151
Mute thy Coronation—
Meek my Vive le roi,
Fold a tiny courtier
In thine Ermine, Sir,

185
“Faith” is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency.

681
Soil of Flint, if steady tilled—
Will refund by Hand—
Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun
Fructified in Sand—

152
The Sun kept stooping’—stooping’—
The Hills to meet him rose!
On his side, what Transaction!
On their side, what Repose!

To make a prairie it takes a clove
One clover, and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.

652
A Prison gets to be a friend—
Between its Ponderous face
And Ours—a Kinsmanship express—
And in its narrow Eyes—

826
Love reckons by itself—alone—
“As large as I”—relate the Sun
To One who never felt it blaze—
Itself is all the like it has—

I bet with every Wind that blew
Till Nature in chagrin
Employed a Fact to visit me
And scuttle my Balloon -

20
Distrustful of the Gentian—
And just to turn away,
The fluttering of her fringes
Child my perfidy—

820
All Circumstances are the Frame
In which His Face is set—
All Latitudes exist for His
Sufficient Continent—