472 Except the Heaven had come so nea… So seemed to choose My Door— The Distance would not haunt me s… I had not hoped—before—

Warm in her Hand these accents li… While faithful and afar The Grace so awkward for her sake Its fond subjection wear -

595 Like Mighty Foot Lights’—burned… At Bases of the Trees’— The far Theatricals of Day Exhibiting’—to These’—

’Twas comfort in her Dying Room To hear the living Clock— A short relief to have the wind Walk boldly up and knock— Diversion from the Dying Theme

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

57 To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I,

My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper

90 Within my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered thro’ the village—

A clock stopped—not the mantel’s Geneva’s farthest skill Can’t put the puppet bowing That just now dangled still. An awe came on the trinket!

UP with the sun, the breeze arose… Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wid… Through all the voiceful countrysi… Through all the land her tale she…