104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.

173 A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun!

152 The Sun kept stooping—stooping—lo… The Hills to meet him rose! On his side, what Transaction! On their side, what Repose!

370 Heaven is so far of the Mind That were the Mind dissolved— The Site—of it—by Architect Could not again be proved—

13 Sleep is supposed to be By souls of sanity The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand

Revolution is the Pod Systems rattle from When the Winds of Will are stirre… Excellent is Bloom But except its Russet Base

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

719 A South Wind—has a pathos Of individual Voice— As One detect on Landings An Emigrant’s address.

It is an honorable thought, And makes one lift one’s hat, As one encountered gentlefolk Upon a daily street, That we’ve immortal place,

Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill

Awake ye muses nine, sing me a str… Unwind the solemn twine, and tie m… Oh the Earth was made for lovers,… For sighing, and gentle whispering… All things do go a courting, in ea…

736 Have any like Myself Investigating March, New Houses on the Hill descried— And possibly a Church—