9 Through lane it lay—through brambl… Through clearing and through wood— Banditti often passed us Upon the lonely road.

990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—

617 Don’t put up my Thread and Needle… I’ll begin to Sew When the Birds begin to whistle— Better Stitches—so—

‘Heavenly Father’ - take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband - Though to trust us - seems to us

529 I’m sorry for the Dead—Today— It’s such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences— It’s time o’ year for Hay.

823 Not that We did, shall be the tes… When Act and Will are done But what Our Lord infers We woul… Had We diviner been—

498 I envy Seas, whereon He rides— I envy Spokes of Wheels Of Chariots, that Him convey— I envy Crooked Hills

665 Dropped into the Ether Acre— Wearing the Sod Gown— Bonnet of Everlasting Laces— Brooch—frozen on—

308 I send Two Sunsets— Day and I—in competition ran— I finished Two—and several Stars— While He—was making One—

803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—

321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—

962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—