924 Love—is that later Thing than Dea… More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself—

898 How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom

Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance

422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench—

628 They called me to the Window, for “ ’Twas Sunset”—Some one said— I only saw a Sapphire Farm— And just a Single Herd—

612 It would have starved a Gnat— To live so small as I— And yet I was a living Child— With Food’s necessity

142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.

263 Is all that pins the Soul That stands for Deity, to Mine, Upon my side the Veil— Once witnessed of the Gauze—

603 He found my Being—set it up— Adjusted it to place— Then carved his name—upon it— And bade it to the East

37 Before the ice is in the pools— Before the skaters go, Or any check at nightfall Is tarnished by the snow—