204 I’ll tell you how the Sun rose— A Ribbon at a time— The Steeples swam in Amethyst— The news, like Squirrels, ran—

11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.

852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.

548 Death is potential to that Man Who dies—and to his friend— Beyond that—unconspicuous To Anyone but God—

778 This that would greet—an hour ago— Is quaintest Distance—now— Had it a Guest from Paradise— Nor glow, would it, nor bow—

Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance

It is an honorable thought, And makes one lift one’s hat, As one encountered gentlefolk Upon a daily street, That we’ve immortal place,

983 Ideals are the Fairly Oil With which we help the Wheel But when the Vital Axle turns The Eye rejects the Oil.

I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,

872 As the Starved Maelstrom laps the… As the Vulture teased Forces the Broods in lonely Valle… As the Tiger eased

220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?

671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—

134 Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower… But I could never sell— If you would like to borrow, Until the Daffodil