793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—

18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.

XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair

353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—

21 We lose—because we win— Gamblers—recollecting which Toss their dice again!

348 I would not paint—a picture— I’d rather be the One It’s bright impossibility To dwell—delicious—on—

I many times thought Peace had co… When Peace was far away’— As Wrecked Men’—deem they sight t… At Centre of the Sea’— And struggle slacker’—but to prove

202 My Eye is fuller than my vase— Her Cargo—is of Dew— And still—my Heart—my Eye outweig… East India—for you!

940 On that dear Frame the Years had… Yet precious as the House In which We first experienced Lig… The Witnessing, to Us—