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Of Bronze-and Blaze-
The North-Tonight-
So adequate-it forms-
So preconcerted with itself-
So distant-to alarms-
And Unconcern so sovereign
To Universe, or me-
Infects my simple spirit
With Taints of Majesty-
Till I take vaster attitudes-
And strut upon my stem-
Disdaining Men, and Oxygen,
For Arrogance of them-

My Splendors, are Menagerie-
But their Completeless Show
Will entertain the Centuries
When I, am long ago,
An Island in dishonored Grass-
Whom none but Beetles-know.