788 Joy to have merited the Pain— To merit the Release— Joy to have perished every step— To Compass Paradise—

293 I got so I could take his name— Without—Tremendous gain— That Stop-sensation—on my Soul— And Thunder—in the Room—

687 I’ll send the feather from my Hat… Who knows—but at the sight of that My Sovereign will relent? As trinket—worn by faded Child—

321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—

849 The good Will of a Flower The Man who would possess Must first present Certificate

We like March, his shoes are purp… He is new and high; Makes he mud for dog and peddler, Makes he forest dry; Knows the adder’s tongue his comin…

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

To the bright east she flies, Brothers of Paradise Remit her home, Without a change of wings, Or Love’s convenient things,

558 But little Carmine hath her face— Of Emerald scant—her Gown— Her Beauty—is the love she doth— Itself—exhibit—Mine&md ash;

651 So much Summer Me for showing Illegitimate— Would a Smile’s minute bestowing

593 I think I was enchanted When first a sombre Girl— I read that Foreign Lady— The Dark—felt beautiful—