220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?

604 Unto my Books—so good to turn— Far ends of tired Days— It half endears the Abstinence— And Pain—is missed—in Praise—

867 Escaping backward to perceive The Sea upon our place— Escaping forward, to confront His glittering Embrace—

845 Be Mine the Doom— Sufficient Fame— To perish in Her Hand!

417 Is it dead—Find it— Out of sound—Out of sight— “Happy”? Which is wiser— You, or the Wind?

869 Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid

How lonesome the Wind must feel N… When people have put out the Ligh… And everything that has an Inn Closes the shutter and goes in— How pompous the Wind must feel No…

The sky is low, the clouds are mea… A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day

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

A Sickness of this World it most… When Best Men die. A Wishfulness their far Condition To occupy. A Chief indifference, as Foreign

939 What I see not, I better see— Through Faith—my Hazel Eye Has periods of shutting— But, No lid has Memory—

884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.

Escape is such a thankful Word I often in the Night Consider it unto myself No spectacle in sight Escape - it is the Basket

994 Partake as doth the Bee, Abstemiously. The Rose is an Estate— In Sicily.