165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!

I saw the wind within her I knew it blew for me '— But she must buy my shelter I asked Humility

Nature rarer uses Yellow Than another Hue. Saves she all of that for Sunsets Prodigal of Blue Spending Scarlet, like a Woman

535 She’s happy, with a new Content— That feels to her—like Sacrament— She’s busy—with an altered Care— As just apprenticed to the Air—

253 You see I cannot see—your lifetim… I must guess— How many times it ache for me—toda… How many times for my far sake

395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity

869 Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid

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,

This is the land the sunset washes… These are the banks of the Yellow… Where it rose, or whither it rushe… These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traff…

348 I would not paint—a picture— I’d rather be the One It’s bright impossibility To dwell—delicious—on—

657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—