830
To this World she returned.
But with a tinge of that—
A Compound manner,
As a Sod

I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.
The eyes beside had wrung them dry

456
So well that I can live without—
I love thee—then How well is that
As well as Jesus?
Prove it me

355
’Tis Opposites—entice—
Deformed Men—ponder Grace—
Bright fires—the Blanketless—
The Lost—Day’s face—

608
Afraid! Of whom am I afraid?
Not Death—for who is He?
The Porter of my Father’s Lodge
As much abasheth me!

I GAVE myself to him,
And took himself for pay.
The solemn contract of a life
Was ratified this way.
The wealth might disappoint,

469
The Red’—Blaze’—is the Morning’—
The Violet’—is Noon’—
The Yellow’—Day’—is falling’—
And after that’—is none’—

A slash of Blue—
A sweep of Gray—
Some scarlet patches on the way,
Compose an Evening Sky—
A little purple—slipped between—

The words the happy say
Are paltry melody
But those the silent feel
Are beautiful—

873
Ribbons of the Year—
Multitude Brocade—
Worn to Nature’s Party once
Then, as flung aside