His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.

71 A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”—

118 My friend attacks my friend! Oh Battle picturesque! Then I turn Soldier too, And he turns Satirist!

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

289 I know some lonely Houses off the… A Robber’d like the look of— Wooden barred, And Windows hanging low,

The Savior must have been A docile Gentleman— To come so far so cold a Day For little Fellowmen— The Road to Bethlehem

354 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere—

927 Absent Place—an April Day— Daffodils a-blow Homesick curiosity To the Souls that snow—

The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands— And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds— He plies from Nought to Nought—

Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,