He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy He who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity's sunrise

'Tis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy! If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I, Have ventured all upon a throw! Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so— This side the Victory! Life is but Life! And Death, but Death! Bliss is, but Bliss, and Breath but Breath! And if indeed I fail, At least, to know the worst, is sweet! Defeat means nothing but Defeat, No drearier, can befall! And if I gain! Oh Gun at Sea! Oh Bells, that in the Steeples be! At first, repeat it slow! For Heaven is a different thing, Conjectured, and waked sudden in— And might extinguish me!

From blossoms comes this brown paper bag of peaches we bought from the at the bend in the road where we turned toward signs painted Peaches. From laden boughs, from hands, from sweet fellowship in the bins, comes nectar at the roadside, succulent peaches we devour, dusty skin and all, comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat. O, to take what we love inside, to carry within us an orchard, to eat not only the skin, but the shade, not only the sugar, but the days, to hold the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into the round jubilance of peach. There are days we live as if death were nowhere in the background; from joy to joy to joy, from wing to wing, from blossom to blossom to impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

Lo, I am happy, for my eyes have seen Joy glowing here before me, face to face; His wings were arched above me for a space, I kissed his lips, no bitter came between. The air is vibrant where his feet have been, And full of song and color is his place. His wondrous presence sheds about a grace that lifts and hallows all that once was mean. I may not sorrow for I saw the light, Tho' I shall walk in valley ways for long, I still shall hear the echo of the song,— My life is measured by its one great height. Joy holds more grace than pain can ever give, And by my glimpse of joy my soul shall live.

Last night the rain spoke to me slowly, saying, what joy to come falling out of the brisk cloud, to be happy again in a new way on the earth! That’s what it said as it dropped, smelling of iron, and vanished like a dream of the ocean into the branches and the grass below. Then it was over. The sky cleared. I was standing under a tree. The tree was a tree with happy leaves, and I was myself, and there were stars in the sky that were also themselves at the moment at which moment my right hand was holding my left hand which was holding the tree which was filled with stars and the soft rain – imagine! imagine! the long and wondrous journeys still to be ours.

. It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell . Gluts twice ten thousand Caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. . Often 'tis in such gentle temper found, That scarcely will the very smallest shell . Be moved for days from where it sometime fell. When last the winds of Heaven were unbound. . Oh, ye! who have your eyeballs vexed and tired, Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea...

(into) my heart's treasury i slipped a coin... that time cannot take nor a thief purloin,— oh better than the minting of a gold-crowned king (is the s̲̅a̲̅f̲̅e̲̅ k̲̅e̲̅p̲̅t̲̅ memory) of a lovely thing.

. She keeps her clavichord As others keep delight, too light To breathe, the secret word . No lover ever heard Where the pure spirit lives And garlands weaves. . To make the pure notes sigh (Not of human grief, too brief) A sigh of such fragility . Her fingers' sweet agility Must hold the horizontal line In the stern power of design . The secret breathed within And never spoken, woken By music; the garlands in Her hands no one has seen. . She wreathes the air with green and weaves the stillness in.

1. It is not a word spoken, Few words are said; Nor even a look of the eyes Nor a bend of the head, 2. But only a hush of the heart That has too much to k̲̅e̲̅e̲̅p̲̅, Only memories waking That sleep so light a sleep.

now I lay me down to dream of (nothing i or any somebody or you can begin to begin to imagine) something which nobody may keep

Let a joy k̲̅e̲̅e̲̅p̲̅ you. Reach out your hands And take it when it runs by, As the Apache dancer Clutches his woman. I have seen them Live long and laugh loud, Sent on singing, singing, Smashed to the heart Under the ribs With a terrible ℓ◎ṽ℮. Joy always, Joy everywhere-- Let joy kill you! Keep away from the little deaths. --Carl Sandburg