707
The Grace’—Myself’—might not obta
Confer upon My flower’—
Refracted but a Countenance’—
For I’—inhabit Her’—

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was la
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed

Part Five: The Single Hound
The duties of the Wind are few—
To cast the ships, at Sea,
Establish March, the Floods escor
And usher Liberty.

A long, long sleep, a famous sleep
That makes no show for dawn
By strech of limb or stir of lid,—
An independent one.
Was ever idleness like this?

God gave a loaf to every bird,
But just a crumb to me;
I dare not eat it, though I starv
My poignant luxury
To own it, touch it, prove the fea

893
Drab Habitation of Whom?
Tabernacle or Tomb—
Or Dome of Worm—
Or Porch of Gnome—

515
No Crowd that has occurred
Exhibit—I suppose
That General Attendance
That Resurrection—does—

83
Heart, not so heavy as mine
Wending late home—
As it passed my window
Whistled itself a tune—

784
Bereaved of all, I went abroad—
No less bereaved was I
Upon a New Peninsula—
The Grave preceded me—

His bill an auger is,
His head, a cap and frill.
He laboreth at every tree,—
A worm his utmost goal.