To S. O. J.: Invitation to a Walk

I ‘VE a budding plan that shows
All the color of the rose:
On some morning you will name,
You break house, and I ’ll the same,
(In such craft we ’re skilled profoundly!)
Leave our bodies sleeping soundly,
Thence abroad, all spirit, fare,
Lighter than the breathing air.

Quickly mount the ether way :
Only have a care, I pray,
That you be not caught amain

In some wild dream’s comet-train !
Since your journey lies due west,
When your spirit’s feet you’d rest,
At your pleasure you can float
In the old moon’s cockle-boat.

Meanwhile, I must take my way
Towards the gleaming of the day.
When we meet, as meet we will,
Then we ’ll foot it, light and still,
Wheresoe’er the fancy please:
On the blossoming chestnut-trees,
Starting perfume, as we go;
Or upon some river’s flow,
Trip it as the naiads do.
Yonder, sleeping, misty-blue,
Lies my lake, and evermore
Softly kisses the brown shore, —
We might loiter there awhile.

Or we ’ll flit to your Marsh Isle!
When we’ve breathed the late-mown grass,
Up an orchard slope we’ll pass;
Golden pippins hanging low, —
If we take some, who will know ?
. . . Ah, sweet Doris! what if we
At her window try a glee?
Singing, “ Doris, sweetheart, wake,
And the dark its flight shall take!”

Thus I plan : do you agree
You will come half-way to me ?
On some morning you will name,
You break house, — I ’ll do the same !