493 The World—stands—solemner—to me— Since I was wed—to Him— A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s—name—

642 Me from Myself — to banish — Had I Art — Impregnable my Fortress Unto All Heart —

234 You’re right—“the way is narrow”— And “difficult the Gate”— And “few there be”—Correct again— That “enter in—thereat”—

Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds

His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.

We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,

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.

206 The Flower must not blame the Bee… That seeketh his felicity Too often at her door— But teach the Footman from Vevay—

959 A loss of something ever felt I— The first that I could recollect Bereft I was—of what I knew not Too young that any should suspect

STEP lightly on this narrow spot… The broadest land that grows Is not so ample as the breast These emerald seams enclose. Step lofty; for this name is told

803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—