266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!

XXIV A NARROW fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not? His notice sudden is.

530 You cannot put a Fire out— A Thing that can ignite Can go, itself, without a Fan— Upon the slowest Night—

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

608 Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death—for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me!

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

757 The Mountains—grow unnoticed— Their Purple figures rise Without attempt—Exhaustion— Assistance—or Applause—

310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—

596 When I was small, a Woman died— Today—her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac— His face all Victory

Why – do they shut Me out of Heav… Did I sing – too loud? But – I can say a little “minor” Timid as a Bird! Wouldn’t the Angels try me –

I never saw a moor; I never saw the sea, Yet know I how the heather looks And what a billow be. I never spoke with God,