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

767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine

8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables

I dreaded that first robin so, But he is mastered now, And I’m accustomed to him grown,— He hurts a little, though. I thought if I could only live

104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.

XLIV THE show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be.

400 A Tongue—to tell Him I am true! Its fee—to be of Gold— Had Nature—in Her monstrous Hous… A single Ragged Child—

684 Best Gains—must have the Losses’… To constitute them—Gains—

It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down; It was not night, for all the bell… Put out their tongues, for noon. It was not frost, for on my flesh

So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole

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—

57 To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I,

722 Sweet Mountains—Ye tell me no lie… Never deny Me—Never fly— Those same unvarying Eyes Turn on Me—when I fail—or feign,