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

462 Why make it doubt — it hurts it so… So sick — to guess — So strong — to know — So brave — upon its little Bed

8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables

497 He strained my faith— Did he find it supple? Shook my strong trust— Did it then—yield?

689 The Zeroes—taught us—Phosphorous— We learned to like the Fire By playing Glaciers—when a Boy— And Tinder—guessed—by power

My River runs to thee’— Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me? My River wait reply’— Oh Sea’—look graciously’— I’ll fetch thee Brooks

608 Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death—for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me!

717 The Beggar Lad—dies early— It’s Somewhat in the Cold— And Somewhat in the Trudging feet… And haply, in the World—

884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.

727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—

396 There is a Languor of the Life More imminent than Pain— ’Tis Pain’s Successor—When the S… Has suffered all it can—

“Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn, A mighty look runs round the Worl…