723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—

395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity

336 The face I carry with me—last— When I go out of Time— To take my Rank—by—in the West— That face—will just be thine—

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

917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—

139 Soul, Wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost indeed— But tens have won an all—

He ate and drank the precious Wor… His Spirit grew robust— He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was Dust— He danced along the dingy Days

154 Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels—lone. Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown.

944 I learned—at least—what Home coul… How ignorant I had been Of pretty ways of Covenant— How awkward at the Hymn

161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—

They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…

695 As if the Sea should part And show a further Sea— And that—a further—and the Three But a presumption be—