XXIII A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.

577 If I may have it, when it’s dead, I’ll be contented—so— If just as soon as Breath is out It shall belong to me—

After great pain a formal feeling… The nerves sit ceremonious like to… The stiff Heart questions—was it… And yesterday—or centuries before? The feet, mechanical, go round

A chilly Peace infests the Grass The Sun respectful lies - Not any Trance of industry These shadows scrutinize - Whose Allies go no more astray

975 The Mountain sat upon the Plain In his tremendous Chair— His observation omnifold, His inquest, everywhere—

399 A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached—

The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain– And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep;

696 Their Height in Heaven comforts n… Their Glory—nought to me— ’Twas best imperfect—as it was— I’m finite—I can’t see—