XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair

597 It always felt to me—a wrong To that Old Moses—done— To let him see—the Canaan— Without the entering—

827 The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality. The Only Shows I see—

I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since

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

Out of sight? What of that? See the Bird —reach it! Curve by Curve —Sweep by Sweep — Round the Steep Air — Danger! What is that to Her?

724 It’s easy to invent a Life— God does it—every Day— Creation—but the Gambol Of His Authority—

100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold

MINE enemy is growing old, I have at last revenge. The palate of the hate departs; If any would avenge, Let him be quick, the viand flits,

252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy

314 Nature—sometimes sears a Sapling— Sometimes—scalps a Tree— Her Green People recollect it When they do not die—