517 He parts Himself—like Leaves— And then—He closes up— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup—

To the bright east she flies, Brothers of Paradise Remit her home, Without a change of wings, Or Love’s convenient things,

217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?

If all the griefs I am to have Would only come today, I am so happy I believe They’d laugh and run away. If all the joys I am to have

856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.

141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.

972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—

100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold

5 I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing— The spring decoys. And as the summer nears—

748 Autumn—overlooked my Knitting— Dyes—said He—have I— Could disparage a Flamingo— Show Me them—said I—