Butterflies are white and blue In this field we wander through. Suffer me to take your hand. Death comes in a day or two. All the things we ever knew

So, art thou feahered, art thou fl… Thou naked thing?—and canst alone Upon the unsolid summer air Sustain thyself, and prosper there… Shall no more with anxious note

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream in pain,— Dawn will find them still again; This has neither wax nor wane,

My most Distinguished Guest and… The pallid hare that runs before t… Having brought your earnest counse… Now have I somewhat of my own to… That it is folly to be sunk in lov…

Searching my heart for its true so… This is the thing I find to be: That I am weary of words and peop… Sick of the city, wanting the sea; Wanting the sticky, salty sweetnes…

Not in this chamber only at my bir… When the long hours of that myster… Were over, and the morning was in… I cried, but in strange places, st… I have not seen, through alien gri…

What lips my lips have kissed, and… I have forgotten, and what arms ha… Under my head till morning; but th… Is full of ghosts tonight, that ta… Upon the glass and listen for repl…

These wet rocks where the tide has… Barnacled white and weeded brown And slimed beneath to a beautiful… These wet rocks where the tide wen… Will show again when the tide is h…

VIII8. Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that… . Give back my book and take my kiss… .

I could not bring this splendid wo… In charge of it, to defer, no, not… Appearance, to my handsome prophec… which here I ponder and put by. I am left simpler, less encumbered…

She is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-t… And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than she needs;

God had called us, and we came; Our loved Earth to ashes left; Heaven was a neighbor’s house, Open to us, bereft. Gay the lights of Heaven showed,

This door you might not open, and… So enter now, and see for what sli… You are betrayed... Here is no tr… No cauldron, no clear crystal mirr… The sought-for truth, no heads of…

Death, I say, my heart is bowed Unto thine,—O mother! This red gown will make a shroud Good as any other! (I, that would not wait to wear