778 This that would greet—an hour ago— Is quaintest Distance—now— Had it a Guest from Paradise— Nor glow, would it, nor bow—

1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—

111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—

735 Upon Concluded Lives There’s nothing cooler falls— Than Life’s sweet Calculations— The mixing Bells and Palls—

910 Experience is the Angled Road Preferred against the Mind By—Paradox—the Mind itself— Presuming it to lead

377 To lose one’s faith—surpass The loss of an Estate— Because Estates can be Replenished—faith cannot—

760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—

‘Faith’ is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see’— But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.

148 All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of “Currer Bell” In quiet “Haworth” laid.

432 Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live

I noticed People disappeared When but a little child - Supposed they visited remote Or settled Regions wild - But did because they died