The Angle of a Landscape -
That every time I wake -
Between my Curtain and the Wall
Upon an ample Crack -

Like a Venetian - waiting -
Accosts my open eye -
Is just a Bough of Apples -
Held slanting, in the Sky -

The Pattern of a Chimney -
The Forehead of a Hill -
Sometimes - a Vane's Forefinger -
But that's - Occasional -

The Seasons - shift - my Picture 
Upon my Emerald Bough,
I wake - to find no - Emeralds -
Then - Diamonds -- which the Snow

From Polar Caskets - fetched me -
The Chimney - and the Hill -
And just the Steeple's finger -
These - never stir at all -