Remorse– is Memory– awake - Her Parties all astir - A Presence of Departed Acts - At window– and at Door – Its Past - set down before the S…

805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—

993 We miss Her, not because We see— The Absence of an Eye— Except its Mind accompany Abridge Society

921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.

866 Fame is the tine that Scholars le… Upon their Setting Names— The Iris not of Occident That disappears as comes—

Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore Has vanquished Flame’s conditions…

540 I took my Power in my Hand— And went against the World— ’Twas not so much as David—had— But I—was twice as bold—

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

479 She dealt her pretty words like B… How glittering they shone— And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone—

161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—

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,

720 No Prisoner be— Where Liberty— Himself—abide with Thee—