559 It knew no Medicine— It was not Sickness—then— Nor any need of Surgery— And therefore—'twas not Pain—

977 Besides this May We know There is Another— How fair

432 Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live

310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—

144 She bore it till the simple veins Traced azure on her hand— Til pleading, round her quiet eyes The purple Crayons stand.

Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill

My River runs to thee’— Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me? My River wait reply’— Oh Sea’—look graciously’— I’ll fetch thee Brooks

306 The Soul’s Superior instants Occur to Her—alone— When friend—and Earth’s occasion Have infinite withdrawn—

900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness

834 Before He comes we weigh the Time… ’Tis Heavy and ’tis Light. When He depart, an Emptiness Is the prevailing Freight.

746 Never for Society He shall seek in vain— Who His own acquaintance Cultivate—Of Men