I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet now I know how the heather lo… And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God,

912 Peace is a fiction of our Faith— The Bells a Winter Night Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound That never did alight.

773 Deprived of other Banquet, I entertained Myself— At first—a scant nutrition— An insufficient Loaf—

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

997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.

515 No Crowd that has occurred Exhibit—I suppose That General Attendance That Resurrection—does—

932 My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word— The Stars that stated come to Tow… Esteemed Me never rude

128 Bring me the sunset in a cup, Reckon the morning’s flagons up And say how many Dew, Tell me how far the morning leaps—

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

714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—

MY cocoon tightens, colors tease, I 'm feeling for the air; A dim capacity for wings Degrades the dress I wear. A power of butterfly must be