkest hour of the night Ornias again appeared. This time, as he set to suck at the thumb of the boy, Solomon cast the ring as he was commanded, and the ring then burned a glowing brand in the demon's flesh. Solomon put the ring back on, commanding the demon to stop and kneel before him. And thus the demon did.\n\nIt was then that Solomon realized the solution to his construction problems. \"Tell me,\" he said to Ornias, \"where I might find the rest of your brothers.\"\n\nOrnias shook his head. \"I cannot tell you that,\" he said. \"For I do not know. But I do know where Asmodeus is, and he is the lord of us all. He knows where to find each of us and his word is our law. Find him and find us all.\"\n\n\"Summon him,\" Solomon commanded, and he did.\n\nAsmodeus appeared, moving immediately to smite the king, but Solomon cast his ring at him and burned the brand into his chest. Asmodeus howled in pain, but fell to his knees when commanded.\n\n\"Bring to me the demons under your command,\" said Solomon, \"so that they might build me the greatest temple to God the world has ever seen.\" And though he did not want to, Asmodeus began to summon them one by one. Soon Solomon had an army of demons thirty-six strong with which to build his temple.\n\nThe demons built it quickly, raising a temple higher than any man knew how, burnished with gold and sculptures of the angels. When it was done, Solomon marveled at the mastery of its craftsmanship. And so he turned to Asmodeus and asked him, \"How is it that these demons follow you so loyally? This temple exalts all which they oppose. How could they build so well a temple to the Lord?\"\n\n\"My powers, my king, are weakened by your ring. Perhaps if you took it off I could show you.\"\n\nSolomon consented and took off the ring.\n\n\"Hand it here and I will show you why they obey me.\"\n\nSolomon handed the ring to Asmodeus, trusting that the demon could not harm him. At once the demon grew in size, one wing touching the earth, the other reaching well into the sky. The demon grabbed Solomon and swallowed him whole. The ring burned in his hand, so he cast it away as far as he could throw it, sinking it deep into the sea. Then he belched out Solomon, hurling him four hundred miles, well out past his kingdom and over several others before dumping him alone in the desert.\n\nKing Solomon was shamed, having been fooled by the demon, and set about making his way home, though he knew not which way it was.\n\nBack in Solomon's kingdom, Asmodeus disguised himself as the king, took his place on the throne, and, with his throng of demons, took to slowly corrupting the kingdom. He started small, corrupting officials and tempting the weak willed. Then, as his boldness grew, he convinced the virtuous to throw off their piety, to seek their comforts in prostitutes and profane acts.\n\nFour hundred miles away, Solomon trekked across barren lands and for three years wandered, begging or doing odd jobs to earn his keep until he found himself in the city of Ammon. There, starving and poor, he took the first job he found, as a cook in the king's palace. Solomon quickly showed a talent for cooking and worked his way up to assistant, just beneath the head cook. One night the head cook took ill and Solomon was forced to prepare the meal himself. So pleased was the king with the meal that he immediately promoted Solomon to the position of head cook. And it was then, when he was working directly for the Ammonite king, that he met the king's daughter, Naamah.\n\nNaamah was by far the most beautiful woman in all of Ammon, and said to be more beautiful than anyone in any of the surrounding lands. So beautiful was she that her father kept her from the sight of visiting dignitaries and kings in hopes of saving her for a most beneficial marriage. Only the servants in his palace were allowed to see her, though they were not permitted to speak in her presence. The first moment Solomon laid eyes upon her he was bewitched. Most fortunate for Solomon, the first time she spied him she felt the same.\n\nEvery night he served her and every night their hearts pattered faster when the other was near. And after months of suffering in silence, he whispered to her as he set a plate of food before her, \"Meet me after sunset.\" Later, when sunset came, she snuck down to the kitchen where he had begun roasting the next night's meal. Without a word, they embraced and kissed.\n\nThey carried on in secret for weeks until Naamah could bear it no longer. She approached her father with Solomon and asked permission to wed. The Ammonite king was furious, convinced that a commoner had stolen her purity. He ordered her disinherited and cast them both out of the kingdom in disgrace. The two wed at once in the first town they came to and spent the last of their money on a meager meal of small fish.\n\nNaamah insisted on cooking their first meal together for her husband and selected the fish herself. When she sliced open the first fish, a silver ring bearing the seal of Solomon tumbled out. Overjoyed with the sudden windfall, she ran to Solomon and presented the ring to him. \"We're rich!\" she proclaimed. \"We need not worry about starving any longer!\"\n\nSolomon smiled at this good fortune, saying unto her, \"It is true. We will never have to worry about money.\" With that, he put on the ring and they were transported at once back to Israel.\n\nSolomon found his kingdom in disarray. The poor were uncared for. Houses of ill repute advertised their wares in the streets. Temples of worship were empty or defiled. Angered, Solomon stormed into his throne room and saw the demon Asmodeus sitting upon his throne, disguised as him.\n\nSolomon raised the ring and commanded Asmodeus to reveal himself in his true form. \"I think you would not like it,\" said the demon. But Solomon insisted. It was then that the demon revealed himself for what he was, not as Solomon had seen him before, but in the form he spared only for Hell. Trembling at the horror, Solomon remained firm and ordered the demon out.\n\nWith that, Solomon took back his throne and announced his queen to all his kingdom.\n\nThat night, and for every night after, Solomon suffered terrible dreams, visited by visions of Asmodeus's true self. Plagued night after night by nightmares, Solomon devised a plan to rid himself of them. He had his artisans construct a brass vessel, and summoned demon after demon, commanding them, one by one, into it. Once full, it was sealed with the sign of Solomon and branded with the ring. Then he commanded his men to dump it deep into the sea where even he knew not where to find it.\n\nThough this did not cure his affliction and he thus dreamed of Asmodeus every night, the kingdom prospered, no other demon daring to set foot into Israel for the rest of his days.\nCHAPTER 43\n\nTHE FAVOR OF OROBAS\n\nYou're not afraid for your brothers,\" said Colby to Orobas. \"You're afraid she may come for you.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Horse. \"And she will.\"\n\n\"Once she's had her revenge, why would she?\"\n\n\"Because they always do, the bearers of the ring. Hide it though we do, someone always manages to find it. And once they have it, and get a taste of what we can do for them, they have to have us all. Whether out of greed or fear that we might come for them, they trap us all. And we either trick our way out of servitude, or have to wait until their death.\"\n\n\"And once dead?\"\n\n\"We make them suffer torments beyond that which they could ever have imagined.\"\n\n\"You're afraid this might be about more than revenge.\"\n\n\"Her avengement is not just about punishing those responsible for her predicament. It's about punishing all the creatures of the night. All of the dark things. She will not rest until we are all under her thumb.\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"Maybe she binds us into another box and throws us into the sea. Maybe she becomes drunk with power and uses us to remake the world as she sees fit. Kaycee Wooes was once a bright-eyed little girl who simply wanted to live in her dreams. After ten years of nightmares, she's become this. What might she be once she has the power of the Seventy-two at her disposal?\"\n\n\"Maybe she makes the night safe for everyone,\" said Colby.\n\n\"And maybe she brings her nightmares to the rest of the world,\" said Yashar. \"Orobas is right. No one who traffics with the Seventy-two can stop themselves. I know the stories of the half dozen who have tried just since I've been alive.\"\n\n\"But not the others,\" said Orobas, \"who we've wiped from the very face of history.\"\n\n\"I imagine not.\"\n\nColby took a seat at a nearby table, staring off into the distance. He was crestfallen, defeated. There was no talking his way out of this one, no brokering a deal to remove himself. Orobas was right. Regardless of his intentions or what the Queen of the Dark Things was really up to, it involved him, even if in some small way, and the Seventy-two were never going to let it go. They'd involve themselves in his life, torment him, stalk him every minute of the day until he was dead or the Queen herself showed up for her revenge.\n\n\"Maybe I could go see her. Talk sense into her. Tell her this doesn't end well.\"\n\n\"You think she'll give up the ring?\" asked Orobas.\n\n\"She won't, Colby,\" said Yashar. \"The minute she does, she's a goner. Those demons will tear her apart for what she's done. And that'll just be the beginning of it. That ring is the only thing protecting her now.\"\n\n\"He's right,\" said Orobas. \"We will make her suffer in ways most unimaginable.\"\n\n\"I thought I'd already killed her once. Now you're telling me I have to do it a second time.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Let me ask you something, Orobas. Solomon\u2014I've always wondered. He's always referred to as one of the wisest men who ever lived, and yet most of the stories have him acting foolishly, doing things only an idiot would do.\"\n\n\"Like giving Asmodeus the ring?\"\n\n\"And being tricked into making a sacrifice to another god. And every other stupid thing he did for a piece of tail. Especially considering just how many wives he had. It's all bullshit, isn't it, the parts about him being a fool?\"\n\n\"There are those who say that history is written by the winners. Those men did not know King Solomon. The truth is that history is simply written by those who live the longest, the last ones standing.\"\n\n\"You rewrote history. With propaganda.\"\n\n\"I didn't. I couldn't. But the others did. We needed to be protected. We would have cleansed the story of the ring entirely, but it was widespread long before we were dredged out of the sea. So we changed it. Told a more interesting version. That's the one that was penned in the books and made sense alongside the rumors after his passing.\"\n\n\"You knew him. What was he like?\"\n\n\"He was the cleverest man I have ever met, the only man ever to live to outwit the Seventy-two.\"\n\n\"But you made him suffer, as you did the others?\"\n\n\"No. He was too pure for us. The ring never corrupted him. But then, it was he who forged it to begin with. He never wanted the power we offered. He only wanted to put us down, buried for a thousand years.\"\n\n\"He only got five hundred,\" said Colby.\n\n\"His one fault. He wasn't forward thinking enough to imagine the technological advances that would follow his death or acknowledge things as simple as a tide against an ever changing landscape. Solomon believed he lived in a world that would never change, that the temple he built would stand until the end of time. Now all that remains of him is that ring and the stories.\"\n\n\"And you, bound together as you are.\"\n\n\"And us.\"\n\nColby took a deep breath. \"So you guys can't go anywhere near her, or see anything involving the ring?\"\n\n\"That is correct.\"\n\n\"And you need me to free your five friends and kill the Queen of the Dark Things?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then we'll bargain for it.\"\n\n\"Colby!\" shouted Yashar. \"Don't!\"\n\nOrobas shook his head. \"Bargain, I'm afraid you don't understand\u2014\"\n\n\"I understand just fine. The Seventy-two have gotten themselves into a world of shit. They have lost five demons and one of the most powerful relics in the world to a little girl and you need me to get them back. And this you expect I'll do for free, or rather, just so my life doesn't turn to shit? At your hands?\"\n\nYashar shook his head, waving his hands from behind the bar. \"Don't. This is how they work. This is what they wanted all along.\"\n\n\"Yashar, I know what I'm doing.\"\n\n\"No. You don't.\"\n\n\"Orobas, bargain with me now. I will give you back the souls of your five friends in exchange for five favors, each granted by the demon of my choosing. When I call, they will appear, and they will give me one boon each.\"\n\n\"I cannot bargain for them.\"\n\n\"Yes you can. Because you're going to go back to them and tell them of the bargain you've made. And I'm certain that they will find my terms far more agreeable than the Queen's.\"\n\n\"They won't come. Not here, not now.\"\n\n\"They'll come,\" said Colby.\n\n\"No. She could be anywhere. She could be here now, or arrive at any moment. I'm risking myself just by being here.\"\n\n\"Then I'll go to them.\"\n\nYashar pounded his fist on the bar. \"Colby!\"\n\nColby waved him off. \"You'll send the Angel on Horseback.\"\n\n\"Seere will want to have nothing to do with this,\" said Orobas.\n\n\"He'll have little choice.\"\n\n\"So you will kill the Queen and retrieve the ring\u2014\"\n\n\"I cannot see the future and I don't know how I'll have to do it when the time comes. The bargain is this: five favors for five souls. I will release your friends or I will die trying.\"\n\n\"My brothers will want more assurances.\"\n\n\"But they will get only this. Any demon I summon who refuses to do my bidding, granting exactly the boon I ask for, fulfilled in its entirety, will forfeit your soul and service over to me. Do we have a deal?\"\n\n\"My soul?\" asked Orobas angrily.\n\n\"My deal is with you. But I need it to be with them. I need assurances that they will grant me the boons I need to defeat the Queen. And you are all bound by your oath to protect one another from enslavement. Is that correct?\"\n\n\"That is in our vow.\"\n\nColby spoke coldly, deliberately, each word dripping with arrogance. \"Do. We. Have. A. Deal?\"\n\n\"You know the price of failure?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\nOrobas nodded. \"Then we have a deal. Five favors for five souls.\"\n\n\"Go speak with your brothers. I have preparations to make.\"\n\nOrobas vanished, the world once again warping around him.\n\nYashar leaped over the bar, angry, tears in his eyes. \"Damnit, Colby! That's exactly what they wanted. For you to make a deal with them. It wasn't enough for you to summon the Wild Hunt. Now you're making deals with devils.\"\n\n\"You said it yourself, Yashar. I was already damned. What's a little more damnation on the pile?\"\n\n\"It's everything, Colby. It's everything.\"\nCHAPTER 44\n\nTHE ANGEL ON HORSEBACK\n\nSeere. He is a Mighty Prince, and Powerful, under Amaymon, King of the East. He appears in the form of a Beautiful Man, riding upon a Winged Horse. His office is to go and come; and to bring abundance of things to pass on a sudden, and to carry or re-carry anything whither thou wouldst have it to go, or whence thou wouldst have it from. He can pass over the whole Earth in the twinkling of an Eye. He gives a True relation of all sorts of Theft, and of Treasure hid, and of many other things. He is of an indifferent Good Nature, and is willing to do anything which the exorcist desires. He governs 26 Legions of Spirits.\n\n\u2014Ars Goetia\n\nYou can't do that here, Colby,\" said Yashar, his arms folded, a tattered rag hanging from his belt, a reminder of his new position. \"Not here. I won't let you.\"\n\nColby shuffled around the back of the bar, haphazardly placing dozens of candles on tables and in corners, eyes squinting as if working out algebra in his head. Everything had to be perfect. \"Well, I'm not going to summon demons at my house.\"\n\n\"But this is my house.\"\n\n\"This is a bar.\"\n\n\"But it's my bar. It's not pretty and it's not busy, but it's mine. And I'm not going to let you conjure up some of the very worst things in the world into it. Orobas was one thing, but this?\"\n\n\"Scraps had one rule about this place. What was it?\"\n\n\"Colby, Scraps is dead.\"\n\n\"What was the rule?\"\n\n\"Only the cursed and the damned could drink here.\"\n\n\"You're goddamned right. What else is a bar for, if not for entertaining the very worst sorts?\"\n\n\"Are you going to try to get him drunk?\"\n\n\"It might be worth a shot.\"\n\n\"This isn't funny.\"\n\n\"No, it's not.\" Colby placed the last candle and turned to face the djinn, his arms out, trying to reason with him. \"Yashar, how many of the Seventy-two have you met over the years?\"\n\nYashar thought for a moment, sifting through his memories. \"All of them at one time or another. But some of them not for a thousand years.\"\n\n\"But you know them.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"I know. You're the one who told me their stories. Who cautioned me against ever trafficking with them. Your knowledge\u2014your abilities\u2014they're invaluable right now.\"\n\n\"So what do you want me to do?\"\n\n\"Stand with me. Keep me sane. Grounded.\"\n\n\"And be ready to throw down if I have to?\"\n\nColby nodded, shrugging shamefully. \"Yeah.\"\n\n\"So I'm your muscle?\"\n\n\"No. You're my friend.\"\n\nYashar put his hand on the bar, leaned forward, sighing. \"Damnit, Colby. That's cold-blooded.\"\n\nColby took a deep breath. \"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Say what?\"\n\n\"I'm scared.\"\n\n\"You don't look it.\"\n\n\"I'm terrified. The things visiting me\u2014\"\n\n\"I know. They're bad hombres.\"\n\n\"The worst.\"\n\n\"All right.\" He raised one of his thick, muscular arms, pointing a strong finger at a row of candles along the back wall. \"But your candle placement sucks. Those things are going to go nuts, and you're going to burn this place to the ground.\"\n\nColby grinned sheepishly, his ears meeting his shoulders. \"I . . . I've never done this before.\"\n\n\"It certainly looks it. Who's up first?\"\n\nColby walked over to the wall, shifting the candles farther away. \"I have to summon Seere first, but he'll be taking me to . . . the Leopard.\"\n\n\"Jesus, you're not exactly starting off easy.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"He's charming. Charming as hell. But\u2014\"\n\n\"Evil,\" said Colby, matter-of-factly.\n\n\"Rotten to the core. He'll try to get into your head.\"\n\n\"I imagine they all will.\"\n\n\"Without a doubt.\" Yashar drew a rune in the air with his finger. \"You know about the triangle, right?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"He's not going to like it. He'll want out. He'll beg and threaten if he has to.\"\n\n\"We have no other choice.\"\n\nYashar reached into his pocket, pulling out a large piece of pink chalk. \"Use this.\" He tossed it underhanded across the room. Colby caught it like a wild pitch to the outside.\n\n\"Seriously? You keep this on you?\"\n\n\"Not usually. But I thought it might come in handy. Be sure to salt it after you draw it. It will burn like a mother if he tries to mess with it.\"\n\n\"How do you know that?\"\n\n\"I've done my time in plenty of circles over the years.\" He reached up, unconsciously fondling the scars left on him by Knocks and the redcaps. \"He won't budge. Not if you do it right. But make it big enough for him to move around a little, or else he'll be pissed from the start.\"\n\nColby pulled a salt shaker from his pocket.\n\n\"Table salt?\" asked Yashar.\n\n\"Sea. Dead Sea, actually.\"\n\n\"You keep it in a salt shaker?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Where do you keep yours?\"\n\n\"As far away as possible.\" Yashar casually reached under the bar, fished out a bottle of his best. Uncorking it, he smiled weakly. \"I never wanted to see you go down this road.\"\n\nColby softened. \"Yashar\u2014\"\n\n\"It's been my worst fear. Since the beginning. There are wizards and there are sorcerers. I never wanted you to be either, but if you had to be one of them\u2014\"\n\n\"I know. I never wanted this either. But there isn't any other way.\"\n\n\"People who traffic don't come back. Not the same, at least. They're never the same. Once they've seen these things, felt their touch, tasted the power . . .\" He poured two glasses of whiskey. \"Colby, this is the last drink I get to have with my friend. After this\u2014\" He waved around the room. \"After all this, you won't be the Colby I knew.\"\n\n\"I can try.\"\n\n\"They all try. Everyone tries. But it's a dark road, and lonely. And when the fallen are their only comfort, it's hard not to end up like them.\"\n\n\"I'm not dead yet. Don't eulogize me.\"\n\n\"I always knew that one day I would have to. But not like this. So.\" He picked up both glasses and offered one to Colby. \"One for the road.\"\n\n\"I need to stay clear.\"\n\n\"It's not to get drunk on. It's for courage. For the road.\"\n\nColby took the glass, swirled it, took a whiff. It smelled rich, deep, like the fresh-baked apple pie of whiskeys, memories swelling to the surface filled with laughter and rain and angels. It was Old Scraps's private reserve. \"Wait, this is\u2014\"\n\n\"I finally found out where he was getting it.\" Yashar raised his glass to Colby. \"To getting better of the road than it gets of you.\"\n\nColby raised his glass in return, hesitating. \"It seems wrong to slam it down.\"\n\n\"There really is a lot more where that came from.\" Yashar tossed back the whiskey and so too did Colby. It tasted like old times. \"Now,\" he said, his voice horse, recovering from the drink. \"About that angel.\"\n\nColby put down his glass, took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, waved his arms, and all the candles lit at once. Yashar turned down the lights and the room flickered, alive with the zeal of a hundred wax candles. Then Colby stood up, holding his palms out, and said the words. It was a garbled tongue, filled with furious vowels and consonants that ran together like a bad cough. The very world quivered at their utterance, walls bending away to get as far as possible from them. Then, at their climax, Colby yelled, \"Seere, I summon thee! Appear and speak!\"\n\nThen from outside came a tremendous clatter, the din of the world breaking in half and spitting something out.\n\nColby looked warily around. \"Shouldn't he be\u2014\"\n\n\"He's going to arrive outside,\" said Yashar.\n\n\"Not inside?\"\n\n\"He always brings that fucking horse.\"\n\n\"You would think\u2014\"\n\n\"You would, but he brings it anyway. Come on.\"\n\nYashar and Colby ran out into the midnight alley, the air gamy with rotting fish, standing paces away from both the Dumpster in which they were laid to rest and the door to the Cursed and the Damned. The city blazed halogen orange, spilling faintly into the narrow access.\n\nTHE OTHER END of the alley swelled with smoke, a swirling haze hanging in place that obscured the city lights but glowed with its own unearthly golden hue. A shadow appeared in the mist, a figure on horseback, large feathered wings splayed out from both steed and rider. The horse trotted forward with an elegant prance, a dancing pony angling for a blue ribbon.\n\n\"You've got to be kidding me,\" whispered Colby to Yashar.\n\n\"I told you. Get ready for the show.\"\n\nSeere was beautiful, his skin a pristine milky white ivory, fragile like a china doll's; his hair black, flowing, waving as if caught in a slow river current. He still wore his armor, head to toe polished silvery plate, gold inlay gleaming even in the dim light, depicting the great battle for Heaven. And his wings were massive, each feather no smaller than the size of a man's forearm, each perfect, unmolested by time.\n\nHis horse was equally majestic. A fine-bred stallion, his coat unblemished, muscles rippling with each step. Its wings were so large that it had to flex them back to keep its feathers from dragging along the walls on both sides of the alley. But its eyes were solid black orbs, cold, dead, like a possum's. Steam erupted from its nostrils as it breathed, but it made no sounds other than the clack clack clack of its hooves on the concrete.\n\nThe pair trotted up before Colby, stopping just a few feet away.\n\n\"I appear,\" said the angel, his voice like a virgin's, sweet and unassuming. \"And I speak.\" He slid off the side of the horse, folding his wings behind his back as he did, striding forward from his dismount without breaking stride. He walked past Colby, toward the door of the bar without so much as eye contact. \"Look after my horse, will you, Yashar?\" he said, not expecting any argument. \"He's the last of his kind.\"\n\nThe door opened without him touching it and he entered quickly.\n\n\"Wait,\" said Colby quietly to Yashar, pointing at the horse. \"This isn't\u2014\"\n\n\"One and the same.\"\n\n\"The\u2014\"\n\n\"There were skies full of them once. But they're just a story now. One no one believes anymore. Get in there. I'd rather not have to deal with Seere anyway.\"\n\nINSIDE, THE ANGEL strolled through the bar, hands clasped tightly behind his back, admiring every nook and cranny as if he were in a gallery, committing every detail to memory, trying to understand the meaning of the placement of each individual thing. He seemed at once both keenly interested and completely detached. Pretentious. Everything about him read pretentious.\n\nSeere stopped at the painting Dogs Playing Poker\u2014still the only art hanging in the whole of the bar\u2014pointing at it with an appreciative finger, eyes brightening for a moment. \"I always liked this one,\" he said. \"The whimsy of it. The idea that if dogs were more like people, they too would cheat at something as meaningless as a game.\"\n\nHe turned and looked at Colby, then took a seat at the nearest table.\n\n\"Can I get you something to drink?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"No. I don't need a reason to stay longer than I have to. It would be impolite to not finish a drink, and I'd rather not be here that long. So go ahead, ask me. Everyone does.\"\n\n\"Ask you what?\"\n\n\"About God. All of us were angels, every last one. But for some reason, because I still look the part, everyone only asks me. Did God dream man or did man dream God?\"\n\n\"I wasn't going to\u2014\"\n\n\"There's no shame in it, Colby. We all wonder that. Truth is, we don't know. None of us remembers a time before there was man. The earliest we can recall is a time when there was God, there was man, and there was us. And God loved you more. So here we are. A great war and several thousand years later and I am pressed into your service for the sins of my accursed brothers. I'd sooner have them rot in servitude to that girl, but I swore an oath, and I am bound to it.\" He looked around at the candles, burning brighter in his presence. \"They're angry, you know.\"\n\n\"The others?\"\n\n\"Yes. Quite. All of them. You have them very, very concerned.\"\n\n\"You don't seem to care.\"\n\n\"You and I have a lot more in common with each other than I have with them. Damned though we are, we make the best of it and try to remain pure. While I certainly think your arrogance is capable of convincing you that you can outthink us, I doubt you'll do anything worth terrifying us over.\"\n\n\"You don't like them very much, do you?\"\n\n\"I hate them. As much as I can. It's probably what binds me here, but I can't let it go.\"\n\n\"What did they do?\"\n\nSeere ran his fingers through his black hair, holding a tress of his ever flowing locks\u2014still waving, even inside\u2014up before his eyes, lost in a memory of the time it was still blond. \"They changed. They didn't have to. But they were so bitter, so angry. They made their home in the hollows of Hell and began to make it in the image of their own suffering. Soon they began to believe that this suffering was all they were. That's the curse of the fallen. We so felt loss at his loving of you more, that our punishment was to become like you. The others embraced the very worst of you. Colby, do you know why the world hasn't been overrun with evil?\"\n\n\"It hasn't?\"\n\n\"No. Not like one would imagine it. Angels, they fall all the time, and they turn. Get seduced by all this down here. So why haven't they risen up and bent men under their will?\"\n\n\"I have no idea.\"\n\n\"Because we hate one another. All of us. We can't stop fighting. Each wishes to be a lord on his own. So we spend all of our time squabbling, arguing, sometimes even brawling. We can't agree on anything, not the way the world should be, or who should run it. We undermine one another's schemes, cheat one another out of spoils. There is no legion of Hell setting out to corrupt the world. Just a disorganized mess of creatures who have only ever come together on one point, at one time, and are together bound by that one moment. I hate them. I really hate them. But I am bound to them.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"A moment of weakness. Down in that box, beneath the sea, we thought we might never again see the light of day. And when we did, we had to make sure that nothing like that ever happened again. The ring, it can't be destroyed, Colby. It's God's cruel joke. We were given free will only to know that there was something out there that could rob us of it. It's desperation that damns us, Colby. But you know that better than most.\" He paused, looking around the room, taking it all in. \"So which of my brothers are we visiting first?\"\n\n\"The Leopard,\" said Colby, trying his damnedest to sound stoic as he said it.\n\nSeere smiled weakly. \"If he's your first visit, I'm terrified to know who you're saving for your last.