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Some we see no more, Tenements of Wonder Occupy to us though perhaps to them Simpler are the Days than the Supposition Their removing Manners Leave us to presume. That oblique Belief which we call Conjecture Grapples with a Theme…

Some say goodnight – at night – I say goodnight by day – Good–bye – the Going utter me – Goodnight, I still reply – For parting, that is night, And presence, simply dawn – Itself, the purple on the…

Some one prepared this mighty show To which without a Ticket go The nations and the Days – Displayed before the simplest Door That all may examine them – and more

Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie The Day that a Companion came Or was obliged to die –

Some Arrows slay but whom they strike, But this slew all but him, Who so appareled his Escape, Too trackless for a Tomb –

Softened by Time’s consummate plush, How sleek the woe appears That threatened childhood’s citadel And undermined the years. Bisected now, by bleaker griefs, We envy the despair That devastated childhood’s realm, So easy to repair.

Soft as the massacre of Suns By Evening’s sabres slain

Society for me my misery Since Gift of Thee –

So much of Heaven has gone from Earth That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given – The Missionary to the Mole Must prove there is a Sky Location doubtless he would plead…

Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice – But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.