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.

619 Glee—The great storm is over— Four—have recovered the Land— Forty gone down together— Into the boiling Sand.

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

1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—

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

413 I never felt at Home–Below– And in the Handsome Skies I shall not feel at Home–I know– I don’t like Paradise–

423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—

200 I stole them from a Bee— Because—Thee— Sweet plea— He pardoned me!

607 Of nearness to her sundered Thing… The Soul has special times— When Dimness—looks the Oddity— Distinctness—easy—se ems—

835 Nature and God—I neither knew Yet Both so well knew me They startled, like Executors Of My identity.

307 The One who could repeat the Summ… Were greater than itself—though H… Minutest of Mankind should be— And He—could reproduce the Sun—

Much Madness is divinest Sense - To a discerning Eye - Much Sense– the starkest Madness… ’Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -