29 If those I loved were lost The Crier’s voice would tell me— If those I loved were found The bells of Ghent would ring—

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…

76 Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, Past the houses—past the headlands… Into deep Eternity—

The show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be. Fair play—

925 Struck, was I, not yet by Lightni… Lightning—lets away Power to perceive His Process With Vitality.

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

715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—

220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?

781 To wait an Hour—is long— If Love be just beyond— To wait Eternity—is short— If Love reward the end—

252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy

UP with the sun, the breeze arose… Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wid… Through all the voiceful countrysi… Through all the land her tale she…

989 Gratitude—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.