46 I keep my pledge. I was not called— Death did not notice me. I bring my Rose.

934 That is solemn we have ended Be it but a Play Or a Glee among the Garret Or a Holiday

883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light

By homely gift and hindered Words The human heart is told Of Nothing - ‘Nothing’ is the force That renovates the World -

940 On that dear Frame the Years had… Yet precious as the House In which We first experienced Lig… The Witnessing, to Us—

369 She lay as if at play Her life had leaped away— Intending to return— But not so soon—

560 It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation… But large—serene— Burned on—until through Dissoluti… It failed from Men—

525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe

I never saw a moor; I never saw the sea, Yet know I how the heather looks And what a billow be. I never spoke with God,

808 So set its Sun in Thee What Day be dark to me— What Distance—far— So I the Ships may see

The wind begun to rock the grass With threatening tunes and low,— He flung a menace at the earth, A menace at the sky. The leaves unhooked themselves fro…

620 It makes no difference abroad— The Seasons—fit—the same— The Mornings blossom into Noons— And split their Pods of Flame—

18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.