923 How the Waters closed above Him We shall never know— How He stretched His Anguish to… That—is covered too—

186 What shall I do—it whimpers so— This little Hound within the Hear… All day and night with bark and st… And yet, it will not go—

537 Me prove it now—Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it—now— Make haste—the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity—

997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.

685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—

592 What care the Dead, for Chanticle… What care the Dead for Day? ’Tis late your Sunrise vex their… And Purple Ribaldry—of Morning

496 As far from pity, as complaint— As cool to speech—as stone— As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone—

I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,

A Route of Evanescence With a revolving Wheel— A Resonance of Emerald— A Rush of Cochineal— And every Blossom on the Bush

347 When Night is almost done— And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces— It’s time to smooth the Hair—