78 A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart… That sat it down to rest— Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West—

312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,

715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—

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—

Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—

200 I stole them from a Bee— Because—Thee— Sweet plea— He pardoned me!

220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?

452 The Malay—took the Pearl— Not—I—the Earl— I—feared the Sea—too much Unsanctified—to touch—

104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.

954 The Chemical conviction That Nought be lost Enable in Disaster My fractured Trust—

1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—

Judgment is justest When the Judged, His action laid away, Divested is of every Disk But his sincerity.