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

152 The Sun kept stooping—stooping—lo… The Hills to meet him rose! On his side, what Transaction! On their side, what Repose!

87 A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.

939 What I see not, I better see— Through Faith—my Hazel Eye Has periods of shutting— But, No lid has Memory—

828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—

569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—

769 One and One—are One— Two—be finished using— Well enough for schools— But for minor Choosing—

A thought went up my mind to-day That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year, Nor where it went, nor why it came

635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time

The show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be. Fair play—

Said Death to Passion ‘Give of thine an Acre unto me.’ Said Passion, through contracting… ‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’ Bore Death from Passion

When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -