530
You cannot put a Fire out—
A Thing that can ignite
Can go, itself, without a Fan—
Upon the slowest Night—

685
Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits,
But our unfurnished eyes—

385
Smiling back from Coronation
May be Luxury—
On the Heads that started with us
Being’s Peasantry—

Had we our senses
But perhaps ’tis well they’re not
So intimate with Madness
He’s liable with them
Had we the eyes without our Head—

Water makes many Beds
For those averse to sleep -
Its awful chamber open stands -
Its Curtains blandly sweep -
Abhorrent is the Rest

823
Not that We did, shall be the tes
When Act and Will are done
But what Our Lord infers We woul
Had We diviner been—

844
Spring is the Period
Express from God.
Among the other seasons
Himself abide,

893
Drab Habitation of Whom?
Tabernacle or Tomb—
Or Dome of Worm—
Or Porch of Gnome—

218
Is it true, dear Sue?
Are there two?
I shouldn’t like to come
For fear of joggling Him!

932
My best Acquaintances are those
With Whom I spoke no Word—
The Stars that stated come to Tow
Esteemed Me never rude