Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine

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,

972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—

It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -

Exhilaration is the Breeze That lifts us from the Ground And leaves us in another place Whose statement is not found - Returns us not, but after time

XXXVIII THROUGH the straight pass of su… The martyrs even trod, Their feet upon temptation, Their faces upon God.

732 She rose to His Requirement—dropt The Playthings of Her Life To take the honorable Work Of Woman, and of Wife—

294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—

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—

590 Did you ever stand in a Cavern’s… Widths out of the Sun— And look—and shudder, and block yo… And deem to be alone