476 I meant to have but modest needs— Such as Content—and Heaven— Within my income—these could lie And Life and I—keep even—

979 This Merit hath the worst— It cannot be again— When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone—

A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun! Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass…

643 I could suffice for Him, I knew— He—could suffice for Me— Yet Hesitating Fractions—Both Surveyed Infinity—

By homely gift and hindered Words The human heart is told Of Nothing - ‘Nothing’ is the force That renovates the World -

657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—

976 Death is a Dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust. “Dissolve” says Death—The Spirit… I have another Trust”—

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–

661 Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit me

983 Ideals are the Fairly Oil With which we help the Wheel But when the Vital Axle turns The Eye rejects the Oil.

569 I reckon—when I count it all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—

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

97 The rainbow never tells me That gust and storm are by, Yet is she more convincing Than Philosophy.