962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—

Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather

651 So much Summer Me for showing Illegitimate— Would a Smile’s minute bestowing

976 Death is a Dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust. “Dissolve” says Death—The Spirit… I have another Trust”—

620 It makes no difference abroad— The Seasons—fit—the same— The Mornings blossom into Noons— And split their Pods of Flame—

184 A transport one cannot contain May yet a transport be— Though God forbid it lift the lid… Unto its Ecstasy!

1100 The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying—this to Us Made Nature different

729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—

947 Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? “A Soul has gone to Heaven” I’m answered in a lonesome tone— Is Heaven then a Prison?

’Twas Crisis—All the length had p… That dull—benumbing time There is in Fever or Event— And now the Chance had come— The instant holding in its claw

Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill

392 Through the Dark Sod—as Educatio… The Lily passes sure— Feels her white foot—no trepidatio… Her faith—no fear—

The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.

704 672 No matter—now—Sweet— But when I’m Earl— Won’t you wish you’d spoken