That feels to her—like Sacrament—
She’s busy—with an altered Care—
As just apprenticed to the Air—
She’s tearful—if she weep at all—
For blissful Causes—Most of all
That Heaven permit so meek as her—
To such a Fate—to Minister.
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For Love is Immortality,Nay, it is Deity—Unable they that love—to dieFor Love reforms VitalityInto Divinity.
The sky is low, the clouds are mean,
Across a barn or through a rutDebates if it will go.A narrow wind complains all dayHow some one treated him;Nature, like us, is sometimes caughtWithout her diadem.
The thought beneath so slight a film
As laces just reveal the surge,Or mists the Apennine.
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In the Stranger’s House—A first fair Going—When the Bells rejoice—A first Exchange—ofWhat hath mingled—been—For Lot—exhibited toFaith—alone—
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And No Man—is the OneOf all the Battles prevalent—By far the Greater One—No News of it is had abroad—Its Bodiless CampaignEstablishes, and terminates—Invisible—Unknown&mdas h;Nor History—record it—As Legions of a NightThe Sunrise scatters—These endure—Enact—and terminate—
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They bury, in the Grave?I do believe a SpeciesAs positively liveAs I, who testify itDeny that I—am dead—And fill my Lungs, for Witness—From Tanks—above my Head—I say to you, said Jesus—That there be standing here—A Sort, that shall not taste of Death—If Jesus was sincere—I need no further Argue—That statement of the LordIs not a…