74 A Lady red—amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily sleeps!

623 It was too late for Man— But early, yet, for God— Creation—impotent to help— But Prayer—remained—Our Side—

A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,

402 I pay—in Satin Cash— You did not state—your price— A Petal, for a Paragraph It near as I can guess—

The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,

343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—

281 ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— So over Horror, it half Captivate… The Soul stares after it, secure— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more…

54 If I should die, And you should live— And time should gurgle on— And morn should beam—

707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—

307 The One who could repeat the Summ… Were greater than itself—though H… Minutest of Mankind should be— And He—could reproduce the Sun—

I felt a cleaving in my mind As if my brain had split; I tried to match it, seam by seam, But could not make them fit. The thought behind I strove to jo…

Growth of Man—like Growth of Nat… Gravitates within— Atmosphere, and Sun endorse it— Bit it stir—alone— Each—its difficult Ideal

18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.

It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down; It was not night, for all the bell… Put out their tongues, for noon. It was not frost, for on my flesh