588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—

690 Victory comes late— And is held low to freezing lips— Too rapt with frost To take it—

428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—

The Butterfly in honored Dust Assuredly will lie But none will pass the Catacomb So chastened as the Fly -

718 I meant to find Her when I came— Death—had the same design— But the Success—was His—it seems— And the Surrender—Mine—

343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—

224 I've nothing else—to bring, You k… So I keep bringing These— Just as the Night keeps fetching… To our familiar eyes—

If all the griefs I am to have Would only come today, I am so happy I believe They’d laugh and run away. If all the joys I am to have

513 Like Flowers, that heard the news… But never deemed the dripping priz… Awaited their—low Brows— Or Bees—that thought the Summer’s…

44 If she had been the Mistletoe And I had been the Rose— How gay upon your table My velvet life to close—

635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time

831 Dying! To be afraid of thee One must to thine Artillery Have left exposed a Friend— Than thine old Arrow is a Shot