364 The Morning after Woe— ’Tis frequently the Way— Surpasses all that rose before— For utter Jubilee—

964 “Unto Me?” I do not know you— Where may be your House? “I am Jesus—Late of Judea— Now—of Paradise”—

385 Smiling back from Coronation May be Luxury— On the Heads that started with us… Being’s Peasantry—

862 Light is sufficient to itself— If Others want to see It can be had on Window Panes Some Hours in the Day.

116 I had some things that I called m… And God, that he called his, Till, recently a rival Claim Disturbed these amities.

468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—

165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!

144 She bore it till the simple veins Traced azure on her hand— Til pleading, round her quiet eyes The purple Crayons stand.

Each life converges to some centre Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal, Admitted scarcely to itself, it ma…

781 To wait an Hour—is long— If Love be just beyond— To wait Eternity—is short— If Love reward the end—

353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—