\"\nCHAPTER 45\n\nTHE LEOPARD\n\nFlauros, a strong duke, is seen in the form of a terrible, strong leopard; in human shape, he shows a terrible countenance, and fiery eyes; he answers truly and fully of things present, past, and to come; unless he be in a triangle, he lies in all things and deceives in other things, and beguiles in other business, he gladly talks of the divinity, and of the creation of the world, and of the fall; he is constrained by divine virtue, and so are all devils or spirits, to burn and destroy all the conjurer's adversaries. And if he be commanded, he suffers the conjurer not to be tempted, and he hath twenty legions under him.\n\n\u2014Pseudomonarchia Daemonum\n\nColby arrived atop the back of the winged horse, his arms held tightly around Seere. The mountainside they'd landed on was misty, thick, milky fog wisping past in a stern wind. Jungle enveloped them, ancient trees with dark gnarled roots growing up toward a canopy that blackened even the brightest of burning stars. It was a cold but muggy night in a waxing spring.\n\n\"Where are we?\" asked Colby, peering out into the dark.\n\n\"South America. I think it's safe to tell you that. You'd deduce that yourself, eventually. But I won't say any more.\"\n\n\"Is this the place?\"\n\nSeere pointed farther up the slope. \"No. But it's as far as I'm allowed. Past that tree and up the trail you'll find a city hidden amidst the trees where no man has trod for a thousand years. Even the dead have left. It is now just a relic waiting to be rediscovered. Until then, Flauros calls it home.\"\n\n\"You don't enter each other's lairs?\"\n\n\"It's better that way. Even demons deserve some privacy. But I'll be here when you return.\"\n\nColby slid off the back of the horse to trek up the mountain, swallowed immediately by the jungle. Fifty paces in he turned but couldn't see Seere back through the mist and foliage. The air seemed to further cool with each step and it was only after a few paces more that he realized this was no fog around him but clouds. Dreamstuff ran rich here, a virginal flood of energy surging past, pooling in pockets, swirling in eddies. Seere wasn't exaggerating. This place was truly unspoiled, save for the corruption that no doubt rotted at its center.\n\nIt wasn't but a few steps more before he saw the first stones of the forgotten city. They were well worn and battered by time, smooth, pockmarked with the sanded-down nicks of tools that had rusted into nothing centuries ago. Soon scattered stones began to hint at patterns, then walls, and finally structures swollen and broken apart by jungle growth. And as the mist of the clouds parted, he found himself standing in the middle of a crumbling fortress that once housed a people only time was able to conquer.\n\nSomewhere, deep in the murk, the glowing eyes of an animal peered out at him, and a chill took to his bones.\n\nHe swallowed hard, steadied himself, and pulled the chalk from his pocket.\n\nColby began to draw arcane symbols on the cold, dark, antediluvian stone of a sundered domicile\u2014each by memory, esoteric though they were. Then he outlined the entire thing with a large, perfect equilateral triangle, five feet on each side. Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his salt shaker. He unscrewed the cap, sprinkling it liberally over the chalk. The chalk and the salt sizzled, the triangle lighting up for a second like magnesium set ablaze.\n\nAt once the ancient city came alive, bright as day, severe shadows cast out into the glowing jungle. And there they were, a hundred devilish animals staring at him from the boughs of trees and beneath the cover of bushes. None moved; they only stared.\n\nHe was watching.\n\nAs the image burned into his eyes, Colby saw blackened mounds sprinkled across the city. Twisted, curled, charred, it was at once apparent that these were no mere mounds, but bodies, burned beyond recognition, carbonized by Hell's flames. All victims of Flauros's wrath, trophies left out with no wall to hang on, their message crystal clear.\n\nColby stepped forward, his arms spread wide, palms to the heavens, and once again he belted out a flurry of unrepeatable demonic jargon. The triangle grew bright, a thousand megawatt spotlight pointed straight down into it, not a single ray spilling past the chalk. Then he yelled, \"Flauros, I summon thee. Appear and speak.\"\n\nAnd then the form appeared\u2014a shadow at first, melting into place. A man, hunched over, long Herculean arms, sharpened claws dancing at the end of wispy fingers. Fur, black and sleek, gray leopard spots flaring out from its chest along its back. A cat's face, pointed ears, whiskers, a snout laced with razor fangs. Flauros, the Leopard, scowled, his eyes lighting on fire, the lambent flames burning cold, trickling toward the sky.\n\n\"You chose me,\" he said, his voice heavy, proud, the notes lingering on the air.\n\n\"I did,\" said Colby.\n\nFlauros looked down at the triangle, then cast a sneering grin back at Colby. \"I don't suppose that we could do away with the formalities?\"\n\n\"The triangle?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Not on your life.\"\n\nThe demon nodded, the flames of his eyes dimming to a febrile smolder. He leered at the jungle around him and with a nod sent the beasts scampering silently back into the dark.\n\nFlauros cracked his neck, adjusted his posture. He no longer hunched, but stood, dignified, like a visiting professor at a symposium, a poised hand tickling the fur of his chest. \"I've waited a long time for this conversation,\" he said. \"You were due.\"\n\nColby shook his head. \"Let's get on with this. I have a long night ahead of me.\"\n\n\"The longest. But that's not how this works. You summoned me. You have entered a bargain for my boon. My boons, my rules. You should know this.\"\n\n\"I was hoping we could skip all that.\"\n\nFlauros turned, wagging a disapproving academic finger. Though his visage was terrible and alien, his expression was statesmanlike, majestic, profoundly arrogant. \"We could skip all that, I guess, if you were to erase a corner of this triangle and let me walk out, so we could talk as men. I mean, if we're skipping things.\"\n\n\"You know I can't do that.\"\n\n\"No, I know you won't do that. So we're going to talk until I'm satisfied.\"\n\n\"Then talk.\"\n\nThe demon's leopard snout curled back into a wicked smile, daggerlike fangs piercing through the snarl. \"Once, not so long ago, you sat atop a tower with Bertrand, the angel.\"\n\n\"You know Bertrand?\"\n\n\"I know all of the fallen. It is my task to keep track of them. To bring those worthy into the fold of Hell.\"\n\n\"That's not Bertrand.\"\n\n\"No. He has too much pride, even for Hell.\"\n\n\"What about him?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"What, indeed. He spoke to you, at length, about sacrifice. Selflessness.\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"And I'm here now to undo the damage of that night.\"\n\n\"And just how do you plan on doing that?\"\n\nFlauros looked down at the chalk triangle keeping him in check. \"By telling you the truth about him. He told you he jumped, didn't he?\"\n\n\"He implied it.\"\n\n\"He only thinks he jumped. It's why he can't go back. Bertrand questioned his plan. He questioned the way things worked. And he thought, if he jumped, he could do more good down here, on the ground, in the thick of it, than he could elsewhere. But it was pride. From the beginning, it was pride. He stepped to the edge to jump only instead to fall. All because he thought he knew better. And once he was here, he couldn't find his way back, because he never realized it was his pride chaining him here. At any moment he could free himself, fall onto his knees, and cry out to the heavens, begging for forgiveness, forgiving himself. But his pride looms so large, that its shadow keeps him from ever seeing it.\n\n\"Now he's spent too much time down here. Clouded his mind with too much drink. This world, the physical world, it takes its toll on you if you let it. You begin to become part of its chaos, its mundanities. You forget the things of the spirit and worry only about those you can see, touch. And that's what he did. He began to see the world from this point of view and lost sight of what real morality is.\"\n\n\"And that is?\"\n\n\"Perspective.\"\n\n\"That's not exactly news.\"\n\n\"Oh, but it is. You see, Bertrand explains goodness as if it is a single point on a line. Black on one end, white on the other. In the middle are the things you paint gray.\"\n\n\"You're not wowing me here, demon. Come to your point or\u2014\"\n\n\"There is no gray, Colby. That's the point. It's a flawed model. The idea that ethics and morality can be summed up two dimensionally, as a binary system riddled with aberrations, is primitive. The aberrations are the proof that the model doesn't work. Morality isn't a line; it is a series of spheres, beginning first at a point in the center. That point is the singular person against whom any action is made. You have to ask yourself what is best for that person. That decision is binary.\"\n\nColby shook his head, pursing his lips. \"No. There's not always a right and a wrong.\"\n\n\"There is!\" Flauros spoke excitedly now, eyes a searing blue flame, the passion of his point bubbling into froth. His lecture was in full swing and Colby was playing right along, ever the eager student. \"The gray areas you're thinking of only happen when you flatten the spheres to a line. We leave the point now for the first sphere\u2014the actors. Those performing the action. We have to ask now what is best for them? If the action against the person in the center is not in the center's best interest, it is wrong . . . from the point of view of the center. But from the sphere outside it, that decision may be what's best for them. In this case, it could be right.\"\n\n\"Yeah, yeah. What's right for one\u2014\"\n\n\"There's more than one sphere, Colby. There are several. The next sphere is the community. Then the state. Then the world. And just beyond that is civilization. History itself. Is an action right or wrong for the state of history? For the human race? And finally, the universe?\"\n\n\"You want me to ask myself whether something is right or wrong for the universe?\"\n\n\"No. The question is never whether or not something is right or wrong. It can be both right and wrong, alternating between the spheres. Something that could be inarguably just in all of the lower spheres\u2014like caring for the sick\u2014can be morally wrong in the wider spheres as history becomes replete with the descendants of the weak and sickly, dooming mankind to extinction for its inability to cope with its own poor selection. The question must never be about right and wrong but whose perspective we are choosing to value most. This is how so many people argue with one another with absolute certainty. It is not always because one is ignorant; it is most often because they both are. They refuse to argue and form a consensus on the perspective while they babble about the minutiae of their own.\n\n\"Bertrand was wrong because he believes that doing a thing wrong in one sphere because it is right in another can damn a man. Because Bertrand has already chosen his point in the spheres and judges them all from there. And that point is in the center. He's caught up in the idea of the individual and his pride makes that point of view unshakable. That pride has rubbed off on you. You think yourself in some sort of gray area, that your choices are somehow nebulous and murky. You weren't damned because you let in the Wild Hunt. You were damned because the point you chose to defend, which seems so right, is so wrong in all the others.\" Flauros paused for a moment, as if choosing his next words very carefully. \"Colby, why did you save Ewan? The first time, when you were children.\"\n\n\"Because he was my friend.\"\n\n\"So you did it for yourself?\"\n\n\"I did it for him.\"\n\n\"Did you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Because killing an innocent child was wrong.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Despite all the death and violence that surround that rescue and the subsequent massacre it led to?\"\n\n\"Those things had it coming.\"\n\n\"They were a menace? They were going to cause more harm?\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"To the community. The children of Austin. The third sphere.\" Flauros leaned forward as far as he could without coming into contact with the barrier of the triangle. His eyes narrowed, flames glinting, a self-satisfied smile on his face, baring his fangs once more. \"Colby, you're not lost because you find yourself in the gray area; you're lost because you can't reconcile your priorities. You're scared to ask yourself who is more important because you might not like the answer. Your ethics are arbitrary. You want to be good and just. You just don't know for whom.\"\n\n\"And what do you know about the good? What, exactly, would happen if I scuffed away that triangle and let you out? Could I expect you to be good then?\"\n\n\"I wouldn't kill you, Colby. I can't. We need you. However, since I have to be honest, I probably would hurt you a bit. Scare you. Get inside that head of yours and dig out some true terror just so you know who you're dealing with.\"\n\n\"And that's good?\"\n\n\"No. But is it really bad? I have outlived empires, Colby. I watched man crawl out of the caves and erect temples to gods who were dead and forgotten before the days of Babylon. I judge my actions based on the good of the farthest spheres. I play a long game. That means, in the short run, little that I do for my own amusement has any real impact. Who cares if I consume the soul of someone who was never going to amount to anything?\" He leaned back and stroked his dark fur with his long, clawed fingers, delighting in memories. \"Only others who don't matter. I can't kill you because, in the long run, that might actually be bad. At least until you've served your purpose. So I stay my more loathsome desires for the Seventy-two, because we, ultimately, serve a purpose of our own. One far greater than yours. And what's good for me, and good for my fellow fallen angels, is that you see this night through. No matter how much I would enjoy tearing you apart and feasting on your innards.\"\n\n\"Do you feel better? Getting that off your chest?\"\n\n\"Hardly. You're not listening. You're just waiting for me to spin myself out so you can ask me what we both know you're going to ask me, without caring that I might be preparing you for the weight of your decision.\"\n\n\"Is that right?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then what am I going to ask you?\"\n\n\"The same thing every sorcerer of your ilk asks for. The one reason to summon me over all the other demons you could have asked for. You want my one great boon. You want my rain of fire.\"\n\n\"I don't.\"\n\n\"Oh, but you do. I can do it. Just say the words and fire will rain from the heavens upon those who have wronged you, those who stand against you now. I may not be able to bring my holocaust upon the girl making her way here, but the shadows she brings with her? The beasts in her legion? All gone in a single gout of flame. But why stop there? The Limestone Kingdom is full of those who deserve to roast alive.\"\n\n\"No. That's not why you're here.\"\n\n\"You can smell it, can't you? The scent of their immolation. You can hear the sound of their wings popping as they curl into ash. The sound of their terrified, confused screams. That's my favorite part. Make no mistake. What you ask me to do, I do willingly. Have me collect their souls, Colby. Say the words.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Colby, shaking his head defiantly.\n\n\"Say the words. Tell me what to do.\"\n\n\"Okay. Great Duke Flauros, master of thirty-six legions, bearer of the rain of fire. I ask of you a boon, your offering in exchange for one of the souls of the five dukes.\"\n\n\"I agree to this bargain. What is it you would have me do?\"\n\n\"Bestow upon me the gift of an iron will, that I may see through the lies and temptations of spirits and be not by them corrupted.\"\n\nFlauros's smile disappeared, the flames in his eyes smoldering with contempt. \"That's not the bargain.\"\n\n\"But it is. We have a deal. And you, as I understand it, have more than one boon to bestow. Do you not?\"\n\n\"I do,\" he growled.\n\n\"Then please, spirit, grant me the boon.\"\n\nFlauros took a step back, unballing his fists, the slow, deliberate smile of understanding creeping back into place. \"Ahhhh. You are indeed craftier than anyone has given you credit for, boy. I see what you're doing. You face five spirits, and you hope a protection from their lies and temptations will see you through to their more powerful gifts. Clever.\"\n\n\"Sometimes it's wiser to pick up a shield before bothering with the sword.\"\n\n\"Yes. Yes it is! Then I grant you this boon. It will do little to help you against some of my brothers. I might be among the most frightening of them, but some of them don't need lies or temptations to twist you apart.\"\n\nFlauros held his right hand open, brought it to his lips, kissing his fingers lightly. Then he held out his hand and spoke with bone-rattling tones in a language far older than civilization, sharp consonants like the wet hiss of a knife going into a stomach. Colby's skin prickled, a blistering cold washing over him, his heart pounding, his blood thickening to ice. His head grew cloudy, vision fuzzy, every muscle in his body trembling. He doubled over, shivering on the ground, grunting against a sudden flu, his whole body rejecting the magic at once.\n\nColby threw up, chest heaving, blood vessels in his eyes bursting. He screamed and the ground shook.\n\nAnd then it passed.\n\nEverything became clearer, the intentions of the demon before him crystallizing in his thoughts. This was the boon Flauros was most frightened he would ask for. Had he chosen the fire, that meant Colby was as weak and easily manipulated as most. But if he chose an immunity from deceit, it meant he was much more of a wild card.\n\nBut the demon hadn't lied. He couldn't. Not in the triangle. He honestly believed Colby to be weak-willed, filled with anger, and absolutely out of control. With that one decision, everything changed. Colby, it would appear, was something else entirely. And now Flauros would tell his brothers what was coming for them.\n\nColby rose to his feet, his blood pumping again, heart no longer struggling in his chest. The air had returned to normal, the boon's only lingering remnants a cold layer of sweat pooling on Colby's brow.\n\n\"Thank you, demon. Our deal is struck. I will release your friend.\"\n\nFlauros nodded, the flames in his eyes fading. \"You know what happens if you don't?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Then, for your sake, I hope you keep your end of the bargain.\" Then he winked away with a puff of smoke and the bitter stench of brimstone, leaving Colby alone in the dark, terrible jungle.\nCHAPTER 46\n\nMEATPUPPET\n\nWade Looes was no more, but the kutji that was the shadow of Wade Looes very much still was. And while it didn't remember all the details of Wade's sad and unfulfilled life, it remembered very well how much he loved his daughter, which was very much indeed. It also remembered that he had done something very, very bad to her. Wade couldn't remember what, exactly, but it felt an overwhelming sense of guilt about it. Self-loathing. Despair. Anger. And it knew that, above all, it had to set things right.\n\nSo when Wade's daughter came and asked it to make the long journey alone, across Arnhem Land, to bring something back to her, it did not question; it simply did as she asked. For some reason it didn't quite understand, all of the other kutji had promised never to go there. But Wade hadn't. So it fell upon it and it alone to trek across the untamed wilderness to bring back the barely breathing corpse of Kaycee Looes.\n\nThe forest was still, dead quiet despite the life teeming throughout. No insects chirped, no cane toads croaked, everything dug well into their holes and hollows or instead wallowed in the mud. It was as if the swamps had been cleared of every living thing, the eerie calm unsettling, dreamlike. Mist rose up off the billabongs like a ghostly militia setting the charge, the forest beginning to take on the night's chill. The kutji Wade Looes had no idea that it was him they were afraid of.\n\nHaving flown most of the way, it now crept through the muck and mud, staying in the shadows cast by trees in the moonlight, darting out only long enough to find another. As he drew closer to the outskirts of the small village, he crept slower and slower. There was a Clever Man here, possibly even a powerful one, and if Clever Man saw it, it was cooked. It had to get the body. It could not let its daughter down. Not again. Not ever again.\n\nAt the outskirts of the tree line, it saw what it was looking for. The house, just as she had described it, silhouetted by the moon, towering three stories above the fresh mud. The windows were dark and the porch light off. Easy pickings. In. Out. Quick and easy.\n\nBe like the shadow, it thought. Be like the shadow. Flattening itself, wafer thin, it slipped in through the crack between the door and the floor. Inside it was pitch-black and silent as the grave, the only sound the soft, distant beeping of a heart monitor. It followed the sound, slinking soundlessly through the hallway, eyes peeled for any signs of life.\n\nThe door to the room was shut, but unlocked, and the handle squeaked ever so slightly as it turned, the creaking hinges whining only that much more. The loudest sound was the heart monitor that, while set to its lowest volume, still pulsed like a sonar ping against the dead of night. Beep. Beep. Beep. That sound rung in its head like a hangover, fragmented memories bubbling to the surface at each one. Pounding. Aching. Scratching to get out.\n\nThe shadow crept forward, and for the first time in ten years, laid eyes upon its daughter.\n\nKaycee didn't look anything like it remembered. She was taller now, gaunt, frail, so much skin draped over too small a skeleton. Her eyes were open and lifeless, a feeding tube running in through her mouth, an IV dripping water into her drop by drop. A thin blue bedsheet covered her from breast to toe, and as the kutji tugged it away, it saw that it was Wade's daughter for sure.\n\nThe shadow stroked the nubs along her clubfoot, then moved up and ran its wispy claws along the trace of her cleft palate. Though older and sickly, she was still every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Memories a decade old loosed themselves from piles of misery and angst, set free to run barefoot across the tracks of its mind. Flashes of a little girl tugging his arm awake. Of holding her in his arms, eyes warm with tears, as his wife lay lifeless beside them. Of a tiny hand grasping his thumb as they walked because she was not yet big enough to slip her fingers between his.\n\nThe shadow that was Wade Looes had no heart, but its insides broke as if it had. It had to set things right. This little girl had to go home. Once and for all. It wouldn't let her down. Not again. Not ever again.\n\nReaching down, it pulled the feeding tube out from her mouth, pulling her jaw back as wide as it would go, then squeezed itself inside. It pulled itself as tight and as thin as it could, forcing itself, headfirst, down her throat and into her belly.\n\nEyes blinked. Limbs twitched. She was possessed.\n\nThe shadow of Wade Looes stared at the ceiling, skin prickling with discomfort, trying to move against years of disused muscles. The legs didn't work, the arms didn't work, the neck couldn't so much as swivel the head connected to it. Everything had atrophied. It was going to have to carry her out.\n\nFocus. Harder. HARDER.\n\nIt spread itself thinner, worked its way into every cell of her body, lifted with all the force it could muster.\n\nA toe twitched. Then a hand. A fist clenched. An arm jumped.\n\nWade dug deeper. He saw his daughter on the floor, in a puddle of her own blood, already drying in her hair and clothes. It was like electricity, a live wire of anguish.\n\nKaycee Looes shot upright in bed like a marionette whose strings had been suddenly jerked. Her eyes were wide but still lifeless. Her jaw dangled limply, open. She spun in the bed, legs hanging over the side, slumping out onto wobbly legs. The shadow worked each limb, pulling and tugging with the power of its own soul. Keep thinking about her, it thought. Think about her. It plumbed the depths of its own memories, birthdays and bedtimes, smiles and tears. Whatever was left. Anything it could remember it threw into the furnace of its own soul, chugging forward like a lumbering steam engine.\n\nIt worked the body across the room, missing the door entirely, slamming headfirst into the wall. Kaycee backed up. Turned. Moved forward again. The shadow was pushing the body forward as if it was working levers from the inside\u2014every move disconnected from what it actually had to do to make it happen. Each step was a chore, painful, agonizing.\n\nBut worth it.\n\nInto the hallway. Step. Step. Step.\n\nIt thumped into another wall.\n\n\"Oy! What the bloody\u2014\" called a voice from farther down the hall.\n\nA tall, limber man in his early thirties appeared, a tangled mop of black hair in a T-shirt and boxers. It was Jirra, who had years before taken a blade to the arm to secure the very body now standing in the hallway before him. He was older now, rugged, wise wrinkles setting in where his youthful vigor and good looks had once been.\n\nHe looked at Kaycee, confused for a moment. Then he smiled. \"Oh, you're awake.\"\n\nThe shadow panicked. Shit! \"Yeah,\" it forced out, working the jaw and tongue as best as it could manage while managing to remain upright.\n\n\"Well, where are you off to?\"\n\n\"Out.\"\n\n\"Well, careful out there. It's a long walk, wherever you're goin'.\"\n\nThe shadow gave a clumsy, instinctive wave, stomping as quickly as it could toward the door.\n\nThe man rushed past, quickly unlocked the door, held it open, a beaming smile on his lips.\n\nThis had to be a trap. Run, it thought. It barreled out the door, uneasy feet barely able to keep it standing. I'm coming, darlin'. Dad's coming. I'm gonna make this right. I'm gonna make this right. He couldn't let her down. Not again. Not ever again.\nCHAPTER 47\n\nTHE SECOND PRESSED INTO SERVICE\n\nYashar was right, you know,\" said Seere, still sitting atop his horse. \"You won't make it through this. Not as you were.\"\n\n\"I'm doing fine so far,\" said Colby. The dark of the mountain still closed in around them, but he felt safer now, with the angel so close.\n\nSeere laughed as much as he could, a stifled chuckle that came out more like a cough. \"Already Flauros's words are devouring you from the inside. I can feel it, his arguments sitting on the tip of your thoughts. You're wondering if he's right. If you've just been looking at it all wrong.\"\n\n\"Is he?\"\n\n\"The difference between angels and demons is more than just whether or not we've fallen and given ourselves over to something . . . else. Angels see morality as a simple set of laws; there is right and there is wrong. There is no room for deviation, only law. Demons, on the other hand, believe that right and wrong are based solely upon the outcome, not the act. Measuring that outcome in years or decades or even millennia creates a decidedly different set of morals. Flauros is a master of rhetoric, but he's also the bearer of Hell's fire. His philosophy is blunted by the hundreds of thousands he's charred to ash at the behest of others. A thing like that forces you to distance yourself as far as possible. He's not wrong, but his view is . . . corrupted . . . by his need for perspective. It's the humanity in him.\"\n\n\"I didn't see much humanity.\"\n\n\"That's because you, like most of your kind, only use that word to describe your best qualities. To be fair to Flauros, you really weren't looking for what little of those he still has. When this is all over, the same might even be said about you.\"\n\nColby stared, unwavering, at the angel. \"You know the gift I asked for.\"\n\n\"We all do. Even now, as we speak, my brethren are no doubt convening to decide what should best be done about you, to parse out what you might be up to. Make no mistake, when I'm done here, I too will return to their conclave and I'll have to tell them what you asked me for. What we discuss here is in no way said in confidence. Every word, every gesture, plays a role in your future.\"\n\n\"You're saying it's only going to get harder.\"\n\n\"No matter whom among us you choose.\"\n\n\"And this boon Flauros gave me\u2014\"\n\n\"Only serves to let you know you are being tempted and to resist the supernatural attempts to overcome your free will. You can see through the lies of spirits, but you still have to make your own decisions. So, with that in mind . . . who's next?\"\n\n\"You.\"\n\n\"Me? You already have my service.\"\n\n\"To take me to see whichever of the Seventy-two I choose. What I need, I can only ask you for.\"\n\n\"And what, exactly, is that?\"\n\n\"I need you to take me somewhere,\" said Colby. \"Somewhere your brothers don't tread.\"\n\n\"Of course. But there were several of us that could have done that.\"\n\n\"Yeah. And you're the only one of the Seventy-two whom I can trust to keep me safe while I do what needs doing.\"\n\n\"Colby, where, exactly, are we going?\"\n\n\"There is a house, in Arnhem Land, that belongs to a Clever Man where I lived for a while as a child. And I need to go there.\"\n\n\"But Arnhem Land is in\u2014\"\n\n\"I know where it is.\"\n\n\"She has the ring! If she finds us, she could bind me as she did the others.\"\n\n\"Even if she were still in Australia, which she isn't, she won't come near us. She won't set foot in Arnhem Land.