119 Talk with prudence to a Beggar Of “Potose,” and the mines! Reverently, to the Hungry Of your viands, and your wines!

979 This Merit hath the worst— It cannot be again— When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone—

I cannot live with You— It would be Life— And Life is over there— Behind the Shelf The Sexton keeps the Key to—

MY cocoon tightens, colors tease, I 'm feeling for the air; A dim capacity for wings Degrades the dress I wear. A power of butterfly must be

312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,

428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—

852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.

486 I was the slightest in the House— I took the smallest Room— At night, my little Lamp, and Boo… And one Geranium—

To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn't hurt— It's only fainter—by degrees— And then—it's out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—

421 A Charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld— The Lady dare not lift her Veil For fear it be dispelled—

A great Hope fell You heard no noise The Ruin was within Oh cunning wreck that told no tale And let no Witness in