753 My Soul—accused me—And I quailed… As Tongue of Diamond had reviled All else accused me—and I smiled— My Soul—that Morning—was My frie…

104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.

550 I cross till I am weary A Mountain—in my mind— More Mountains—then a Sea— More Seas—And then

146 On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care If such a little figure Slipped quiet from its chair—

628 They called me to the Window, for “ ’Twas Sunset”—Some one said— I only saw a Sapphire Farm— And just a Single Herd—

1545 The Bible is an antique Volume— Written by faded men At the suggestion of Holy Spectre… Subjects—Bethlehem&mdash ;

866 Fame is the tine that Scholars le… Upon their Setting Names— The Iris not of Occident That disappears as comes—

You love the Lord—you cannot see— You write Him—every day— A little note—when you awake— And further in the Day. An Ample Letter—How you miss—

158 Dying! Dying in the night! Won’t somebody bring the light So I can see which way to go Into the everlasting snow?

153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”