11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.

312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,

442 God made a little Gentian— It tried—to be a Rose— And failed—and all the Summer lau… But just before the Snows

373 I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way— And so I deck, a little,

You love the Lord—you cannot see— You write Him—every day— A little note—when you awake— And further in the Day. An Ample Letter—How you miss—

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

Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—

I taste a liquor never brewed, From tankards scooped in pearl; Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an alcohol! Inebriate of air am I,

972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—

614 In falling Timbers buried— There breathed a Man— Outside—the spades—were plying— The Lungs—within—

900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness

XIV I’M ceded, I ’ve stopped being th… The name they dropped upon my face With water, in the country church, Is finished using now,

The going from a world we know To one a wonder still Is like the child’s adversity Whose vista is a hill, Behind the hill is sorcery

673 The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon…