655 Without this—there is nought— All other Riches be As is the Twitter of a Bird— Heard opposite the Sea—

XII I CANNOT live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf

God permit industrious angels Afternoons to play. I met one,—forgot my school-mates, All, for him, straightaway. God calls home the angels promptly

127 “Houses”—so the Wise Men tell me— “Mansions”! Mansions must be warm… Mansions cannot let the tears in, Mansions must exclude the storm!

The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands— And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds— He plies from Nought to Nought—

870 Finding is the first Act The second, loss, Third, Expedition for The “Golden Fleece”

793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—

767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine

548 Death is potential to that Man Who dies—and to his friend— Beyond that—unconspicuous To Anyone but God—

772 The hallowing of Pain Like hallowing of Heaven, Obtains at a corporeal cost— The Summit is not given

I dreaded that first robin so, But he is mastered now, And I’m accustomed to him grown,— He hurts a little, though. I thought if I could only live

Those fair—fictitious People— The Women—plucked away From our familiar Lifetime— The Men of Ivory— Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—

To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn’t hurt— It’s only fainter—by degrees— And then—it’s out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—