122 A something in a summer’s Day As slow her flambeaux burn away Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon—

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

Tell as a Marksman - were forgot… Tell - this Day endures Ruddy as that coeval Apple The Tradition bears - Fresh as Mankind that humble stor…

It dropped so low—in my Regard— I heard it hit the Ground— And go to pieces on the Stones At bottom of my Mind— Yet blamed the Fate that flung it…

The cricket sang, And set the sun, And workmen finished, one by one, Their seam the day upon. The low grass loaded with the dew,

If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry....

800 Two—were immortal twice— The privilege of few— Eternity—obtained—in Time— Reversed Divinity’—

894 Of Consciousness, her awful Mate The Soul cannot be rid— As easy the secreting her Behind the Eyes of God.

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

Are Friends Delight or Pain? Could Bounty but remain Riches were good - But if they only stay Ampler to fly away

The day came slow, till five o’clo… Then sprang before the hills, Like hindered rubies, or the light… A sudden musket spills. The purple could not keep the east…