831 Dying! To be afraid of thee One must to thine Artillery Have left exposed a Friend— Than thine old Arrow is a Shot

150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—

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

Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance

899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.

547 I’ve seen a Dying Eye Run round and round a Room— In search of Something—as it seem… Then Cloudier become—

773 Deprived of other Banquet, I entertained Myself— At first—a scant nutrition— An insufficient Loaf—

666 Ah, Teneriffe! Retreating Mountain! Purples of Ages—pause for you— Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regim…

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,

Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -

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

Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie The Day that a Companion came Or was obliged to die