265 Where Ships of Purple—gently toss… On Seas of Daffodil— Fantastic Sailors—mingle— And then—the Wharf is still!

Lightly stepped a yellow star To its lofty place - Loosed the Moon her silver hat From her lustral Face - All of Evening softly lit

369 She lay as if at play Her life had leaped away— Intending to return— But not so soon—

101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?

896 Of Silken Speech and Specious Sh… A Traitor is the Bee His service to the newest Grace Present continually

837 How well I knew Her not Whom not to know has been A Bounty in prospective, now Next Door to mine the Pain.

547 I’ve seen a Dying Eye Run round and round a Room— In search of Something—as it seem… Then Cloudier become—

899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.

LX A SHADY friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind.

18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.

165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!

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