557 She hideth Her the last— And is the first, to rise— Her Night doth hardly recompense The Closing of Her eyes—

1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm

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

792 Through the strait pass of sufferi… The Martyrs—even—trod. Their feet—upon Temptations— Their faces—upon God—

737 The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago— And now she turns Her perfect Fac… Upon the World below—

After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—

Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam,

847 Finite’—to fail, but infinite to… For the one ship that struts the s… Many’s the gallant’—overwhelmed C… Nodding in Navies nevermore’—

981 As Sleigh Bells seem in summer Or Bees, at Christmas show— So fairy—so fictitious The individuals do

167 To learn the Transport by the Pai… As Blind Men learn the sun! To die of thirst—suspecting That Brooks in Meadows run!