539 The Province of the Saved Should be the Art—To save— Through Skill obtained in Themsel… The Science of the Grave

450 Dreams—are well—but Waking’s bett… If One wake at morn— If One wake at Midnight—better— Dreaming—of the Dawn—

912 Peace is a fiction of our Faith— The Bells a Winter Night Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound That never did alight.

5 I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing— The spring decoys. And as the summer nears—

22 All these my banners be. I sow my pageantry In May— It rises train by train—

This is the land the sunset washes… These are the banks of the Yellow… Where it rose, or whither it rushe… These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traff…

993 We miss Her, not because We see— The Absence of an Eye— Except its Mind accompany Abridge Society

On my volcano grows the Grass A meditative spot - An acre for a Bird to choose Would be the General thought - How red the Fire rocks below -

514 Her smile was shaped like other sm… The Dimples ran along— And still it hurt you, as some Bi… Did hoist herself, to sing,

691 Would you like summer? Taste of o… Spices? Buy here! Ill! We have berries, for the par… Weary! Furloughs of down!

619 Glee—The great storm is over— Four—have recovered the Land— Forty gone down together— Into the boiling Sand.

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