The farthest thunder that I heard Was nearer than the sky, And rumbles still, though torrid noons Have lain their missiles by. The lightning that preceded it Struck no one but myself, But I would not exchange the bolt For all the rest of life. Indebtedness to oxygen The chemist may repay, But not the obligation To electricity. It founds the homes and decks the days, And every clamor bright Is but the gleam concomitant Of that waylaying light. The thought is quiet as a flake, -- A crash without a sound; How life's reverberation Its explanation found! XXVII. On the bleakness of my lot Bloom I strove to raise. Late, my acre of a rock Yielded grape and maize. Soil of flint if steadfast tilled Will reward the hand; Seed of palm by Lybian sun Fructified in sand. XXVIII. CONTRAST. A door just opened on a street -- I, lost, was passing by -- An instant's width of warmth disclosed, And wealth, and company. The door as sudden shut, and I, I, lost, was passing by, -- Lost doubly, but by contrast most, Enlightening misery. XXIX. FRIENDS. Are friends delight or pain? Could bounty but remain Riches were good. But if they only stay Bolder to fly away, Riches are sad. XXX. FIRE. Ashes denote that fire was; Respect the grayest pile For the departed creature's sake That hovered there awhile. Fire exists the first in light, And then consolidates, -- Only the chemist can disclose Into what carbonates. XXXI. A MAN. Fate slew him, but he did not drop; She felled -- he did not fall -- Impaled him on her fiercest stakes -- He neutralized them all. She stung him, sapped his firm advance, But, when her worst was done, And he, unmoved, regarded her, Acknowledged him a man. XXXII. VENTURES. Finite to fail, but infinite to venture. For the one ship that struts the shore Many's the gallant, overwhelmed creature Nodding in navies nevermore. XXXIII. GRIEFS. I measure every grief I meet With analytic eyes; I wonder if it weighs like mine, Or has an easier size. I wonder if they bore it long, Or did it just begin? I could not tell the date of mine, It feels so old a pain. I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die. I wonder if when years have piled -- Some thousands -- on the cause Of early hurt, if such a lapse Could give them any pause; Or would they go on aching still Through centuries above, Enlightened to a larger pain By contrast with the love. The grieved are many, I am told; The reason deeper lies, -- Death is but one and comes but once, And only nails the eyes. There's grief of want, and grief of cold, -- A sort they call 'despair;' There's banishment from native eyes, In sight of native air. And though I may not guess the kind Correctly, yet to me A piercing comfort it affords In passing Calvary,