330 The Juggler’s Hat her Country is… The Mountain Gorse—the Bee’s!

843 I made slow Riches but my Gain Was steady as the Sun And every Night, it numbered more Than the preceding One

453 Love — thou art high — I cannot climb thee — But, were it Two — Who knows but we —

This is the land the sunset washes… These are the banks of the Yellow… Where it rose, or whither it rushe… These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traff…

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

44 If she had been the Mistletoe And I had been the Rose— How gay upon your table My velvet life to close—

904 Had I not This, or This, I said, Appealing to Myself, In moment of prosperity— Inadequate—were Life—

“Sic transit gloria mundi,” “How doth the busy bee,” “Dum vivimus vivamus,” I stay mine enemy! Oh “veni, vidi, vici!”

’T IS so much joy! ’T is so much… If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I Have ventured all upon a throw; Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so

970 Color — Caste — Denomination — These — are Time's Affair — Death's diviner Classifying Does not know they are —

479 She dealt her pretty words like B… How glittering they shone— And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone—

475 Doom is the House without the Doo… ’Tis entered from the Sun— And then the Ladder’s thrown away… Because Escape—is done—