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

It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down; It was not night, for all the bell… Put out their tongues, for noon. It was not frost, for on my flesh

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

547 I’ve seen a Dying Eye Run round and round a Room— In search of Something—as it seem… Then Cloudier become—

228 Blazing in Gold and quenching in… Leaping like Leopards to the Sky Then at the feet of the old Horiz… Laying her spotted Face to die

385 Smiling back from Coronation May be Luxury— On the Heads that started with us… Being’s Peasantry—

677 To be alive—is Power— Existence—in itself— Without a further function— Omnipotence—Enough—

236 If He dissolve – then – there is… Eclipse – at Midnight – It was dark – before – Sunset – at Easter –

452 The Malay—took the Pearl— Not—I—the Earl— I—feared the Sea—too much Unsanctified—to touch—

525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe