405 It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness— I’m so accustomed to my Fate— Perhaps the Other—Peace—

Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather

624 Forever—it composed of Nows— ’Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home—

LXXXVI A LADY red upon the hill Her annual secret keeps; A lady white within the field In placid lily sleeps!

Proud of my broken heart, since th… Proud of the pain, I did not feel… Proud of my night, since thou, wit… Not to partake thy passion, –my hu… Thou can’st not boast, like Jesus…

XI MUCH madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. ’T is the majority

LXXXII THERE’S a certain slant of ligh… On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.

221 It can’t be “Summer”! That—got through! It’s early—yet—for “Spring”! There’s that long town of White—t…