A Sickness of this World it most… When Best Men die. A Wishfulness their far Condition To occupy. A Chief indifference, as Foreign

Oh Shadow on the Grass, Art thou a Step or not? Go make thee fair my Candidate My nominated Heart - Oh Shadow on the Grass

139 Soul, Wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost indeed— But tens have won an all—

316 The Wind didn’t come from the Orc… Further than that— Nor stop to play with the Hay— Nor joggle a Hat—

I found the phrase to every though… I ever had, but one; And that defies me,—as a hand Did try to chalk the sun To races nurtured in the dark;—

580 I gave myself to Him— And took Himself, for Pay, The solemn contract of a Life Was ratified, this way—

Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!

The Butterfly in honored Dust Assuredly will lie But none will pass the Catacomb So chastened as the Fly -

439 Undue Significance a starving man… To Food— Far off—He sighs—and therefore—Ho… And therefore—Good—

144 She bore it till the simple veins Traced azure on her hand— Til pleading, round her quiet eyes The purple Crayons stand.