Not with a club, the Heart is bro… Nor with a stone; A whip, so small you could not see… I’ve known To lash the magic creature

271 A solemn thing—it was—I said— A woman—white—to be— And wear—if God should count me f… Her blameless mystery—

726 We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s… And later—when we die— A little Water supplicate— Of fingers going by—

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

945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—

256 If I’m lost—now That I was found— Shall still my transport be— That once—on me—those Jasper Gate…

144 She bore it till the simple veins Traced azure on her hand— Til pleading, round her quiet eyes The purple Crayons stand.

191 The Skies can’t keep their secret… They tell it to the Hills— The Hills just tell the Orchards— And they—the Daffodils!

896 Of Silken Speech and Specious Sh… A Traitor is the Bee His service to the newest Grace Present continually

293 I got so I could take his name— Without—Tremendous gain— That Stop-sensation—on my Soul— And Thunder—in the Room—

641 Size circumscribes—it has no room For petty furniture— The Giant tolerates no Gnat For Ease of Gianture—