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,

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

470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—

785 They have a little Odor—that to m… Is metre—nay—’tis melody— And spiciest at fading—indicate— A Habit—of a Laureate—

867 Escaping backward to perceive The Sea upon our place— Escaping forward, to confront His glittering Embrace—

803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—

694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—

XCVI MY life closed twice before its c… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me,