448 This was a Poet—It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings— And Attar so immense

It's thoughts—and just One Heart— And Old Sunshine—about— Make frugal—Ones—Content— And two or three—for Company— Upon a Holiday—

150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—

The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back

Much Madness is divinest Sense - To a discerning Eye - Much Sense– the starkest Madness… ’Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -

By homely gift and hindered Words The human heart is told Of Nothing - ‘Nothing’ is the force That renovates the World -

If I can stop one heart from brea… I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching… Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin

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

’Twas comfort in her Dying Room To hear the living Clock— A short relief to have the wind Walk boldly up and knock— Diversion from the Dying Theme

947 Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? “A Soul has gone to Heaven” I’m answered in a lonesome tone— Is Heaven then a Prison?

786 Severer Service of myself I—hastened to demand To fill the awful Vacuum Your life had left behind—