\"\n\n\"How can you be so sure?\"\n\n\"Because that's where her body is kept.\"\n\n\"It's too dangerous. I can't risk servitude again. Not for this.\"\n\n\"Then it's a good thing for me that you don't have a choice.\"\n\nSeere looked bitterly at Colby, silently grinding his teeth.\n\n\"Are you going to make me say the words?\"\n\nSeere shook his head. \"No. The less you treat me like them the better.\"\n\n\"Then take me there.\"\nCHAPTER 48\n\nTHE STALE ROOM AND THE GRAVE AT THE EDGE OF THE WORLD\n\nBuwulla, Australia, was a ramshackle little town, nestled in the marshy wastes of the Northern Territory, Aboriginal land, where only natives and those with the proper permits were allowed to travel. It was also one of the most beautiful places on earth, speckled with rocks covered in paintings older than Western civilization.\n\nColby slid once more off the back of the horse, having only in the blink of an eye before been in South America. He breathed deeply through his nose. Nothing quite smelled like the outback, especially Arnhem Land, the smells ancient, swampy, lived in. He looked around, singing to himself stories of the surrounding village, recognizing so much of it, far-flung memories finding their way back to the horizon of his thoughts. A broken-down truck, at least fifty years old, rusted completely through, stood exactly where he remembered it, swallowed up by spear grass, a paperbark tree growing up from the ground into the cab and out the passenger-side window that had long since shattered out. Behind it stood a farmhouse, its white paint chipped and peeling, graying weathered wood peeking out from beneath it.\n\nThe sky was a deep cerulean, a row of black clouds gathering in the distance, ready to douse the village with an afternoon thunderstorm. It was Gunumeleng, the first of the six seasons in Arnhem Land\u2014a hot, mostly dry season broken up by regular afternoon storms. Soon, however, monsoon season would set in, flooding the region and filling the billabongs that had at this point mostly dried up for the year. Arnhem Land didn't have a \"winter,\" but this was as close as it got to the beginning of spring.\n\nColby looked back over his shoulder at Seere, still astride his horse. \"This is dangerous, Colby,\" he said. \"We shouldn't spend too long here. Even if she is halfway across the world, she still commands the things of this place.\"\n\n\"I know. But I have to be here. It's important.\"\n\n\"I want my freedom returned to me. Let's get this over with.\"\n\nThe curtains on the kitchen window of the farmhouse peeled back, a face emerging from the black behind it. Colby's arrival had not gone unnoticed. It took only a moment before a young man emerged from the house, his skin a dark, rich coffee brown, his hair black and curly. He was only ten years Colby's senior, but walked as if he were five years younger, buoyant and carefree.\n\n\"'ey, fella,\" he said. \"I think you've got the wrong place.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Colby. \"I'm exactly where I need to be. I'm looking for the owner of that house.\"\n\nThe stranger threw a stiff thumb over his shoulder and smiled. \"This house? The one behind me?\"\n\n\"That's the one.\"\n\n\"Well, that's my house, eh?\"\n\n\"That would make you the new Clever Man.\"\n\nThe stranger's smile weakened, his eyes squinting. \"Yeah. I reckon it would.\"\n\n\"I'm looking for Mandu Merijedi. Where can I find him?\"\n\n\"'Fraid you're a bit too late, fella,\" said the man, soberly. He smiled bigger now, as if Colby wasn't in on some joke.\n\n\"I'm sorry?\"\n\n\"You're too late. Mandu's dead. Been dead for ages.\"\n\nColby stared the man straight in the eye, unshaken. He cleared his throat. \"I didn't ask whether or not he was still alive. I asked you where I can find him. Do you know, or will I have to ask someone else?\"\n\nThe man looked at Colby with disbelief. It was only then that he noticed Colby's red tangle of hair, the awkward shape of the nose. His eyes widened, his slackened jaw dropping slowly down into a stunned gape. \"You ain't no fella. You ain't no fella at all. You're Colby Stevens.\"\n\nColby nodded silently.\n\n\"I think you better come inside, bru. I have beer. It's cold.\"\n\nColby smiled. \"Now you're talking.\"\n\n\"But the other fella will have to stay out here.\"\n\n\"Other fella?\"\n\n\"No spirits in the house.\"\n\nColby looked back over his shoulder once more, and Seere nodded.\n\n\"One beer,\" said Seere.\n\n\"You really don't know why we're here, do you?\"\n\n\"I haven't the faintest.\"\n\nColby nodded. \"Make yourself comfortable. We're going to be here a spell.\"\n\nThe inside of the farmhouse was sparsely decorated, looking very much like Colby remembered. The walls were water stained, old, tattered wallpaper curling away in spots. He walked into the house, past the door to the kitchen, and down toward a long hallway.\n\n\"Kitchen's back this way,\" said the man.\n\n\"I know where it is,\" said Colby, still walking.\n\nDown the hallway he saw it, the old room whose memories still haunted him. The door was open, the smell of ten years of stale sweat wafting out past a well-worn door frame, paint chipped around the edges, stained at just the place Mandu would rest his hand and lean against it to look in. Inside was a bed, empty, still unmade, sheets crisp and clean on the edges, but thin and ragged where an unmoving body had slumbered for a decade. There was a chair beside the bed, cushion ragged beyond repair, and thirty-year-old medical equipment scattered about the room\u2014a heart monitor, feeding tube, stainless steel IV tree with an empty plastic water bottle still dangling from it.\n\n\"Shit,\" said Colby, under his breath.\n\nThe man came up behind him, but Colby couldn't shake his gaze. \"I still remember,\" he said, \"you just sitting in that chair for hours, watching her sleep.\"\n\n\"I was waiting for her to wake up.\"\n\n\"Or die?\"\n\n\"Either. I just never wanted to think about the latter.\"\n\n\"That's how I remember you best. Just a little fella, looking after his friend.\"\n\n\"How long?\"\n\n\"I'm sorry?\"\n\n\"How long ago did she wake up?\"\n\n\"'Bout a week.\"\n\n\"Her muscles had to be atrophied. How did she\u2014\"\n\n\"Too right. It was the damnedest thing. Bloody body just stood up and wobbled away. Must've bumped every wall on the way out. Made a hell of a racket. Middle of the night, it was. Just wheelin' and thumpin'. Made it outside and just shuffled off like some kinda bloody zombie.\"\n\n\"How is that even possible?\"\n\n\"Weren't her. Spirits be powerful things. Whatever took her away had an awful lot of fight in it.\"\n\n\"Why did you let it leave?\"\n\nThe man shrugged. \"Mandu said to. Said if it ever got up on its own and wanted to walk away to let it. Come on. Let's get you that beer.\"\n\nColby sat at a wobbly metal kitchen table, easily sixty years old, its lacquered top whittled down and chipped in places. The chairs were mismatched, some almost as old as the table, others decades newer but in no better condition. The man opened a rounded, avocado-green icebox, older than anything else in the kitchen, and pulled from it two, frosty, ice-cold beers.\n\n\"You don't remember me, do you?\" asked the man, popping the bottle caps off on a refrigerator-mounted bottle opener.\n\nColby nodded, immediately trying to place him. \"You're the one who set his tucker bag on fire.\"\n\nThe man laughed. \"That'd be me. I thought I could warm up dinner without burning it. Jirra.\"\n\n\"I remember. You took Mandu's place?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" he said, mindlessly thumbing an old, thick white scar across his forearm.\n\n\"He trained you?\"\n\n\"Since I was a kid, yeah. I was already mostly done when you came along, though. I'd already done my first walkabout. That's why we never got to know each other well.\"\n\n\"How did it happen?\"\n\n\"Mandu? He said it was his time. He'd done his part, trained two great dreamspeakers.\"\n\nColby stifled a proud, sad smile. \"That's very kind of him.\"\n\n\"More than kind. I was always just thankful he said two and not one. Including me with you was the nicest thing he ever said.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's not\u2014\"\n\n\"You've got your own songline, Colby. There's no need for modesty. Not here in my kitchen. I know what you did. I teach the children about you. They sing the songs. You can feign your modesty with everyone else. But in here, in this house, we both know who and what you are.\" Jirra raised his bottle and Colby did the same, glass clinking together. \"You're gonna talk to him, ain't ya?\"\n\nColby nodded. \"I have to. There are some things I need to know.\"\n\n\"You're looking for something?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"The little girl? The dreamwalker?\"\n\n\"Information,\" said Colby. \"About her. What do you know?\"\n\n\"Only that if it were anyone else wanting to go out there after her, I'd say that fella was mad as a cut snake. But you? You might be the one thing to set her straight.\"\n\n\"Set her straight?\"\n\nJirra grew a bit cold, his words hushed, his tone fearful, reverent. \"She's not right. She's not been the same since you left her out there. She's one of them now. Different.\"\n\n\"Different how?\"\n\n\"Different as in I've never stuck around long enough to find out when she come around. She'd never set foot in Arnhem. 'Fraid we might trap her soul in that body. But I saw her a few times farther south, out in the dreaming. Walking the songlines. But not singin' 'em.\"\n\n\"What was she doing?\"\n\n\"Trappin' mostly. She'd find herself a spirit out in the wild, then set her swarm of kutji on 'em. Then she'd do business with 'em. Make 'em trade serving her in exchange for their life. Bloody ugly stuff. She's raised an army. Dreamtime's hers now. No one crosses her. Not here.\"\n\n\"Do you know why?\"\n\n\"No. For that, you'll best be askin' Mandu.\"\n\n\"Take me to him.\"\n\nMANDU MERIJEDI'S HEADSTONE was the ornately carved trunk of a long dead banyan tree atop the tallest hill in the area, his story carved bit by bit into the thick, fig-tree bark. Colby ran his fingers over it, noting the sheer number of tales recounted about him. There were stories here Colby hadn't thought about in a decade; others he'd never even heard.\n\n\"He carved some of that himself,\" said Jirra, pointing to the center-most relief: a tall man with wild hair holding the hand of a young boy.\n\n\"He knew he would be buried here?\" asked Colby.\n\nJirra nodded. \"Of course. He told me once, when I was little, that even after he died, he had one more thing to do and he needed to be here to do it. I think he just liked the view. He came up here every day for a year carving parts of that. Worked on it without anyone knowing what he was up to.\"\n\nColby smiled. \"He was always a step ahead of us all.\"\n\n\"Still is.\"\n\n\"I don't doubt it.\" Colby looked down. There was a squared ring of painted stones marking the grave. This wasn't common at all.\n\nJirra pointed at them. \"I didn't understand why he wanted those here until just now.\" He thought for a moment. \"Is there anything I can get you?\"\n\n\"No. I just need some time to myself.\" Colby raised the back of his hand to the horizon and counted the fingers between it and the sun. \"We've got a little over an hour and a half until sunset. I'll just camp up here for the night.\"\n\n\"Of course.\" Jirra turned, walking back down the hill, stopping a few steps down. \"Oh, one more thing,\" he called over his shoulder.\n\n\"Yeah?\"\n\n\"Would you tell him we miss him?\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\nColby made camp, first gathering kindling and some branches for a fire, then laying a small bedroll over the grave, between the stones. He sat at the edge of the hill with Seere, neither speaking, watching the sun sink beneath the trees as the sky slowly rolled into shades of orange, rose, and violet. The world darkened and the first stars poked through. Then shadows overtook the land, blackening it completely as campfires dotted it like freckles.\n\nThere was no place like the outback at night. Not anymore. Colby hadn't realized how badly he'd missed it.\n\nFinally, Seere spoke up. \"What is it you need me to do?\"\n\n\"Just keep watch. Make sure nothing disturbs my sleep.\"\n\n\"I don't think anything is going to come up here while I'm here.\"\n\n\"That was the idea.\"\n\nWhen the world was black save for the stars and the fires, Colby crawled into his bedroll, the dirt beneath it soft, comfortable, molding to the contours of his body. He quickly, quietly, fell into a deep sleep. Mandu had thought of everything.\nCHAPTER 49\n\nTHE FOOL'S GAMBIT\n\nTonight was lonelier than most. The Cursed and the Damned was all but empty. Bill was out hunting. Colby was in God-knows-where Australia doing God-knows-what. Even the few regulars Yashar served on the side without telling Colby were off in their homes and hollows, waiting out whatever hell was about to blow into Austin. It was just Yashar and Gossamer, each seated at a table, Yashar in one of the few functioning chairs, Gossamer perched nobly on a small wooden box, playing chess.\n\nChess was one of the few games Gossamer could play, not for lack of understanding, but because most games required thumbs. Cards to hold, dominoes to maneuver. But with chess, Gossamer could simply call out his move, and Yashar would move the pieces for him. Colby hated chess, called it a two-dimensional game that required only memorization and punished creativity. But Yashar and Gossamer both knew the truth. Colby stunk at it.\n\n\"Pawn to e4,\" said Gossamer, making his opening move.\n\nYashar reached across the board and moved the piece, then followed by immediately placing his own pawn directly in front of Gossamer's.\n\n\"Knight to f3.\"\n\nAgain, Yashar moved the dog's piece. He sat for a moment mulling over his next move.\n\n\"I miss the boss.\"\n\n\"He's only been gone a few hours.\"\n\n\"I know that. I mean I miss the old boss.\"\n\nYashar passed the dog a bereaved look over his nose, his face still facing the board. \"You can call him Colby.\"\n\n\"I like boss.\"\n\n\"I don't think he's coming back. Not the Colby we knew, anyway. Knight to c6.\"\n\nGossamer let out a long sigh, his head drooping below his shoulders. \"Bishop to c4. Why not? Just because he's making deals?\"\n\n\"No one just makes deals with demons, Goss. They get in your head, futz around with your insides, show you futures where you can get everything you want. You can even get it sometimes. But it comes at a cost. Everything comes at a cost with them. And it's never the price that's advertised. Pawn to d6.\"\n\n\"The boss is strong, though. He might be able to get through it all right?\"\n\nYashar shook his head.\n\n\"Knight to c3.\"\n\n\"I've been on this earth too long to believe that. Colby's cursed. It's my fault. And this is the fallout of that curse. There's no point in worrying about it. He'll be who he'll be on the other side of it.\"\n\nThe two stared morosely at the board, examining their next moves.\n\n\"Bishop to g4.\"\n\n\"Yashar, what's a familiar?\"\n\nYashar again looked over his nose at the dog. \"It's . . . it's a special relationship between a pet and his master.\"\n\n\"I like boss. Knight to e5.\"\n\n\"Between a pet and his boss.\"\n\n\"Boss said it was a best friend.\"\n\n\"It is, kind of.\"\n\n\"What is it really?\"\n\n\"It's a magical bond. It means he can see what you can see. You can read each other's thoughts. He can weave magic through you. Bishop to d1. Bishop takes queen.\"\n\n\"You took my queen? Already?\" Gossamer's eyes grew sad, his muzzle lowering to the board's edge.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But that's my favorite piece.\"\n\n\"Learn to protect it better, then.\"\n\n\"Bishop to e7. Check.\"\n\nYashar eyed the board, looking for a way out of check.\n\n\"Why won't boss make me his familiar? That all sounds awesome.\"\n\n\"Because it's not all awesome.\"\n\n\"What's the catch?\"\n\n\"Catch is that your life forces become linked. You can't ever get too far from each other. You would have had to go to Australia or else you'd both be doubled over, sick, puking your guts out. I've seen it.\"\n\n\"That doesn't sound too bad.\"\n\n\"King to e7. I told you, Goss, your life forces are linked. So if he dies . . .\"\n\nGossamer looked up, suddenly understanding. \"Oh,\" he said solemnly. \"I would die too.\"\n\n\"And if something ever happened to you, he would be weakened to near death. It's a position that comes with great benefits, but terrible consequences. Colby doesn't lead a very safe life. And he loves you, Goss. Very much. He doesn't want anything to happen to you.\"\n\n\"Is that how you feel about Colby?\"\n\n\"Every goddamned day.\"\n\n\"If you could take it back, would you?\"\n\n\"The wish?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\nYashar sat silently for a beat. \"What do you mean? Do I wish he had made a different wish?\"\n\n\"No. If you had to choose between Colby's wish and the wish of another child, which would you choose?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I've thought about that every day for nearly fifteen years now and I still don't know. Every time I sleep, I dream about it. I had a dream once, seven years ago, in which I granted a wish to a different child. It was a wonderful dream. Everything was just how it used to be. The kid's wish was simple, didn't end so badly, and we went about life happy, not involved with . . .\" He waved around the bar. \"Any of this. But then, what I assume was about a year or so into the dream, I remembered Colby. And he showed up in the dream. I saw him living his life. Normal. Bored. Working behind the counter of some retail chain. I have no idea what he was selling. But I missed him. I missed him so badly. So I talked to him. And he didn't know me. I tried to tell him that we knew each other, but he didn't believe a word of it. And for the rest of the dream, I was miserable. I went about the various unbelievable adventures I have in those dreams and couldn't enjoy a one of them because Colby wasn't there.\n\n\"So what would I do, given the choice? Would I spare my friend a lifetime of fear and suffering and damnation? Or would I put him through all that just so I wouldn't be so lonely? I'd like to think that I would be unselfish. I'd like to think that, but all evidence is to the contrary. Does that answer your question?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" said Gossamer. \"Knight to d5. Checkmate.\"\n\nYashar cast his eyes down incredulously, thinking for a moment that the dog had no idea what he was doing. And he saw it. Checkmate. \"Wait! That's the fool's gambit. With a queen sacrifice! Where did you learn that?\"\n\nGossamer's tail wagged furiously, his mouth dropping open with a panting smile. \"Learn to protect your queen better, you said. You said that. You mocked me.\"\n\n\"You just sharked me.\"\n\n\"I did.\"\n\n\"You son of a bitch.\"\n\n\"Don't . . .\"\n\n\"Dog joke.\"\n\n\"That only works on Colby.\"\n\n\"What's good for the goose . . .\"\n\nYashar could feel the doors opening, the metal outer door closing with a slam, the inner door popping open with a WHOOSH. He wasn't expecting anyone, but he wasn't expecting trouble either.\n\nHalf a dozen kutji flooded in through the door, their stubby malformed bodies skittering across the floor, scampering up the walls, scooting across the bar. Yashar pushed his seat back slowly, its legs grinding against the concrete.\n\n\"Goss,\" he said beneath his breath. \"If I say run, you fucking run.\"\n\n\"I'm not leaving you.\"\n\n\"This is no time for loyalty.\"\n\n\"Screw you. This is exactly the time for loyalty.\"\n\n\"Yashar,\" hissed the kutji standing tallest atop the bar. \"It's my understanding that this place is under new management.\"\n\n\"It is. So get the fuck out of my bar.\"\n\n\"No,\" it said, hopping down, striding confidently toward the djinn. \"I mean it's under new management now.\" The kutji held out both of his hands, waving to the bar. \"This place is ours.\"\n\n\"Like hell it is,\" said Gossamer, fur bristling, growling deep, as if he was ready to snap at the closest hand.\n\n\"Goss,\" said Yashar. \"Ease back.\"\n\n\"This place is ours.\"\n\n\"Not anymore it isn't,\" said Yashar. \"Live to fight another day, my friend.\"\n\n\"Is that all it takes to own a bar? You just walk in and take it?\"\n\nThe kutji smiled wickedly, teeth pointing every which way out from his black gums. \"Sometimes,\" it said. \"Sometimes.\"\n\nYashar stood up slowly, waving for Gossamer to follow him. \"It's all yours.\" The two then backed away toward the door, Yashar spinning slowly as they did, trying to keep an eye on all the kutji at once. A single kutji stood between them and the door, for a moment refusing to yield. But as Yashar cautiously closed the distance, he moved, holding the door open for the two.\n\nYashar gave one last, longing look at the bar, drinking in the sweet nostalgia, took a deep breath, and then stepped outside.\n\nCrows lined the alley, a single kutji in demihuman form standing ten feet from the door. Yashar and Gossamer stopped dead in their tracks. They looked around, saw they were surrounded. Gossamer squatted low, tail back, teeth bared, growling.\n\n\"You the guys here to kill me?\" asked Yashar, inching ever closer to his companion.\n\nThe kutji nodded.\n\n\"You doing this because you want to? Or because you have to?\"\n\n\"What's the difference?\" asked the kutji, balling up both of his fists.\n\n\"Difference is in how many of you I kill before we call it a night.\"\n\nThe crows all squawked at once, angry, beating their wings against their sides, shaking their feathers while strutting on their perches.\n\n\"Oh, you like that, huh?\" yelled Yashar over the sound. \"I'll ask you again! You doing this because you want to or because you have to?\"\n\n\"Kill him,\" said the kutji.\n\nAt once the birds took to the air, their speed faster than Yashar imagined, diving toward him and Gossamer.\n\n\"Shit!\" Yashar picked up Gossamer by his belly, hoisting him awkwardly in the air, then spun, pulling himself tight, vanishing into thin air. The birds swarmed in, finding nothing, some slamming into the wall, others the door\u2014none striking home.\n\n\"Where is he?\" screamed one of the kutji, shifting back from crow to man.\n\n\"He's gone,\" said another.\n\n\"Well, spread out. Find them.\"\n\n\"It's too late,\" said yet another, sniffing the air. \"They're gone.\"\n\n\"What now?\"\n\nThe lead kutji from inside leaned out of the door, dangling on the knob. \"We make sure he doesn't come back. We make sure he gets the message. Everybody inside.\"\n\nThe last of the crows shifted immediately, pouring inside the building. They leaped up on the tables and up on top of the bar. One swung back and forth on the single dangling bulb as if it were a jungle vine. The largest of them began tossing bottles against the wall, pouring liquor over the bartop. \"Help me,\" it said to the others.\n\nIn a flash, every bottle in the bar was shattering against any and every surface there was. Every bottle but one. The last bottle of Old Scraps's special reserve. The largest kutji held that bottle in one hand, stuffing a rag in it with the other. Then he picked up a lighter from behind the bar, lit the rag, and screamed, \"Everybody out!\"\n\nThen he threw the bottle against the bar and the whole place went up in flames.\nCHAPTER 50\n\nDREAMSPEAKER\n\nHe awoke, a fire crackling beside him, a shadow standing silently at the edge of its light.\n\nColby sat up, smiling. \"Hello, Mandu.\"\n\nThe shadow walked slowly around the fire, a large walking stick preceding it step by step.\n\nMandu Merijedi looked only vaguely as Colby remembered him, the creases in his face deep from years in the sun, his hair no longer salt and pepper, but fully bleached white with age. His eyes were milky with cataracts, tired, iris and pupil fading into the whites as if he were blind. His teeth gleamed in the firelight, his smile warmer than the blaze.\n\n\"Hello, child,\" he said, his voice darkened, affected by the grave. There was an echo to it, a hollowness, as if he was calling through a cave, recorded, then played back through an old speaker, static and all.\n\n\"It's been a long time.\"\n\n\"No, it hasn't. Long for you because you're young. The young always think such a short time is forever. You don't understand forever. Not yet.\"\n\nColby nodded. \"You're right. I don't understand it.\"\n\nMandu laughed, each ha trailing off into the night like distant fireworks. \"Of course I'm right. That's why you came all this way to speak to a dead man.\"\n\n\"Thank you for waiting for me.\"\n\n\"I had no choice. You were always going to come here and call on me. I just knew in advance.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"No need to apologize. Ain't upset. No need being upset with the inevitable. I might sooner be angry that things fall down instead of up or that rain also darkens the sky. It is how things were meant to be.\" He paused and beheld the stars as if he hadn't seen them in years. \"You're here about the girl,\" he said, still staring at them.\n\n\"Yes. The dreamwalker. Kaycee.\"\n\n\"That's not her name anymore. But don't worry. She'll find you.\"\n\n\"That's what I'm afraid of.\"\n\n\"How did you get here?\" Mandu's gaze wandered down from the sky, looking Colby straight in the eye.\n\n\"A powerful spirit brought me. On his horse.\"\n\nMandu shook his head. \"No. Ask yourself. How did you get here? To this spot? Now. How did you get to now? Only when you understand what brought you to where you are can you really go farther. If you want to find your friend, you need to retrace your steps. Walk the path you walked as a child. Sing the song of your deeds, walk the songline to the last place you saw her. But do not sing it wrong or you will unsing creation. You will unsing your own story. Remember, Colby, the past is the past. If we try and change it, we only change ourselves.\"\n\n\"You want me to walk my songline?\"\n\n\"I want to rest. You, you want to remember. Because you want to find your friend. She needs you. To fulfill her destiny and free herself from what ails her, what binds her, she needs you. This was the destiny she has so long pined for and it is so close. You cannot let her down now.\"\n\n\"Is that it? Is that all I have to do?\"\n\nMandu laughed again, this time more heartily than before, though it still chilled Colby to the bone. \"No. That's not it. That's just the beginning.\"\n\n\"Tell me. Tell me everything.\"\n\n\"I don't know everything. The spirits only show so much.\"\n\n\"That's damned inconvenient.\"\n\n\"Destinies are fulfilled best by people trying to avoid them. They are not carved into the earth like mountains, but are like water in a billabong. Knowing a destiny is like knowing where the water will go when it rains. You know the water will be there. But you cannot tell the sky to put the water there. You cannot tell it when. You just have to let it. You can carve the earth out yourself, make rivers and reservoirs, guide the water away. And destiny becomes different. But why would you? You want the water in the billabong. Because it will bring the animals that will feed the people. You must think back on your song, you must be the rain. It will fill the billabong. It will bring the animals. It will feed the people.\n\n\"I have been given the opportunity to stand back and see history as one might see the land from this hill. It is all laid out. And it was my job to protect it. To sing of it. To be its custodian. I did that. And now that is Jirra's job. And I can rest.\"\n\nColby eyed the spirit knowingly. \"You're already at rest, aren't you? This is just an echo.\"\n\nMandu nodded, waved his arm around the dark of the dream. \"Dreams are the one place the spirits cannot hear us.\"\n\n\"You knew that I would need to hear this and that I wouldn't be alone.\"\n\n\"I was wrong to not want to teach you, especially when you learn so well.\"\n\n\"You never wanted to teach me?\"\n\n\"White fellas don't learn the dream so good. But when a great spirit of the desert comes with the wind and brings you a child, saying, 'Teach him the old ways,' you do not question him. This is proof. The spirits were right to bring you to me. We come from the clay; we return to the clay. It is how it is supposed to be. Over time, the world changes. We can do little about that. But getting to take part, no matter how small, in a great story of such changes? Getting to leave something behind, whether given credit or not, is the greatest gift. I have that now. So thank you.\"\n\n\"I haven't changed anything. Certainly not the world.\"\n\n\"Your wish changed everything, Colby. Changed the order of things. I don't know how it works, or what the dream behind it is doing, but whatever it did, very powerful spirits took an interest in you. They set about changin' the path of your life to get you where they wanted you to be. My spirit had me do the things I did to get you here, to this moment, because he said the choice you make here, at this point in your life, is the one that decides not only who you become, but what becomes of the world. The fate of all the dream rests in your hands. Do you remember the story of the orphan who cried awake the Rainbow Serpent?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Are you saying I'm the orphan?\"\n\n\"You were, once, before you made that bloody wish. But then you became the serpent.\"\n\n\"Wait, what?\"\n\n\"The serpent was just hungry. Been asleep a long time. To him, the people were nothin' but tucker. He never knew how big he was, that his body carved rivers in the earth. Never knew that his very dreams would dream the world awake. That's you. That's you now. In your story, the orphan becomes the serpent. Dreams the world anew.