266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!

306 The Soul’s Superior instants Occur to Her—alone— When friend—and Earth’s occasion Have infinite withdrawn—

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

901 Sweet, to have had them lost For news that they be saved— The nearer they departed Us The nearer they, restored,

727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—

467 We do not play on Graves— Because there isn’t Room— Besides—it isn’t even—it slants And People come—

Image of Light, Adieu - Thanks for the interview - So long– so short – Preceptor of the whole - Coeval Cardinal -

305 The difference between Despair And Fear—is like the One Between the instant of a Wreck And when the Wreck has been—

428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—

590 Did you ever stand in a Cavern’s… Widths out of the Sun— And look—and shudder, and block yo… And deem to be alone

636 The Way I read a Letter’s—this— ’Tis first—I lock the Door— And push it with my fingers—next— For transport it be sure—