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—

490 To One denied the drink To tell what Water is Would be acuter, would it not Than letting Him surmise?

331 While Asters— On the Hill— Their Everlasting fashions—set— And Covenant Gentians—Frill!

294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—

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

517 He parts Himself—like Leaves— And then—He closes up— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup—

252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy

She sweeps with many-colored broom… And leaves the shreds behind; Oh, housewife in the evening west, Come back, and dust the pond! You dropped a purple ravelling in,

802 Time feels so vast that were it no… For an Eternity— I fear me this Circumference Engross my Finity—

990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—

By homely gift and hindered Words The human heart is told Of Nothing - ‘Nothing’ is the force That renovates the World -