161
A feather from the Whippoorwill
That everlasting—sings!
Whose galleries—are Sunrise—
Whose Opera—the Springs—

716
The Day undressed—Herself—
Her Garter—was of Gold—
Her Petticoat—of Purple plain—
Her Dimities—as old

I YEARS had been from home,
And now, before the door,
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before
Stare vacant into mine

A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink—
I hunted all the Sand—
I caught the Dripping of a Rock
And bore it in my Hand—
His Mighty Balls—in death were th

The Beggar at the Door for Fame
Were easily supplied
But Bread is that Diviner thing
Disclosed to be denied

49
I never lost as much but twice,
And that was in the sod.
Twice have I stood a beggar
Before the door of God!

Witchcraft has not a pedigree,
‘€˜Tis early as our breath,
And mourners meet it going out
The moment of our death.

652
A Prison gets to be a friend—
Between its Ponderous face
And Ours—a Kinsmanship express—
And in its narrow Eyes—

414
’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no
That nearer, every Day,
Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel
Until the Agony

960
As plan for Noon and plan for Nig
So differ Life and Death
In positive Prospective—
The Foot upon the Earth