539 The Province of the Saved Should be the Art—To save— Through Skill obtained in Themsel… The Science of the Grave

Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie The Day that a Companion came Or was obliged to die

284 The Drop, that wrestles in the Se… Forgets her own locality— As I—toward Thee— She knows herself an incense small…

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’—

666 Ah, Teneriffe! Retreating Mountain! Purples of Ages—pause for you— Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regim…

115 What Inn is this Where for the night Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord?

383 Exhiliration—is within— There can no Outer Wine So royally intoxicate As that diviner Brand

460 I know where Wells grow’—Droughtl… Deep dug’—for Summer days’— Where Mosses go no more away’— And Pebble’—safely plays’—

597 It always felt to me—a wrong To that Old Moses—done— To let him see—the Canaan— Without the entering—

A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,

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

114 Good night, because we must, How intricate the dust! I would go, to know! Oh incognito!