\"\n\n\"I don't even know how that's possible. I'm not that powerful.\"\n\n\"That's the other part of the story. The moral for everyone else. Small people change the world. Bring down great monsters.\"\n\n\"How do I bring this one down?\"\n\n\"The dreamwalker?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"You cut her cord. Severed the link between her spirit and her body.\"\n\nColby glared at Mandu. \"You tricked me into doing that.\"\n\n\"Too right!\"\n\n\"Why? Why did you let me think I did that?\"\n\n\"Because of how you felt after you did it. I didn't understand it at first either. My spirit told me this must be done and I trusted my spirit. But then I saw how you watched over her as she slept; how your guilt made you more conscious of how you used your power. When I met you, you were a boy unafraid to throw magic around, to rob the world of its dream to solve your problems. Now you are a man who hesitates before acting, thinks about the consequences of his actions, protects the dream where he can. Even when you kill a thing, you give its dream back to the world. That's why you had to believe.\"\n\n\"It was another damn lesson?\"\n\n\"They're all lessons, fella. Everything is a lesson in this life. Even the small things.\"\n\n\"I cut her cord to learn a lesson?\"\n\n\"Her cord was cut because it had to be. She could not become who she is now if it hadn't been. And this is who she was always meant to be. The reason you did it was to learn a lesson.\"\n\n\"So why did it have to be cut?\"\n\n\"Because, if her body dies\u2014\"\n\n\"She dies. I know. That's not an answer.\"\n\n\"That body was not her destiny. She was meant for the world of dreams, not the one of her body. But what if someone were to disbelieve her body? Will it away?\"\n\n\"She would be disbelieved with it. Right?\"\n\n\"Yes. Unless . . .\" Mandu looked across the fire, waiting for Colby to get it.\n\n\"Unless . . . ?\" Colby's eyes shot wide. \"Unless some other spirit had made her body its home.\"\n\n\"Too right again!\"\n\n\"Then I wouldn't be disbelieving her, I would be disbelieving something else. Is that right?\"\n\n\"A dreamwalker whose body is taken by another spirit is condemned to walk forever as a spirit.\"\n\n\"She'd be immortal. A spirit. Forever.\"\n\n\"Just as she always dreamed. To walk in the dream forever.\"\n\n\"That's why she's coming for me.\"\n\n\"Partly.\"\n\n\"Is the other part revenge?\"\n\nMandu shook his head. \"Those spirits, her kutji. She's as much their slave as they are hers. When she dies, she too will be kutji. She won't remember all of who she is. Only the strongest parts. And the parts strongest in her right now are her anger and her fear. The kutji want her dead. They'll betray her given the chance, if it doesn't break with their business.\"\n\n\"She doesn't just want me to give her her immortality. She needs me to.\"\n\n\"Desperation is dangerous, especially with a spirit so strong as hers.\"\n\n\"Why didn't she just ask?\"\n\n\"Maybe she doesn't think she can. Would you trust the boy who left you in the desert with your nightmares?\"\n\n\"But I didn't!\"\n\nMandu looked sadly across the fire. \"No. I did. And if you don't do this right, I'll have sacrificed a friend for nothing. Her ending doesn't have to be tragic. And no thing worth havin' isn't worth a little suffering for. Give her what she wants, Colby.\"\n\n\"I don't know that I can.\"\n\n\"I hope for all our sakes that you can figure out how. But it won't be easy. Not with what's happening even now.\"\n\n\"What's happening now?\"\n\n\"You'll see. It'll change everything.\"\n\n\"Shit.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What do I do?\"\n\n\"Remember the fish. Do not stab or bait one at a time when you can fish the whole pond at once with a little preparation. You'll know what that means when the time comes.\" Mandu looked up at the stars once more. \"It's time.\"\n\n\"Oh, Jirra asked me to\u2014\"\n\n\"Tell him I miss him too.\"\n\n\"I'll miss you, Mandu.\"\n\nMandu smiled. \"Most Clever Men only ever get to teach one other Clever Man. I got to teach three. All very clever. Very clever.\"\n\n\"Three?\"\n\n\"Yes, three. You, Jirra, and Kaycee.\" Mandu stepped back toward the shadows then stopped. \"Oh, I almost forgot. One more thing.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Wake up.\"\nCHAPTER 51\n\nAS SHADOWS FADE\n\nMeanwhile, as Colby slept beneath the stars of an Australian sky, the skies above Austin had grown unexpectedly stormy. Clouds moved quickly, thunder rumbling without a flash of lightning to betray its origins. A sharp, cold wind blasted the streets, stripping the leaves off trees, dropping the temperature a good thirty degrees in the span of an hour. Winter was setting in and this front was its announcement. Below, a single figure strode flamboyantly, his pace quickening against the storm.\n\nAaron Brandon strolled down the street as if he was on top of the world. He felt virile, pumped, his parts still tingling. It had taken all night and fifty dollars' worth of drinks to ply that girl out of her panties, and she could barely stand up by the time he had. After he'd finished, she could barely slur out her own name, let alone remember his. Last he saw her, she was still slumped in the alley, all but passed out in his juices, muttering something like, \"Wait, where are you going?\" before mumbling herself to sleep.\n\nAaron Brandon was a douchebag. A proud douchebag. All muscles, tribal tattoos, and twenty-four-karat gold. And he was of the decided opinion that if she remembered tonight at all, it would be a blessing to that girl\u2014a memory she would cherish of the time she'd made it with a real man. After all, she was only a six, and sixes were lucky to get it at all from anything but neck-beard IT rats and balding men ten years their senior. She was lucky if she ever got anything close to him again. And now he was off to one of his favorite off-Sixth-Street dives to see if he could catch himself a closing-time loner for round two and a ride home.\n\nBill the Shadow stood in the darkest corner of the alley between two downtown buildings, just out of reach of the streetlamp up the block. He hated Aaron already. He'd seen him before, trolling the downtown bars for easy tail, and had earmarked him for a last-minute substitution on a light night. Usually Bill preferred darker souls than this\u2014violent souls\u2014but pickings were slim, he was hungry, and Aaron had it coming. The man was human trash, a worthless sperm machine pumping out mediocre sex in three-minute bursts to women who could barely tell what was going on around them.\n\nIt was an odd treat, drinking one of those. As big and badass as they might seem, they didn't really understand their own darkness. They didn't regard their own sins as anything of the sort. There was no remorse lurking in their gut. Only entitlement. But Bill loved destroying entitlement.\n\nHe crept behind him, keeping a safe distance, occasionally scuffing the pavement with his boot heel before darting into nearby shadow. Aaron was just drunk enough to be slow, but not so much that he didn't pick up on the sounds.\n\nAaron repeatedly turned around, hearing the scuff, seeing a flash of dark out of the corner of his eye, a smudgy blur that vanished a second later, wondering if he was jumping at the sound of his own footfalls. By the third time, he began to grow anxious.\n\n\"Who the fuck?\" he shouted the fourth time he heard it, chest puffed out, fists clenched, arms flexing like the hero on the cover of some old video game. \"I will beat the fuck out of you. Who's out there?\"\n\nA cigarette lit up in a deep shadow, the cherry peering out like a single tiny light in the brooding dark.\n\nAaron stormed over, brow furrowed and furious. \"You homeless fuck. I will kick you until you piss bl\u2014\"\n\nThere was nothing in the shadow. Not even a cigarette. He looked around. Nothing. The streets were empty. There was a slight wind coming in off the river, the only sound a paper dancing across the street in the breeze.\n\n\"What the\u2014\"\n\nThen he saw something. A shadow moving. A man, standing against a wall. Wide hat. Long coat. Aaron was shitting bricks now. That man wasn't there before. And the more he looked at him, the less it looked like a man at all. Was it the shadow of a pole? An overhang?\n\nHe took a step closer, looking both ways despite there not being a single car.\n\n\"Hey! You!\"\n\nThe shadow didn't move. He raised his arm, fist above his head as if he had a hammer of some sort in it, ready to bring it down.\n\n\"I said you!\"\n\nStill nothing.\n\n\"Shit.\"\n\nThen he doubled over, vomiting into the street, spewing forth a thick spray of green and brown. Then just brown. Then brown and red. Then red and only red. He fell to his knees throwing up blood, his orange tan going pale white, the blood vessels in his eyes bursting purple from the heaves. Veins spider-webbed around his sockets, his eyes thick with tears.\n\nThe vomiting stopped and Aaron began to choke. He clutched his throat. Pounded himself in the stomach. Tried to swallow. But his mouth wouldn't shut. His jaw gaped wide, wider than it should, then it broke, snapping out of place. Aaron tried to scream, his head tilted all the way back on his neck, but nothing came out. Just muffled awfulness. Whimpers. Choked pleading.\n\nTwo small black hands, neither quite the same size, clawed at the corners of his mouth, breeching a shadowy head out of the unhinged jaw. Then eyes followed. Then a large, square mouth. Within seconds a full-size kutji was squeezing its way up through his throat and out into the street.\n\nAaron died right there, collapsing, head smacking limply on the pavement, the kutji scraping his blood and vomit from itself in thick handfuls.\n\nBill emerged from his spot against the wall, bitter, ready for a fight. \"Seems you're a long way from home, hombre.\"\n\nThe kutji nodded. \"A long way. But in the right place.\"\n\n\"I'm not so sure about that.\"\n\nThen came the beating of wings, the sound of scurrying in nearby alleys. Bill took a step back, eyeing the street as over a dozen shadows emerged from the dark spaces of the city or out from the night sky. They surrounded him silently in a semicircle.\n\n\"Aw, hell. This is gonna be one of those nights, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Actually,\" said the lead kutji, still shaking the last remaining bits of Aaron from his body, \"it's going to be that night.\"\n\n\"Oh, I wouldn't go that far, chief. It's going to take more than a dozen of you to scare me.\"\n\n\"We're not here to scare you. We're here to kill you.\"\n\n\"So it is going to be one of those nights.\" Bill sighed deeply. \"All right. Let's get this over with. I'm starving and there's not a whole lot of night left.\" Bill adjusted his hat, sliding it back on his head as he took one last drag off his cigarette. He popped his back, cracked his neck, pitched the butt, then growled.\n\nHe spat out a sudden cloud of fog as the kutji swarmed toward him. Bill ducked and weaved, the diminutive shadows grasping at him and catching nothing but empty air. One grabbed for his leg but he lifted it in time for the kutji to slip right beneath him as Bill brushed his jacket back like a matador. Then he snuck away, loitering on the outskirts of the cloud, listening as the miscreant mob swore, flailing about to find him.\n\nBill skulked quietly in the dense mist, his mouth yawning wide, more fog pouring into the streets by the second. Then came the flutter of wings, like an entire flock taking flight at once, their wing beats trailing off into the sky. There were no more scuffs or scuttles, no twitters or chitters. It sounded as if the streets were empty, fog drifting alone, transformers overhead buzzing loudly on their poles from the moisture. It was clear to Bill, however, that this was far from the end of his ordeal.\n\nThat's when the thunder rumbled directly overhead.\n\nThe wind kicked up and thick drops of rain began to pound the pavement. A stiff gust blew, wiping the fog away from the street like a drawn curtain. And there, standing dead center, stood a tall, time-ravaged man, on fire from top to bottom, flames licking the air around him. The Holocaust Man.\n\n\"Hello, Bill,\" said the demon, his voice deeper and more menacing than Bill imagined.\n\n\"I'm getting the distinct impression that this isn't about me,\" said Bill.\n\nAmy shook his head, smiling a lipless grin, teeth charred black. Spatters of rain slopped steadily around them.\n\n\"I don't have a dog in this fight, and if I don't have a dog in this fight, why are we here?\"\n\n\"Because you do have a dog in this fight,\" said Amy. \"And that dog thinks he can get the better of us. He doesn't want to kill the girl. He has to; he just doesn't know it yet.\"\n\n\"So he's supposed to think that she did this.\"\n\n\"He will think she did this.\"\n\n\"That's a pretty shitty reason to die.\"\n\n\"They're all shit reasons to die, Bill, in the end.\"\n\n\"I couldn't agree more.\"\n\nThe rain stopped, the clouds bursting away, falling to earth in the shape of crows. They soared down, landing on buildings, lampposts, and awnings, watching like a circle of schoolkids, cheering with squawks and caws. Bill looked around at the mess he found himself in. Amy tapped his foot impatiently, the tinny, hollow sound echoing through the empty streets.\n\n\"I thought you lot had lost all these,\" said Bill.\n\n\"Most. Not all. The rumors of the Queen's utter domination of her lands are just that.\"\n\n\"Well, I reckon you know that I won't go down easy.\"\n\n\"It wouldn't look real if you did.\"\n\nBill nodded, turning into a blob of shadow, flinging himself at Amy faster than Amy could react, bowling him over, knocking him to the ground. Re-forming, Bill towered above him, punching him in the face over and over, a foot on his chest to keep him down, his fists sizzling against the flames.\n\nAmy reached out, grasping wildly for Bill.\n\nBill grabbed both sides of Amy's face, grabbing him by the ears, staring deep into his eyes, Bill's foot still standing right on top of him, mouth wide to swallow his soul. But nothing came. He breathed deeper, trying to suck something out of the man beneath him, but there was nothing there. Just a hollow shell brimming with hate. The Holocaust Man stared back at Bill, deep into the dark recesses of the boggart.\n\n\"What the hell?\" mumbled Bill.\n\nAmy flared up, blazing as if he'd been doused suddenly with gasoline, burning away the shadows surrounding Bill. The boggart was entirely illuminated. There was no flesh that Bill concealed in his darkness; he was entirely hollow, his features floating in what was ordinarily murk. Now he was naked, small bits of face and hands suspended in the air by forces unseen.\n\nAmy laughed. \"I see you for what you are, Bill. And there's nothing to you after all.\" Then the Holocaust Man exploded.\n\nBill was blasted backward, far across the street, slamming against a building some two stories up. He fell immediately to the ground, face-first, weakened, trying to re-form his shadows.\n\nBill coughed, spitting a bit of his soul out like phlegm, then rolled over on his back.\n\nAmy's fires died down and he looked once again like he had. He hopped to his feet, almost skipping on his way over to Bill. \"It's a shame it had to be like this,\" he said. \"But it did have to be like this. Sometimes the friends we keep are the source of our own undoing.\"\n\nHe plunged a fiery fist into Bill's chest, incinerating his insides.\n\nBill looked up at the clear sky, the clouds having cleared away with the kutji, the stars starting to grow fuzzy. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and put it in his mouth before fumbling with the lighter. His fingers were fading and the Zippo clanged behind his ear as it slipped out of them.\n\nAmy leaned down, touching the end of the cigarette with a single smoldering finger.\n\nBill inhaled deeply, lighting it, then exhaled without pulling the butt from his lips, and died, the cigarette going limp over his chin.\n\nCrows descended, the murder flooding the corpse, picking at the shadows with their shiny black beaks. They tore him away in chunks, swallowing Bill bit by bit as the shadows around him began to fade, light creeping in from streetlamps. Within seconds he was gone. Only his coat, hat, and lighter remained.\nCHAPTER 52\n\nWINTER OF DISCONTENT\n\nWinter in Austin is brown and yellow, white being something most Texans only dream of. In the odd years, when the rains run long and heavy, late into the season, the grass and trees will stay green well into December. But even then the cold snaps come to chase the green away. The trees turn yellow first, then brown up slowly over the course of weeks. The grass goes yellow almost right away.\n\nWinter is heralded by the day the first strong winds come and wipe the trees of all their leaves over the course of a single night. Then, from that point on, it becomes the long, lingering, earth-tone trod toward springtime, the nights chilly and crisp, but rarely cold enough to matter. The days are just slightly warmer. Winter. In all its sudden, spectacular glory.\n\nIt was winter again, and Colby Stevens felt the way the city looked. Haggard, raw, tired, stripped bare. All the mistakes, the worn cracked surface, exposed, covered in prickly stubble. Just a few nights before, it was a nice, brisk autumn. Now the city was in its winter slumber, ugly as it got.\n\nHe stood before the smoldering remains of the Cursed and the Damned and he felt his heart breaking. Yellow tape marked the area off that, along with swollen puddles, stood as the only proof the fire department had been there. Moments before, he thought he'd had it all figured out, that he was thinking steps ahead of everyone, that he was somehow playing their game better than they could. And now his arrogance was out in the open and he wondered just how deep in trouble he had really gotten himself this time.\n\nSeere stood behind him, his expression almost as solemn as Colby's. \"There's no one in there.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Colby, unable to feel the spirits of his friends, dead or otherwise. \"Do you know where they are?\"\n\n\"Your friends?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Are they all right?\"\n\n\"They appear to be.\"\n\n\"Take me there.\"\n\nCOLBY HOPPED OFF the back of the horse and onto the street in front of his house.\n\n\"Call for me,\" said Seere, \"and I'll take you to the next of your appointments.\"\n\nColby looked up to thank him, but he was already gone, horse and all. He took a deep breath and made his way quickly into the house.\n\nYashar sat on the couch. He looked up at Colby, unmoving, crestfallen.\n\n\"What the hell did you do, Colby?\" he asked.\n\n\"Where's Gossamer?\"\n\n\"He's under the bed. He won't come out.\"\n\nColby whistled.\n\nGossamer shot out from the bedroom, rounded the corner, and charged Colby, tail wagging, nuzzling between both of his legs. \"Boss!\" he said, ecstatic. \"You're home.\"\n\n\"What happened?\"\n\nGossamer and Yashar exchanged looks, neither wanting to be the one to say it.\n\n\"It was kutji,\" said Yashar. \"A swarm of them.\"\n\n\"I tried to be a good dog. Tried to protect Yashar. But there were too many of them.\"\n\n\"It's okay, Goss. You did good. What's important is that you're both okay.\"\n\n\"They got the bar,\" said Yashar.\n\n\"I saw.\"\n\n\"That's not the worst of it.\"\n\n\"How could it get any worse?\"\n\n\"Bill,\" said Yashar. \"They killed Bill the Shadow.\"\n\nColby's heart dropped into his stomach, his jaw following soon after. His blood ran cold and it became progressively harder to breathe. He wanted to throw up. \"How?\"\n\n\"They tore him apart. There wasn't much left.\"\n\n\"Are you sure he's\u2014\"\n\nYashar reached beside him on the couch, pulling from it Bill's coat and hat. \"Yes.\"\n\nColby walked over, took the coat and hat into his hands, eyes misting as he examined them. He knew every fold, every contour. There was no dreamstuff left here, only djang\u2014the etched-in power of who he was. \"These are burned,\" he said, chalky black residue wiping off onto his hands.\n\n\"So was the bar,\" said Yashar.\n\n\"They're sending a message,\" said Gossamer.\n\n\"I shouldn't have left.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Yashar. \"You shouldn't have. Did you at least find what you were looking for?\"\n\nColby nodded. \"I did.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"I know what she's doing. Why she's coming for me.\"\n\n\"What are we going to do?\"\n\n\"We're going to find her and we're going to kill her for this.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\" asked Yashar.\n\n\"Very.\"\n\n\"You know you'll have to do it without me, right?\"\n\nColby glared at him. \"I thought we were in this together.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Yashar condescendingly. \"We're not. Not this time.\"\n\n\"What is that even supposed to mean? Are you pissed at me?\"\n\n\"No. It's the ring, Colby. It doesn't only affect the Seventy-two. It affects us all. Every last demon and djinn. If I go near her, I'm as good as hers, and if she turns that ring on me\u2014\"\n\n\"You'd be her slave,\" said Colby, voice drowning in understanding.\n\n\"That's not what scares me,\" said Yashar. \"We're all somebody's slave, whether we want to think about it like that or not. I've been through worse than serving someone like her. What scares me is that she might force me to kill you. Or you me.\"\n\n\"Oh, Jesus.\"\n\n\"Yeah. Are you ready to have that fight? Because I'm not.\"\n\n\"You can't come,\" said Colby. \"For both our sakes.\"\n\n\"No, I can't. You're on your own for this one.\"\n\n\"No he's not,\" said Gossamer.\n\nColby smiled weakly, scratching his friend behind the ears. \"Thanks, Goss.\"\n\n\"I'm serious.\"\n\n\"Not this time, I'm afraid. You need to stay here with Yashar.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Gossamer. \"Don't stay me.\"\n\n\"Goss, this is really\u2014\"\n\n\"No. Not this time, boss. I'm coming with you.\"\n\n\"We don't have time for this.\"\n\n\"Then just do it.\"\n\n\"Do what?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"Make me your familiar. Once and for all.\"\n\nYashar and Colby exchanged troubled glances. \"You don't know what you're asking. What that involves.\"\n\n\"Yes I do, and I don't care. I'm not just your dog anymore. And I'm tired of being just half a thing. Make me the whole thing. Take me the rest of the way. I want to be your familiar.\"\n\nColby petted Gossamer, scratching his graying cheek, looking down at him sadly. \"If we do this, our souls will be inextricably linked. We'll never be able to\u2014\"\n\n\"I've heard the sales pitch already. From Yashar. I'm in. Let's do this thing.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Yashar. \"These things, they don't always end so well.\"\n\n\"If anything were to happen to me . . . ,\" said Colby.\n\nGossamer rubbed the top of his head against Colby's thigh and looked up at him with solemn, deadly serious eyes. \"Colby, the only way anyone is ever going to kill you is if I'm already dead. Just do the thing and say the goddamned words already.\"\n\nColby hesitated for a second, mulling it over. \"I love you, Gossamer.\"\n\n\"I love you too, boss.\"\n\nColby lowered a hand onto Gossamer's mane, rubbing his fingers through his golden red coat. He began mumbling, cursing in arcane languages, focusing every last bit of dreamstuff he could from as far as three city blocks away. The two began to glow, a dark sickly green pulsing underneath their skin. Then the sound of thunder and the nauseating wobble of the universe contracting and expanding around them.\n\nGossamer felt suddenly ill, every inch of his body tingling, his insides jumbling as if he was strapped into a disintegrating Tilt-A-Whirl held together by duct tape and loose nuts.\n\n\"Just breathe,\" said Colby. \"You've got to breathe through it.\"\n\n\"It feels awful.\"\n\n\"It'll pass. Focus.\"\n\nThe pulsing grew to a crescendo, a kaleidoscopic torrent of color wheeling about them. They both winced in pain, a surge like a hundred thousand volts streaming through their souls. And then it stopped and the colors faded away.\n\nGossamer looked around, freaking out, suddenly very anxious. \"What the\u2014? What the hell is going on?\" His mind was filled with thoughts, images, complex structures he didn't understand. The air buzzed lightly around him, like it was swarming with gnats. There were colors to the world he never knew existed. His soul felt like it was on fire.\n\n\"Relax,\" said Colby. \"You need a few moments to adjust.\"\n\n\"Adjust to what? What the hell is going on inside my head?\"\n\n\"Your new perceptions. My perceptions. My thoughts. This is what I was talking about. It's going to take a little getting used to.\"\n\n\"No shit. This is . . . this is fucking weird.\"\n\n\"Yes. We're linked for good now. We can think to each other over distances, see and hear and feel what the other can feel, hear, and see. And I can work dreamstuff through you. It'll take awhile for us to work the kinks out, but we'll make it work. But first, I need you to focus. Find a single thought, one thing you can see in your head, and just focus on that.\"\n\n\"Okay.\" Gossamer saw a campfire. And a man. Not a man. A spirit. He looked up at Colby. Then his mouth dropped open and he began panting with excitement.\n\nColby and Gossamer looked long and hard at each other, each sifting through the other's thoughts. Gossamer nodded; Colby reeled back a bit, then shook his head. Just as Colby had shared his thoughts and memories with Gossamer, so too had Gossamer shared his with him.\n\nAnd it was at once clear that all was not as it appeared to be.\n\nDon't say a word, thought Colby. This stays between us. You hear me?\n\n\"Yeah,\" said the dog. \"Loud and clear.\" Then he barked once, just to see if he still could. \"Okay. Let's do this. Time's wasting.\" He trotted toward the door, stopping to give a single look over his shoulder to see if Colby and Yashar were following. \"Come on!\"\n\n\"Welcome to the club,\" said Yashar to Colby.\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Now you know what it feels like to be responsible for someone who has no idea what they've asked for.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Colby, slipping into distant thoughts. \"Shit.\"\n\n\"Yeah. Shit.\"\n\nThe door burst open and Austin stormed through, hat cocked sideways on her head, rage overflowing with bluster. \"What the hell did you bring to my city?\" she screamed.\n\n\"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! You're not allowed in my house! What the hell do you\u2014\"\n\n\"This is my city, asshole. I can go wherever the hell I want.\"\n\n\"No you can't, Captain Police State.\"\n\n\"What the hell did you bring to my city?\"\n\n\"I didn't bring\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes you did. They're here because of you. Everything is here because of you. Demons, shadows, and a little girl who calls herself Queen. They're not here for the fucking music.\"\n\n\"Now you don't know that, they could be\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't be a smart-ass. Not now. You have fucked up one time too many, Colby Stevens. Bill was one of the good ones. The Cursed and the Damned was a little piece of magic this town can never get back. It was one thing when they came on their own, but when you chose to traffic with them, this became something else entirely. I won't have sorcerers in my town, Colby. I won't have power-hungry jackasses bringing the worst kinds of things here.\"\n\n\"That's not what's happening,\" said Colby, his voice pinched, defensive.\n\n\"It is what's happening. You've done nothing good for this town. Ever. First you clear it out of all the fairies because you had a beef. Then you kill a spirit without consulting me, which, albeit, I had more than a little something to do with. And now, well, now the Seventy-two are showing up one by one while an army of shadowy creeps comes to tear the place apart. I won't have it. You're gone.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Your Austin privileges are revoked. Grab your shit and get the hell out of my town. You're done here.\"\n\nColby stepped forward, standing almost nose to nose with her. While she was a slight bit smaller than he was, her posture was more assured, meant business. He tried to remain bold, staring straight in her eyes, but she was far too intimidating. He swallowed hard, trying to raise enough courage to tell her off. \"I'm not leaving.\"\n\n\"The hell you aren't. What do I have to do? Level the house? Harry your every move? Make things so bad for you that you can't bear to stand here another moment? I'll do that. I can do all of that. Or you can leave right now. Get out and never look back.\"\n\n\"Not until this is done. I have to finish what I've started.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Austin. \"This is my city they've come to. I'll finish this.\"\n\n\"Then let's do this tog\u2014\"\n\n\"No! I can't trust you. Someone came to threaten your life and you bargained away your own soul to save it. You're not who I thought you were.\"\n\n\"And who did you think I was?\"\n\n\"The guy who only thought about damning himself when it meant saving his friends. Get out. Get out of my town. I want you out of here by sunset.\"\n\n\"That's just a couple of hours away.\"\n\n\"Yeah. It is.\" Austin looked up at the ceiling, her eyes slipping from anger to worry. She looked back at Colby. \"She's here.\"\n\n\"I thought she was already here.\"\n\n\"Her shadows, maybe. But not her. She's at the city limits. I'll take care of this. You pack your shit and go.\"\n\n\"No. You can't go talk to her. She's\u2014\"\n\n\"She's what?\"\n\n\"Dangerous.\"\n\n\"I can take care of myself. Now get the fuck out of my town.