The dying need but little, dear,— A glass of water’s all, A flower’s unobtrusive face To punctuate the wall, A fan, perhaps, a friend’s regret,

347 When Night is almost done— And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces— It’s time to smooth the Hair—

I taste a liquor never brewed, From tankards scooped in pearl; Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an alcohol! Inebriate of air am I,

207 Tho’ I get home how late—how late… So I get home—’twill compensate— Better will be the Ecstasy That they have done expecting me—

457 Sweet—safe—Houses—Glad—gay—House… Sealed so stately tight— Lids of Steel—on Lids of Marble— Locking Bare feet out—

789 On a Columnar Self— How ample to rely In Tumult—or Extremity— How good the Certainty

179 If I could bribe them by a Rose I’d bring them every flower that g… From Amherst to Cashmere! I would not stop for night, or sto…

When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -

972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—

538 ’Tis true—They shut me in the Col… But then—Themselves were warm And could not know the feeling ’tw… Forget it—Lord—of Them—