564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?

153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”

645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—

183 I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometim… In a Cathedral Aisle, And understood no word it said— Yet held my breath, the while—

Whether they have forgotten Or are forgetting now Or never remembered - Safer not to know - Miseries of conjecture

The Butterfly in honored Dust Assuredly will lie But none will pass the Catacomb So chastened as the Fly -

833 Perhaps you think me stooping I’m not ashamed of that Christ—stooped until He touched t… Do those at Sacrament

A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King, But God be with the Clown - Who ponders this tremendous scene… This whole Experiment of Green -

941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize