We like March, his shoes are purp… He is new and high; Makes he mud for dog and peddler, Makes he forest dry; Knows the adder’s tongue his comin…

479 She dealt her pretty words like B… How glittering they shone— And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone—

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

354 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere—

He ate and drank the precious Wor… His Spirit grew robust— He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was Dust— He danced along the dingy Days

425 Good Morning—Midnight— I’m coming Home— Day—got tired of Me— How could I—of Him?

I have no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there; Nor tie to earths to come,

257 Delight is as the flight— Or in the Ratio of it, As the Schools would say— The Rainbow’s way—