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—

277 What if I say I shall not wait! What if I burst the fleshly Gate— And pass escaped—to thee! What if I file this Mortal—off—

569 I reckon—when I count it all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—

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

769 One and One—are One— Two—be finished using— Well enough for schools— But for minor Choosing—

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

To my quick ear the leaves conferr… The bushes they were bells; I could not find a privacy From Nature’s sentinels. In cave if I presumed to hide,

281 ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— So over Horror, it half Captivate… The Soul stares after it, secure— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more…

804 No Notice gave She, but a Change… No Message, but a Sigh— For Whom, the Time did not suffic… That She should specify.

Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds

That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power