444 It feels a shame to be Alive— When Men so brave—are dead— One envies the Distinguished Dust… Permitted—such a Head—

176 I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”! I don’t care for pouting skies! If the Butterfly delay Can I, therefore, stay away?

Water makes many Beds For those averse to sleep - Its awful chamber open stands - Its Curtains blandly sweep - Abhorrent is the Rest

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

917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—

Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance

685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—

767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine

121 As Watchers hang upon the East, As Beggars revel at a feast By savory Fancy spread— As brooks in deserts babble sweet

XXVIII I BRING an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching, next to min… And summon them to drink. Crackling with fever, they essay;

547 I’ve seen a Dying Eye Run round and round a Room— In search of Something—as it seem… Then Cloudier become—

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,

So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole