Your Riches—taught me—Poverty. Myself—a Millionaire In little Wealths, as Girls could… Till broad as Buenos Ayre— You drifted your Dominions—

Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.

For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour

707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—

Renunciation—is a piercing Virtue… The letting go A Presence—for an Expectation— Not now— The putting out of Eyes—

726 We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s… And later—when we die— A little Water supplicate— Of fingers going by—

538 ’Tis true—They shut me in the Col… But then—Themselves were warm And could not know the feeling ’tw… Forget it—Lord—of Them—

It struck me every day The lightning was as new As if the cloud that instant slit And let the fire through. It burned me in the night,

657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—

893 Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb— Or Dome of Worm— Or Porch of Gnome—

679 Conscious am I in my Chamber, Of a shapeless friend— He doth not attest by Posture— Nor Confirm—by Word—

A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached— Whose Chimney never smoked—

806 A Planted Life—diversified With Gold and Silver Pain To prove the presence of the Ore In Particles—'tis when