Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!

932 My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word— The Stars that stated come to Tow… Esteemed Me never rude

649 Her Sweet turn to leave the Homes… Came the Darker Way— Carriages—Be Sure—and Guests—too… But for Holiday

961 Wert Thou but ill—that I might sh… How long a Day I could endure Though thine attention stop not on… Nor the least signal, Me assure—

157 Musicians wrestle everywhere— All day—among the crowded air I hear the silver strife— And—walking—long before the morn—

I had been hungry all the years– My noon had come, to dine– I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. ‘T was this on tables I had seen

930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed

843 I made slow Riches but my Gain Was steady as the Sun And every Night, it numbered more Than the preceding One

968 Fitter to see Him, I may be For the long Hindrance—Grace—to… With Summers, and with Winters, g… Some passing Year—A trait bestow

945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—

99 New feet within my garden go— New fingers stir the sod— A Troubadour upon the Elm Betrays the solitude.

The Grass so little has to do— A Sphere of simple Green— With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain— And stir all day to pretty Tunes

626 Only God—detect the Sorrow— Only God— The Jehovahs—are no Babblers— Unto God—

497 He strained my faith— Did he find it supple? Shook my strong trust— Did it then—yield?