893 Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb— Or Dome of Worm— Or Porch of Gnome—

517 He parts Himself—like Leaves— And then—He closes up— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup—

414 ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no… That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony

54 If I should die, And you should live— And time should gurgle on— And morn should beam—

694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—

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

The Butterfly upon the Sky, That doesn’t know its Name And hasn’t any tax to pay And hasn’t any Home Is just as high as you and I,

The dying need but little, dear,— A glass of water’s all, A flower’s unobtrusive face To punctuate the wall, A fan, perhaps, a friend’s regret,