29 If those I loved were lost The Crier’s voice would tell me— If those I loved were found The bells of Ghent would ring—

31 Summer for thee, grant I may be When Summer days are flown! Thy music still, when Whipporwill And Oriole—are done!

780 The Truth—is stirless— Other force—may be presumed to mov… This—then—is best for confidence— When oldest Cedars swerve—

672 The Future—never spoke— Nor will He—like the Dumb— Reveal by sign—a syllable Of His Profound To Come—

746 Never for Society He shall seek in vain— Who His own acquaintance Cultivate—Of Men

899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.

464 The power to be true to You, Until upon my face The Judgment push his Picture— Presumptuous of Your Place—

634 You’ll know Her—by Her Foot— The smallest Gamboge Hand With Fingers—where the Toes shoul… Would more affront the Sand—

Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,

Good night! which put the candle o… A jealous zephyr, not a doubt. Ah! friend, you little knew How long at that celestial wick The angels labored diligent;