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

XXXVII LOVE is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.

760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—

I never saw a moor; I never saw the sea, Yet know I how the heather looks And what a billow be. I never spoke with God,

498 I envy Seas, whereon He rides— I envy Spokes of Wheels Of Chariots, that Him convey— I envy Crooked Hills

313 I should have been too glad, I se… Too lifted—for the scant degree Of Life’s penurious Round— My little Circuit would have sham…

358 If any sink, assure that this, now… Failed like Themselves—and consci… Grew by the Fact, and not the Und… How Weakness passed—or Force—aros…

11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.

966 All forgot for recollecting Just a paltry One— All forsook, for just a Stranger’… New Accompanying—

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