266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!

A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached— Whose Chimney never smoked—

809 Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity— Unable they that love—to die

592 What care the Dead, for Chanticle… What care the Dead for Day? ’Tis late your Sunrise vex their… And Purple Ribaldry—of Morning

111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—

365 Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore

158 Dying! Dying in the night! Won’t somebody bring the light So I can see which way to go Into the everlasting snow?

498 I envy Seas, whereon He rides— I envy Spokes of Wheels Of Chariots, that Him convey— I envy Crooked Hills

614 In falling Timbers buried— There breathed a Man— Outside—the spades—were plying— The Lungs—within—

29 If those I loved were lost The Crier’s voice would tell me— If those I loved were found The bells of Ghent would ring—

617 Don’t put up my Thread and Needle… I’ll begin to Sew When the Birds begin to whistle— Better Stitches—so—