470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—

768 When I hoped, I recollect Just the place I stood— At a Window facing West— Roughest Air—was good—

To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise

265 Where Ships of Purple—gently toss… On Seas of Daffodil— Fantastic Sailors—mingle— And then—the Wharf is still!

308 I send Two Sunsets— Day and I—in competition ran— I finished Two—and several Stars— While He—was making One—

820 All Circumstances are the Frame In which His Face is set— All Latitudes exist for His Sufficient Continent—

1000 The Fingers of the Light Tapped soft upon the Town With “I am great and cannot wait So therefore let me in.”

275 Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life— Poured thee, without a stint—

517 He parts Himself—like Leaves— And then—He closes up— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup—

131 Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze—

God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me; I dare not eat it, though I starv… My poignant luxury To own it, touch it, prove the fea…