261
Put up my lute!
What of—my Music!
Since the sole ear I cared to cha
Passive—as Granite—laps My Music

I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!
Inebriate of air am I,

815
The Luxury to apprehend
The Luxury 'twould be
To look at Thee a single time
An Epicure of Me

464
The power to be true to You,
Until upon my face
The Judgment push his Picture—
Presumptuous of Your Place—

16
I would distil a cup,
And bear to all my friends,
Drinking to her no more astir,
By beck, or burn, or moor!

A drop fell on the apple tree,
Another on the roof;
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.
A few went out to help the brook,

109
By a flower’—By a letter’—
By a nimble love’—
If I weld the Rivet faster’—
Final fast’—above’—

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

116
I had some things that I called m
And God, that he called his,
Till, recently a rival Claim
Disturbed these amities.

660
’Tis good—the looking back on Gri
To re-endure a Day—
We thought the Mighty Funeral—
Of All Conceived Joy—