294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—

841 A Moth the hue of this Haunts Candles in Brazil. Nature’s Experience would make Our Reddest Second pale.

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

999 Superfluous were the Sun When Excellence be dead He were superfluous every Day For every Day be said

509 If anybody’s friend be dead It’s sharpest of the theme The thinking how they walked alive… At such and such a time—

445 ’Twas just this time, last year,… I know I heard the Corn, When I was carried by the Farms— It had the Tassels on—

25 She slept beneath a tree— Remembered but by me. I touched her Cradle mute— She recognized the foot—

883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light

141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.

547 I’ve seen a Dying Eye Run round and round a Room— In search of Something—as it seem… Then Cloudier become—

You said that I “was Great”'—one… Then “Great” it be’—if that pleas… Or Small’—or any size at all’— Nay’—I’m the size suit Thee’— Tall’—like the Stag’—would that?

I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next

It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down; It was not night, for all the bell… Put out their tongues, for noon. It was not frost, for on my flesh

239 “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—"He aven" is—to Me!