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

I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,

440 ’Tis customary as we part A trinket—to confer— It helps to stimulate the faith When Lovers be afar—

681 Soil of Flint, if steady tilled— Will refund by Hand— Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun Fructified in Sand—

Longing is like the Seed That wrestles in the Ground, Believing if it intercede It shall at length be found. The Hour, and the Clime -

229 A Burdock—clawed my Gown— Not Burdock’s—blame— But mine— Who went too near

952 A Man may make a Remark— In itself—a quiet thing That may furnish the Fuse unto a… In dormant nature—lain—

26 It’s all I have to bring today— This, and my heart beside— This, and my heart, and all the fi… And all the meadows wide—

781 To wait an Hour—is long— If Love be just beyond— To wait Eternity—is short— If Love reward the end—

159 A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa…

XXII I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity.

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…