383 Exhiliration—is within— There can no Outer Wine So royally intoxicate As that diviner Brand

A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew

312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,

The wind begun to rock the grass With threatening tunes and low,— He flung a menace at the earth, A menace at the sky. The leaves unhooked themselves fro…

142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.

983 Ideals are the Fairly Oil With which we help the Wheel But when the Vital Axle turns The Eye rejects the Oil.

985 The Missing All’—prevented Me From missing minor Things. If nothing larger than a World’s Departure from a Hinge’—

979 This Merit hath the worst— It cannot be again— When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone—

XXXVI I NEVER hear the word “escape” Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude.

300 ‘Morning’—means 'Milking’—to the… Dawn’—to the Teneriffe’— Dice’—to the Maid’— Morning means just Risk’—to the L…

588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—