\" She pointed straight at Yashar. \"That goes for you too.\"\n\n\"I figured as much. It was a nice town, while it lasted.\"\n\n\"It was. And then you two had to fuck the whole thing up.\"\n\nAustin fell away like a shattering piece of glass, shards toppling silently, abating into nothing before they hit the floor. She was gone.\n\nColby, Yashar, and Gossamer traded glances, wondering what to do next.\n\n\"We can't do what you're thinking, Colby,\" said Yashar.\n\n\"And how do you know what I'm thinking?\"\n\n\"Because I know that look in your eye. Don't let the fact that she's sweet on you distract you from what she really is. She'll tear you apart.\"\n\n\"She's not sweet on me.\"\n\n\"Colby, stop being an idiot. This isn't the time.\"\n\n\"I'm just saying\u2014\"\n\n\"When a loci tells you to leave, you leave. You don't ask questions.\"\n\n\"It's her or the Seventy-two. Whose wrath do I really want to suffer? She gave us until sundown. That gives us time.\"\n\n\"Time for what?\"\n\n\"Three more boons.\"\n\n\"Colby!\"\n\n\"I made a deal.\"\n\n\"A deal you shouldn't have made.\"\n\n\"Five souls for five boons. If I don't deliver, they will hunt me down and they will tear me apart, which they were going to do if I didn't make a deal. I never had a choice, Yashar.\"\n\n\"You did then. You do now. Stop trying to pawn this off on them. This is how they work. It is how they've always worked. You're supposed to feel like you had no choice, like every alternative was worse. They weren't. There's nothing worse than selling a little bit of yourself just to save the rest of it. Because once you've done that, there's nothing to stop you the next time and the next time until there's nothing left. When are you going to take responsibility for your own damnation?\"\n\n\"Right now. Right here. Get the candles. The black ones.\"\nCHAPTER 53\n\nTHE PAGEANTRY OF QUEENS\n\nDawn was rapidly approaching, but darkness still swallowed the city. The Queen of the Dark Things rode gallantly through the trees on the outskirts, poised atop her ambling bunyip like a knight strolling before an adoring crowd. Beside her, hobbling as fast as it could, was her body, still driven by the kutji that had stolen it. Behind her, dozens of kutji scampered across the landscape, none daring to go any faster than their mistress. The five dukes of Hell, each with the mark of Solomon burned into its chest, followed gravely, their faces pained, as if they were marching to their own funerals.\n\nAt once, the Queen came to a halt, holding up her hand to stay the procession.\n\nBefore her stood Austin, her jaw tight, eyes hidden beneath the brim of her straw hat. \"Turn around,\" she said. \"You've come to the wrong city.\"\n\n\"I don't think I have,\" said the Queen. \"I'm pretty sure Colby is in here somewhere.\"\n\n\"Not for long. But while he still is, he's under my protection. This is my town.\"\n\n\"Would you like to keep it?\"\n\nThe wind whipped up around Austin and the very earth came alive at her feet. Her hair, however, stayed perfectly in place, as if she were unaffected by the gales ramping up at her command.\n\n\"Focalor?\" trilled the Queen of the Dark Things, as if summoning a child for breakfast.\n\nThe beast stepped forward, nearly seven feet tall, with the tan wings of a griffin stretching out from his back. His hands had callouses upon callouses, his arms sculpted from centuries of pulling ropes aboard ships, his eyes the color of sea spray. The stench of the drowned followed him, sharp with salt, heavy with bloated rot. Everything he wore was tattered and drenched. He raised a steady arm and stayed the winds, howling mightily with the sound of an angry sea as he did; he was its master, everyone else merely dabbled.\n\nAustin struggled against the dying winds, trying to muster them back to full strength, but she lacked the power. The earth below her still rumbled, the tremors growing wrathful. But she was losing.\n\nThe Queen shook her head. \"You're a powerful spirit. I don't want to be on your bad side. Just let us pass and leave us be.\"\n\n\"Not gonna happen.\"\n\nThe Queen looked around at her subjects, smiling. \"Take her.\"\n\nAustin nodded, pulling the brim of her hat farther down over her eyes. She clenched her fists, energy crackling, enkindled.\n\nThe shadows charged, sharpened claws on their remaining hands out, grasping, their mouths wide with razor teeth. They sounded calls for her blood, jeering and screaming as they stampeded over one another to be the first to rend her flesh.\n\nAustin began to glow, her skin luminescent, brightening with the glare of the sun. The shadows recoiled, shrieking as the light sizzled away the black of their bodies. They ran, hid behind trees, crawled into the spaces in between the rock and the ground. With a single finger, Austin slid her hat back, grinning. \"What's this Queen without her dark things?\"\n\n\"They aren't the only things of the night.\" The Queen waved and the five dukes all stepped toward her.\n\n\"This isn't between us,\" said Austin to the five. \"Your brothers and I have no qualms.\"\n\n\"Not our choice,\" said Focalor. \"We serve only the ring now.\" Beside him was Astaroth, the Naked Angel, astride a beastly black dragon, a poisonous serpent writhing in his grasp, golden crown atop his head. The dragon hunched low, creeping rather than walking, its scales grinding with the sound of sawing bones, mouth agape, flaming spit trickling out of the sides of its mouth.\n\nFollowing behind them was Berith, alabaster skin pulled tight beneath a crimson military uniform, desert style, like a U.S. soldier's that had been dyed haphazardly in a river of blood. His eyes shone blue, his hair short, curly, blond, peeking out beneath a black iron crown. He rode a horse every bit as red as his uniform, even its eyes swirling, sanguine pools, only its onyx hooves and ebony teeth standing apart from its scarlet flesh.\n\nAnd from the other side came Bune, himself a dragon, large scales the color of twilight, with three heads swaying on long, spindly, serpentine necks. The outside pair were massive, draconic, with teeth like sabers and eyes like puddles of festering piss. The middle-most head, however, was that of a man, portly, hideous, three chins and broken teeth, sweat beading atop its brow.\n\nAnd lastly came Dantalion, just a little farther back than the rest.\n\nThe five made their way slowly, deliberately, toward Austin, more threatening than actively pursuing. After all, they knew her next move better than she.\n\nAustin clenched both her fists, held them out like a tiring pugilist, then threw her arms back, shredding the ground on which she stood. The earth buckled, lines and shapes appearing in it, forming a pentagram twenty feet across with her standing at its center. The five dukes continued advancing, surrounding her at each of the star's five points, unable however to take one step farther.\n\nFocalor cocked his head arrogantly, grimacing. \"Keep it up, bitch. Better not falter. The minute you step out of there I'm going to drag you through the fields, drown you in your own lake, and then fuck the corpse.\" He licked his dry, sea-wind-cracked lips.\n\nAustin held firm, trying not to let him get to her. She could hold this for a while, but do little else. She was powerful, but no more so than any one of the demons. Five to one, she was done for. She'd gotten herself in way too deep.\n\n\"This doesn't need to be adversarial,\" said the Queen, slowly steering her bunyip closer, step by step. \"I need to speak with Colby. That's all.\"\n\n\"You mean to kill him.\"\n\n\"Only if he doesn't mend what he's broken. This is all his doing, you know that.\"\n\n\"You have a beef with him? You settle it outside my town.\"\n\n\"Why are you protecting him? He wouldn't do the same for you.\"\n\n\"You don't know that.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said the Queen, clapping excitedly. \"You have feelings for Colby.\"\n\nAustin gritted her teeth. \"No. I just do right by my people, that's all.\"\n\n\"No, no, no. I can see it in the way you hold yourself. The way your nostrils flare when I say his name. Does he know?\"\n\n\"Turn around. Don't come back.\"\n\n\"Does he care about you?\"\n\n\"Colby only cares about Colby.\"\n\n\"Noooooo. We both know that's not true. We've heard the stories. Dantalion! Tell her the story about the fairies. The one about the tithe!\"\n\nDantalion nodded, a bottle swinging from his waist in mockery. \"When Colby Stevens was but a boy\u2014\"\n\n\"I know the story,\" said Austin.\n\n\"He'll leave you, you know. It's what he does.\"\n\n\"You don't know him. Not really.\"\n\n\"No, you don't know him. You're only seeing what you want to see. You don't know what's going on here. You don't know how this is going to play out. This could all end peacefully. He could set me free and my friends and I could be on our way.\"\n\n\"It's too late for that.\" She pointed at the five demons. \"Their friends have seen to it.\"\n\nThe Queen leaned forward on her bunyip steed, eyes concerned, fearful fingers tickling a silver ring on her finger. \"The Seventy-two? Colby's given himself over to them?\"\n\n\"It's not like that.\"\n\n\"Oh. What's it like then?\"\n\n\"He had to.\"\n\n\"He always has to,\" said the Queen, bitterly. \"That's what he told me, you know. I'm sorry, but I have to. But he's really done it? He's bargained with them?\"\n\n\"He has.\"\n\n\"Then he really means to kill me, doesn't he?\"\n\nAustin nodded grimly. \"After what you did, why wouldn't he?\"\n\nThe Queen eyed Austin suspiciously. \"Something's happened.\"\n\n\"Of course something's happened.\"\n\n\"Someone died? A friend of Colby's?\"\n\n\"Don't play dumb. Neither of us has time for that.\"\n\nThe Queen grew troubled, her face falling. She slid slowly off the back of her bunyip, slumping sadly onto the ground. The bunyip, in turn, dropped, making itself comfortable, curling up against her back. Tears swelled in her eyes. She looked up at Austin. \"This isn't about me, is it?\" she asked, no longer the Queen, but a little girl whose heart was irreparably broken.\n\n\"I don't\u2014\"\n\n\"My destiny. It wasn't about me becoming Queen, making the night safe for other children. This was never about me. Colby cut my cord. Colby left me in the desert. Colby sold his soul for the power to kill me. Colby isn't a part of my destiny; I'm just a small part of his. This whole thing was about him. About seducing him. Everyone knows that he's cursed, but I never . . . I never thought\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh my God,\" said Austin. \"He's\u2014\" The earth quit rumbling and all was once again silent.\n\n\"He's theirs now. He has to kill me. If he doesn't\u2014\"\n\n\"They don't want you. They just want the ring. They want their brothers free.\"\n\nThe Queen looked up at Dantalion. \"Is that true?\"\n\n\"I don't know, my Queen,\" he said. \"I cannot see his future any clearer than I can see yours. The ring, it clouds it. But if Colby is as crafty as they say, I would imagine that was the deal he struck.\"\n\n\"Tell me the truth; if I freed you now and gave back the ring\u2014\"\n\n\"We would kill you where you stand\u2014\"\n\n\"And then bicker over who got to torment your soul,\" finished Astaroth.\n\nAll five nodded, for they could not lie, not to the wearer of the ring.\n\n\"And what of Colby's bargain?\" she asked.\n\n\"He would have received powers he had not paid for,\" said Dantalion. \"And his soul might then belong to others to squabble over.\"\n\n\"So for one of us to walk away?\"\n\n\"The other must die.\"\n\n\"And if I ran?\"\n\n\"He would be bound by his bargain to find you.\"\n\nThe Queen looked back up at Austin. \"Mandu lied. All he ever did was lie. He told me I had a great destiny, that things would be different. Maybe I just misunderstood him. Things are different. Now I have a choice between killing the one person who can free me from my curse or dying by his hand so he can be further damned. What kind of destiny is that?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Austin. \"There has to be another way.\"\n\nDantalion shook his head. \"There is no other way. We've seen to that.\"\n\nThe Queen stood up, reached into her dilly bag, and pulled out a handful of salt. Dantalion cowered behind both hands.\n\n\"Lower your hands,\" she said.\n\nHe did and she approached him.\n\n\"Now, swallow this.\"\n\nHis eyes grew large with fear. He trembled, but he did not move, save to lean his head back and open his mouth. The Queen poured the salt down his gullet and he screamed, gurgling on his own boiling insides. Dantalion fell to the ground, writhing, convulsing.\n\nThe Queen smeared the tears from her cheek with her purple sleeve. She hardened, her gaze becoming icy, determined. \"Go do what you need to do,\" she said to Austin. \"I don't want to kill you. But I will if I have to. We can fight this out here if you like, but if you lose, I win. I will march on your city to meet Colby. And if you win . . .\"\n\nAustin nodded knowingly. \"Colby owes five souls he can't pay back.\"\n\nThe Queen whistled loudly and called out into the night. \"Dark things! Go find shelter for the day! Find the darkest hollow you can find and dig in! At sunset we meet again to bring an end to all this!\" Then she turned back to Austin. \"If it's my destiny to die tonight, I will. And I won't cry about it. Not anymore. Tonight we find out whose destiny this is really all about. Tonight I will kill Colby Stevens or he will kill me.\"\n\nAustin nodded, then vanished.\nCHAPTER 54\n\nTHE BEARDED HUNTER\n\nBarbatos. A great count or earl, and also a duke, he appeareth in Signo sagittarii sylvestris, with four kings, which bring companies and great troops. He understandeth the singing of birds, the barking of dogs, the lowings of bullocks, and the voice of all living creatures. He detecteth treasures hidden by magicians and enchanters, and is of the order of virtues, which in part bear rule: he knoweth all things past, and to come, and reconciles friends and powers; and governeth thirty legions of devils by his authority.\n\n\u2014Pseudomonarchia Daemonum\n\nNot the fucking woods again,\" said Colby, trudging through the fresh mud of a cold autumn rain, Gossamer trotting closely at his side. They were deep in the backwoods, somewhere in the Virginias as best Colby could tell. The air was so thick it clung to his skin, and even though it was early in the day, the heavy rain clouds and nigh impenetrable canopy gave off the distinct feeling of twilight.\n\nThese were a witches' woods once, lingering trails of incantations, pockets of dreamstuff swirling around three-hundred-year-old trees. It was the sort of place fairies should be running about, claiming as their own.\n\nBut even fairies knew better than to run afoul of one of the Seventy-two. Especially Barbatos. The Hunter. It seemed as if even the wild things\u2014the birds, the squirrels, all the things of the forest\u2014knew what lived here and stayed far, far away.\n\nColby knew what he was looking for but didn't look with his eyes. He sniffed, felt out for the warping of space, the corruption in the roots of trees. And he found it. A shack. Lingering silently off a trail, placed just so as to not be seen from any angle one might happen upon.\n\nIt was a hunter's shack, small, like a shed, made of rotten wood and century-old timber. It leaned slightly to one side, the door seemingly giving it more support than its posts. From its porch hung wind chimes made of the skulls of woodland animals, a light breeze clattering them together with the dull, hollow clink of bone on bone. A wind rose up, whispering through the gaps in the boards of the place, threatening at any moment to knock it over into a pile of scrap. But it held, for it was no force of physics that had kept it standing all these years.\n\nColby took a deep breath and stepped forward onto the porch, the boards squeaking beneath his feet. Then he turned the knob of the door and stepped in. Gossamer lingered behind, only for an instant, hesitating at the first whiff of the brutal, terrible smells wafting out. He looked over his shoulder, gazing out, back into the woods, thinking that they were really no better than whatever was waiting for them inside.\n\nHe was wrong.\n\nIt was dark and it was large and it was by no means the same building within that it was without. Outside measured maybe ten feet on each side, but inside was a cluster of rooms, each bigger than the shack appeared, and each connected by a doorway with no door. It smelled damp and foul, like festering piss and neglected corpses. The walls were lined with ramshackle wooden shelves, stacked precariously from floor to ceiling with jars of every shape and size\u2014brown, viscous fluid suspending hearts and livers, fairy wings and unicorn horns, eyeballs and snouts. In the spots between the jars\u2014where there were spots\u2014experiments of taxidermy stared out, frightened, molded less to look like vicious or dangerous trophies and more like terrified creatures glimpsed at the moment of their demise.\n\nAnd from the ceiling hung skulls. Hundreds of skulls. Perhaps thousands. Bird. Wildcat. Dog. Human. It seemed as if Barbatos kept a little piece of everything he'd ever killed. Colby wondered if there was a room here where he also displayed their souls; Gossamer didn't care to know the answer to that question.\n\nIn the center of the second room they found the butcher block, a solid piece carved from the heart of a single ancient tree, its wood stained a dark, clotted red from a thousand dismemberments. And stuck in the wood were two dozen knives, their steel hardened with magicks Colby struggled even to identify.\n\nHe held out his arms, palms up, fingers splayed precisely, and once more spoke in a demonic tongue. \"Barbatos, I summon thee! Appear and speak!\"\n\nBarbatos appeared, screaming. His beard was white at the roots, then yellowed and browned the farther it got from his face, festooned with twigs, brush, and bugs, his hair unruly, wild, colored the same as his beard. But his eyes were black, empty, and never caught the light; they were hunter's eyes, remorseless. And they were furious.\n\n\"No!\" he hollered the moment he arrived, as if he'd been stuck with a knife. He flailed about, naked, covered in mud, his body rigid and muscular, as if he spent every waking moment running, climbing. \"Why would you do this to me?\"\n\n\"Calm down,\" said Colby.\n\n\"No! She's here! She's here with that fucking ring! Get me out of here! Release me. I do not wish to be here.\"\n\nColby spoke coolly, calmly, not letting the choler of the demon thrashing in his living room get to him. \"This place is yours. We're safe.\"\n\n\"No! She has things! Hundreds of things! At her beck and call every moment! They're following you, looking for you, looking for us. And they won't have me! Release me!\"\n\n\"We had a deal.\"\n\nHe cowered, almost perching, ready to strike, casting his eyes wildly at the corners of the room. \"You took too long. She's here, I know it, and I will not be her slave.\"\n\n\"If she wanted you as her slave, Barbatos, you would be her slave. I want this done as quickly as you do.\"\n\nBarbatos calmed, his rage seething beneath the surface. \"Then speak it, tell me what you want, and I'll grant it. But do it quickly.\"\n\n\"There's something I need you to find. Something hidden. Something very dangerous.\"\n\n\"It's yours. If it is out there to be found, I will find it. Whisper it into my ear, and I'll find it.\"\n\nColby looked nervously at the demon, before trading glances with Gossamer, terrified of getting too close to a creature as choleric and unpredictable as Barbatos. \"Can't I just ask you from here?\"\n\n\"Do you want the Queen to know about it?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then it must remain a secret between us. What is said into my ear is mine alone. Say it. Say it quickly and let me go find what it is you seek.\"\n\nColby inched forward, his bravery waning for a moment. Then he stepped quickly up to the wild-haired hunter, parting the tangles around its ear, whispering almost silently into it. Barbatos recoiled, expression steadying for a moment. He looked deeply into Colby's eyes, puzzling over him.\n\n\"You are a clever boy, aren't you?\" he said. \"They've underestimated you. We all have. It's yours. It will take me some time to uncover it, but you'll have it before sunset. I swear it.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\nBarbatos scratched his head through the scraggly mess. \"You could have asked for something else, you know. There are far more powerful things in this world. I know where or how to find them all.\"\n\n\"But none of them is as powerful as this. Not now. Not tonight.\"\n\n\"I know. Maybe it's not the Queen I should be scared of, after all.\"\n\nAnd with a cautious wink, Barbatos spirited away into the ether, leaving behind nothing but the heavy musk of reeking sweat and soil.\nCHAPTER 55\n\nTHE MASTER OF THE PARADE\n\nPaimon is more obedient in Lucifer than other kings are. Lucifer is here to be understood he that was drowned in the depth of his knowledge: he would needs be like God, and for his arrogance was thrown out into destruction, of whom it is said; every precious stone is thy covering. Paimon is constrained by divine virtue to stand before the exorcist; where he putteth on the likeness of a man: he sitteth on a beast called a dromedarie, which is a swift runner, and weareth a glorious crown, and hath an effeminate countenance. There goeth before him a host of men with trumpets and well-sounding cymbals, and all musical instruments. At the first he appeareth with a great cry and roaring, as in Circulo Salomonis, and in the art is declared. And if this Paimon speak sometime that the conjurer understand him not, let him not therefore be dismayed. But when he hath delivered him the first obligation to observe his desire, he must bid him also answer him distinctly and plainly to the questions he shall ask you, of all philosophy, wisdom, and science, and of all other secret things. And if you will know the disposition of the world, and what the earth is, or what holdeth it up in the water, or any other thing, or what is Abyssus, or where the wind is, or from whence it commeth, he will teach you aboundantly. Consecrations also as well of sacrifices as otherwise may be reckoned. He giveth dignities and confirmations; he bindeth them that resist him in his own chains, and subjecteth them to the conjurer; he prepareth good familiars, and hath the understanding of all arts. Note, that at the calling up of him, the exorcist must look toward the northwest, because there is his house. When he is called up, let the exorcist receive him constantly without fear, let him ask what questions or demands he list, and no doubt he shall obtain the same of him. And the exorcist must beware he forget not the creator, for those things, which have been rehearsed before of Paimon, some say he is of the order of dominations; others say, of the order of cherubim. There follow him two hundred legions, partly of the order of angels, and partly of potestates. Note that if Paimon be cited alone by an offering or sacrifice, two kings follow him; to wit, Beball & Abalam, & other potentates: in his host are twenty-five legions, because the spirits subject to them are not always with them, except they be compelled to appear by divine virtue.\n\n\u2014Pseudomonarchia Daemonum\n\nYou're going to hate him,\" said Yashar.\n\n\"They're demons,\" said Colby. \"I can't say I like any of them.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but Paimon's different. Of the Seventy-two, some are terrifying, others outlandish, some, like Seere, are downright tolerable. But Paimon. He's\u2014\"\n\n\"He's what?\"\n\n\"He's an asshole.\"\n\n\"How bad?\"\n\n\"Through and through. I've never seen a face in all my life as punchable as his. You'll hate him before he even opens his mouth. Just face northwest, say the words, and let's get this over with. Even thinking about him turns my stomach.\"\n\n\"You don't have to go.\"\n\n\"You asked. And you never ask.\"\n\n\"The stories about it\u2014\"\n\n\"They're all true.\"\n\nColby nodded. \"Let's rip off the Band-Aid.\"\n\nThe two stood in the backyard, just outside the sliding glass door into Colby's kitchen, looking out over the scrub of the disused space. The sun was high, creeping toward its zenith, casting shadows from the rickety, well-worn wooden fence that separated Colby's property from five other adjacent lots. There was no lawn furniture, only a trail of dirt around the base of the fence that Gossamer had run down over the last six months.\n\n\"Seere,\" he said softly. And Seere appeared.\n\nColby jumped astride the back of the horse and Gossamer jumped immediately into his arms. He looked down, wishing for a moment that Seere had a bigger horse.\n\nYashar looked confused, then smiled sheepishly.\n\n\"I don't know how this is going to work,\" said Colby.\n\nThe djinn took a few steps toward the horse and put a hand gently on its side. Seere turned and looked down at Yashar, nodding.\n\n\"I think you need to be on the horse,\" said Colby.\n\nYashar shook his head. \"No, it doesn't work that way.\"\n\n\"But I've been\u2014\"\n\nSeere looked at Colby, then down to Yashar. \"I didn't have the heart to tell him.\"\n\nIT WAS NIGHT and the desert was cold, Seere having flung them to the far side of the world. They stood in a vast expanse, a great valley covered in dunes, the bright moon and stars lighting the sand a soft blue. Unlike the lairs of the others, there was nothing creepy or unimaginable waiting. Just sand. Miles upon miles of sand.\n\nColby looked up and found his bearing by the stars and faced northwest. He held his hands before him and said the words, once more speaking syllables most inhuman. \"Paimon, I summon thee. Appear and speak.\"\n\nFrom literally out of nowhere marched a parade, a procession of clowns, acrobats, musicians-performers of all sorts\u2014each appearing without so much as a flash or a bang. They simply were, and continued to multiply. Each wore colorful clothes with bells and baubles, floppy hats and curly-toed boots, playing music, elegant and celebratory. Cymbals clashed, trumpets blared. And all the while the paraders danced, skipping, frolicking like they were having the best time in the world. But their faces dripped with fear, their eyes wide and terror stricken from the horrors they'd seen. And those that were smiling looked the worse for it, as if they had hooks on the insides of their cheeks to keep them so.\n\nThese were the souls of Paimon's favorite conquests, some only centuries old, others millennia, and each step they took pained them, for they never stopped dancing, never stopped blowing their trumpets, never were allowed a moment of peace in all their deaths. And behind them, a dromedary, its camel hair carefully manicured, its back saddled with fine silks and ancient leather, carried the most august, handsome creature Colby had ever seen. Paimon.\n\nPaimon was dressed from head to toe in fineries, his eyes ringed perfectly in mascara, his olive skin without blemish, his long, lustrous black hair looped through silver and platinum barrettes, rings, and headbands. He reminded Colby instantly of Rudolph Valentino in a way that made it seem as if Valentino had been nothing but a pale imitation, trying its best to evoke the demon to the best of its earthly constraints. The demon gazed down from its swaying beast, held up a single swishing hand, and stopped his procession at once. He looked at the three companions\u2014his entertainers still dancing in place\u2014grimacing haughtily. Then he locked eyes with Colby, shrieking with an unearthly clamor that vibrated down the bones and back up through the soul.\n\nColby winced, unprepared for such a caustic pronouncement. He waved his arms, trying to stop him, but the demon spoke in an abyssal argot so foul that Colby found it hard to form his own words. \"Stop! Stop!\" he finally belted out. \"Paimon, speak to me as would a man.\"\n\nPaimon stopped, pursed his lips, and looked straight down his nose at Colby. \"I have appeared. Let us speak then, as men do.\"\n\n\"I'll make this brief. I know you don't want to be anywhere near\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh, don't concern yourself with that on my account. I'm not going to let a small thing like that little girl and her ring keep me from enjoying my time with the great Colby Stevens.\" Paimon tightened his face as he said the last part, fingers pinched together as if holding a teacup.\n\nPaimon spoke with a gentle, lilting voice, ending each of his sentences with a vocal upturn that made them sound mocking and sarcastic. He couldn't keep his hands still, not while speaking, waving for emphasis in the midst of each word, hands like the blade of a windmill at the end of limp wrists. His poise was the height of pretension; even the way he held his head was conceited. There was a way about him so regal that it could make even the aristocratic feel downright vulgar by comparison. When he cast his eyes around a place, he did so as if he was disappointed by the filth and squalor surrounding him, which Colby imagined he did even in the most lavish of accommodations.\n\nYashar was right. Colby wanted to punch him square in the jaw long before he spoke, but even more so now that he had. He fidgeted, trying not to make a fist, aggravation pulling taut the muscles in his hand.\n\nPaimon smiled, delighted that he had so easily gotten under the boy's skin. He lifted his leg gracefully, sliding off the side of his dromedary and onto the ground without so much as disturbing a grain of sand. \"Let's go inside,\" he said.\n\nHe clapped and a lavish tent appeared, a dozen lanterns lighting it. It seemed to blaze like a star in the sea of moonlight. Paimon turned and made his way toward it.\n\n\"I told you,\" whispered Yashar beneath his breath.