There Is Within My Happenstance

There is within my happenstance
An unshed innocence,
Not rare among those buttercups
Whose sun is fueled by shame.
No matter what the circumstance,
My heart must hie me hence,
For all the quince of Nottingham
Is squandered in my name.
Extant there are no photographs
Of who or what I am,
For they were in the sandwiches
We ate one moonlit night.
Instead my mirror must reveal
The marmaladed ham
That lies atop the tabletop
And stuffs itself with light.
Ay me! What might I do that might
Undo my unfelt pain?
My life must gorge on life, and yet
I sorrow for my mice.
Ay me! The cherubs hunger as
My goods are shipped by plane.
And I must dance with polar bears
Across the shrinking ice.

To A Terrier
HAIL to thee, blithe spirit!
Dog thou never wert--
That from my door or near it
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
Louder still and louder
From thy throat it sparkest,
Like a clap of thunder;
Outside my home thou parkest,
And barking still dost stay, and staying ever barkest.
In the golden light'ning
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost woof and run,
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
The pale purple even
Sets off your terrier white;
Thank God there aren't seven
In the broad daylight.
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight:
Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear,
Although we cannot see, we hear that you are there.
All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud,
As when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow'd.
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