917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—

The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back

930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed

921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.

301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?

107 ’Twas such a little—little boat That toddled down the bay! ’Twas such a gallant—gallant sea That beckoned it away!

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

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

724 It’s easy to invent a Life— God does it—every Day— Creation—but the Gambol Of His Authority—

The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied