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

199 I’m “wife”—I’ve finished that— That other state— I’m Czar—I’m “Woman” now— It’s safer so—

60 Like her the Saints retire, In their Chapeaux of fire, Martial as she! Like her the Evenings steal

496 As far from pity, as complaint— As cool to speech—as stone— As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone—

175 I have never seen “Volcanoes”— But, when Travellers tell How those old—phlegmatic mountains Usually so still—

763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—

752 So the Eyes accost—and sunder In an Audience— Stamped—occasionally—forever— So may Countenance

High from the earth I heard a bir… He trod upon the trees As he esteemed them trifles, And then he spied a breeze, And situated softly

’T IS so much joy! ’T is so much… If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I Have ventured all upon a throw; Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so

831 Dying! To be afraid of thee One must to thine Artillery Have left exposed a Friend— Than thine old Arrow is a Shot

The Butterfly upon the Sky, That doesn’t know its Name And hasn’t any tax to pay And hasn’t any Home Is just as high as you and I,

509 If anybody’s friend be dead It’s sharpest of the theme The thinking how they walked alive… At such and such a time—

714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—