981 As Sleigh Bells seem in summer Or Bees, at Christmas show— So fairy—so fictitious The individuals do

171 Wait till the Majesty of Death Invests so mean a brow! Almost a powdered Footman Might dare to touch it now!

852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.

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

390 It’s coming—the postponeless Crea… It gains the Block—and now—it gai… Chooses its latch, from all the ot… Enters—with a “You know Me—Sir”?

After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—

312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,

726 We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s… And later—when we die— A little Water supplicate— Of fingers going by—

So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole

XCVI MY life closed twice before its c… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me,

MINE enemy is growing old, I have at last revenge. The palate of the hate departs; If any would avenge, Let him be quick, the viand flits,

110 Artists wrestled here! Lo, a tint Cashmere! Lo, a Rose! Student of the Year!