730
Defrauded I a Butterfly—
The lawful Heir—for Thee—

The heart asks pleasure first
And then, excuse from pain–
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;
And then, to go to sleep;

928
The Heart has narrow Banks
It measures like the Sea
In mighty—unremitting Bass
And Blue Monotony

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

The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant
At Evening, it is not
At Morning, in a Truffled Hut
It stop opon a Spot
As if it tarried always

Immured in Heaven!
What a Cell!
Let every Bondage be,
Thou sweetest of the Universe,
Like that which ravished thee!

On this wondrous sea
Sailing silently,
Ho! Pilot, ho!
Knowest thou the shore
Where no breakers roar—

122
A something in a summer’s Day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.
A something in a summer’s noon—

195
For this’—accepted Breath’—
Through it’—compete with Death’—
The fellow cannot touch this Crow
By it’—my title take’—

889
Crisis is a Hair
Toward which the forces creep
Past which forces retrograde
If it come in sleep