71 A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”—

176 I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”! I don’t care for pouting skies! If the Butterfly delay Can I, therefore, stay away?

914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude

141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.

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

THE LARGEST fire ever known Occurs each afternoon, Discovered is without surprise, Proceeds without concern: Consumes, and no report to men,

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

148 All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of “Currer Bell” In quiet “Haworth” laid.

589 The Night was wide, and furnished… With but a single Star— That often as a Cloud it met— Blew out itself—for fear—

559 It knew no Medicine— It was not Sickness—then— Nor any need of Surgery— And therefore—'twas not Pain—

719 A South Wind—has a pathos Of individual Voice— As One detect on Landings An Emigrant’s address.

The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back