“Dying is a wild night and a new road.”

“Wild Nights—Wild Nights!Were I with theeWild Nights should beOur 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!”

“I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? “For beauty,” I replied. “And I for truth,—the two are one; We brethren are,” he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names.”

“Love is like the wild rose-briar;Friendship like the holly-tree.The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,But which will bloom most constantly?The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,Its summer blossoms scent the air;Yet wait till winter comes again,And who will call the wild-briar fair?Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,And deck thee with holly's sheen,That, when December blights thy brow,He still may leave thy garland green.”

“My dying tutor told me that he would like to live till I had been a poet, but Death was much of Mob as I could master-then-And when far afterward-a sudden light on Orchards, or a new fashion in the wind troubled my attention- I felt a palsy, here- the Verses just relieve-" (174)”

“It was a quiet way -He asked if I was his -I made no answer of the tongueBut answer of the eyes -And then He bore me onBefore this mortal noiseWith swiftness, as of Chariotsand distance, as of Wheels.This World did drop awayAs acres from the feetof one that leaneth from BalloonUpon an Ether Street.The Gulf behind was not,The Continents were new -Eternity was due.No Seasons were to us -It was not Night nor Morn -But Sunrise stopped upon the placeAnd Fastened in Dawn.”

“Whose fingers string the stalactite-Who counts the Wampum of the night”