833 Perhaps you think me stooping I’m not ashamed of that Christ—stooped until He touched t… Do those at Sacrament

348 I would not paint—a picture— I’d rather be the One It’s bright impossibility To dwell—delicious—on—

Death leaves Us homesick, who beh… Except that it is gone Are ignorant of its Concern As if it were not born. Through all their former Places,…

748 Autumn—overlooked my Knitting— Dyes—said He—have I— Could disparage a Flamingo— Show Me them—said I—

“Sic transit gloria mundi,” “How doth the busy bee,” “Dum vivimus vivamus,” I stay mine enemy! Oh “veni, vidi, vici!”

994 Partake as doth the Bee, Abstemiously. The Rose is an Estate— In Sicily.

So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole

719 A South Wind—has a pathos Of individual Voice— As One detect on Landings An Emigrant’s address.

600 It troubled me as once I was— For I was once a Child— Concluding how an Atom—fell— And yet the Heavens—held—

1035 Bee! I’m expecting you! Was saying Yesterday To Somebody you know That you were due—

671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—

“Morning”—means “Milking”—to the… Dawn—to the Teneriffe— Dice—to the Maid— Morning means just Risk—to the Lo… Just revelation—to the Beloved—

A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached— Whose Chimney never smoked—