XII I CANNOT live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf

394 ’Twas Love’—not me’— Oh punish’—pray’— The Real one died for Thee’— Just Him’—not me’—

To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn’t hurt— It’s only fainter—by degrees— And then—it’s out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—

432 Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live

856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.

866 Fame is the tine that Scholars le… Upon their Setting Names— The Iris not of Occident That disappears as comes—

772 The hallowing of Pain Like hallowing of Heaven, Obtains at a corporeal cost— The Summit is not given

The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back

723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—