182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.

6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.

622 To know just how He suffered—woul… To know if any Human eyes were ne… To whom He could entrust His wave… Until it settle broad—on Paradise…

For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour

781 To wait an Hour—is long— If Love be just beyond— To wait Eternity—is short— If Love reward the end—

958 We met as Sparks—Diverging Flint… Sent various—scattered ways— We parted as the Central Flint Were cloven with an Adze—

735 Upon Concluded Lives There’s nothing cooler falls— Than Life’s sweet Calculations— The mixing Bells and Palls—

995 This was in the White of the Year… That—was in the Green— Drifts were as difficult then to t… As Daisies now to be seen—

760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—