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

34 Garland for Queens, may be— Laurels—for rare degree Of soul or sword. Ah—but remembering me—

569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—

777 The Loneliness One dare not sound… And would as soon surmise As in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size—

Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,

422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench—

703 Out of sight? What of that? See the Bird—reach it! Curve by Curve—Sweep by Sweep— Round the Steep Air—

854 Banish Air from Air— Divide Light if you dare— They’ll meet While Cubes in a Drop

I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,

Nature rarer uses yellow Than another hue; Saves she all of that for sunsets,… Prodigal of blue, Spending scarlet like a woman,

76 Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, Past the houses—past the headlands… Into deep Eternity—

396 There is a Languor of the Life More imminent than Pain— ’Tis Pain’s Successor—When the S… Has suffered all it can—