170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!

428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—

803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—

I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet now I know how the heather lo… And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God,

548 Death is potential to that Man Who dies—and to his friend— Beyond that—unconspicuous To Anyone but God—

The earth has many keys, Where melody is not Is the unknown peninsula. Beauty is nature’s fact. But witness for her land,

727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—

Those fair—fictitious People— The Women—plucked away From our familiar Lifetime— The Men of Ivory— Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—

13 Sleep is supposed to be By souls of sanity The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand

Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched by Morning— and untouched by noon— Sleep the meek members of the Res… Rafter of Satin and Roof of Ston…