803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—

170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!

887 We outgrow love, like other things And put it in the Drawer— Till it an Antique fashion shows— Like Costumes Grandsires wore.

422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench—

104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.

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

“I want”—it pleaded—All its life— I want—was chief it said When Skill entreated it—the last— And when so newly dead— I could not deem it late—to hear

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

Said Death to Passion ‘Give of thine an Acre unto me.’ Said Passion, through contracting… ‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’ Bore Death from Passion

Because I could not stop for Deat… He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselv… And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste,

74 A Lady red—amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily sleeps!