400 A Tongue—to tell Him I am true! Its fee—to be of Gold— Had Nature—in Her monstrous Hous… A single Ragged Child—

965 Denial—is the only fact Perceived by the Denied— Whose Will—a numb significance— The Day the Heaven died—

We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,

104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.

808 So set its Sun in Thee What Day be dark to me— What Distance—far— So I the Ships may see

761 From Blank to Blank— A Threadless Way I pushed Mechanic feet— To stop—or perish—or advance—

113 Our share of night to bear— Our share of morning— Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning—

After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—

596 When I was small, a Woman died— Today—her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac— His face all Victory

To the bright east she flies, Brothers of Paradise Remit her home, Without a change of wings, Or Love’s convenient things,

312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,

250 I shall keep singing! Birds will pass me On their way to Yellower Climes— Each—with a Robin’s expectation—