Perhaps I asked too large— I take—no less than skies— For Earths, grow thick as Berries, in my native town— My Basked holds—just—Firmaments—

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?

856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.

892 Who occupies this House? A Stranger I must judge Since No one know His Circumstan… ’Tis well the name and age

560 It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation… But large—serene— Burned on—until through Dissoluti… It failed from Men—

767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine

726 We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s… And later—when we die— A little Water supplicate— Of fingers going by—

559 It knew no Medicine— It was not Sickness—then— Nor any need of Surgery— And therefore—'twas not Pain—

642 Me from Myself — to banish — Had I Art — Impregnable my Fortress Unto All Heart —

1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm

So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole