9 Through lane it lay—through brambl… Through clearing and through wood— Banditti often passed us Upon the lonely road.

413 I never felt at Home–Below– And in the Handsome Skies I shall not feel at Home–I know– I don’t like Paradise–

Not in this world to see his face Sounds long, until I read the pla… Where this is said to be But just the primer to a life Unopened, rare, upon the shelf,

779 The Service without Hope— Is tenderest, I think— Because ’tis unsustained By stint—Rewarded Work—

198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.

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

883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light

1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill. He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.

534 We see—Comparatively— The Thing so towering high We could not grasp its segment Unaided—Yesterday—

Those fair—fictitious People— The Women—plucked away From our familiar Lifetime— The Men of Ivory— Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—

375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack—