573 The Test of Love—is Death— Our Lord—"so loved"—it saith— What Largest Lover—hath Another—doth—

657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—

715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—

949 Under the Light, yet under, Under the Grass and the Dirt, Under the Beetle’s Cellar Under the Clover’s Root,

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

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

727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—

904 Had I not This, or This, I said, Appealing to Myself, In moment of prosperity— Inadequate—were Life—

582 Inconceivably solemn! Things go gay Pierce—by the very Press Of Imagery—

596 When I was small, a Woman died— Today—her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac— His face all Victory

You said that I “was Great”'—one… Then “Great” it be’—if that pleas… Or Small’—or any size at all’— Nay’—I’m the size suit Thee’— Tall’—like the Stag’—would that?

929 How far is it to Heaven? As far as Death this way— Of River or of Ridge beyond Was no discovery.