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

769 One and One—are One— Two—be finished using— Well enough for schools— But for minor Choosing—

281 ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— So over Horror, it half Captivate… The Soul stares after it, secure— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more…

An Antiquated Tree Is cherished of the Crow Because that Junior Foliage is di… To venerable Birds Whose Corporation Coat

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

103 I have a King, who does not speak… So—wondering—thro’ the hours meek I trudge the day away— Half glad when it is night, and sl…

142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.

894 Of Consciousness, her awful Mate The Soul cannot be rid— As easy the secreting her Behind the Eyes of God.

265 Where Ships of Purple—gently toss… On Seas of Daffodil— Fantastic Sailors—mingle— And then—the Wharf is still!

890 From Us She wandered now a Year, Her tarrying, unknown, If Wilderness prevent her feet Or that Ethereal Zone

XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair