746 Never for Society He shall seek in vain— Who His own acquaintance Cultivate—Of Men

907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—

854 Banish Air from Air— Divide Light if you dare— They’ll meet While Cubes in a Drop

612 It would have starved a Gnat— To live so small as I— And yet I was a living Child— With Food’s necessity

557 She hideth Her the last— And is the first, to rise— Her Night doth hardly recompense The Closing of Her eyes—

The Grass so little has to do— A Sphere of simple Green— With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain— And stir all day to pretty Tunes

I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,

LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.

On my volcano grows the Grass A meditative spot - An acre for a Bird to choose Would be the General thought - How red the Fire rocks below -

687 I’ll send the feather from my Hat… Who knows—but at the sight of that My Sovereign will relent? As trinket—worn by faded Child—

The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied

Much Madness is divinest Sense - To a discerning Eye - Much Sense– the starkest Madness… ’Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -

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