16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!

Of all the souls that stand create I have elected one. When sense from spirit files away, And subterfuge is done; When that which is and that which…

180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came

The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain– And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep;

799 Despair’s advantage is achieved By suffering—Despair— To be assisted of Reverse One must Reverse have bore—

This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty Her message is committed

335 ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— ’Tis Living—hurts us more— But Dying—is a different way— A Kind behind the Door—

XI MUCH madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. ’T is the majority

708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive—

The Hills in Purple syllables The Day’s Adventures tell To little Groups of Continents Just going Home from School.