117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.

307 The One who could repeat the Summ… Were greater than itself—though H… Minutest of Mankind should be— And He—could reproduce the Sun—

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

886 These tested Our Horizon— Then disappeared As Birds before achieving A Latitude.

539 The Province of the Saved Should be the Art—To save— Through Skill obtained in Themsel… The Science of the Grave

Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,

8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables

433 Knows how to forget! But could It teach it? Easiest of Arts, they say When one learn how

21 We lose—because we win— Gamblers—recollecting which Toss their dice again!

927 Absent Place—an April Day— Daffodils a-blow Homesick curiosity To the Souls that snow—

To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn't hurt— It's only fainter—by degrees— And then—it's out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—

XLIII I LIKE to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step

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