805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—

347 When Night is almost done— And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces— It’s time to smooth the Hair—

134 Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower… But I could never sell— If you would like to borrow, Until the Daffodil

886 These tested Our Horizon— Then disappeared As Birds before achieving A Latitude.

715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—

377 To lose one’s faith—surpass The loss of an Estate— Because Estates can be Replenished—faith cannot—

It dropped so low—in my Regard— I heard it hit the Ground— And go to pieces on the Stones At bottom of my Mind— Yet blamed the Fate that flung it…

Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill

569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—

How lonesome the Wind must feel N… When people have put out the Ligh… And everything that has an Inn Closes the shutter and goes in— How pompous the Wind must feel No…

His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…