455 Triumph—may be of several kinds— There’s Triumph in the Room When that Old Imperator—Death— By Faith

Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!

Abraham to kill him Was distinctly told’— Isaac was an Urchin’— Abraham was old’— Not a hesitation’—

94 Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping—plucking—smiling&m da… Do the Buds to them belong?

281 ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— So over Horror, it half Captivate… The Soul stares after it, secure— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more…

138 Pigmy seraphs—gone astray— Velvet people from Vevay— Balles from some lost summer day— Bees exclusive Coterie—

Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -

XXVIII I BRING an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching, next to min… And summon them to drink. Crackling with fever, they essay;

448 This was a Poet—It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings— And Attar so immense

703 Out of sight? What of that? See the Bird—reach it! Curve by Curve—Sweep by Sweep— Round the Steep Air—

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