Who were “the Father and the Son” We pondered when a child, And what had they to do with us And when portentous told With inference appalling

575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,

559 It knew no Medicine— It was not Sickness—then— Nor any need of Surgery— And therefore—'twas not Pain—

The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more. Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s p…

597 It always felt to me—a wrong To that Old Moses—done— To let him see—the Canaan— Without the entering—

301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?

357 God is a distant—stately Lover— Woos, as He states us—by His Son… Verily, a Vicarious Courtship— “Miles”, and “Priscilla”, were su…

21 We lose—because we win— Gamblers—recollecting which Toss their dice again!

816 A Death blow is a Life blow to S… Who till they died, did not alive… Who had they lived, had died but w… They died, Vitality begun.

941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize

22 All these my banners be. I sow my pageantry In May— It rises train by train—

There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—

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

27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.