992 The Dust behind I strove to join Unto the Disk before— But Sequence ravelled out of Soun… Like Balls upon a Floor—

271 A solemn thing—it was—I said— A woman—white—to be— And wear—if God should count me f… Her blameless mystery—

772 The hallowing of Pain Like hallowing of Heaven, Obtains at a corporeal cost— The Summit is not given

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

969 He who in Himself believes— Fraud cannot presume— Faith is Constancy’s Result— And assumes—from Home—

LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.

134 Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower… But I could never sell— If you would like to borrow, Until the Daffodil

8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables

157 Musicians wrestle everywhere— All day—among the crowded air I hear the silver strife— And—walking—long before the morn—

523 Sweet—You forgot—but I remembered Every time—for Two— So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You—

641 Size circumscribes—it has no room For petty furniture— The Giant tolerates no Gnat For Ease of Gianture—

163 Tho’ my destiny be Fustian— Hers be damask fine— Tho’ she wear a silver apron— I, a less divine—