702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—

There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin,

657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—

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

870 Finding is the first Act The second, loss, Third, Expedition for The “Golden Fleece”

983 Ideals are the Fairly Oil With which we help the Wheel But when the Vital Axle turns The Eye rejects the Oil.

I had been hungry all the years– My noon had come, to dine– I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. ‘T was this on tables I had seen

Perhaps I asked too large— I take—no less than skies— For Earths, grow thick as Berries, in my native town— My Basked holds—just—Firmaments—

723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—

She sweeps with many-colored broom… And leaves the shreds behind; Oh, housewife in the evening west, Come back, and dust the pond! You dropped a purple ravelling in,

614 In falling Timbers buried— There breathed a Man— Outside—the spades—were plying— The Lungs—within—

If you were coming in the fall, I’d brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spum, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year,