113 Our share of night to bear— Our share of morning— Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning—

426 It don't sound so terrible—quite—a… I run it over—"Dead", Brain, "De… Put it in Latin—left of my school… Seems it don't shriek so—under rul…

The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,

123 Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.

’Twas Crisis—All the length had p… That dull—benumbing time There is in Fever or Event— And now the Chance had come— The instant holding in its claw

940 On that dear Frame the Years had… Yet precious as the House In which We first experienced Lig… The Witnessing, to Us—

966 All forgot for recollecting Just a paltry One— All forsook, for just a Stranger’… New Accompanying—

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—

617 Don’t put up my Thread and Needle… I’ll begin to Sew When the Birds begin to whistle— Better Stitches—so—

Luck is not chance It’s Toil Fortune’s expensive smile Is earned The Father of the Mine

1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm