Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam,

685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—

253 You see I cannot see—your lifetim… I must guess— How many times it ache for me—toda… How many times for my far sake

353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—

I have no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there; Nor tie to earths to come,

127 “Houses”—so the Wise Men tell me— “Mansions”! Mansions must be warm… Mansions cannot let the tears in, Mansions must exclude the storm!

266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!

628 They called me to the Window, for “ ’Twas Sunset”—Some one said— I only saw a Sapphire Farm— And just a Single Herd—

519 ’Twas warm—at first—like Us— Until there crept upon A Chill—like frost upon a Glass— Till all the scene—be gone.

732 She rose to His Requirement—dropt The Playthings of Her Life To take the honorable Work Of Woman, and of Wife—

My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper

983 Ideals are the Fairly Oil With which we help the Wheel But when the Vital Axle turns The Eye rejects the Oil.

394 ’Twas Love’—not me’— Oh punish’—pray’— The Real one died for Thee’— Just Him’—not me’—