These Fevered Days—to take them t… Where Waters cool around the moss… And shade is all that devastates t… Seems it sometimes this would be a…

526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird

736 Have any like Myself Investigating March, New Houses on the Hill descried— And possibly a Church—

175 I have never seen “Volcanoes”— But, when Travellers tell How those old—phlegmatic mountains Usually so still—

733 The Spirit is the Conscious Ear. We actually Hear When We inspect—that’s audible— That is admitted—Here—

792 Through the strait pass of sufferi… The Martyrs—even—trod. Their feet—upon Temptations— Their faces—upon God—

464 The power to be true to You, Until upon my face The Judgment push his Picture— Presumptuous of Your Place—

504 You know that Portrait in the Moo… So tell me who ’tis like— The very Brow—the stooping eyes— A fog for—Say—Whose Sake?

107 ’Twas such a little—little boat That toddled down the bay! ’Twas such a gallant—gallant sea That beckoned it away!

517 He parts Himself’—like Leaves’— And then’—He closes up’— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup’—

653 Of Being is a Bird The likest to the Down An Easy Breeze do put afloat The General Heavens—upon—

A light exists in spring Not present on the year At any other period. When March is scarcely here A color stands abroad

The Butterfly upon the Sky, That doesn’t know its Name And hasn’t any tax to pay And hasn’t any Home Is just as high as you and I,

A great Hope fell You heard no noise The Ruin was within Oh cunning wreck that told no tale And let no Witness in

XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.