115 What Inn is this Where for the night Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord?

702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—

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

693 Shells from the Coast mistaking— I cherished them for All— Happening in After Ages To entertain a Pearl—

A Route of Evanescence With a revolving Wheel— A Resonance of Emerald— A Rush of Cochineal— And every Blossom on the Bush

The Hills erect their Purple Hea… The Rivers lean to see Yet Man has not of all the Throng A Curiosity.

985 The Missing All’—prevented Me From missing minor Things. If nothing larger than a World’s Departure from a Hinge’—

Growth of Man—like Growth of Nat… Gravitates within— Atmosphere, and Sun endorse it— Bit it stir—alone— Each—its difficult Ideal

When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -

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

153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”

“Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn, A mighty look runs round the Worl…