515 No Crowd that has occurred Exhibit—I suppose That General Attendance That Resurrection—does—

782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—

835 Nature and God—I neither knew Yet Both so well knew me They startled, like Executors Of My identity.

94 Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping—plucking—smiling&m da… Do the Buds to them belong?

723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—

702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—

STEP lightly on this narrow spot… The broadest land that grows Is not so ample as the breast These emerald seams enclose. Step lofty; for this name is told

551 There is a Shame of Nobleness— Confronting Sudden Pelf— A finer Shame of Ecstasy— Convicted of Itself—

987 The Leaves like Women interchange Exclusive Confidence— Somewhat of nods and somewhat Portentous inference.

433 Knows how to forget! But could It teach it? Easiest of Arts, they say When one learn how

A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,

153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”