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.