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—

138 Pigmy seraphs—gone astray— Velvet people from Vevay— Balles from some lost summer day— Bees exclusive Coterie—

1068 Further in Summer than the Birds Pathetic from the Grass A minor Nation celebrates Its unobtrusive Mass.

Out of sight? What of that? See the Bird —reach it! Curve by Curve —Sweep by Sweep — Round the Steep Air — Danger! What is that to Her?

57 To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I,

907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—

463 I live with Him — I see His face… I go no more away For Visitor — or Sundown — Death's single privacy

A Word dropped careless on a Page May stimulate an eye When folded in perpetual seam The Wrinkled Maker lie Infection in the sentence breeds

506 He touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast— It was a boundless place to me

710 The Sunrise runs for Both— The East—Her Purple Troth Keeps with the Hill— The Noon unwinds Her Blue

263 Is all that pins the Soul That stands for Deity, to Mine, Upon my side the Veil— Once witnessed of the Gauze—

348 I would not paint—a picture— I’d rather be the One It’s bright impossibility To dwell—delicious—on—

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