569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—

995 This was in the White of the Year… That—was in the Green— Drifts were as difficult then to t… As Daisies now to be seen—

153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”

XXIX THE nearest dream recedes, unreal… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school—boy

802 Time feels so vast that were it no… For an Eternity— I fear me this Circumference Engross my Finity—

661 Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit me

89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—

123 Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.

332 There are two Ripenings—one—of si… Whose forces Spheric wind Until the Velvet product Drop spicy to the ground—

521 Endow the Living—with the Tears— You squander on the Dead, And They were Men and Women—now, Around Your Fireside—

73 Who never lost, are unprepared A Coronet to find! Who never thirsted Flagons, and Cooling Tamarind!

884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.