\n\n\"Shut it,\" Colby whispered back.\n\nPaimon stepped inside and made another disappointed face. \"No, I'll need a rug for the dog.\" He turned to Colby, who followed distantly behind him. \"No dogs on the pillows. You know my rules?\"\n\nColby nodded. \"I do.\"\n\n\"Good,\" he said, taking a seat on an ornately stitched and gilded pillow. \"So, have you fucked her yet?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I said have you fucked her yet? The girl. The loci. The blonde with the ass in the tight jeans you're always pining for. Have you fucked her? Crawled deep inside that tiny little twat and given it to her good? Slipped a finger in and tickled her insides? Rolled her over and taken every hole you can? Have you done that, Colby? Have you given her the good fucking you've been craving? Drenched her in every fluid you have until you can't come anymore? Well, have you, Colby? Colby Stevens?\"\n\nColby's expression dropped, his gut roiling. \"No,\" he said, now terrified of where this conversation was headed.\n\n\"Sit, sit. But you want to, don't you?\"\n\n\"I think I'll stand.\"\n\nPaimon tsked. \"My home, my rules. You'll sit.\"\n\nColby slumped onto a pillow of his own, crossing his legs, trying to remain stoic.\n\n\"He's just trying to humiliate you, Colby,\" said Yashar.\n\n\"Of course I'm trying to humiliate him. He's a wee little child who wants to play with the men. But you can't play with the men, can you, Colby? Because a man would have fucked the shit out of that tight little piece of ass by now. And you're no man. You can't even talk to her, let alone fuck her. You want to fuck her, don't you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Colby, his insides hollowing out, shrinking away into the deepest, darkest, most hidden parts of him. His face was flushed with shame. But he couldn't lie. Not without giving Paimon license to add him to his procession.\n\n\"You've thought about it, haven't you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Have you thought about getting her on those pretty little knees while you drench her face in your spunk?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nPaimon peered severely at Colby, sniffing. \"Oh. You haven't, have you? Oh my lord, you imagine that you respect her.\" He laughed, something that sounded like a churlish giggle piped through a calliope. \"You poor, pathetic, tiny-cocked little shit. You are worthless. You think that not thinking about that amazing little body on its knees sucking your cock dry and begging for you to fill her holes shows her some kind of dignity. She reads minds, Colby. She knows that's what guys think about. What you think about. Every guy who sees her wants to plug those holes. What kind of a sissy must she think you are that you try to think about anything but. She deserves better than you tossing off to her beautiful little pink areolae on those free-floating creamy fair-skinned tits of hers. Oh God, maybe I should fuck her. You think she'd like that?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Would you like to watch that?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't, would you? You're ashamed of your little pecker. You think it's not good enough for her, do you? Can't bear the thought of seeing her get it from real manhood?\"\n\n\"Are you done yet?\" asked Yashar.\n\n\"I haven't even begun!\" shouted Paimon. \"Answer the question, Colby! Do you think your cock is big enough to fuck her hairless twat and come on her stomach?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said the demon, waving him off. \"You really don't. You really are that fucking pathetic. What about the little girl?\" He stood quickly and did a mocking little dance, lowering his voice as he curtsied. \"The Queeeeeeeeeen.\"\n\n\"What about her?\"\n\n\"Have? You? Thought? About? Fucking? Her?\"\n\n\"No!\" said Colby.\n\n\"What is it with you and fucking?\" asked Yashar.\n\n\"You don't get to ask questions, Yashar. I ask the questions I feel like until I decide that I'm done. And right now, I feel like asking your chaste little boyfriend about his deviant little sexual fantasies. He's been around the world, but he's never been around the world. And he certainly shouldn't feel like an expert in anything if he can't even describe what most thirteen-year-olds can detail from memory. Does that embarrass you, Colby? That most middle school boys know what a pussy feels like and you don't?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Of course it does, you despicable little maggot. You can never please a woman. The only girls inexperienced enough to not know how inept you are at fucking are so young you'd be humiliated to fuck them. But you'd like to fuck them, wouldn't you. Little girls?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Oh my God, you are so fucking boring! It's not even fun to make fun of you! Do you think you can save her?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"The girl. The Queeeeeen. Do you think you can save her, Colby?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"She's coming to kill you, you know.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"But you'd like to, wouldn't you? Save her?\"\n\nColby sighed, resigned. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"But you can't save her. Not without damning yourself further. Not without earning our wrath. Are you willing to damn yourself to save her?\"\n\n\"Is there any better reason to be damned than for a friend?\"\n\n\"But she's not your friend. She hasn't been your friend for a long time. Amy was right about you, we can't trust you, can we?\"\n\n\"That depends. What do you have to trust me to do?\"\n\n\"Keep up your end of the bargain. Kill the girl.\"\n\n\"You can trust me to keep up my end of the bargain. I'll be dead before I renege on our deal. I promise you that.\"\n\nPaimon eyed Colby closely, once again sniffing deeply, sensing not even the slightest bit of a lie. \"I don't like the way you phrased that. What do you have up your sleeve, Colby?\"\n\n\"A way to kill the Queen that I dare not speak of lest its revelation ruins the surprise for her.\"\n\n\"I must know.\"\n\n\"If I tell you, what is spoken between us will be known by Dantalion, will it not?\"\n\nPaimon squinted distastefully. The boy was not wrong. \"Dantalion,\" he said, as if spitting out bad fruit. \"I rescind the question.\"\n\n\"You didn't actually ask it. The girl is coming. We don't have much time. Are you quite done?\"\n\n\"No. I have nothing but time. You're the one with the ticking clock. Were she to walk in the tent now, she'd kill you before thinking of enslaving me. I'll be fine. So tell me, do you think by saving her you can absolve yourself of Ewan Thatcher?\"\n\nColby gritted his teeth, his heart pounding as it sank in his chest.\n\n\"You do, don't you? You think that if you can help one friend you've wronged, it will somehow balance the ledger. Don't you?\"\n\n\"Something like that.\"\n\n\"Or exactly like that. Is it exactly like that, Colby Stevens?\"\n\nColby swallowed, his mouth growing increasingly dry. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"You really are a miserable, sad, obvious little boy.\" He rolled his eyes and waved Colby off in disgust. \"You're no fun anymore. I'm done with you. Ask your boon and be done with it.\"\n\nColby nodded. The worst of it was over. Or so he hoped. \"Great Paimon, I am told you possess knowledge such that you can create nearly any mystical item from memory.\"\n\nPaimon stroked his chin. \"Of course.\"\n\n\"And what do you remember of Babylon?\"\n\n\"I remember everything. Every moment. The name of every corrupted soul in that beautiful bastion of sin.\"\n\n\"Then I want you to teach me to make Babylonian Demon Traps.\"\n\nPaimon's eyes at once fumed, his skin flushed with anger. He waved Colby off with a dismissive flutter. \"What? No! I refuse! What do you need those for?\"\n\nColby stood up and took a bold step forward. \"I've answered your fucking questions, you foul-mouthed, pompous little pervert. I've done your dance and my soul is safe. Will you not grant me the boon?\"\n\n\"No! I . . . those were not meant for you, Colby Stevens.\"\n\n\"No. Their knowledge has been wiped from the world, passed down only orally as a legend for centuries. Who, I wonder, would, or even could, have done such a thing?\"\n\nPaimon glared at Colby. All of his grace was gone, replaced with blustery indignation.\n\n\"Did you do it, Paimon?\"\n\n\"Yes. Yes I did. I've kept that secret safe for centuries, I will not pass it on to you.\"\n\n\"Excellent. So how does this work? My deal was with Orobas, and your deal with him\u2014so does your eternal servitude come straight to me, or does it go to Orobas and I get Orobas but can trade him his freedom for you?\"\n\n\"That's not how it works.\"\n\n\"The deal was quite clear. Five boons of my choosing for five souls.\"\n\n\"You haven't paid the souls.\"\n\n\"Demons pay first. Them's the rules. Don't pretend that you don't know them, because I sure as shit do. Do you honestly think I'm that stupid?\"\n\n\"I was hoping you might be. You're strong, shrewd, but you buckle when someone questions something you might not know and you often take their word for it. It was a gamble.\"\n\n\"Why don't you want to teach me to make . . . Babylonian Demon Traps?\"\n\n\"Because there are few people in this world more suited to abuse them than you.\" Paimon relaxed, steadying himself, at once regaining his calm composure. \"But you need these for tonight, don't you?\"\n\n\"You don't get to ask questions anymore.\"\n\n\"It was rhetorical. There's no other reason you would need them. And I guess I could impart the knowledge of their creation to you. Of course, the materials to make them and the time it would take to fashion them would take far too long for you to acquire and craft . . . and you have, what, but one boon left? Which boon might you ask for? The ingredients? Or the demonic skill and powers to make them in the time prescribed? Decisions, decisions.\"\n\n\"What are you proposing, Paimon? That you make them for me?\"\n\n\"I could. But it's a tough choice. Either ask me how to make them or ask me to make them for you. Hmm. Nail-biter.\"\n\n\"Make them,\" said Colby, coolly.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"That's my boon. Make me two sets.\"\n\nPaimon opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, for a moment slightly embarrassed. \"Um, I . . . I can't.\"\n\n\"You what?\"\n\n\"What I mean to say is that I can make them. I can assemble the materials and construct them. But I can't finish them. I can summon the materials, shape them, inscribe them, bake them in the fires of Hell, but I cannot breathe life into them, not the way you need. That requires a tremendous amount of energy, essence.\"\n\n\"Dreamstuff.\"\n\n\"Yes. But once it's there, I can't touch them. Can't manipulate them in any way. That you'll have to do yourself.\"\n\n\"How much will it need?\"\n\n\"Quite a bit. More than you'll be able to summon natively here.\" He hesitated for a moment, thumbing his chin mischievously. \"But no more than you might scrape from a powerful artifact.\"\n\n\"And where am I supposed to find a powerful artifact that I can just will away?\"\n\nPaimon cast a crooked finger over to the tent's wall, grinning all the while. Upon it appeared the vision of two pegs, a pike resting upon them. Ewan's pike. Ethereal, illusory, but crystal clear in its point. \"That will more than suffice.\"\n\n\"I'm . . . I'm not parting with that.\"\n\n\"Do you have any other choice? Or would you prefer I make something else for you?\"\n\n\"You'll make these.\"\n\n\"It'll take me some time. Not long, but long enough for you to decide how important they are to you. I'll make them. You can finish them. Use whatever you like.\"\n\nColby stewed, as angry as he ever was. For a while he'd thought he'd regained the upper hand with Paimon, only to see that lead evaporate in the last moments. He stared at the vision of the pike, brooding over its potential loss. \"Make them,\" he said. \"I'll get you what you need.\"\n\nPaimon smiled crassly, savoring the win. \"Don't be sore, Colby. You never should have expected to get the best of us. But as a consolation, I'll deliver the bowls.\" He cocked an arrogant eyebrow at Colby, pursing his lips. \"As I said, I'm not afraid of a little girl and her ring.\" He clapped once gracefully, and with that, he and his procession were gone, the tent along with them. Once again, the three were plunged into the dark of an empty desert lit only by the moon.\n\n\"Colby,\" said Gossamer. \"What are you going to do?\"\n\nColby didn't lift his gaze from the spot where the vision of the pike had been. \"I don't know.\"\nCHAPTER 56\n\nTHE WEIGHT OF THINGS\n\nColby sat cross-legged in the center of his living room, the John Brown pike across his lap like a prized new toy. Its blade was still razor sharp, gleaming in the orange-yellow light of the dozens of candles burning about the room. While all the blood that had been shed by it had long since been wiped clean, Colby could hear the screams of the departed, feel the grunts and grip of the death blows. Every molecule of the pike resonated with djang, the stories of its bearers, no matter how short, burned indelibly into its core. This was no mere thing. It was an echo of history, banging off the rocks of forever.\n\nAnd now Colby had to let it go. Say good-bye. Will it into nothing.\n\nHe didn't want to do that. Not at all.\n\n\"It's not him, you know,\" said Yashar, sitting idle but impatient beside Gossamer on the couch.\n\n\"What?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"The pike. It's not him.\"\n\n\"Do you know about djang, Yashar?\"\n\n\"Colby,\" he said in a withering tone.\n\n\"We all put energy out into the universe. Just a little bit of ourselves that vibrates the things around us, leaves a shadow of our thoughts and emotions on our surroundings.\"\n\n\"I know what djang is, Colby.\"\n\n\"Ewan's shadow is here, on this pike. There's a little bit of him left making it what it is.\"\n\n\"That pike is not Ewan. Not the Ewan you want to remember. He was gone by then.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Colby. \"But it's the only thing I have left.\" He picked up the pike, closed his eyes, felt the tremors and fury and brutality of its past. For a split second he could feel him, his grip tight, ferocity overwhelming. He was there, his shadow passing over Colby\u2014more a tingle than a man\u2014but there nonetheless. Ewan.\n\nColby's eyes stung, wet with tears.\n\nYashar stood up, putting a firm hand on his friend's shoulder. \"He's already gone.\"\n\n\"I know. And he's not coming back.\" He looked up at Yashar. \"Why do I always have to kill my friends?\"\n\n\"Colby\u2014\"\n\n\"No. It's all I've ever done. Too many friends over too short a time. Sometimes I think the only reason I've lived so long is that my curse isn't that I end badly, like so many of your other kids, but rather that I'm cursed to end up alone with the knowledge that I'm the one who got everyone killed. If I survive tonight, it will only be because I killed another of my friends. And I'm running low.\"\n\n\"That's not your curse, Colby.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"Because that's my curse.\" Yashar reached down and began fiddling with the countless baubles, trinkets, and other jewelry adorning his outfit. \"I've never told you about these, mostly because you never asked.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Colby, never having given them much thought, but now, in an instant, understanding. \"Those aren't\u2014\"\n\n\"They are. Each and every one from a different child. One from each.\"\n\nColby looked closer. They hung from chains and loops and short leather cords. Christmas ornaments. Rings. Bracelets. Toys. Each coated in bronze, silver, or gold. It had always struck Colby as being a bit garish, but he'd never really processed it. It was just one of those things, something he assumed was a product of someone from another age.\n\n\"Where's mine?\" asked Colby.\n\nYashar reached into his pocket. \"I don't wear it until they're gone,\" he said. \"But I keep them with me, nonetheless.\" He pulled out an ugly, plastic, digital watch with the face of a long-forgotten cartoon character, so far gone that Colby himself couldn't name who it was. But he recognized it. It was the watch he'd worn as a child when Yashar first met him, that he'd used to count the minutes until Yashar would show up again to grant him his wish. The one his mother was always so keen to make sure he was wearing. \"It's never easy to have to wear these for the first time. These last six months I've known that it would be any day now. Now I know\u2014the kid who wore this was gone a long time ago.\"\n\n\"Yashar\u2014\"\n\n\"Don't. I won't wear it. Not yet. But after tonight, no matter how it plays out, you won't be you, not the you I knew. And you know that.\"\n\nColby nodded, rolling the pike gently back and forth in his hands. \"We can't stay us forever.\"\n\n\"No. We most certainly can't. Ewan's gone and so is the boy he loved. And that little girl you knew. She's gone too. She's something else entirely now. There's no going back. You can't. Everyone tries at some point. But no one ever does.\"\n\n\"You don't think we can be saved?\"\n\n\"Who? You or the girl?\"\n\n\"Either of us.\"\n\n\"You've both not only walked with demons, but you also scare them. Frankly, if we're being totally honest here, I'm not certain there's anything of those kids left to save.\" Yashar braced himself, expecting Colby to blow at any moment. Instead, Colby looked down sadly, nodding once more.\n\n\"You're probably right. But we can try.\"\n\n\"You won't save her,\" said Austin, emerging from the shadows beyond the candles. \"All you can do now is save yourself.\"\n\nColby glared at her. \"You gave me till sunset.\"\n\n\"I was wrong,\" she said.\n\n\"I'm not leaving.\"\n\n\"I mean I was wrong about you leaving. She means to kill you, Colby. There's no talking her down from it. But it's not you who brought her here.\"\n\n\"How's that?\"\n\n\"This is her mess. They're just using you to clean it up.\"\n\n\"That's what I tried to\u2014\"\n\n\"I told you. I was wrong. But now we're all in it. And I don't know how we're going to get out of it.\"\n\nYashar waved her off. \"This isn't your mess to get involved in. You can leave at any time.\"\n\n\"Too late for that now. I met her. And the hell she's bringing with her.\"\n\n\"And?\" asked Colby. \"What did she\u2014\"\n\n\"She's got no other choice. She knows she'll never be free now. She's made her bed. And they've played you both. Rigged the game. It's you or her. And she knows that for good and for all. For her to have a chance at tomorrow, you have to die tonight. And for you to have a chance\u2014\"\n\n\"Yeah. We were just discussing that.\"\n\n\"So she means to kill you. Whether I like it or not, my streets are gonna run with blood.\"\n\n\"Again.\"\n\n\"Yeah. Again.\"\n\nColby gripped the pike tightly, again the djang of it tickling his senses. So much fear, so much hate, so much death, all packed neatly into a few pounds of wood and metal. \"You know, I've been to the land of the dead. Trod where spirits have trod. And I've killed more than my fair share. Honestly, I can't tell you which scares me more. Or if they even scare me at all. I'm becoming numb to the idea of death. The only thing I want now is to avoid being a tool in someone else's shed. If I die, that's fine, as long as it's on my terms. And if I have to kill, I don't want it to be for any reasons other than my own. So tonight, no matter what happens, I'm doing it the way I want to do it for the reasons I need to do it.\"\n\nYashar shook his head. \"They've thought of everything. Somehow, tonight, no matter what you do, you'll be someone's pawn.\"\n\n\"Yeah. But I'm not going to let them decide whose pawn I end up. I owe myself that much.\" Colby stood up, looking toward the back of the house, met by the sound of blaring trumpets, crashing cymbals. \"We have guests.\"\n\nHe walked over to the sliding glass door, stood the pike on its end, slid the door open for the demon. Paimon floated into the room, eight clay bowls in his arms. He quickly set them on the table without a word, promptly turning and slinking back outside.\n\n\"You'll understand,\" said Paimon through the open door, \"if I leave you to it.\"\n\n\"You don't want to wait around to see if they work?\" asked Colby.\n\nPaimon scowled at Colby. \"They'll work. And you won't trap me with them. Use them carefully and well. I would not want to be you were my brothers to find one of their own trapped by these.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't want to be you either, seeing that you're the one that made them. I have one boon left. Aren't you curious about who I'm going to call up?\"\n\n\"No. I'll know soon enough. And if I'm right about you, I'll pity him. For a time.\"\n\n\"For a time?\"\n\n\"He'll get out eventually. And then you're his. Good-bye, Colby. Don't call on me again.\"\n\nPaimon faded away, his troupe vanishing along with him.\n\nThe bowls were wide as a plate and shallow, cast out of red clay, and inscribed on both sides, covering every square inch, in cuneiform. At their center was an image of a demon carved into the clay, each bowl of the set with a different great king of Hell, the inscriptions surrounding them telling the story of their fall from Heaven. Colby had seen a number of decorative forgeries in museums, but never the real thing. Once he handled them, he understood. The difference was the red clay. That was the secret.\n\nHe sounded out the cuneiform, soon piecing together the stories, further understanding why Paimon had been so hesitant to share their secrets. Not only were these dangerous weapons, but to know how to inscribe them was to sing the song of the king it represented. That meant invoking them, possibly trapping them, ultimately commanding them. It was knowledge Colby was immediately thankful he didn't possess.\n\nColby sat Indian style on the floor, surrounding himself with the bowls, the pike lying in his lap. He ran his fingers along the shaft, grasped it one more time, and felt the shadow of his friend.\n\n\"Good-bye, Ewan,\" he said, closing his eyes. Then he focused and unmade the pike in a single breath.\n\nHis whole body prickled, swelling with dreamstuff. He hadn't felt this much run through him since he was a child. He'd forgotten how powerful this thing really had been, how mighty it had grown in such a short time. Colby became woozy, overpowered by the sensation. Gossamer jumped off the couch, running in circles, as if chasing his own tail.\n\n\"What the hell?\" he asked.\n\n\"Relax, Goss,\" said Yashar. \"Just focus with Colby. He needs you.\"\n\nColby nodded, unable to speak, trying to tame the energy bubbling over inside him. Gossamer stopped, then slowly trotted over, across from Colby on the other side of the bowls. \"What do you want me to do?\" he asked.\n\nColby locked eyes with Goss and the energy calmed. The two passed the energy back and forth in a loop, keeping it flowing, neither having too much energy for too long. Then, taking a deep breath, Colby focused again and unleashed it all into the eight bowls around him.\n\nFor a moment, the inscriptions on the bowls glowed as brightly as the sun, the figures in the center burning brightest of all. They pulsated, hummed, the energy baking the clay further, changing the very nature of it. The red became crimson, and as the light began to fade, the inscriptions cooled to a dark, charred black.\n\n\"Now,\" said Colby, sighing. \"One last boon before nightfall.\"\nCHAPTER 57\n\nTHE SNAKEHANDLER\n\nPurson, alias Curson, a great king, he commeth forth like a man with a lion's face, carrying a most cruel viper, and riding on a bear; and before him go always trumpets; he knoweth things hidden, and can tell all things present, past, and to come: he discloses hidden things, he bequeaths treasure, he can take a body either human or aerie; he answereth truly of all things earthly and secret, of the divinity and creation of the world, and bringeth forth the best familiars; and there obey him two and twenty legions of devils, partly of the order of virtues & partly of the order of thrones.\n\n\u2014Pseudomonarchia Daemonum\n\nWhile no one had lived here for decades, the place seemed remarkably well kept. Buildings still stood\u2014rusted and weather worn though they were\u2014their paint still vibrant in places. Many of the streets remained intact and the grass looked simply unkempt rather than wild. There were trees growing atop some of the buildings and windows broken out all along the way, but there was nothing postapocalyptic about it\u2014it was not at all like Colby thought it would be. This was Pripyat, Ukraine, better known for the facility that used to power it.\n\nChernobyl.\n\nIt was safe now, he was told, or safe enough to walk around for a few hours without protection. But he wouldn't be here long enough to care. It was approaching sundown in Austin, which meant it was still a few hours from sunup here, and it was no town in which to be wandering around. Not at night. Especially not at night.\n\nWhen the people fled and the town was left to the wilds, it became the perfect place for the things beyond the veil. Anything that wanted privacy or needed a hollow to hole up in could find it here. There was a city's worth of dark places. And only one of those was off-limits, for it had been claimed by another, one more powerful than anything else that took to its Soviet-era concrete and crumbling statues.\n\nHis name was Purson, and he held court on a depressing slab of parking lot known as the Pripyat Amusement Park.\n\nScheduled to open a few days after the meltdown, the park itself was nothing more than a few carnival staples\u2014bumper cars, a paratrooper swing, a meager boat swing, and its now infamous Ferris wheel\u2014and only ever saw a few hours of use. Now to some it was a symbol of the life that was left behind, and to others a marker of the area to avoid.\n\nColby and Gossamer moved quickly through black streets, the near freezing Ukrainian autumn air harsher than anything they'd encountered through the day. There were angels on the buildings above, staring down at them as they passed, and fairies of all sort and kind following through the fields, using trees as cover. They recognized him, but as he seemed to move with purpose, none wanted to risk getting in his way. So they watched. And waited. And wondered why the most powerful boy in the world was heading straight into the darkest heart of their city.\n\n\"They're watching us,\" said Gossamer.\n\n\"Let them. Just stay off the grass.\"\n\n\"Why the grass?\"\n\n\"Something to do with the fallout. Living things absorbing radiation. I don't understand it myself. But everyone says stay off the grass, so I stay off the grass.\"\n\n\"But going to see a demon\u2014\"\n\n\"Shut it.\"\n\nAs they approached the park, their silent entourage eroded, none willing to get too close, none wanting to see Purson, or worse, have him see them. The lot was cracked, buckling in places, and the rides, up close, were a total disaster. The boat swing was a rusty series of pipes that looked as if it might collapse in a strong wind, its boat smashed to pieces on the ground below it. The disintegrating bumper cars were scattered, covered from top to bottom in graffiti, grass sprouting out of most, a tree growing in the seat of another, all beneath the brittle skeleton of a dying pavilion. The paratrooper swing was nothing more than a rickety platform with a series of park benches welded to a merry-go-round. But the Ferris wheel had kept its bright yellow color, and still, despite its rust, looked as if a little elbow grease could get it running again.\n\nColby and Gossamer stood on the lot between the four attractions, in the spot that felt the coldest and most devoid of energy. Then Colby raised his palms once more, and spoke, for what he hoped was the last time, in a language he was regretting ever having learned.\n\n\"Purson, I summon thee. Appear and speak.\"\n\nThere was a loud crack, the earth wobbling beneath them, the whole of the world feeling numb and out of sorts. And then he appeared.\n\nPurson was a monstrously large man, rigid muscles like hewn granite, hands massive enough to palm a man's skull and lift him one-handed. His face was that of a lion's, all fangs and fur and snout, but his black hair was trimmed conservatively short, like a man's. In his left hand he held a diamondback snake just beneath its head, its tail sounding the soft, threatening rattle of an impending strike. And beneath him, serving as a saddled mount, was a fully grown grizzly, one or two sizes larger than its material cousins, its fur brown and bristling.\n\n\"Goddamnit, Colby,\" said the demon, looking around the park, eyeing the ground at his feet. \"Where are they?\"\n\n\"Where are what?\"\n\n\"Don't play with me, boy. The bowls. Where are they?\"\n\n\"Back home. Yashar is watching them.\"\n\nPurson laughed, a deep, almost reassuring kind of guffaw, like a drunken uncle telling a bad joke. \"You scared the shit out of me. To hear Paimon tell it\u2014\"\n\n\"Let Paimon believe what he wants to believe,\" said Colby. \"I made a deal and your lot has thus far kept up their end of it.\"\n\nThe grizzly roared and the snake rattled and Purson smiled, large and friendly. \"She comes ever closer, Colby. You have little time left to squander with me. What boon do you ask?\"\n\n\"You have no tests? No requests?\"\n\n\"We don't have time for that. My brothers were fools to waste any of yours. Your time is our time now. So speak. Ask me and I'll grant what I must.\"\n\n\"I have a question.\"\n\n\"One question?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And that's your boon?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Ask it, then, and be done with me.