131 Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze—

681 Soil of Flint, if steady tilled— Will refund by Hand— Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun Fructified in Sand—

837 How well I knew Her not Whom not to know has been A Bounty in prospective, now Next Door to mine the Pain.

612 It would have starved a Gnat— To live so small as I— And yet I was a living Child— With Food’s necessity

343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—

990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—

Warm in her Hand these accents li… While faithful and afar The Grace so awkward for her sake Its fond subjection wear -

944 I learned—at least—what Home coul… How ignorant I had been Of pretty ways of Covenant— How awkward at the Hymn

321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—

359 I gained it so— By Climbing slow— By Catching at the Twigs that gro… Between the Bliss—and me—

310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—

XXXI I FOUND the phrase to every tho… I ever had, but one; And that defies me,—as a hand Did try to chalk the sun