1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm

Between My Country—and the Other… There is a Sea— But Flowers—negotiate between us— As Ministry.

428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—

235 The Court is far away— No Umpire—have I— My Sovereign is offended— To gain his grace—I’d die!

468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—

266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!

841 A Moth the hue of this Haunts Candles in Brazil. Nature’s Experience would make Our Reddest Second pale.

30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?

123 Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.

300 ‘Morning’—means 'Milking’—to the… Dawn’—to the Teneriffe’— Dice’—to the Maid’— Morning means just Risk’—to the L…

969 He who in Himself believes— Fraud cannot presume— Faith is Constancy’s Result— And assumes—from Home—

Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,