469 The Red—Blaze—is the Morning— The Violet—is Noon— The Yellow—Day—is falling— And after that—is none—

540 I took my Power in my Hand— And went against the World— ’Twas not so much as David—had— But I—was twice as bold—

645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—

XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.

414 ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no… That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony

574 My first well Day — since many il… I asked to go abroad, And take the Sunshine in my hands… And see the things in Pod —

The thought beneath so slight a fi… Is more distincly seen,— As laces just reveal the surge, Or mists the Apennine.

814 One Day is there of the Series Termed Thanksgiving Day. Celebrated part at Table Part in Memory.

Who were “the Father and the Son” We pondered when a child, And what had they to do with us And when portentous told With inference appalling

912 Peace is a fiction of our Faith— The Bells a Winter Night Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound That never did alight.

887 We outgrow love, like other things And put it in the Drawer— Till it an Antique fashion shows— Like Costumes Grandsires wore.

Of Brussels—it was not— Of Kidderminster? Nay— The Winds did buy it of the Woods… They—sold it unto me It was a gentle price—