557 She hideth Her the last— And is the first, to rise— Her Night doth hardly recompense The Closing of Her eyes—

140 An altered look about the hills— A Tyrian light the village fills— A wider sunrise in the morn— A deeper twilight on the lawn—

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…

His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…

962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—

It’s thoughts—and just One Heart— And Old Sunshine—about— Make frugal—Ones—Content— And two or three—for Company— Upon a Holiday—

XXV BELSHAZZAR had a letter,— He never had but one; Belshazzar’s correspondent Concluded and begun

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

713 Fame of Myself, to justify, All other Plaudit be Superfluous—An Incense Beyond Necessity—