Part One: Life XXXV I CAN wade grief, Whole pools of it,— I ’m used to that.

316 The Wind didn’t come from the Orc… Further than that— Nor stop to play with the Hay— Nor joggle a Hat—

71 A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”—

375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack—

The Grass so little has to do— A Sphere of simple Green— With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain— And stir all day to pretty Tunes

838 Impossibility, like Wine Exhilarates the Man Who tastes it; Possibility Is flavorless—Combine

548 Death is potential to that Man Who dies—and to his friend— Beyond that—unconspicuous To Anyone but God—

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

88 As by the dead we love to sit, Become so wondrous dear— As for the lost we grapple Tho’ all the rest are here—

34 Garland for Queens, may be— Laurels—for rare degree Of soul or sword. Ah—but remembering me—