342 It will be Summer—eventually. Ladies—with parasols— Sauntering Gentlemen—with Canes— And little Girls—with Dolls—

945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—

The reticent volcano keeps His never slumbering plan - Confided are his projects pink To no precarious man. If nature will not tell the tale

Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.

837 How well I knew Her not Whom not to know has been A Bounty in prospective, now Next Door to mine the Pain.

XXXVII LOVE is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.

They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…

39 It did not surprise me— So I said—or thought— She will stir her pinions And the nest forgot,

694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—

390 It’s coming—the postponeless Crea… It gains the Block—and now—it gai… Chooses its latch, from all the ot… Enters—with a “You know Me—Sir”?

203 He forgot—and I—remembered— ’Twas an everyday affair— Long ago as Christ and Peter— “Warmed them” at the “Temple fire…