204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—

6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.

The day came slow, till five o’clo… Then sprang before the hills, Like hindered rubies, or the light… A sudden musket spills. The purple could not keep the east…

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

The Butterfly’s Assumption Gown In Chrysoprase Apartments hung This afternoon put on— How condescending to descend And be of Buttercups the friend

This is the land the sunset washes… These are the banks of the Yellow… Where it rose, or whither it rushe… These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traff…

They dropped like flakes, they dro… Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the June A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless gras…

Between My Country—and the Other… There is a Sea— But Flowers—negotiate between us— As Ministry.

588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—

28 So has a Daisy vanished From the fields today— So tiptoed many a slipper To Paradise away—