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,

The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands— And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds— He plies from Nought to Nought—

767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine

694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—

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

841 A Moth the hue of this Haunts Candles in Brazil. Nature’s Experience would make Our Reddest Second pale.

582 Inconceivably solemn! Things go gay Pierce—by the very Press Of Imagery—

569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—

555 Trust in the Unexpected— By this—was William Kidd Persuaded of the Buried Gold— As One had testified—

842 Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt! Better, to be found, If one care to, that is, The Fox fits the Hound—

277 What if I say I shall not wait! What if I burst the fleshly Gate— And pass escaped—to thee! What if I file this Mortal—off—