I never saw a moor; I never saw the sea, Yet know I how the heather looks And what a billow be. I never spoke with God,

472 Except the Heaven had come so nea… So seemed to choose My Door— The Distance would not haunt me s… I had not hoped—before—

737 The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago— And now she turns Her perfect Fac… Upon the World below—

Me! Come! My dazzled face In such a shining place! Me! Hear! My foreign ear The sounds of welcome near! The saints shall meet

785 They have a little Odor—that to m… Is metre—nay—’tis melody— And spiciest at fading—indicate— A Habit—of a Laureate—

52 Whether my bark went down at sea— Whether she met with gales— Whether to isles enchanted She bent her docile sails—

713 Fame of Myself, to justify, All other Plaudit be Superfluous—An Incense Beyond Necessity—

276 Many a phrase has the English lan… I have heard but one— Low as the laughter of the Cricke… Loud, as the Thunder’s Tongue—

357 God is a distant—stately Lover— Woos, as He states us—by His Son… Verily, a Vicarious Courtship— “Miles”, and “Priscilla”, were su…

33 If recollecting were forgetting, Then I remember not. And if forgetting, recollecting, How near I had forgot.

MY cocoon tightens, colors tease, I 'm feeling for the air; A dim capacity for wings Degrades the dress I wear. A power of butterfly must be