57 To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I,

402 I pay—in Satin Cash— You did not state—your price— A Petal, for a Paragraph It near as I can guess—

The cricket sang, And set the sun, And workmen finished, one by one, Their seam the day upon. The low grass loaded with the dew,

600 It troubled me as once I was— For I was once a Child— Concluding how an Atom—fell— And yet the Heavens—held—

313 I should have been too glad, I se… Too lifted—for the scant degree Of Life’s penurious Round— My little Circuit would have sham…

48 Once more, my now bewildered Dove Bestirs her puzzled wings Once more her mistress, on the dee… Her troubled question flings—

To the bright east she flies, Brothers of Paradise Remit her home, Without a change of wings, Or Love’s convenient things,

947 Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? “A Soul has gone to Heaven” I’m answered in a lonesome tone— Is Heaven then a Prison?

101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?

548 Death is potential to that Man Who dies—and to his friend— Beyond that—unconspicuous To Anyone but God—

999 Superfluous were the Sun When Excellence be dead He were superfluous every Day For every Day be said

It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -