170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!

614 In falling Timbers buried— There breathed a Man— Outside—the spades—were plying— The Lungs—within—

493 The World—stands—solemner—to me— Since I was wed—to Him— A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s—name—

780 The Truth—is stirless— Other force—may be presumed to mov… This—then—is best for confidence— When oldest Cedars swerve—

912 Peace is a fiction of our Faith— The Bells a Winter Night Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound That never did alight.

323 As if I asked a common Alms, And in my wondering hand A Stranger pressed a Kingdom, And I, bewildered, stand—

253 You see I cannot see—your lifetim… I must guess— How many times it ache for me—toda… How many times for my far sake

563 I could not prove the Years had f… Yet confident they run Am I, from symptoms that are past And Series that are done—

962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—