569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—

1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—

718 I meant to find Her when I came— Death—had the same design— But the Success—was His—it seems— And the Surrender—Mine—

513 Like Flowers, that heard the news… But never deemed the dripping priz… Awaited their—low Brows— Or Bees—that thought the Summer’s…

410 The first Day’s Night had come— And grateful that a thing So terrible—had been endured— I told my Soul to sing—

175 I have never seen “Volcanoes”— But, when Travellers tell How those old—phlegmatic mountains Usually so still—

142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.

XXXVII LOVE is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.

191 The Skies can’t keep their secret… They tell it to the Hills— The Hills just tell the Orchards— And they—the Daffodils!