241 I like a look of Agony, Because I know it’s true— Men do not sham Convulsion, Nor simulate, a Throe—

863 That Distance was between Us That is not of Mile or Main— The Will it is that situates— Equator—never can—

900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness

100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold

Ample make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair. Be its mattress straight,

To mend each tattered Faith There is a needle fair Though no appearance indicate ’Tis threaded in the Air And though it do not wear

913 And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning ros… Early and sere, its end

We don’t cry—Tim and I, We are far too grand— But we bolt the door tight To prevent a friend— Then we hide our brave face

545 ’Tis One by One—the Father count… And then a Tract between Set Cypherless—to teach the Eye The Value of its Ten—

239 “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—"He aven" is—to Me!

659 That first Day, when you praised… And said that I was strong— And could be mighty, if I liked— That Day—the Days among—

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