God permit industrious angels Afternoons to play. I met one,—forgot my school-mates, All, for him, straightaway. God calls home the angels promptly

899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.

103 I have a King, who does not speak… So—wondering—thro’ the hours meek I trudge the day away— Half glad when it is night, and sl…

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.

921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.

979 This Merit hath the worst— It cannot be again— When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone—

834 Before He comes we weigh the Time… ’Tis Heavy and ’tis Light. When He depart, an Emptiness Is the prevailing Freight.

I had been hungry all the years– My noon had come, to dine– I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. ‘T was this on tables I had seen

781 To wait an Hour—is long— If Love be just beyond— To wait Eternity—is short— If Love reward the end—

157 Musicians wrestle everywhere— All day—among the crowded air I hear the silver strife— And—walking—long before the morn—