To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn't hurt— It's only fainter—by degrees— And then—it's out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—

965 Denial—is the only fact Perceived by the Denied— Whose Will—a numb significance— The Day the Heaven died—

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

395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity

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

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—

608 Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death—for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me!

801 I play at Riches—to appease The Clamoring for Gold— It kept me from a Thief, I think, For often, overbold

685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—

Your Riches—taught me—Poverty. Myself—a Millionaire In little Wealths, as Girls could… Till broad as Buenos Ayre— You drifted your Dominions—

The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.

728 Let Us play Yesterday— I—the Girl at school— You—and Eternity—the Untold Tale—

305 The difference between Despair And Fear—is like the One Between the instant of a Wreck And when the Wreck has been—