535 She’s happy, with a new Content— That feels to her—like Sacrament— She’s busy—with an altered Care— As just apprenticed to the Air—

914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude

213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?

604 Unto my Books—so good to turn— Far ends of tired Days— It half endears the Abstinence— And Pain—is missed—in Praise—

After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—

161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—

355 ’Tis Opposites—entice— Deformed Men—ponder Grace— Bright fires—the Blanketless— The Lost—Day’s face—

966 All forgot for recollecting Just a paltry One— All forsook, for just a Stranger’… New Accompanying—

117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.

XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair

I breathed enough to learn the tri… And now, removed from air, I simulate the breath so well, That one, to be quite sure The lungs are stirless, must desce…