929 How far is it to Heaven? As far as Death this way— Of River or of Ridge beyond Was no discovery.

Escape is such a thankful Word I often in the Night Consider it unto myself No spectacle in sight Escape - it is the Basket

856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.

232 The Sun—just touched the Morning— The Morning—Happy thing— Supposed that He had come to dwel… And Life would all be Spring!

1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—

Growth of Man—like Growth of Nat… Gravitates within— Atmosphere, and Sun endorse it— Bit it stir—alone— Each—its difficult Ideal

8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables

962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—

For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour