301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?

There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—

48 Once more, my now bewildered Dove Bestirs her puzzled wings Once more her mistress, on the dee… Her troubled question flings—

Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine

Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!

61 Papa above! Regard a Mouse O’erpowered by the Cat! Reserve within thy kingdom

146 On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care If such a little figure Slipped quiet from its chair—

443 I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— Life’s little duties do—precisely— As the very least Were infinite—to me—

207 Tho’ I get home how late—how late… So I get home—’twill compensate— Better will be the Ecstasy That they have done expecting me—

How firm Eternity must look To crumbling men like me The only Adamant Estate In all Identity - How mighty to the insecure

The Black Berry—wears a Thorn in… But no Man heard Him cry— He offers His Berry, just the sam… To Partridge—and to Boy— He sometimes holds upon the Fence…

LV MY country need not change her go… Her triple suit as sweet As when ’t was cut at Lexington, And first pronounced “a fit.”