837 How well I knew Her not Whom not to know has been A Bounty in prospective, now Next Door to mine the Pain.

462 Why make it doubt — it hurts it so… So sick — to guess — So strong — to know — So brave — upon its little Bed

The Road was lit with Moon and st… The Trees were bright and still - Descried I - by the distant Ligh… A Traveller on a Hill - To magic Perpendiculars

723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—

556 The Brain, within its Groove Runs evenly—and true— But let a Splinter swerve— ’Twere easier for You—

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

252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy

His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…

901 Sweet, to have had them lost For news that they be saved— The nearer they departed Us The nearer they, restored,

906 The Admirations—and Contempts—of… Show justest—through an Open Tomb… The Dying—as it were a Height Reorganizes Estimate

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

432 Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live