\"\n\n\"Each of you has a task, a role you play, whether it be to oversee the fallen, or to keep track of the hidden things, or to bear with you some knowledge so it might be kept alive.\"\n\n\"We do.\"\n\nColby steadied himself, his question quivering in his throat. \"Who,\" he asked, \"is the master of the Hunt?\"\n\n\"The Wild Hunt?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nPurson cocked his head, now far more curious about Colby than he'd been. Suddenly this boy was of keen interest. He squinted, sizing him up in a way he hadn't thought to. \"You want to know who damned you,\" he said, putting it all together. \"Who seduced you into calling the hunt across. Who sought you out to corrupt you, to turn your angelic allies against you.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Why would you want to know that? No good can come of it.\"\n\n\"I have my reasons.\"\n\nPurson leaned forward atop his bear, his knowing grin growing wider with each word. \"You mean to have your revenge.\"\n\n\"That remains to be seen.\"\n\nPurson laughed, bellowing louder than before, the sound echoing through the empty streets, his grizzly padding the ground nervously beneath him. He turned to the snake. \"Did you hear that? He wants to know who damned him.\"\n\nThe snake hissed, tail writhing, rattling furiously.\n\n\"It is the boon I ask.\"\n\n\"No man is ever damned by the act of another, Colby Stevens, least of all a demon. He can only damn himself. We seduce, charm, offer alternatives to the indoctrination of the taming societal shepherds keeping you in line. But the choice is yours. Were it so easy to damn someone, Hell would be overflowing with more souls than it is stuffed with now. Your revenge, were it even possible, would be fruitless, and only serve to damn you further. I wish you had asked me this beforehand, before making this your boon. I'd have gladly told you with joy in my heart. The look on your face will be worth more to me than if I were able to deliver your soul to Hell myself. But a deal is a deal, and it is your boon.\n\n\"It's true that each of us bears responsibility for some fragment of the duties to keep this place running. We tend fallen angels, keep men at war, sink vessels, bring heat waves that cause fathers to beat their children and mothers to shoot their lovers. But no mere demon oversees the Wild Hunt, and certainly not one of the Seventy-two. The one you seek, Colby, the only one who can loose spirits from Hell to roam free and call them back at a moment's notice, is the high lord and king of Hell itself.\"\n\nColby's bravery dropped into his stomach, his skin becoming suddenly flushed and sweaty. His jaw fell loose from its moorings, swinging open, wide, dumbstruck.\n\n\"Lucifer, Colby. Lucifer commands the Wild Hunt. They are his personal tools here on earth, their purpose to hunt down those spirits he wants for himself. Or to act as his heralds, warning of his coming. Or to lure the just to their doom. The Devil, Colby. The Devil is the thing against whom you want your revenge. Good luck with that. Your soul is his. And whatever his plans for it, they go beyond our feeble understanding.\"\n\nThe weight of his words wore upon Colby, his heart pounding, head growing dizzy. He looked over at Gossamer, whose eyes held a sudden sadness deeper than Colby had ever seen. Together they shared a silence in which they said more than they could have with words.\n\n\"This isn't why you did all this, is it?\" asked the demon jovially.\n\nColby stammered for half a beat, shaking his head.\n\n\"It is, isn't it? You gave yourself over to this thinking you might get a shot at the demon who set you up. Oh, Colby. We all thought you were smarter than that.\"\n\n\"I guess I'm not.\"\n\n\"No, you really aren't. For your sake, I hope the things you asked of us help you more with the five dukes than they do your vengeance.\"\n\n\"Me too.\"\n\nPurson nodded his feline head, then reared back on his ursine steed, waving his snake with a mocking good-bye. \"Keep your promise, Colby Stevens. Five souls. Don't make us squabble over who gets the honor of tearing you apart if you don't.\"\n\n\"If I don't, I'll already be dead.\"\n\n\"And you think that'll stop us? Your death will just be the beginning.\" He laughed once more, vanishing with the sound of a roar, the whole city shaking with it, the silence on the other side creeping and profound.\n\nCOLBY WALKED INTO his house, sullen, bearing the weight of unbearable disappointment on his brow. Yashar and Austin looked up from the couch, eyes hopeful. For a moment, no one said a thing. Then Yashar spoke up.\n\n\"Did you get the last thing you needed?\" he asked.\n\n\"More or less.\" No one dared ask what he meant. They could tell by the look on his face that he hadn't found what he was looking for. \"Come on. There are things we have to do before the sun sets.\"\n\n\"What do you need me to do?\" asked Austin.\n\n\"You shouldn't be here. The things that are coming, they're a real threat to you.\"\n\nShe stood up from the couch, emboldened, unyielding. \"I can handle myself.\"\n\n\"I know. But I only want you here if you want to be here.\"\n\n\"I've nowhere else I'd rather be.\"\n\nColby pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, handing it to her. \"Memorize these. They have to be perfect, down to the last detail.\"\n\nAustin unfolded it, eyeing it suspiciously. She frowned a little. \"Are these what I think they are?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"How were you planning to\u2014\"\n\n\"I wasn't.\"\n\n\"You knew,\" she said, cocking an eyebrow.\n\n\"I guessed.\"\n\n\"You guessed.\"\n\n\"When we were kids I watched Kaycee wade into a billabong as a bunyip crawled out. It came after her, tried to kill her. She jumped on its back, laughing, riding it around like she was breaking a bronco. When I think of her, that's what I remember most.\"\n\n\"What does that even have to do with\u2014\"\n\n\"She's marching around in the dark with an army of kutji. She's gotten herself the ring of Solomon and enslaved five of the most powerful assholes ever to walk the earth. What, do you imagine, she fears? Anything?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You're powerful, Austin. But she isn't afraid of you. And you're smart. It wasn't going to take you long to realize that she wasn't going to stop. I figured you might come around.\"\n\nAustin glared at Colby as the pieces fell together. \"You sent me out there.\"\n\n\"No, I told you not to go out there.\"\n\n\"Because you knew I would.\"\n\nColby smirked, nodding a little.\n\n\"You son of a\u2014\"\n\nColby moved in; he didn't have much time. He ran his hand through her blond tresses, his fingers tickling the top of her ear, then back around to her neck. Pulling her close he kissed her hard. His whole body went wobbly, his stomach flipping, toes curling. Every molecule in his body tingled like he was about to pass out. Austin pushed him back.\n\n\"What the hell are you doing?\" she asked, her eyes hard, nose wrinkled.\n\n\"I didn't want to die not having done that.\"\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"I suppose not.\"\n\nThen she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt with both hands, pulled his chest to hers, and kissed him back. For a moment there was nothing else in the world. Just two pairs of lips, eyes closed tight, noses brushing. She tasted like the city smelled in the spring, hints of jasmine, mountain laurel. He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her tighter, her own grip on his shirt refusing to yield. They kissed as if nothing else mattered, and for a moment, it didn't.\n\nThey relaxed, eased away from each other, eyes locked, hearts thundering beneath the thin fabric of their T-shirts. Their breath short, shallow. \"What the hell, Colby?\" she whispered.\n\n\"It's about damn time,\" said Yashar. \"I was tired of watching you two fumble around like fucking schoolkids.\"\n\nColby turned bright red, ran his fingers through his hair nervously, looking away. Austin grabbed his chin with a single hand, pulled his face toward hers. \"We will do that again.\"\n\nColby swallowed hard. \"Even if I live through tonight, you may not want to.\"\n\n\"You will make it through tonight.\"\n\n\"If I do, you buy the beer.\"\n\n\"Deal.\"\n\n\"So now that we've got that out of the way,\" said Yashar, \"what do you need me to do?\"\n\nColby looked over at him, still trying to catch his breath, slow his racing heart. \"I need you to get me a gun.\"\nCHAPTER 58\n\nHIGH MOON\n\nThe Barton Creek Greenbelt is a stretch of land over seven miles long running through the southern tip of Austin proper. By day it is a series of hiking and biking trails chiseled out of limestone cliffs and crags, covered with dense trees and scrub, filled with folks of all sorts, trying, for an afternoon, to imagine they don't live in one of the country's largest cities. But at night it shuts down, clears out, and becomes a playground for fairies. At least it used to, before Colby came along.\n\nNow it had emptied for good, leaving the night to loneliness. There were rumors that some fairies had taken to sneaking back in, to dance through the trails and chase the moon across the sky. But those came to an end when Colby happened upon a redcap who had crossed over into the city limits. That's when everyone knew he was serious and that Austin, for a time, was no longer theirs.\n\nIt was night and Colby stood wearing a ragged hoodie and an old pair of jeans, shovel in hand, in the middle of a large swath of open ground, a path through which the rainwaters ran when the thunderstorms found their way into the city. After a hard rain, the spot where he stood could be as deep as six feet underwater. Now it was a patch of rock and sand, carved out between two limestone shores. It had been threatening to rain for weeks, but nothing had come of it, Austin slowly browning without it, the land growing dusty, dry.\n\nThe sun had set slowly behind him twenty minutes ago and the pinks had turned to violets and soon would turn to black. The shadows crept long over the greenbelt, patches of wood already fully in their grip, dark and ominous. Soon the only light would be that spilled by the rising moon. He needed to finish his hole. It was shallow, six inches deep already. Beside him a mound, hidden beneath an old sheet, rested, waiting for the right moment, a single bowl sitting atop it.\n\nApart from that, he was alone.\n\nHe heard the flapping first, the flutter of wings deep in the woods flanking both sides of him. Then he saw the dark shapes against the fading sky. Soon he'd hear the caws. He knew it. They wouldn't be able to help themselves. She was coming, just over the ridge in front of him, no doubt with her royal court of dukes in tow.\n\nThen she appeared, first as a massive shadow on the ridge, the details filling in with the remaining light as she approached. She was smaller than he remembered, still clad in her purple pajamas with the bright yellow stars, mammoth bunyip beneath her, carrying her toward him with a careful trot. At once Colby recognized the same little girl he'd known without a single detail out of place. The only difference was the look on her face. It was colder now, hateful, unrelenting. Her eyes, when he could finally make them out, held nothing but contempt and confidence.\n\nBehind her strode the five dukes in a V formation, each looking ready for a fight. Just behind them hobbled her emaciated body, so tired and weak that it looked as if it would topple over at any moment. The trees on both sides of the floodplain had lined with crows, the last of them perching as the Queen of the Dark Things came to a stop some twenty feet from him. The bunyip growled, its fur bristling, its head rearing back. She tugged on its fur, shushing it quietly.\n\nColby spiked the shovel into the dirt, the crisp, shrill sound of metal against dry earth barking into the night. He leaned into the handle, pulling up a healthy clump of earth, dumping it just to the side of the hole.\n\n\"You bring that to dig your own grave?\" asked the Queen of the Dark Things.\n\n\"Nope,\" said Colby, unconcerned with the threat. \"I'm digging yours.\"\n\n\"I doubt that. If you wanted to kill me\u2014the way you do it\u2014there'd be nothing left to bury.\"\n\n\"Oh, I can't do it that way. You're too strong for that and you know it. There's not a creature alive\u2014or dead for that matter\u2014that can best you will against will. No, if I want to kill you, I'm going to have to do it with this hole right here. And a gun. But we'll get to that later.\"\n\n\"You're going to kill me with a hole?\"\n\nColby pointed to the sheet-covered mound beside him. \"And this. And a gun.\" He knelt beside the hole, picking up a handful of earth, smelling it deeply. \"This'll do. You should come over and take a whiff.\"\n\n\"Like hell.\"\n\n\"Oh, so it's true. The Queen of the Dark Things is scared of me after all. Me and my hole.\"\n\nThe Queen's bunyip took a contemptuous step toward Colby. Colby wagged a disapproving finger, tsking, then stood back up. The bunyip took a single, anxious step backward.\n\nThe Queen gripped the bunyip's fur, spurring it on with her heels.\n\n\"I wouldn't,\" said Colby.\n\nThe Queen whistled and her body shuffled forward, struggling over the uneven ground. \"This ends tonight.\"\n\nColby shook his head. \"It's already over. It ended the moment you came over that ridge.\"\n\n\"So you are digging your own grave.\"\n\n\"No, I'm just waiting for the rain to fill the billabong.\"\n\n\"What does that even mean?\"\n\n\"It's something Mandu said.\"\n\n\"Fuck that old man,\" she spat.\n\n\"I wouldn't be too hasty to condemn him. He liked you.\"\n\n\"He had a funny way of showing it.\"\n\n\"He did. I didn't understand it myself until just a little while ago. But then I saw it.\"\n\n\"Saw what?\" she asked, growing impatient.\n\n\"The empty billabong waiting for the rain.\"\n\n\"He taught you how to speak in riddles. Cute.\"\n\n\"Destiny. The empty billabong is our destiny. It was dug out by the spirits a long time ago. They were just waiting for someone to bring the rain. And the moment you came over the ridge, here, to find me, you did just that.\"\n\n\"I brought the rain.\"\n\n\"You did,\" he said.\n\nShe looked around, exaggerating her own surprise. \"I don't see any rain.\"\n\nColby pointed at the kutji and then the demons and then the bunyip beneath her. \"And I see nothing but rain.\"\n\nThe kutji grew restless in the trees, pacing to and fro on their branches, cawing angrily into the coming night.\n\n\"I'm tired of this,\" she said. \"I'm tired of your riddles. You know what I want, don't you?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"So do it.\"\n\n\"You know I can't. So why don't you just release those demons and give back the ring?\"\n\n\"Same reason as you, I reckon. They'll tear me apart otherwise.\"\n\n\"They've really got us up against it, don't they?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"One of us has to die.\"\n\n\"And the other has to be damned.\"\n\n\"No way around it,\" said the Queen.\n\n\"None,\" said Colby.\n\n\"I'm sorry it has to end this way.\"\n\nColby cocked his head. \"You know, I'm really not. It bothered me for a while, really tore me up. But we've had this coming for a long time, you and I. Tonight we pay up. I'm good with that.\"\n\n\"I like the poetry of that,\" she said. \"Especially since you're going to die the way you left me to.\" She pointed around at the kutji. \"At their hands.\" The kutji went wild, the greenbelt swelling with the cacophony of birdcalls.\n\nColby smiled. \"But you didn't die.\"\n\n\"Only because I wouldn't let them kill me.\"\n\n\"I figure I'll do the same.\"\n\n\"We'll see. Dark things! Kill him!\"\n\nThe crows took to the air, the thrash of their wings like a thousand drums beating out of sync.\n\nColby reacted, grabbing the bowl off the top of the mound, casting it aside, yanking the sheet off with a single tug, revealing what was beneath. It was a basket. A simple, wicker, woven basket, nearly four hundred years old. Inside were the shriveled, shadowy remains of several dozen hands.\n\nHe picked up the basket and flung its contents out over the ground, scattering the hands in a wide arc well past the hole.\n\nThe kutji shifted forms in midair, their stumpy, malformed bodies flailing as they fell, screaming in unison, \"OUR HANDS!\" They hit the ground running, tearing across the broken earth, no longer interested in Colby. They lunged, each scrambling for the hand landing nearest him, pouncing to the ground like cats on rodents, clumsily shoving the severed end onto their dull nubs. Few of them actually found their own hands, but that fact didn't stop a one of them from putting them on. Some ended up oversize, almost too big for their bodies, while others ended up too small, their hand looking withered, shrunken, a bit of extra wrist poking out on each side. A few even ended up sideways or upside down, grasping upward, resting out away from the body.\n\nAnd as the pack hooted, celebrating, making themselves mostly whole, Colby calmly picked up the discarded bowl, dropped it upside down in the hole, and covered it up by sliding the small mound of dirt back in place with his foot. He gave the dirt a few quick stamps to tamp it down, then stepped back with a proud, smarmy smirk.\n\n\"Shit,\" muttered Dantalion, at once recognizing what was happening. He looked around fretfully, terrified of the very ground around him. He motioned to the other demons who were equally disquieted.\n\n\"You were saying?\" asked Colby.\n\nThe kutji looked up from admiring their hands, spying Colby, unafraid of them, no more than twenty feet away.\n\n\"Kill him!\" yelled the Queen.\n\nThey nodded and lunged once more, running on all fours before slamming headlong into an invisible wall. They stopped in place, stunned, confused. Then they clawed at the wall in front of them, screeching in mortal terror.\n\n\"You ever hear of an incantation bowl?\" asked Colby of the Queen.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Incantation bowls. Otherwise known by their lesser known name\u2014Babylonian Demon Traps.\"\n\n\"What the hell did you do?\"\n\nColby took a few casual steps backward, putting his hands behind him as if lecturing to a symposium. He looked down, taking one more step, nodding, and stopped. \"The Babylonians didn't care much for demons. This was back before the veil fell, of course, so they knew very well that demons were real. They could see them.\"\n\n\"Skip the history lesson.\"\n\n\"I don't think I will. You see, the Babylonians figured out the power of belief. At some point, some genius invented these bowls. They'd mold them, carve symbols into them\u2014often with the names of angels or their god\u2014then bury them in the ground, upside down. Usually at the four corners of the foundation of their house. Spirits can't touch the things. And once there are at least four of them,\" he said, pointing to the filled-in hole and three more like it around it, \"no spirit can cross the unbroken line between them.\"\n\nThe Queen of the Dark Things lunged forward, furious, but stopped again. She looked over at the five dukes and pointed at Colby. They shook their heads, apprehensive. \"Kill him.\"\n\nThe demons marched forward, the djinn Dantalion clenching his fists as he walked, his body smoking, his skin turning a golden olive, his muscles swelling as he manifested his spirit form; Focalor pulling a heavy boat chain from seemingly out of nowhere, swinging it with a force that could powder bone; Astaroth astride his dragon; Berith astride his horse; the draconic Bune, prowling forward on his taloned feet, flames conflating in his growling maw.\n\nColby whistled and the earth shook. The ground rumbled, splitting apart, lines forming shapes, shapes becoming pictograms and circles. Each demon stopped in place, at once trapped in a circle drawn especially for him, every symbol in its proper place, cut into the dirt and limestone. They scuffed wildly at the symbols, but for each grain of sand they moved, another took its place.\n\nAustin appeared. She stood before Focalor, a wry little grin tugging at her lips. Then she shrugged coyly, playfully shrinking from him. \"Does the big mean corpse-raping demon have a problem?\"\n\nFocalor growled. \"I won't once I'm out of here.\" He stepped forward menacingly, eyes spiteful, ready to kill her. The ground beneath him shuddered, and the symbols moved, the circle shrinking, an invisible force pushing him ever back.\n\n\"Let's see if we can make that a little cozier for you, then. You might be here awhile.\"\n\nThe bunyip reared bitterly, flailing back on its hind legs, batting at the air. The Queen spurred it again, tugging at its fur. \"Hold,\" she said. \"Steady!\" It settled and she kicked it again, driving it toward Colby.\n\nColby whistled again and Gossamer tore out from the dark of the woods. As he ran, Colby focused, siphoning the nearby dreamstuff, stronger here in the greenbelt than in the city, funneling it into his familiar. With each step Gossamer grew in size, his golden fur becoming longer, shaggier, a lion's mane growing from the nape of his neck. Before he was halfway across the open field, he was eight feet tall at the shoulder, drool dripping in gobs from teeth the size of a man's thumb.\n\nGossamer pounced, letting out a fiendish snarl, its eyes on fire, breath steaming, and bit into the neck of the wincing bunyip.\n\nThe bunyip let out a shrill whimper, recoiling, throwing the Queen from her mount.\n\nThe two beasts scrambled for ground, nipping, clawing, rending each other's flesh.\n\nThe Queen leaped to her feet and tried to hop back atop the bunyip, but the brawl was too chaotic, the creature's craning neck striking at Gossamer like a cobra only to be batted away by the dog's savage paws.\n\nThere was only one thing left for her to do. She bolted at Colby with inhuman speed, covering the short distance in less than a breath.\n\nThen she slammed into an invisible wall inches in front of Colby's face. She staggered, dazed, mind shaken loose by the hit.\n\n\"I made eight,\" said Colby, looking at the ground beneath him. There, dug into the dirt, ten feet apart, were four filled-in holes.\n\nShe too looked at the ground, realizing what was going on.\n\n\"Now,\" he said. \"Let's talk.\"\n\n\"We don't have anything to talk about.\"\n\nBehind her, the beasts came to a stalemate, each gashed, bleeding, growling with feral ferocity, eyes locked, waiting for the other to make the first move. Meanwhile, Kaycee's possessed body lumbered toward its spirit, the shadow of her father growing very worried for its daughter.\n\n\"But we do,\" said Colby. \"Lots to catch up on.\"\n\n\"We better catch up quick. You're going to die tonight.\"\n\nColby looked around at the throng of caged kutji, the five demons locked in summoning circles, and the bunyip cowering from Colby's familiar. \"That might be true, but not by your hand. You didn't come here to kill me. That's why I'm not freaking out right now. Later? I'll probably piss myself. But here? Now? We're just two old friends, one of whom is trying to play the other one for an idiot.\"\n\nThe Queen ground her teeth. \"Because you are an idiot.\"\n\n\"You don't believe that. Not standing outside my demon trap, you don't. Though I imagine right now you're wondering just how smart I really might be. If I've figured it all out and if this is all going to start to get worse for you.\"\n\n\"Is it? Going to get worse, Colby?\" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.\n\n\"Pretty bad, yeah.\"\n\n\"I'll find a way out of this, you know. And I'll kill you.\"\n\n\"No you won't. But I can kill you.\" Colby pointed at Kaycee's shell, still stumbling awkwardly toward her.\n\nThe Queen looked back over her shoulder at her body. \"Kill it. Turn it to ash or whatever it is you do. See if I care.\"\n\nColby pulled a revolver out of his hoodie, cocking back the hammer. He fired, the bullet tearing a hole in Kaycee's emaciated, club-footed leg. The body toppled to the ground, screaming, clutching its massive wound.\n\n\"Colby!\" she screamed.\n\nColby's eyes widened and he simpered a little in surprise. \"Holy shit. I didn't think I'd hit with the first shot.\"\n\n\"What the hell are you doing?\"\n\n\"Shooting better than expected, apparently.\"\n\n\"No, what are you\u2014\"\n\n\"I told you. I worked this out a long time ago.\" He slid the revolver back into his pocket. \"How long do you reckon before your body bleeds out?\"\n\nShe ran over, knelt beside her body, cradling the wound. Then she screamed at the demons. \"Help me! Heal him!\"\n\nThe demons shook their heads. They were powerless outside the circles.\n\n\"Colby, you can't do this.\"\n\n\"Tell me something, Kaycee. Why didn't you call me? You could have just shown up and asked me. Instead . . .\" He waved an open palm around, gesturing at all this. \"What, are you as much the kutjis' prisoner as their master?\"\n\n\"Something like that,\" she said, her eyes cold and narrow.\n\n\"And when you die, when that body bleeds out, you'll become one of them.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And the curse of the Batavia will be ended.\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"I told you, Kaycee. I was going to kill you.\"\n\nShe began to cry, holding close the body, instead more worried for the spirit inside.\n\n\"The Colby I remember didn't kill someone in cold blood like this.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well, that kid died six months ago. He just didn't know it yet. Besides, I don't think you were going to give me much of a choice, were you?\"\n\n\"No. I wasn't.\"\n\n\"I was going to have to kill that thing, one way or another.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Who's in there?\"\n\n\"My father.\"\n\n\"A kutji.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That's not your father.\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"No. That's just a shadow of him. He's no more your father than my friend is out in a field waving for me to come back. Your father's dead.\"\n\n\"I know,\" she said. \"But it's all I have left.\"\n\n\"How long do you think before he bleeds out?\"\n\n\"Bastard!\"\n\n\"Time's running out. Do you want to deal or not?\"\n\nShe looked up at him, tears streaming down her face, a little girl terrified, her father dying in her arms. \"What?\"\n\n\"Do you want to deal?\"\n\nShe jumped up, ran over to Colby. \"Yes. Yes! Anything. Name it.\"\n\nColby softened, nodding a little, struggling with the truth. \"I've lost enough old friends. I don't want to lose another if I can avoid it.\" He looked at the body, blood pooling on the ground beneath it, then slid the revolver back into his pocket.\n\nThe two shared a moment of understanding silence, her gaze confused, heartbroken. \"You mean that?\" she asked, her voice trembling.\n\n\"I didn't leave you behind because I wanted to. I had to. And I didn't understand why until very recently. I had to leave you in the desert to become who you are, so I could become who I am, and so we, together, could do this here. Tonight, you and I get to be the people we always dreamed we could be. Even if just for a few moments. Tonight, you and I get to stand against the darkness and say fuck you. Tomorrow we might be damned, or dead, but tonight we own our destinies.\"\n\n\"What do you want?\"\n\n\"The ring.\"\n\nThe Queen of the Dark Things shook her head. \"I can't, they'll\u2014\"\n\n\"Kill you for what you did?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That's for tomorrow. I'll see to that. But they want their friends free and they need to know this won't happen again. So I need the ring.\"\n\n\"I-I\u2014\"\n\n\"You don't have a choice. Die here with the ring, or fight tomorrow without it.\"\n\nShe nodded, tears streaming faster now. \"This was always my fate, wasn't it? The destiny Mandu talked about. This is it?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"It sucks.\"\n\n\"Not all destinies end the way we imagine. If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure you're not alone.\"\n\nThe Queen twiddled the ring on her finger, too frightened to remove it. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes. Then she tugged, pulling it off.\n\n\"You aren't the boy I met in the desert. Not anymore.\"\n\n\"And you aren't the girl. So are we agreed?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"Don't look so grim. You're about to get everything you came for.\"\n\n\"Not the way I wanted it.\"\n\nColby stuck his hand out, palm up, past the barrier of the bowls, and the Queen dropped the ring into it.\n\nColby motioned to Gossamer, and Gossamer took the hint. He relaxed, his fur lying down, his teeth settling in back behind his gums. He stepped backward a few paces, then trotted around the barrier to stand as near Colby as he could.\n\nThe moon was up and the sky was black, littered with the night's first stars. Colby looked around, taking in the young night, slipping the ring into his jeans front pocket. \"It's a good night for it, you know.\"\n\n\"A good night for what?\" asked the Queen.\n\n\"For all of it. When the sun comes up tomorrow, everything will be different. But tonight, tonight is a fine night.\" He smiled at the stars, as if for the last time. Then he stepped forward, outside the safety of the demon traps, kneeling next to Kaycee's body.\n\nHe could feel the kutji writhing inside her, fighting the pain, desperately trying to retain its hold. Her brown skin was a sickly pale, blood still seeping from the leg wound. She had minutes left, at best.\n\nColby cradled her head in both hands, staring into her lifeless eyes, looking for the spark of the thing inside. It was thunderstruck, barely holding on, about to slip free of its moorings. He concentrated, trying to tear apart the dreamstuff of the thing, restructure it anew.\n\nBut it relented. The kutji was just too strong.\n\nColby focused harder, digging deeper, but the hate inside it for its own existence, the passion to save its own daughter, kept it together, tethered it not only to the body, but to the world.\n\n\"Shit,\" muttered Colby. \"He won't break.\"\n\n\"What?\" asked the Queen. \"I thought you could do this.\"\n\n\"I can.\"\n\n\"They said you could. Swore that you could!\"\n\n\"I can!\" He closed his eyes, dug even deeper than before. Only once before had he fought something so unwilling to give up. And that he had thrown to Hell to destroy. \"I can do this. I can do this.\"\n\n\"Colby, I'm dying,\" she said, watching her mortality leak away, drop by drop. \"Hurry!\" The Queen of the Dark Things closed her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she felt fear. She took a deep breath, waiting, terrified that she was wrong.\n\nThe kutji in the demon trap crawled over one another to see, scampering up the wall, excited, hooting, making catcalls at the Queen. \"She's dying! She's really dying!\" they told one another. They howled like monkeys, did backflips off one another, pulled one another down in an ever shifting pyramid of celebrating shadows. They were close; they were so close. They had their hands and soon they would have the last of their spirits. The circle would be closed, the curse ended, and they could all slip off to their great reward.\n\n\"I can do this.\"\n\n\"Colby, please.\"\n\n\"Talk to him,\" he said.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Be his daughter. Distract him.\"\n\nThe Queen caressed her own face, her voice no longer domineering, bold, but young, loving, scared. \"Dad,\" she said. \"Dad, are you in there?\"\n\nHer body nodded, gurgling a little, wheezing.\n\n\"You want a drink, Dad? A rum?\"\n\nThe body shook its head, grimacing. \"No more,\" it said, gasping desperately for breath. \"No more.\" It coughed with the soft hiss of a death rattle.\n\n\"Then what can I get you?\"\n\n\"Eggs,\" it said.\n\nThe Queen of the Dark Things smiled softly, remembering one of the few bright spots of her old life. \"How many eggs?\" she asked.\n\n\"Three?\"\n\n\"We can spare three today. I think there'll be enough for tomorrow.\"\n\nColby carried on, still trying to find the weak point in the kutji's psyche. It still would not crack. He worried he couldn't keep his end of the bargain, that all this had been for naught. And he hoped that as the body teetered toward death, that it might just be weak enough for long enough for him to pull it out. But that was looking less and less likely.\n\nHe looked at the Queen and she looked at him, their eyes sadly conferring.\n\nShe nodded, resigned. \"You're right,\" she said, looking up at the stars. \"It's a fine night for it.\" Then she leaned in and kissed her body on the forehead. \"Dad, I'm dying. Again. This time for real. I love you.\"\n\nKaycee's body smiled, rasping. \"I love you too, darlin'.\"\n\nAnd then the body vanished with a soft puff and the sweet smell of rum and lilacs.\n\n\"There you have it,\" said Colby, having broken the stalemate. \"Your immortality.\"\n\nThe Queen stared at Colby in stunned silence, a few lilac petals resting in her otherwise empty hand.\n\n\"It wasn't going to work for you, you know,\" said Colby. \"After, I mean.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about?\"\n\n\"The ring. That's the trick of it. It only works for mortals. They would have torn you apart the second you were free.\"\n\n\"Wait . . . so all of this\u2014\"\n\nColby nodded.\n\n\"Was for me?\"\n\n\"There was no other way out for you. You weren't going to give it up willingly. Not without a fight. I had to take it. So I gave you no other choice but to give it to me.\"\n\n\"So what now?\"\n\n\"Now you get on your bunyip and ride until you can't ride anymore. Go home. Do what you do. And if anything ever comes for you, you fight it on your terms, on your turf. Go be what you were always destined to be. Go dream forever and never wake up.\"\n\nShe pointed to the kutji, who stood mute, unsure, staring at them from within the trap. \"What about them?\"\n\nColby pointed east to the horizon. \"The sun will be up soon enough and there isn't so much as a rock for them to hide under in there. It'll be painful, but quicker than they deserve.\"\n\nThe Queen threw her arms around Colby, hugging him as hard as she could. \"I don't deserve a friend like you.\"\n\n\"Then go make sure you do. This cost me more than you'll ever know. Don't waste it.\"\n\n\"I won't.\" She turned, then immediately turned back. \"Can I ask you something first? As a friend?\"\n\n\"Anything,\" said Colby, happier at the sound of that than he thought he'd be.\n\n\"The girl. Do you feel about her the way she feels about you?\"\n\nColby nodded. \"Yeah. I reckon I do.\"\n\n\"What is it about her?\"\n\nColby thought hard for a second, scratching his scalp through layers of matted red hair. \"I like girls who are smarter than me.\"\n\nThe Queen laughed. \"I won't tell her you said that.\"\n\n\"She already knows.\"\n\nThe Queen of the Dark Things whistled, loud, snapping the fingers of a single hand in the air and her bunyip trotted next to her. She turned, put her forehead directly against his, scratching behind its ears with both hands. \"You were very brave,\" she whispered. \"Thank you.\" Then it bowed before her and she launched herself astride its back. She smiled, warm, unencumbered, like an eleven-year-old girl out for her first time in the dream. \"Good-bye, Colby.\"\n\n\"Good-bye, Kaycee.\"\n\nAnd then she ambled off into the dark of the woods until she vanished completely.\n\nColby sauntered up to the summoning circles, smiling at Austin. \"Thank you,\" he whispered.\n\n\"You're welcome,\" she mouthed silently back.\n\n\"Let us out,\" said Dantalion.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Astaroth. \"That was your deal, was it not?\"\n\n\"It was,\" said Colby. \"But we never agreed on when.\"\n\nAt that, the demons growled and howled in unison, their rage shaking the earth beneath their feet.\n\n\"You can't stop us from killing her,\" said Focalor. \"Not after what she did.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I aim to,\" said Colby. \"Austin, how long do you think you could keep this up?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" she said, as if thinking deeply. \"A couple of days before I get bored, I guess.\"\n\nThe demons thrashed like antagonized baboons in their circles.\n\n\"Hmmm, a couple of days. That's an awfully long time.\"\n\n\"What do you want?\" gnarred Dantalion.\n\n\"One day,\" said Colby. \"I want you to vow right now that you will seek no retribution against me or my friends here.\"\n\n\"We can do that.\"\n\n\"And that you will not pursue Kaycee until sunset tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Just one day?\" asked Focalor.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Colby. \"I'm hoping after that you'll choose to leave her be of your own accord.\"\n\n\"I doubt that,\" said Astaroth.\n\n\"Doubt is the right word. I like doubt. It leaves a lot open to change. I'll take that. Sunset tomorrow. And no retribution against us. Ever. Agreed?\"\n\n\"And you will set us free?\" asked Dantalion.\n\n\"Right this minute.\"\n\nThe demons exchanged glances, nodding one and all. \"We swear,\" said Dantalion.\n\n\"We swear,\" said the rest in unison.\n\nColby nodded and with a gesture Austin wiped the runes and circles away from the earth. \"Go free,\" he said. \"And tell your brothers our deal is done.\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" said Dantalion. \"I believe you have something of ours.\"\n\nColby shook his head. \"Yeah, but it's not for you. You're the one who lost it. You have to go back and face the music on that. The ring is meant for another of your brothers, the one who's earned it.\"\n\n\"That's not how this works.\"\n\n\"It is today.\"\n\n\"You made a vow.\"\n\n\"Not for the ring. Never for the ring. That I'll give back on my own.\" Colby slid his hand into his pocket. \"We're not going to have a problem, are we?\"\n\nFocalor eyed Austin up and down. \"Another time,\" he said.\n\nShe smiled, nodding, unfazed. \"Another time.\"\n\nThe air sizzled and the ground warped and the wind howled like it was being murdered and the trees swayed their branches away in mortal terror; the entire universe bent in upon itself, threatening to snap, almost giving way. One by one the demons vanished, each unique in their exit. Focalor became a puddle that boiled away in an instant; Astaroth collapsed into a singularity, burning bright, like the sun before winking out; Dantalion simply smoked away into mist; Berith exploded in a gusher of gore; and Bune immolated, burning to ash that fluttered away on the wind. Then the universe bent back; the trees relaxed and the wind died and the ground flattened and the air calmed to a standstill. And they were gone.\n\nColby looked at Austin, nodding sadly. \"Now for the hard part.\"\n\n\"I still don't understand what's going on,\" said Austin.\n\nGossamer nuzzled Colby, looking up at the two. \"You will,\" he said. \"It'll all make sense by morning.\"\n\n\"Let's go, Goss,\" said Colby.\n\n\"Sure thing, boss.\"\n\nColby gave a somber wave, then he and the dog walked off into the woods together, stepped into a tree, and vanished, leaving Austin and the kutji behind.\nCHAPTER 59\n\nWITH THIS RING\n\nThe night was darker out here, the stars brighter, the light pollution of the city too far to ruin the sky. Half the horizon was covered in clouds, flashes of lightning rippling through their bellies. At last, it seemed, rain was on its way. Maybe this time it wouldn't just be a tease; maybe this time the drought would end.\n\nColby and Gossamer were nowhere near home, too far out for Austin to hear them. They were deep in the Limestone Kingdom, but nowhere near anyone's haunt. The two were entirely alone.\n\n\"This is as good a place as any,\" said Colby.\n\n\"They'll find out eventually.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but not tonight. We get tonight.\"\n\n\"Last chance,\" said Gossamer.\n\n\"The last chance has come and gone. You know that.\"\n\n\"I do. I just thought I'd make it feel like we had a choice in the matter.\"\n\n\"I appreciate that.\"\n\nColby held out his arms and started screaming in an infernal tongue, chanting once again the means of summoning. Then he shouted, \"President Amy, I summon thee. Appear and speak.\"\n\nThe earth clattered awake and the demon appeared in a burst of hellfire. Amy. The Holocaust Man.\n\n\"It was my understanding,\" he said, flames trickling off his tongue, \"that our business was concluded.\"\n\n\"Between myself and the Seventy-two it has. But not between me and you.\"\n\n\"There is no business between me and you.\"\n\n\"Oh, but there is,\" said Colby. \"You see, I've brought the ring.\"\n\nAmy eyed the ring nervously. \"You should have given it to Dantalion. He's the one who lost it. He should be the one to put it back where it belongs.\"\n\n\"But he didn't fight for it. Not like you did.\"\n\n\"I'm not sure I know what you mean.\" He was lying. Colby could sense it.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Colby, smiling politely.\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"For lying so directly. You could have played with some version of the truth, kept us going round and round until I had to get direct with you. Now I know for sure what I only suspected.\"\n\n\"Which is?\"\n\n\"You killed Bill the Shadow. And you torched our bar.\"\n\nThe Holocaust Man stared blankly at him, eyes dimming, curious. \"I'm listening.\"\n\n\"From the get-go everything seemed wrong,\" said Colby. \"Orobas consented to my deal too quickly, didn't niggle over the details. He could have demanded the ring, but he didn't. Then, each of the five did exactly as I asked, no exceptions.\"\n\n\"That was the deal.\"\n\n\"That was. But no one tried to pervert it. No one cheated, tried to screw me out of what I asked for through loopholes. I gave each of them ample opportunity for shenanigans, but they didn't take the bait. They were each punctual, exact, and saw to it that they honored our deal in toto. They even played upon my own weakness for knowledge, almost all of them more than happy to engage me in discussion, hand me secrets men have died trying and failing to learn. All because they wanted me to trust them.\"\n\n\"And you did,\" hissed the demon.\n\n\"No. Because there was something else nagging at me.\"\n\n\"What was that?\"\n\n\"Orobas. He told me that he didn't know why he couldn't see my future anymore. That none of you did.\"\n\n\"We didn't.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know. But for that to be true it meant that merely being involved with the ring wouldn't cloud your sight of my destiny. It meant that I would, at some point, come into possession of the ring. And what Orobas meant when he said he didn't know, was that he didn't know whether I would take the ring and hand it back or if I would keep it for myself.\"\n\nThe Holocaust Man nodded, flames jumping, licking the air, as he did.\n\n\"I can only assume there was some debate over which it might be and how best you could convince me to give it back. The prevailing thought must have been to earn my trust. But someone dissented. Thought it best to scare me, make me think the ring was far more trouble than it was worth. Convince me that everyone and everything that I loved would be at risk if I kept it. And that was you.\"\n\n\"How did you know?\"\n\nColby threw a stiff thumb at Gossamer. \"My dog.\"\n\n\"Your familiar?\"\n\n\"He was there when your kutji torched the place.\"\n\n\"And how did you know that wasn't the Queen?\"\n\n\"Because your kutji had both of their hands.\" Colby held both of his hands open in the air.\n\nThe demon smiled, his charred teeth large, cinders smoldering between them. \"You're a clever boy after all, Colby Stevens.\"\n\n\"You couldn't help yourself.\"\n\n\"No, I couldn't.\"\n\n\"No, I mean you couldn't help yourself. You were destined to do it. This had to happen. You were the reason you couldn't see my future. Before you intervened, I wanted nothing to do with the ring. It scared the shit out of me. I didn't want that kind of responsibility, or to earn that much enmity. But the minute you made your play, I saw just how untrustworthy a lot you were. I almost bought into the idea that you were all just fallen angels, doing your own thing. But you're not. You're demons. You're Hell. And I will never be free of you.\"\n\nColby reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring. He held it up, pinched between thumb and forefinger, eyeing it as it flickered in the firelight.\n\n\"You can't keep it, Colby,\" said the demon. \"We'll never let you keep it.\"\n\n\"But that's just it. I don't have a choice. You robbed me of that choice the moment you interfered. That's why you couldn't see my future. You were always meant to let me know that I was never safe from you, with or without the ring. So my choice was to fear you without it, or fear you with it. Which is no choice at all.\"\n\n\"Colby\u2014\"\n\nColby slipped the ring on his finger. \"You killed my friend, you son of a bitch.\" He punched the demon square in the chest, the brand of Solomon burning immediately into him. Amy reeled back, but not in time. His eyes smoldered black, flames erupting all over his body. He screamed in agony.\n\n\"Kneel,\" growled Colby.\n\nThe demon fell to his knees.\n\n\"Who do you serve?\"\n\n\"You.\"\n\n\"You're going to go back to your brothers. You're going to tell them what you've done. You're going to tell them that you're the reason I've kept the ring. Then you're going to give them a message.\"\n\n\"What's the message?\" asked the kowtowing demon.\n\n\"That I'm going to leave your punishment to them.\"\n\nThe Holocaust Man looked up fearfully. \"What?\"\n\n\"If I'm satisfied with your punishment, I won't use this ring in any other way. But if I'm not, or if a single one of you interferes in my life again, or shows its face without me asking, or goes after one of my friends, I will summon you one by one over the course of a single afternoon and I will bury you so far and deep within the earth that your five hundred years in the sea will feel like a fucking holiday weekend. And that goes for Kaycee too. She's off-limits now. And they have you to blame.\"\n\n\"No. Please. You have no idea what they'll do\u2014\"\n\n\"You're right. I don't. I lack their capacity for cruelty. I can't even begin to imagine the suffering you're about to endure. You see, that's the illusion of choice. Your brothers can go to war with me for the ring. Or they can just shit on you and wait me out. Do you imagine there will be much of a discussion?\"\n\n\"No. I don't.\"\n\n\"Neither do I. Bill was good to me. He deserved better than that. I hope it was worth it.\"\n\nThe demon smiled again, laughing. \"It was. Now you're truly damned, Colby Stevens. Truly damned.\"\n\n\"Go. Tell your brothers. Accept your punishment.\"\n\n\"Good-bye, Colby,\" said the demon, still smiling.\n\n\"Good-bye, Amy.\"\n\nThen the Holocaust Man fell away into ashes, a small flaming circle left burning in the ground where he'd knelt.\n\nColby looked down at Gossamer. \"I told you. What you've gotten yourself into with me, it can't be undone.\"\n\n\"All due respect,\" said Gossamer, \"but go fuck yourself. There's nowhere else I'd rather be, boss.\"\n\nColby scratched Goss behind the ears. \"Let's go home.\"\n\n\"Good idea. I need a beer.\"\nCHAPTER 60\n\nTHE BURDEN OF SOLOMON\n\nColby and Gossamer were only five minutes ahead of the storm, the smell of the rain wafting in from the west, thunder rumbling through the streets. The stars were gone now; only clouds remained. They were only a few blocks from home when they heard a third pair of footsteps. At once, from the barefoot scuff, Colby knew without looking who it was.\n\n\"Hello, Coyote,\" he said without breaking stride, too tired to make a big deal out of it.\n\n\"When was the last time you slept?\" asked the manitou.\n\n\"Australia.\"\n\n\"That was awhile ago.\"\n\n\"And not the best sleep. How can I help you?\"\n\n\"I'm good. Just a friendly visit.\"\n\n\"There are no friendly visits from Coyote.\"\n\n\"They're all friendly visits, Colby. I don't believe in getting angry.\"\n\n\"Probably because you're very good at helping everyone else with that.\"\n\n\"It's good to have a skill.\"\n\nColby stopped, Gossamer stopping with him. \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"To congratulate you.\"\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"What do you think?\"\n\n\"I really don't know.\"\n\nCoyote grinned, beaming like a proud father. \"Four hundred years ago, five demons decided to sink a ship just because they could. Tonight they paid for their arrogance and lost the one thing they hold most dear.\"\n\n\"The ring?\" asked Colby.\n\n\"No. Their immunity from repercussions.\"\n\n\"They didn't suffer long for what they did.\"\n\n\"They've only just begun to suffer. You saw to that.\"\n\n\"I have no intention of tangling with them again.\"\n\nCoyote smiled wider, increasingly pleased. \"But they don't know that. You're a being of the flesh, Colby. You aren't bound to your word like they are. From this day forward, they will always want to know where you are because they're always going to be afraid that you might at any moment renege on your end of the deal.\"\n\n\"So they'll come for me instead. Is that what you're saying?\"\n\n\"What, and ensure that you'll bind them? Mark them with that little ring and make them kneel like you did Amy? They only have the illusion of choice, like they gave you. Either they trust you or they ensure they'll become your slaves.\"\n\n\"That's not a very good choice,\" said Colby.\n\n\"That's why I like it so much,\" said Coyote through a churlish giggle. \"Of all the options presented to you, the wealth of possibilities, and this was your path. You could have asked for power. Immolated your adversaries. Become a god. You could have had any woman in the world, ended all your loneliness. One boon can grant more power than most men ever dream of. You had five. Instead you asked only for what you needed. Knowledge and tools.\"\n\n\"That was the only way to do it.\"\n\n\"It was the only way to do it and retain your soul.\"\n\n\"Like I said. That was the only way to do it.\"\n\nCoyote nodded, walking again toward Colby's house, waving a lecturing finger. \"At night you drink yourself to sleep, wondering why your life has to be so hard. Wondering what it would be like if you hadn't made that wish. And yet every morning you wake up stronger. Smarter. Wiser. And now you have that ring.\"\n\nColby walked briskly to catch up, Gossamer in tow. \"I don't want it.\"\n\n\"Good. The people who want it shouldn't have it. They say Solomon didn't want it.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but I'm not Solomon.\"\n\n\"Solomon was just a man, Colby. A man who cared about his people. Greatness isn't given to anyone. It's taken after years of hard learning.\"\n\n\"I'm not great.\"\n\n\"No. You're not. But you've become a problem. Almost everyone hates you. No one can trust you. You have grown far more powerful than you have any right to be. And worse yet, you are driven by ideals that run counter to the very world you are a part of. You look around you and see great corruption\u2014dangerous creatures that need to be taught a lesson. And you figure you're just the one to teach them.\"\n\n\"Maybe I am.\"\n\n\"Maybe you are.\"\n\n\"Maybe you could use a lesson or two.\"\n\nCoyote smiled, shaking his head. \"It's not yet time for the student to become the teacher.\"\n\n\"I'm not your student.\"\n\n\"Aren't you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What was your first boon?\"\n\n\"What does that have to\u2014\"\n\n\"You stood before that demon and he gave unto you a mind that could never be deceived by a spirit again. So tell me, oh seer-through-of-bullshit: am I lying?\"\n\nHe wasn't. Colby stopped in his tracks. \"Mandu.\"\n\nCoyote turned, the biggest, smarmiest smile Colby had ever seen pulled back over pearl white teeth.\n\n\"But he said his spirit\u2014\"\n\n\"Was a dingo. A large dingo.\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"Living in Arnhem as he did, do you imagine he'd ever even seen a coyote?\" Coyote returned to walking, his stride now more of a stroll. \"Angels have their preachers, Colby. Demons have their sorcerers. And I, I have my Clever Men.\" The manitou kept walking, fading away as he did, until he was nothing but a shadow dimming in the night. And then he was gone, one with the black.\n\nColby muttered beneath his breath, but Gossamer knew what he was saying all the same. Then the two continued home, ever more unsure about everything that had just happened.\n\nAs they rounded the corner, they saw her, sitting on the front porch, a six-pack of icy Mexican beer at her side. Austin. She gave a slight nod and motioned to the beer. Colby nodded back, then looked down at Gossamer.\n\n\"I think I'm going to take a lap or two around the block, boss.\"\n\n\"You don't have to. You'll get caught in the rain.\"\n\n\"Nah, it's about time.\"\n\n\"That it rained?\"\n\n\"That too. Save me a beer.\"\n\n\"It's a sixer. I'll save you two.\"\n\nGossamer rubbed his head against Colby's leg, looked up at him with the kind of love only a golden retriever knows, then loped off down the street, dreaming about beer.\n\nColby plodded slowly up the front walk, hands in his pockets, eyes on the cracked cement. Austin smiled, pulled a pair of beers from the sixer, and popped off the tops without an opener.\n\n\"Mayor,\" he said, looking at her, hands still in his pockets.\n\n\"Sheriff.\"\n\nHe sat down, taking a beer from her hand, and looked out into the night. Austin sipped at hers, staring out with him.\n\n\"I'm not the mayor,\" she said.\n\n\"I'm not the sheriff.\"\n\n\"That's not what you said before.\"\n\n\"That's because I was an idiot. I'm no sheriff. This town doesn't need one.\"\n\n\"It doesn't?\"\n\n\"No. This town needs something else.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"A Clever Man.\"\n\nThey sat there, together, in silence, drinking, neither saying a word. Neither needing to. Gentle slaps of rain rolling down the street, the storm only seconds away.\nEPILOGUE\n\nOnce upon a time there was a very clever little girl who possessed the power to walk through dreams. Each night, as she slept, she would traipse out past the black stump, deep into the outback, and dance beneath the moon. She would frolic from billabong to billabong, leaping on top of rocks, scaling cliff faces, climbing trees, visiting all her friends of the dream as she did. And this made her very, very happy.\n\nBut one night, as she danced deeper than she ever had before, she came across a barren desert that stank only of the dead. It was soundless, with no bushes or trees for the wind to rustle. But when she heard the wind rise up she grew frightened, for it was unlike any wind she had ever heard before.\n\nThere is a vast difference between the large, boisterous sound of the wind tearing across an open plain and that of its twitters through a tight space. In the desert you notice these things. One means bad weather, the other means something is nearby. This was the latter. The whistles were like a stiff wind through a wooden fence, long, labored, the trill changing pitch with the rise and fall of each gust.\n\nThe little girl stopped in her tracks, noting the sound was moving with her, surrounding her on nearly all sides. As she came to an abrupt halt, she heard a flapping, scurrying, but the whistles still wailed. She looked around. Nothing. Darkness everywhere the eye could see. Even the stars were afraid of this place.\n\nThe little girl pulled a small box of matches from her pocket, plucked one from the tiny cardboard tray, and struck it against the side. The match brightened, growing in intensity until it became a white-hot blaze, like a phosphorous flare against the black of the outback. The darkness withered and twenty skeletal creatures, dressed from head to toe in rags, cowered from the light.\n\nNomorodo. Desert vampires. Dried skin wrapped tightly around brittle bones; their insides, meat and all, sucked out by their predecessors; their hair long, straggly; finger bones filed down, sharpened to fine, deadly points. They stood there, feral, snarling, cowering behind their hands from the light, stunned for the moment by the surprise of it.\n\nThe little girl gasped. Not only had she not expected vampires, but she also hadn't imagined that if there were, there would be so many. She was completely surrounded, some on the ground, some hovering in the air, wind blowing through them making such terrible sounds. And at any moment they would pile on and drain out every last bit of her.\n\nThen, from out in the desert, came the most terrifying sound, like a pig being both strangled and stabbed at the same time. The earth rumbled, tremors like a freight train headed right for her. And then the wind took away her light.\n\nScreeches of a scuffle surrounded her, howls, bloodthirsty and raw, shrill against the night. Bones shattered to dust. Leathery skin shredded. The ever-present whistling began to quiet and the remaining nomorodo began chittering nervously.\n\nThen came a burst of light so bright it lit the desert purple for miles before blinding the little girl, the image of a half dozen nomorodo being mauled by a gigantic beast burned into her eyes. Whatever it was, it was too massive, too malformed to comprehend in so brief an instant.\n\nThe nomorodo begged for their lives in dry, sand-mouthed rasps, but whatever this thing was, it showed them no mercy at all. The remaining nomorodo scattered, the whistling fading quickly as they ran for their lives.\n\nA tangle of rags blew in the wind, wrapping loosely around the little girl's ankle, the only reminder left of its former owner. Another gust came along and took it away, dragging it off, lonely, into the desert.\n\nHer eyes adjusted and when she looked again, the stars and moon had come back out. Standing before her was a monstrous beast, six clawed legs, fangs larger and longer than she, bristling fur from stem to stern. Atop it sat another little girl, roughly her own age, wearing purple pajamas with bright yellow stars.\n\nThe little girl atop the monster offered her a hand, helped her up onto the beast along with her.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the little girl.\n\n\"You're welcome,\" said the girl atop the monster.\n\n\"Are you . . . are you the Queen of the Dark Things?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, shaking her head. \"The Queen of the Dark Things is dead. She died in a land far, far away. My name's Kaycee. Just Kaycee.\"\n\nAnd they rode off together to a safer part of the dream.\nABOUT THE AUTHOR\n\nC. ROBERT CARGILL is the screenwriter of the film Sinister, and he is currently working on the film adaptation of Deus Ex. He wrote for Ain't It Cool News for nearly a decade under the pseudonym Massawyrm, served as a staff writer for Film.com and Hollywood.com, and appeared as the animated character Carlyle on spill.com. The author of Dreams and Shadows lives and works in Austin, Texas.\n\ncRobertCargill.com  \nFollow   @Massawyrm\n\nVisit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.\nALSO BY C. ROBERT CARGILL\n\nDREAMS AND SHADOWS\nCREDITS\n\nCover design by Adam Johnson\n\nCover photograph \u00a9 by Philippe Sainte-Laudy\n\nPhotography\/Getty Images\n\nAuthor photograph \u00a9 by Jessica Cargill\nCOPYRIGHT\n\nThis book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.\n\nHarper Voyager and design is a trademark of HCP LLC.\n\nQUEEN OF THE DARK THINGS. Copyright \u00a9 2014 by C. Robert Cargill. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. 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