620 It makes no difference abroad— The Seasons—fit—the same— The Mornings blossom into Noons— And split their Pods of Flame—

1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill. He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.

I noticed People disappeared When but a little child - Supposed they visited remote Or settled Regions wild - But did because they died

472 Except the Heaven had come so nea… So seemed to choose My Door— The Distance would not haunt me s… I had not hoped—before—

27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.

538 ’Tis true—They shut me in the Col… But then—Themselves were warm And could not know the feeling ’tw… Forget it—Lord—of Them—

Said Death to Passion ‘Give of thine an Acre unto me.’ Said Passion, through contracting… ‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’ Bore Death from Passion

999 Superfluous were the Sun When Excellence be dead He were superfluous every Day For every Day be said

1545 The Bible is an antique Volume— Written by faded men At the suggestion of Holy Spectre… Subjects—Bethlehem&mdash ;

XVII SHE rose to his requirement, drop… The playthings of her life To take the honorable work Of woman and of wife.