I've known a Heaven, like a Tent -
To wrap it's shining Yards -
Pluck up it's 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 Brid's for Navigation
Dicloses just a Hue -
A plash of Oars, a Gaiety -
Then swallowed up, of View.

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