170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!

589 The Night was wide, and furnished… With but a single Star— That often as a Cloud it met— Blew out itself—for fear—

Whether they have forgotten Or are forgetting now Or never remembered - Safer not to know - Miseries of conjecture

198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.

468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—

109 By a flower—By a letter— By a nimble love— If I weld the Rivet faster— Final fast—above—

815 The Luxury to apprehend The Luxury 'twould be To look at Thee a single time An Epicure of Me

982 No Other can reduce Our mortal Consequence Like the remembering it be nought A Period from hence

The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more. Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s p…

450 Dreams—are well—but Waking’s bett… If One wake at morn— If One wake at Midnight—better— Dreaming—of the Dawn—

LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.

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