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249 Wild Nights- Wild Nights! Were I with thee Wild Nights should be Our luxury!

Futile - the Winds To a Heart in port Done with the Compass Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden Ah, the Sea! Might I but moor - Tonight! In Thee!

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254 `Hope` is a thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without words And never stops - at all

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard And sore must be the storm That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm

I've heard it in the chillest land And on the strangest Sea Yet, never, in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of Me.

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303 The Soul selects her own Society Then - shut the Door To her divine Majority Present no more

Unmoved-she notes the Chariots-pausingAt her low Gate Unmoved - an Emperor is kneeling Upon her Mat

I've known her - from an ample nation Choose One Then- close the Valves of her attentionLike Stone

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313 I should have been too glad, I see Too lifted - for the scant degree Of Life's penurious Round; My little Circuit would have shamed This new Circumference - have blamed The homelier time behind.

I should have been too saved - I see Too rescued - Fear too dim to me That I could spell the Prayer I knew so perfect - yesterday -That Scalding one - "Sabachthani"Recited fluent -- here

Earth would have been too much - I see And Heaven- not enough for me I should have had the Joy

Without the Fear - to justify The Palm - without the Calvary; So, Saviour, Crucify

Defeat whets Victory - they sayThe Reefs - in old GethsemaneEndear the Coast beyond! 'T is Beggars - Banquets best define; 'T is parching - vitalizes Wine, "Faith" bleats - to understand!

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371 A precious-mouldering pleasure-'t isTo meet an Antique Book, In just the Dress his Century wore A privilege - I think

His venerable Hand to take And warming in our own A passage back- or two- to make To Times when he- was young

His quaint opinions - to inspect His thoughts to ascertain On Themes concern our mutual mindThe Literature of Man

What interested Scholars- mostWhat Competitions ran When Plato - was a Certainty And Sophocles - a Man

When Sappho - was a living Girl And Beatrice wore The Gown that Dante- deified Facts Centuries before

He traverses - familiar As One should come to Town And tell you all your Dreams-were trueHe lived - where Dreams were born

His presence is Enchantment, You beg him not to go Old Volumes shake their Vellum Heads And tantalize - just so

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THE BATTLE-FIELD. They dropped like Flakes Tthey dropped like Stars Like Petals from a Rose When suddenly across the June A wind with fingers - goes

They perished in the Seamless Grass, -No eye could find the place But God can summon every face On his Repealless - List .

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470 I am alive - I guess The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory And at my finger's end The Carmine - tingles warm And if I hold a Glass Across my Mouth - it blurs it Physician's - proof of Breath

I am alive - because I am not in a Room The Parlor - Commonly - it is So Visitors may come And lean - and view it sidewise And add " How cold - it grew" And " Was it conscious - when it stepped In Immortality? "