601 A still—Volcano—Life— That flickered in the night— When it was dark enough to do Without erasing sight—

761 From Blank to Blank— A Threadless Way I pushed Mechanic feet— To stop—or perish—or advance—

884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.

XII I CANNOT live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf

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

920 We can but follow to the Sun— As oft as He go down He leave Ourselves a Sphere behin… ’Tis mostly—following—

Apparently with no surprise, To any happy flower, The frost beheads it at its play, In accidental power. The blond assassin passes on.

932 My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word— The Stars that stated come to Tow… Esteemed Me never rude

A shady friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind. The vane a little to the east