375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack—

46 I keep my pledge. I was not called— Death did not notice me. I bring my Rose.

493 The World—stands—solemner—to me— Since I was wed—to Him— A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s—name—

I noticed People disappeared When but a little child - Supposed they visited remote Or settled Regions wild - But did because they died

March is the Month of Expectation… The things we do not know - The Persons of prognostication Are coming now - We try to show becoming firmness -

99 New feet within my garden go— New fingers stir the sod— A Troubadour upon the Elm Betrays the solitude.

Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.

502 At least—to pray—is left—is left— Oh Jesus—in the Air— I know not which thy chamber is— I’m knocking—everywhere—

466 ’Tis little I—could care for Pear… Who own the ample sea— Or Brooches—when the Emperor— With Rubies—pelteth me—

488 Myself was formed’—a Carpenter’— An unpretending time My Plane’—and I, together wrought Before a Builder came’—

XII I CANNOT live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf