It struck me every day The lightning was as new As if the cloud that instant slit And let the fire through. It burned me in the night,

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

819 All I may, if small, Do it not display Larger for the Totalness— ’Tis Economy

A narrow fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not, His notice sudden is. The grass divides as with a comb,

6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.

305 The difference between Despair And Fear—is like the One Between the instant of a Wreck And when the Wreck has been—

191 The Skies can’t keep their secret… They tell it to the Hills— The Hills just tell the Orchards— And they—the Daffodils!

Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!

The going from a world we know To one a wonder still Is like the child’s adversity Whose vista is a hill, Behind the hill is sorcery