760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—

153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”

Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—

XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair

193 I shall know why—when Time is ove… And I have ceased to wonder why— Christ will explain each separate… In the fair schoolroom of the sky—

580 I gave myself to Him— And took Himself, for Pay, The solemn contract of a Life Was ratified, this way—

470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—

A Route of Evanescence With a revolving Wheel— A Resonance of Emerald— A Rush of Cochineal— And every Blossom on the Bush

410 The first Day’s Night had come— And grateful that a thing So terrible—had been endured— I told my Soul to sing—

804 No Notice gave She, but a Change… No Message, but a Sigh— For Whom, the Time did not suffic… That She should specify.

THE BAT is dun with wrinkled wi… Like fallow article, And not a song pervades his lips, Or none perceptible. His small umbrella, quaintly halve…