48 Once more, my now bewildered Dove Bestirs her puzzled wings Once more her mistress, on the dee… Her troubled question flings—

128 Bring me the sunset in a cup, Reckon the morning’s flagons up And say how many Dew, Tell me how far the morning leaps—

870 Finding is the first Act The second, loss, Third, Expedition for The “Golden Fleece”

555 Trust in the Unexpected— By this—was William Kidd Persuaded of the Buried Gold— As One had testified—

XXXIV WHO never lost, are unprepared A coronet to find; Who never thirsted, flagons And cooling tamarind.

989 Gratitude—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.

Elysium is as far as to The very nearest Room If in that Room a Friend await Felicity or Doom— What fortitude the Soul contains

34 Garland for Queens, may be— Laurels—for rare degree Of soul or sword. Ah—but remembering me—

655 Without this—there is nought— All other Riches be As is the Twitter of a Bird— Heard opposite the Sea—

534 We see—Comparatively— The Thing so towering high We could not grasp its segment Unaided—Yesterday—

641 Size circumscribes—it has no room For petty furniture— The Giant tolerates no Gnat For Ease of Gianture—