550 I cross till I am weary A Mountain—in my mind— More Mountains—then a Sea— More Seas—And then

694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—

If all the griefs I am to have Would only come today, I am so happy I believe They’d laugh and run away. If all the joys I am to have

That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power

239 “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—"He aven" is—to Me!

The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,

413 I never felt at Home–Below– And in the Handsome Skies I shall not feel at Home–I know– I don’t like Paradise–

655 Without this—there is nought— All other Riches be As is the Twitter of a Bird— Heard opposite the Sea—

366 Although I put away his life— An Ornament too grand For Forehead low as mine, to wear… This might have been the Hand

1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill. He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.

55 By Chivalries as tiny, A Blossom, or a Book, The seeds of smiles are planted— Which blossom in the dark.

969 He who in Himself believes— Fraud cannot presume— Faith is Constancy’s Result— And assumes—from Home—

714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—

976 Death is a Dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust. “Dissolve” says Death—The Spirit… I have another Trust”—