470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—

372 I know lives, I could miss Without a Misery— Others—whose instant’s wanting— Would be Eternity—

131 Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze—

927 Absent Place—an April Day— Daffodils a-blow Homesick curiosity To the Souls that snow—

837 How well I knew Her not Whom not to know has been A Bounty in prospective, now Next Door to mine the Pain.

XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair

It struck me every day The lightning was as new As if the cloud that instant slit And let the fire through. It burned me in the night,

The nearest dream recedes, unreali… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school-boy Invites the race;

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

809 Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity— Unable they that love—to die