243

I've known a Heaven, like a Tent-
To wrap its shining Yards-
Pluck up its stakes, and disappear-
Without the sound of Boards
Or Rip of Nail-Or Carpenter-
But just the miles of Stare-
That signalize a Show's Retreat-
In North America-

No Trace-no Figment of the Thing
That dazzled, Yesterday,
No Ring-no Marvel-
Men, and Feats-
Dissolved as utterly-
As Bird's far Navigation
Discloses just a Hue-
A plash of Oars, a Gaiety-
Then swallowed up, of View.