76 Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, Past the houses—past the headlands… Into deep Eternity—

198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.

I never saw a moor; I never saw the sea, Yet know I how the heather looks And what a billow be. I never spoke with God,

A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,

889 Crisis is a Hair Toward which the forces creep Past which forces retrograde If it come in sleep

On my volcano grows the Grass A meditative spot - An acre for a Bird to choose Would be the General thought - How red the Fire rocks below -

637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—

368 How sick—to wait—in any place—but… I knew last night—when someone tri… Thinking—perhaps—that I looked ti… Or breaking—almost—with unspoken p…

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