753 My Soul—accused me—And I quailed… As Tongue of Diamond had reviled All else accused me—and I smiled— My Soul—that Morning—was My frie…

897 How fortunate the Grave— All Prizes to obtain— Successful certain, if at last, First Suitor not in vain.

252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy

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;—

46 I keep my pledge. I was not called— Death did not notice me. I bring my Rose.

I had been hungry all the years– My noon had come, to dine– I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. ‘T was this on tables I had seen

234 You’re right—“the way is narrow”— And “difficult the Gate”— And “few there be”—Correct again— That “enter in—thereat”—

515 No Crowd that has occurred Exhibit—I suppose That General Attendance That Resurrection—does—

428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—