Water makes many Beds For those averse to sleep - Its awful chamber open stands - Its Curtains blandly sweep - Abhorrent is the Rest

530 You cannot put a Fire out— A Thing that can ignite Can go, itself, without a Fan— Upon the slowest Night—

Judgment is justest When the Judged, His action laid away, Divested is of every Disk But his sincerity.

628 They called me to the Window, for “ ’Twas Sunset”—Some one said— I only saw a Sapphire Farm— And just a Single Herd—

The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back

191 The Skies can’t keep their secret… They tell it to the Hills— The Hills just tell the Orchards— And they—the Daffodils!

792 Through the strait pass of sufferi… The Martyrs—even—trod. Their feet—upon Temptations— Their faces—upon God—

9 Through lane it lay—through brambl… Through clearing and through wood— Banditti often passed us Upon the lonely road.

413 I never felt at Home–Below– And in the Handsome Skies I shall not feel at Home–I know– I don’t like Paradise–

175 I have never seen “Volcanoes”— But, when Travellers tell How those old—phlegmatic mountains Usually so still—

March is the Month of Expectation… The things we do not know - The Persons of prognostication Are coming now - We try to show becoming firmness -