The Notice that is called the Spr… Is but a month from here - Put up my Heart thy Hoary work And take a Rosy Chair. Not any House the Flowers keep -

792 Through the strait pass of sufferi… The Martyrs—even—trod. Their feet—upon Temptations— Their faces—upon God—

Between My Country—and the Other… There is a Sea— But Flowers—negotiate between us— As Ministry.

58 Delayed till she had ceased to kno… Delayed till in its vest of snow Her loving bosom lay— An hour behind the fleeting breath…

661 Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit me

589 The Night was wide, and furnished… With but a single Star— That often as a Cloud it met— Blew out itself—for fear—

The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,

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

660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—

217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?

353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—

388 Take your Heaven further on— This—to Heaven divine Has gone— Had You earlier blundered in Possibly, e’en You had seen