142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.

551 There is a Shame of Nobleness— Confronting Sudden Pelf— A finer Shame of Ecstasy— Convicted of Itself—

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

907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—

932 My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word— The Stars that stated come to Tow… Esteemed Me never rude

90 Within my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered thro’ the village—

472 Except the Heaven had come so nea… So seemed to choose My Door— The Distance would not haunt me s… I had not hoped—before—

562 Conjecturing a Climate Of unsuspended Suns— Adds poignancy to Winter— The Shivering Fancy turns

A Route of Evanescence With a revolving Wheel— A Resonance of Emerald— A Rush of Cochineal— And every Blossom on the Bush