The Dearest Ones Of Time, The Strongest

This Is The Hour Of Lead- Remembered, If Outlived, As Freezing Persons, Recollect The Snow- First-chill-then Stupor- Then The Letting Go---

There's A Certain Slant Of Light, Winter Afternoons— That Oppresses, Like The Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, It Gives Us— We Can Find No Scar, But Internal Difference, Where The Meanings, Are.... When It Comes, The Landscape Listens— Shadows—hold Their Breath— When It Goes, 'tis Like The Distance On The Look Of Death.

The Sun Proceeds Unmoved To Measure Off Another Day For An Approving God.

Our Little Kinsmen After Rain In Plenty May Be Seen, A Pink And Pulpy Multitude The Tepid Ground Upon; A Needless Life If Seemed To Me Until A Little Bird As To A Hospitality Advanced And Breakfasted.

One Need Not Be A Chamber - To Be Haunted - One Need Not Be A House - The Brain - Has Corridors - Surpassing Material Place - Far Safer, Of A Midnight - Meeting External Ghost - Than An Interior - Confronting - That Cooler - Host. Far Safer, Through An Abbey - Gallop - The Stones A'chase - Than Moonless - One's A'self Encounter - In Lonesome Place - Ourself - Behind Ourself - Concealed - Should Startle - Most.