173 A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun!

469 The Red—Blaze—is the Morning— The Violet—is Noon— The Yellow—Day—is falling— And after that—is none—

666 Ah, Teneriffe! Retreating Mountain! Purples of Ages—pause for you— Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regim…

I hide myself within my flower, That wearing on your breast, You, unsuspecting, wear me too - And angels know the rest. I hide myself within my flower,

443 I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— Life’s little duties do—precisely— As the very least Were infinite—to me—

742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—

Who were “the Father and the Son” We pondered when a child, And what had they to do with us And when portentous told With inference appalling

199 I’m “wife”—I’ve finished that— That other state— I’m Czar—I’m “Woman” now— It’s safer so—

726 We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s… And later—when we die— A little Water supplicate— Of fingers going by—

Apparently with no surprise, To any happy flower, The frost beheads it at its play, In accidental power. The blond assassin passes on.

323 As if I asked a common Alms, And in my wondering hand A Stranger pressed a Kingdom, And I, bewildered, stand—

The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.