542 I had no Cause to be awake— My Best—was gone to sleep— And Morn a new politeness took— And failed to wake them up—

529 I’m sorry for the Dead—Today— It’s such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences— It’s time o’ year for Hay.

855 To own the Art within the Soul The Soul to entertain With Silence as a Company And Festival maintain

55 By Chivalries as tiny, A Blossom, or a Book, The seeds of smiles are planted— Which blossom in the dark.

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

955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained.

It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -

87 A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.

119 Talk with prudence to a Beggar Of “Potose,” and the mines! Reverently, to the Hungry Of your viands, and your wines!

863 That Distance was between Us That is not of Mile or Main— The Will it is that situates— Equator—never can—