372 I know lives, I could miss Without a Misery— Others—whose instant’s wanting— Would be Eternity—

612 It would have starved a Gnat— To live so small as I— And yet I was a living Child— With Food’s necessity

412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause—

44 If she had been the Mistletoe And I had been the Rose— How gay upon your table My velvet life to close—

71 A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”—

681 Soil of Flint, if steady tilled— Will refund by Hand— Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun Fructified in Sand—

729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—

671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—

A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun! Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass…